For The Sake of Her Family (10 page)

Knowing the truth of this, they both fell silent. They remained that way for some time, until Will decided to break the gloom by introducing a lighter topic of conversation.

‘I don’t know what got into our Ali last Sunday. One minute she was in the mood from hell, and the next – you’ll not believe this, Jack – she actually asked after
you! She can be a funny bugger sometimes, our lass.’ Will kicked his heels against the kitchen-garden wall.

‘What did she say? Is she missing seeing me at the manor?’ Will blushed from head to toe.

‘Aye, she did say she missed you. She was thinking of introducing you to Miss Nancy – rather you than me! Two crazy women together? Good luck with that, mate.’ Will grinned and
slapped him on the back.

‘Will, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now . . . Would you mind if I asked your sister to take a walk with me one evening, or perhaps on Sunday when she has more
time?’ Jack stared at his feet and shuffled the gravel underneath them, not daring to look his best friend in the face.

‘You what? Our lass? Get away! God, you must be a glutton for punishment, either that or you’re light in the head, man! Do you honestly mean it? Because if you do, I suppose
I’d better say you can. Not that it’s up to me – she’s her own woman, our Ali. I daren’t tell her anything. You’ll soon find that out yourself.’

‘Cheers, Will. I’ve kept looking at her and thinking how bonny she is.’ Jack beamed.

‘Man, I don’t want to know! She’s my sister – just you remember that.’ Will grinned.

He was still smirking at the thought of Jack walking out with Alice when the kitchen door opened and Lord Frankland appeared.

‘Gentlemen, would you care to join me?’

Jack and Will followed him in, stopping just inside the door. They felt awkward in the unfamiliar surroundings, and both were aware of Mrs Dowbiggin casting sideways glances at them as she
scuttled around the kitchen.

‘Sit down.’ Lord Frankland nodded at the kitchen chairs around the large pine table in the centre of the room. He turned to the housekeeper: ‘That’ll be all, Mrs
Dowbiggin. Can you make yourself scarce for an hour – I need to talk to these two young men.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She curtsied. ‘But I hope you don’t mind when lunch is late.’

It was unheard of for the master to bring outside staff into the manor. And what was so important that he wanted to deprive her of her beloved kitchen for a whole hour? Unable to contain her
curiosity, Mrs Dowbiggin loitered at the kitchen door after closing it, hoping to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Gerald Frankland smiled at both young men and raised his finger to his mouth, warning them not to say a word. Then he swung open the door that Mrs Dowbiggin had just departed through.

‘Hello, Hilda – was there something you’d forgotten?’ He’d learned from experience that in the manor, walls had ears in the shape of Mrs Dowbiggin. This was
something he did not want her to know about. Red-faced and stuttering, the housekeeper took off along the corridor.

Lord Frankland closed the door behind her. Pulling up a chair, he sat opposite them and leaned across the table.

‘Right, men – tell me how it is. I want the truth, mind. No half-cocked stories or unfounded gossip, and no keeping things back out of loyalty to any of the men up there. The whole
truth and nothing but the truth – and if I get it, you shall both reap the benefits of my gratitude.’ He fixed them with his gaze, reading their faces as if trying to judge whether his
instincts about them had been correct. ‘I know I left you in an awkward situation, but since you’ve both survived to tell the tale, I obviously made the right decision.’

Will and Jack looked at one another. It was time to tell him all, but where to start?

‘Most of the men at Stone House are good workers – rough around the edges, but they work.’ Will was the first to speak. ‘Your main trouble is O’Hara. Jack here will
back me up when I say you can’t trust him as far as you can throw him.’ Jack nodded in agreement. ‘He never pulls his weight; he’s always drunk; he has numerous little deals
on the side, where he gets a part payment from a customer in return for not telling you what he’s supplying them with.’

Frankland’s face darkened and Will paused, expecting to be interrupted, but his lordship merely nodded for him to carry on.

‘O’Hara lends money to the workers up there and charges them a high rate of interest, threatening them with losing their jobs if he doesn’t get his money. We haven’t seen
the books that his wife keeps, but one of the workers told me that there’s one lot with the true figures and then the one that she gives you.’

Will stopped. Beside him, Jack had remained quiet, watching anxiously as their employer’s expression went from stern to thunderous. By the time Will had finished, Lord Frankland looked as
if he was going to explode.

The chair legs scraped across the polished floor tiles as he sprang to his feet and began pacing back and forth between the window and the table, pounding his fist into his hand.

‘Damn the man! I knew he was up to something. Damn him to hell, he’s taken advantage long enough. And you say his wife keeps two sets of records? My God, I’ll make him pay.
I’ll have him off my property before this day’s out.’ Suddenly he paused in his rant, a look of concern on his face. ‘Has he done anything to disrupt your activities while
you were there, or made threats? I dare say he’ll want to get even with the pair of you when he realizes his days of easy money have come to an end.’

‘Mostly he’s kept his distance from us,’ said Jack. ‘Apart from a couple of times when he cursed me for looking after the horse and not letting him take it out. Bloody
criminal, the way he treated the poor creature.’ Jack wanted the abuse O’Hara had inflicted on the horse to be taken into account.

Their conversation was halted when the kitchen door was abruptly flung open and one of the workers from Stone House rushed in. He pulled up when he saw them, and for a moment just stood there,
struggling to breathe after his long run, while they looked on dumbstruck. Then he drew in a great lungful of air and, twisting his cap in his hand, turned to Lord Frankland.

‘Begging your pardon, sir, but come quick, sir, please, come quick. It’s O’Hara – he’s threatening to kill some of the men and he’s set his cottage on fire.
He’s gone mad, sir – he’s gone mad!’

With Jack and Will at his heels, Gerald ran to the stables. The three of them rode as fast as they could, but by the time they reached the top of the dale it was clear the fire
had taken hold. Smoke from the burning cottage could be seen billowing and clinging to the treetops all the way down the valley. The heat and smell of the fire striking fear into their souls, they
tethered their horses a safe distance away and made for the cottage. Before them was a scene of absolute chaos. Men were dashing backwards and forwards from the nearby stream with buckets of water
in an effort to put out the blaze, but it looked as if their efforts would be in vain. The flames were leaping into the air, licking at the upper bedroom windows. Choking thick black smoke made it
difficult to see, but they could hear the horse in the stable across the yard frantically trying to kick down the door in an effort to escape.

Dodging the bucket-laden workers, Jack ran to the stable. Shrugging off his jacket, he opened the door. The horse’s eyes were wild, its nostrils flaring in fright. Jack used his jacket to
cover the horse’s head so that he could lead it away to safety.

In the meantime Gerald Frankland had swiftly taken command, ordering his workers to form a human chain passing buckets of water to combat the fire. Suddenly a shout went up: one of the men
thought he caught a glimpse of Mrs O’Hara at an upstairs window. Flames were climbing the curtains and the windowpane exploded with the intensity of the heat. This was immediately followed by
a series of booms and an almighty rumble as the timber rafters collapsed and the roof came crashing down with a great cloud of smoke. If O’Hara’s wife had been in there, it was too late
to save her.

‘Stand back, men, stand back!’ Stripped to his shirt, sweat pouring off his brow, Gerald Frankland ordered his men clear. When the smoke subsided, all that remained of the cottage
was a smouldering shell. ‘Don’t bother with the cottage, men – it’s gone. Keep the outbuildings wet; at least we can save them!’

As he set about reorganizing the human chain, a voice rang out, making itself heard above the raging fire and the frenzied efforts to put it out. ‘You, ya bastard! I’m going to kill
you!’

All eyes turned to the stocky figure of O’Hara, standing with a shotgun aimed at Frankland’s head.

Gerald stood, frozen with fear. Trying hard to control the tremor in his voice, he attempted to reason with the man. ‘Don’t do it, man. There’s nothing to be gained by shooting
me. You’re in enough trouble already – you’ve killed your wife and burned my cottage down. If you put the gun down—’

‘I’ve nothing to lose, then, have I? No home, no wife – I’m left with bloody nothing all because you had to send your spies in and get ’em to tell tales about me
– snivelling bastards!’

Raising the shotgun level with his eye, he took aim at Gerald Frankland’s forehead and pressed his finger on the trigger.

Helpless, Frankland closed his eyes, waiting for the bullet that would end his life. A shot rang out, breaking the silence, and the whole scene stopped still. It was a few seconds before
Frankland dared to open his eyes. Only then did he realize that the shot had not been fired by O’Hara and the bullet had not been for him.

His shotgun half cocked and still smoking, Will was standing over the writhing body of O’Hara. ‘Thought I’d better fetch my gun, sir. I knew that there’d be
trouble.’

Will looked on in disgust as O’Hara, now screaming abuse and yelling in pain from the shot to his leg, was bundled into the works buggy by the men he’d tormented for so long.
Frankland gave orders that he be taken to Dent police station; the doctor could attend to him there.

‘I hope I’ll not be charged, sir. It was either his leg or your head.’

‘You’ll not be charged, Will, I’ll see to that. I owe you my life, and I’ll not forget it. I owe you dearly.’ Gerald Frankland grasped Will’s hand and shook
it. He was indeed grateful to the lad whom he had so recently made homeless.

Turning from Will, he surveyed the smouldering buildings and the blackened faces of the workers looking to him for orders. What to do now? Would the place ever be the same again? He
couldn’t help wondering whether he had brought all this on himself by not doing his own dirty work. Perhaps if he hadn’t gone to Russia, things would have gone differently. But when the
lovely Tatiana sent for him, he was powerless to resist. Even in the midst of all this devastation, the memory of her smile, the feeling of her hand touching his skin and those dark eyes gazing
into his as she implored him to stay had the power to drive all else from his mind.

The crash of an outbuilding collapsing jolted him back to reality. Seeing his property reduced to charred piles of rubble brought back other, less pleasant memories of Russia. He had been on his
way back from England when his parents’ house was burned down, but the embers were still smouldering next day when he arrived, and he was present when their remains were found in the ashes.
That fire, too, had been started as an act of revenge by Frankland employees. Was history repeating itself?

He feared what would happen were Nancy to hear of today’s events. She would surely lose her mind completely if she learned of the fire, let alone how close her brother had come to being
killed. The poor girl had been making such good progress since becoming friends with young Alice Bentham. He smiled at the thought of the feisty young farm girl. From the very first time he’d
spoken to her in the small kitchen of Dale End, he’d felt drawn to her. Not that she was particularly pretty – if anything, she was rather plain, and she had none of the allure or
refinement of his Tatiana – yet something about her brought a smile to his lips.

Again it took a sudden noise in the yard to break his reverie. His mind seemed to be all over the place – perhaps it was an after-effect of the shock. Those moments he’d spent
staring into the barrel of O’Hara’s gun had been the most unnerving of his life.

Summoning Will and Jack to his side, he told them: ‘Go home, the pair of you – you’ve been through enough today. I’ll see you both in the morning.’

‘But what about the police?’ said Will. ‘Shouldn’t I wait for them to get here?’

‘I’ll speak to them. No doubt they will need to talk to you, but it doesn’t have to be right away. When you do speak to them, I want you to say exactly what happened – we
have nothing to hide. Go on, now – get yourselves home.’

Frankland waited until Will and Jack were out of sight before gathering his remaining workers together. Those two lads had seen enough already; he didn’t want them to be on hand for the
unpleasant task that lay ahead.

‘Right, men, I’m afraid we have a grim job in store. We need to go through what’s left of the cottage until we find the remains of Mrs O’Hara.’ He gazed around him
at the smoke rising from the rubble, and the weary, ashen faces of his workers. Under his breath, he added: ‘Poor woman – she might have been crooked, but she didn’t deserve
this.’

Will and Jack were only too relieved to leave the smoke and misery behind. Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined that their activities of the last two weeks would end
in such destruction and heartbreak. O’Hara had obviously cracked at the prospect of his world falling apart, but for him to set the cottage alight with his wife in it was unthinkable.

Having ridden to the manor in stunned silence, they unsaddled their horses and then took their leave of each other, for both were in need of some time alone.

Will retreated to his bunk bed above the stable. He’d never shot a man before – still couldn’t believe what he’d done. Though he knew he’d done the only thing he
could do in the circumstances, he couldn’t stop wondering what would have happened if his aim hadn’t been sure. What if he’d killed O’Hara? Would he be up on a charge of
murder? He tossed and turned, replaying the scene in his head, worrying about what would happen when the police came, until finally sleep overtook him. The next thing he knew, it was night. He got
out of bed, shivering from the cold, and looked out of the window. The lamps were lit at the manor, so he made his way to the kitchen door, hoping that Mrs Dowbiggin might be persuaded to give him
something to eat – it had been a long time since breakfast.