Friendship's Bond (20 page)

‘
Loss!
’ Loud in the silence of the sleeping house the words returned. ‘
I won’t be sufferin’ no loss of business. Them women be easy led, they don’t always ’ave the thinkin’ of what be the outcome of what they say afore they says it, but they’ll ’ave sense enough to realise that feedin’ of their families be preferable to listenin’ to rumours. Mark my words, that cart won’t be bringin’ back a smidgeon of cheese nor a scrape of butter; there won’t be a soul among the lot of ’em will be refusin’ to buy
.’

Nobody would refuse! Ann opened her eyes on to the moonlit shadows of the room. Leah could not be certain her customers would not refuse her dairy food; she could not be positive the ultimatum given to the people gathered in the chapel would have the desired effect, also she could not manage both the work of the dairy and the delivery round on her own. Hadn’t she said as much?

Should Ann stay the dairy would lose trade, should she leave then the dairy might be closed; either way Leah’s living was threatened. Could she risk either happening to the woman who had been so kind?

Ann stared resolutely at the shadows dancing about the walls. Leah’s livelihood would not be threatened by her leaving. There were girls right here on the woman’s doorstep, the daughters of neighbours she could train in the dairy, girls already familiar with the streets and alleyways of the town. They would have those same deliveries made that much more quickly; and Edward Langley would also be here ready to help.

Lifting an arm across her face Ann tried to blot out the pictures from her mind but still they came. Darkness was no barrier to the light of memory; she watched the girl she knew to be herself carry the bowl to the yard, saw her empty the contents into the open channel feeding into a drain then stand, bowl in hand, her gaze going across the field where Leah’s ‘girls’ grazed contentedly. But here in the silent solitude of her bedroom Ann knew it was not the cows that glance had sought but the tall figure of Edward Langley moving in the distance.

He had come bringing the evening milk yield from his own herd as usual, then stayed on to assist in the dairy, a practice not usual before Alec’s accident. But now with Alec being well enough to move on would that practice stop?

The attempt to shut out the past failed to halt either picture or word, so Ann lowered the arm flung across her brow.

What mental imp of mischief had urged she ask that question when in her heart she well knew the answer? But she had asked it.

Her glance had followed the figure, watched it disappear beyond the gentle swell of land that was the beginning of Hill Rise Farm while the result of her question replayed vividly.

Edward Langley had turned from hoisting a freshly scrubbed milk churn on to his cart and for an instant it had seemed there was a pleading in those clear brown eyes. Then turning again he had resumed the task of loading the cart.

Her head pressing into the pillow Ann felt the sting of what had followed bite at her afresh.

She had thought the silence following her question to mean he would not reply but with the last churn in place and the tailgate of the cart safely bolted he had turned to face her a second time, his eyes now holding a very different look. Any plea she might have seen was gone, replaced by a detachment hostile in its coldness.

‘
Miss Spencer . . .
’

His icily indifferent words again brought the chill they had produced when they had been said. ‘
Leah Marshall managed well enough before you came to live here and she will manage well enough after you are gone, a move I think would be best for all concerned were it done sooner rather than later.’

There had been no handshake, no word of regret at a friend’s leaving the district. He had not even smiled. A sadness such as she had not expected to feel had risen, bringing the choke of swift tears. Edward Langley had been so aloof, so impersonal in his attitude. But then what could you expect! Leah Marshall was as a mother to Edward Langley and he stood as one of the family she had lost; they were virtually mother and son so any feeling of regret must be for Leah, for her being let down by a woman she had befriended, taken into her own home when others of Wednesbury had turned their backs. That was how he viewed the matter; she, Ann Spencer, had let down the woman who meant so much to him and for Edward Langley that was unforgivable.

But there was no other way! The cry in her heart had winged silently after him. He had taken himself completely from her; whatever friendship might have built between them was over.

‘
I think would be best for all concerned were it done sooner rather than later.’

Edward Langley had made it perfectly clear. He would feel no loss at her going. But she? Ann closed her eyes against the surge of hot tears. She already felt loss, an emptiness that yawned like a deep dark well at the pit of her stomach.

Chapter 18

He wanted her gone, out of this town, wanted the complete assurance none of this would be taken from him, something only her leaving Wednesbury would give.

Thomas Thorpe glanced about the small study, drinking in its simple orderly neatness, the well-polished shelves which would hold his books, the comfortable chair drawn to the equally cared-for table which would serve as his desk.

His! Chagrin burned in Thorpe’s veins. This house, the chapel, and all that went with it belonged not to any stranger but to him. Thomas Thorpe should live here, Thomas Thorpe preach in that chapel, he and only he deserved to be minister. And he would be. Taking a long calming breath he glanced again about the room. With Ann Spencer gone there would be nothing to challenge his security.

He had intended she be spurned by those women, driven away as a result of their notions, ideas sown by him. Now the harvest was being reaped. But he would have preferred the process to take a while longer thus allowing time for him to reap his own reward, to enjoy in reality that which plagued his thoughts almost constantly: his rape of Ann Spencer.

But Leah Marshall’s little tirade had taken that delight from him; her saying she would supply nothing to women demanding her lodgers be sent packing might have seemed like a threat which would make Jinny Jinks and the rest withdraw their own ultimatum but on reflection she would have realised the real threat was against herself. Without custom there was no business and without either business or family to support her it would be Leah Marshall would suffer most, and for all her championing of the homeless the loss of her own was something the woman just could not risk: and so Ann Spencer and the brat she had with her were probably even now well away from Wednesbury. A pity – he reached for the oil lamp lighting the small room designed to be the minister’s study – but then where one delight was denied another was often given in its place. He would not now revel in feeling that girl’s fear, seeing the hope die in her eyes as she realised resistance was in vain. Oh yes, he smiled to himself, Ann Spencer would recognise her master, she would do exactly as she was told. He would have her undress, slowly, one garment after another until she stood naked, then after his gaze had travelled over every trembling limb, after he had drunk in every inch of that desirable body he would have her remove his clothing, while his fingers would trace unhurriedly over those tantalising breasts, play for delicious moments with firm cherry nipples then, almost lazily, one hand would slide from between those firm little mounds down, oh so pleasurably down, to that enticing vee.

The picture imagination painted was clear and vivid. Thomas Thorpe’s breath rasped in the silence but his ears heard only the quiet pleading sobs of the woman caught in his arms, the woman being pressed towards the bed . . . the alluring form spread-eagled . . . the tear-filled eyes begging then . . . Thomas Thorpe’s veins sang a wild triumph . . . his own naked body lowering, his legs forcing those trembling ones even further apart. He dragged again at the air, a raucous grating sound, as his inner eyes watched himself drive deep between slender thighs.

Passion jerked his hand against the glass lampshade and snatched the vision abruptly away.

That was all he would have of Ann Spencer, that self-induced illusion of what had so very nearly been his!

His fist slammed down on the table, making the lamp rock precariously, but in his anger of frustration he ignored it.

It was all Leah Marshall’s doing. She would be made to pay!

Revenge would be the salve easing the sting of disappointment. He would see her apologise, see her humbled, the pride of the woman destroyed.

Where would he require that recompense be made? He stared at the gentle glow of the lamp, a smile playing on his lips.

Where but the very place the warning of reprisal had been given? Leah Marshall would make retribution in the chapel.

But not from the doorstep!

She would be made walk the length of the chapel, stand at the very front of the room. There below the pulpit, the pulpit in which Thomas Thorpe stood, she would confess remorse to the entire congregation for her hasty behaviour.

An eye for an eye. Having that woman humiliated would go some way towards making amends but sweet as that would be it provided a poor substitute for that desire which even now dragged at his loins, a desire those evenings spent riding the panting unattractive Sarah Clews did not lessen.

There was another way to make Leah Marshall pay, one he would hold in store.

He turned off the lamp then walked out into the tiny hallway.

A means of ensuring the woman pain no apology could ever alleviate, not that Thomas Thorpe would ever have any intention of apologising.

The smile which had hovered on his lips deepened to a laugh in his throat.

Opening the door, he stepped into the night.

Thomas Thorpe would experience the sheer elation of telling Leah Marshall just how her beloved Deborah had died.

Thomas Thorpe froze, with the key in the lock. There was something nearby, something which did not wish to be seen. Breath snagged in his throat. Or someone? There had been no meeting at the chapel nor was this an evening when Sarah Clews came to clean the house so there was no reason for any member of the community to be here. An animal? He listened for sound, rejecting the idea when none came. A dog or a cat would have moved again, yet there had been no second movement.

He had been mistaken; it was no more than a trick of the mind. Those past few minutes, the thoughts he had enjoyed before leaving the study still had him a little unsettled.

They had been very pleasurable, especially— A sound close by made him glance towards the hedge. Was that a mistake?

Tension once more caught his breath as he stared harder into the line of the hedge. There it was again! A little further along branches swayed as from a sudden push, the movement sprinkling moonlight like silver sequins on to leaves night had painted black. However it was not that delicate moonlit ballet which held Thomas Thorpe transfixed but fear, cold and stark.

It was no animal moved among those bushes. The metal of the key bit hard against the pressure of his fingers but he ignored the sting.

No animal, so a person. But who? And why hide in the hedge? It seemed he rocked back on his heels when the answer came thudding into his brain.

Sarah Clews! The stupid cow of a girl must have told of their affair, spoken of what took place in this house the evenings she came to clean. After all he had said! A blade of anger twisted inside him. How many times had he said it must remain hidden, that she must not speak of it to anyone until he said she might? With each telling he had coated the subterfuge with the sugary lie that their love was so special he would have them keep it to themselves a while longer. But the dolt of a girl had not kept it to herself.

Love! The word snarled in his head. Sarah Clews was as much fool as she was whore to believe Thomas Thorpe in love with her.

But was she the fool he thought? Had she after all seen through his lies? Had she guessed at the true reason why he had insisted she tell no one? Had she recognised that she simply served the purpose of satisfying his lust and so to make sure of him had revealed all?

Stupid bitch! He swore silently. Sarah Clews was stupid as she was plain but her parents would not be so easily taken in, they would want wedding bells and that figure stepping from the shadowed hedge was Arthur Clews come to make certain they would ring.

He had pretended the key had fallen from his fingers, had bent close to the ground as though retrieving it but instead his hand had closed over a sizeable stone bordering the strip of flower garden. The figure had continued to come towards him, the crunch of feet on the gravelly ground matching the grinding beat of his nerves, yet somehow he had controlled the urge to run, had forced himself to prolong the pretence of searching for the key. Then, when the figure was almost at his side, he had sprung to his feet, in the same instant swinging the stone hard against Arthur Clews’ head.

Run!
His mind had turned in wild circles as the figure had dropped to the ground. Then as the stone had fallen from his hand caution took the firmer voice.
No
, it had said quietly,
no use to run, Clews knows who struck him, he’ll come after you
.

Come after you . . . come after you . . .