Pit Bank Wench (25 page)

‘No, Daisy.’ Emma returned the pressure of fingers still twined in her own. ‘I got what I asked for . . .’

‘Including a deal of stomach pain for the taking of it, I’ve no doubt!’ Sarah said, tartness again masking her true feelings.

Agreement reflecting in eyes the firelight tinged to blue midnight Emma continued, the pain of that night forgotten as the pain of what still remained to tell pressed into her heart.

‘My mother came into the room I shared with Carrie, my younger sister, she saw the pain the potion caused. I think she guessed it would serve no purpose. Later, when my father was told, he was very angry and . . . and somehow there was an accident and Carrie was hurt.’ Emma paused, knowing she was only skimming the surface of the truth, but she could not tell the full horror of what had really happened, nor the terrible cause of her sister’s taking her own life. The dancing flames shooting into the blackness of the chimney suddenly became those of a burning house, leaping high into the night sky, and her breath caught on an agonised sob.

Leaning towards her Sarah was restrained by Samuel’s hand, a brief shake of his head telling her soundlessly that it was best for Emma to continue, to break open some of the bonds that clasped her heart.

‘Mother sent me to fetch Jerusha, said she would know what to do. But when we returned the house was in flames and my parents and Carrie . . .’

‘Don’t say any more, child!’ Shrugging off her husband’s hand, Sarah was on her feet, her arms about Emma. ‘Don’t say any more. The Lord will give them rest.’

Held against Sarah’s ample bosom, Emma felt a dull throb of pain. ‘
The Lord will give them rest!
’ Tears squeezing out beneath her lashes, she curled the fingers of both hands tight into her palms. But who would give
her
rest?

‘How do you do?’

Melissa Gilbert’s long dark lashes dropped demurely as she dipped a slow curtsy. ‘I was so longing to meet you. Your brother told me of you.’

The lashes lifted, revealing grey eyes their smoky depths displaying a message that was more than one of mere welcome. ‘But his description was less than adequate.’

‘I hope the reality does not destroy the illusion.’ Paul touched her perfumed hand to his lips before releasing it.

‘Not destroy.’ Melissa’s smile was devastating. ‘It re-shapes it. Though from now on I need be under no illusion.’

‘Then you can’t be fooled by it.’ Handsome in deep burgundy, the cashmere cloth expertly tailored to his muscular figure, black hair highlighted by silver streaks brushed back from his forehead, Carver Felton stepped forward to take the hand his brother had relinquished.

‘Nor by you, Carver!’

Having watched the scene being played out in her sitting room, Cara Holgate’s mouth twisted into a caricature of a smile.

Lowering Melissa’s hand, Carver looked up into her smoky eyes, his own relaying nothing of the amusement that lurked within him. He knew the game she was playing and he knew she would not win. Melissa Gilbert was not for his brother, any more than that Doe Bank girl.

‘Fooled by me!’ He turned to Cara. Hair raven dark as his own and piled high on her head lent height to her figure which tonight was expensively gowned in deep red Shantung covered in pale gold lace, the silk clinging to every curve. ‘Since when have I ever tried to fool anyone?’

Green-gold eyes holding his, smile unwavering on her full sensuous mouth, Cara batted her eyelashes at him.

‘Since the first moment you drew breath. But even given your years of practice, you are still not proficient enough to dupe me.’

‘Then I shall not bother to try.’ Flicking back his coat tails, Carver lowered himself into a nearby chair. Why would he bother to fool Cara? She could manage that infinitely well for herself, especially if she were looking to take a percentage of Felton money.

Accepting the brandy she now held out to him, he ignored the lingering touch of her fingers, directing his attention to her cousin instead.

‘Have you told my brother how much you enjoyed your visit to his house, Melissa?’

Paul looked up as he too accepted a glass from Cara, his brows drawing together quizzically.

‘You have visited Beaufort House?’

Her mouth holding just the right amount of self reproval, grey eyes widening like a child caught at the sweet jar, Melissa touched her fan to her nose.

‘It was dreadful of me, I know,’ she murmured, letting her lashes droop once more. ‘I should have waited until you were home to make a proper call, but I was so intrigued.’

‘Intrigued?’ Paul’s frown deepened. ‘By Beaufort House?’

Dropping the fan to rest in her lap, Melissa kept her lashes lowered, adding a touch of embarrassment to her voice as she answered, ‘Not by the house, more its owner.’

‘That, I confess, is down to me.’ Carver laughed lightly as Paul’s quizzical glance switched to him. ‘I took Melissa to view the enamels at Bilston in order to choose some trinkets. On the way home we fell to talking of you and of the home our father left to you. Melissa expressed a wish to see it and since you were not there to satisfy that wish, I took it upon myself to play host.’

Lashes lifting to reveal a devastated look, Melissa’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I . . . I hope you do not mind? I am so very impetuous, as my cousin will tell you. I never could wait for anything on which I set my heart.’

Carver’s amused glance shifted to Cara. He saw the intensity of the stare she directed towards the younger woman. Who was it said jealousy had green eyes?

‘We were there only a very short while and I took only the tiniest peep.’ Her magnificent eyes filling with liquid appeal, mouth adopting an apologetic droop, she added, ‘Do say you forgive me, please, Paul?’

‘There is nothing to forgive.’ Paul smiled. ‘But Beaufort House deserves more than the tiniest peek. You must allow me the privilege of showing it to you myself, at a more leisurely pace.’

‘Oh, how lovely!’ Her embarrassment giving way to a dazzling smile, Melissa hid her triumph. ‘Do make it soon . . . But, oh! There I go again with my impetuous demands.’

‘Why not make it tomorrow?’ Carver withdrew his glance from Cara, but not before he saw the tightening of her mouth. ‘Paul will have no other opportunity for some weeks as he will be away on business. No doubt by the time he is finished you will have returned to your home in Rugeley.’

‘That would be perfect.’ Melissa clapped her gloved hands then looked at her cousin. ‘You had not made any plans for tomorrow, had you, my dear?’

‘No!’ Her glance razor sharp, full mouth drawn to a thin line, Cara turned away. ‘I had made no plans for tomorrow.’

‘Then that is settled.’ Carver drove home the final nail. ‘And you, my delicious little bundle, must wear this when my brother comes to pick you up.’

Taking a blue vellum-covered box from his pocket he handed it to Melissa, but as she exclaimed over the beautifully enamelled brooch his eyes were on Cara.

Picking up a crystal goblet he smiled into its glinting depths. His giving Melissa the brooch had annoyed the beautiful Cara, but it was not the sole cause of her annoyance nor was it the root of her jealousy. There was more than that biting away behind that beautiful face and clawing at her greedy heart.

Lifting his glass, Carver watched the myriad facets of coloured light dance from its intricate surface.

Cara Holgate was indeed jealous of her pretty cousin. And Carver knew why.

Chapter Seventeen

‘We’ve done well today, my little wench.’

Samuel’s smile spread as wide as his bushy whiskers as he wiped his hands on the apron that reached to his feet.

‘I could have sold half as much again. It be that pretty face of yours has drawn the customers.’

‘More likely their curiosity. They came to see who it was serving meat at butcher Hollington’s stall.’

‘Mebbe, mebbe!’ Samuel gathered his knives, placing them in the large wicker basket. ‘But if they be just as curious tomorrow then I’ll have no complaining. Ain’t nothing left but the chops I laid aside for you and Daisy.’

He broke off as a woman came hurrying to the stall.

‘I’ll take a pound of sausages – good thick ones, mind. I can’t ’ave no thin ones that don’t ’ave a good bite in the length of ’em!’

‘All my sausages are good and they be packed with the finest pork . . .’

‘Arr, I knows that!’ The woman fumbled beneath the shawl that draped her head and covered the whole of her upper body. Bringing out a tattered black purse she drew a coin that shone silver in the light of the candle jars that lit the stall. ‘That be why I be here and why I always buys my sausages from you. Now wrap me a pound so I can be getting ’ome before the old man gets in.’

‘I would and gladly.’ Samuel dropped the last of the knives into the basket. ‘’Cept I don’t have a pound. In fact, I don’t have a single sausage left, the whole lot be gone.’

The woman’s head lifted sharply and in the flickering anaemic yellow glow of the stall’s candle jars it showed pale and lined, a face worn by worry and long hours of labour. A face so like her mother’s had been that Emma caught her breath.

‘Sold out?’ Glinting in the dim light the woman’s eyes darted from one face to the other. ‘But I always comes at this time and I always takes a pound of your sausages, my ’usband won’t eat nobody else’s.’

‘I’m sorry, missis, but tonight you come too late. I sold the last few sausages more than an hour gone.’

‘But you ’ave to ’ave a few!’ The woman’s voice was stricken and her eyes held a frightened look. ‘He said special I was to get sausages for his supper. If I don’t bring ’em he’ll make my ’ead ring like the bells in St Bart’s steeple.’

Hand resting on the handle of his large basket, Samuel shook his head. ‘If I had any at all I’d give them to you and gladly, but like I says, the last of them be gone more than an hour since.’

Her hand closing over the coin, the woman clasped the shawl tight beneath her chin as if already shielding herself against a blow. ‘What am I to do?’ She glanced at Emma but her eyes held only fear. Then as she walked away she murmured again, ‘What am I to do?’

Catching Emma’s glance, Samuel lifted both his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Halfway along the Shambles by now, the woman’s steps were slow. Watching the huddled figure Emma could almost feel the fear held in that small frame.

Deaf to Samuel’s warning for her to heed the razor sharp blades, Emma plunged her hand into the basket. The package of chops gripped tight, she ran after the woman.

The short run adding to the tightness sight of that tired face had set in her throat, Emma gasped as she caught up with her.

‘Please, take these. Your husband might enjoy a pork chop as much as he would a sausage.’

Glancing at the package in Emma’s hand, the woman shook her head.

‘He be partial to a nice pork chop, ‘specially if it ’as a slice of kidney in it, but I can’t take them. The money I ’ave don’t run to the buying of pork chops on a Thursday.’

‘Mr Hollington sent them,’ Emma lied quickly. ‘He said, would you take them with his apologies and there would be no charge.’

‘I don’t ’ave to pay for ’em?’

Emma smiled into the tired face and shook her head.

‘A pork chop with a kidney, a pound of Jersey ’tatoes and a few green beans . . .’ The woman’s face brightened. ‘He’ll like that. And the money I don’t ’ave to spend on these chops will buy him a quart of Old Best. That’ll put a smile on his face.’

And hopefully keep his hands in his pockets, Emma thought as the woman thanked her.

‘Well, now, that were a right daft thing to do! Them chops were intended as supper for Daisy and yourself,’ Samuel reprimanded as she returned.

‘They’ll do that woman more good, especially if they save her a beating.’ Emma blew into a jam jar, extinguishing the candle inside it. ‘And I’m sure Daisy won’t mind when I explain.’

‘Don’t go taking any bets.’ Samuel smiled. ‘That young wench likes her supper.’

So did she. Emma blew out the remaining candles. But it was worth going without to help that woman who’d looked as if one more beating would be enough to kill her.

‘Don’t go leaving them candles in the jars.’ Samuel looked back from placing the wicker basket on the hand cart. ‘We’ve given one present tonight. No call to go leaving them for the first light-fingered Johnny who passes by. Eh!’ He took up the handles of the cart. ‘Fancy giving your supper away!’

Dropping into step beside him, Emma pulled her shawl over her head. ‘You said
you
would have given the woman sausages and been glad to.’ She smiled in the darkness. ‘Why shouldn’t I do the same?’

‘Arr wench, why shouldn’t you? It was an act of Christian charity, and like the Lord told us, there be no greater act. Be sure He’s seen it and will repay in His own way.’

I will repay, saith the Lord.
Emma shivered as her father’s preaching suddenly echoed in her mind.

Had he been repaid . . . had the Lord given his deserts to the preacher man?

Pulling the shawl closer about her face, Emma hid the spilling tears.

‘It’s a lovely house, Emma, I never seen anything as pretty. Mrs Hollington her let me touch vases and them little statues that stand on the parlour mantel. Oh, I forgot, you haven’t seen the parlour. Eh, Emma, it be so clean! And the lamps they have these long pieces of glass dangling down, just like long blue fingers. Oh, wait ’til you see!’

Her back aching from long hours spent standing in the market followed by the walk back to the Hollingtons’ house, Emma wanted only to sit down and close her eyes.

‘. . . and the garden, it has flowers and trees. Mrs Hollington says there be apples and pears and damsons. She said we could pick some come a couple more weeks . . .’ Excited by her own day, Daisy prattled on.

Emma had often been weary after a day spent scrabbling for coal chippings on the pit bank but her mother had always been there with a word of comfort, and Came . . . She closed her eyes against the wave of emotion that left her shivering . . . Carrie and her mother had always been there, a part of her life. Their love had been the threads that held that life together and now those threads were broken as was her life, destroyed by two men, her father and Carver Felton.