Through Glass Eyes (4 page)

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Without being invited he hung his hat on the coat hook, took off his jacket and settled himself opposite Mrs Oldfield in front of the fire. ‘Nice and warm in ’ere.’

‘Got two bags of coal delivered this week. Our Lucy’s got money and she’s got a job too. Go on, lass, tell him about your new job.’

‘Not now, Mum. Plenty of time to talk about that later.’

‘Tell me, Mr Mellor—’ Lucy said.

‘Arthur to you, love. Call me Arthur or Arty, that’s what me friends call me!’

‘Tell me Arthur,’ said Lucy, ‘I seem to be at a bit of a disadvantage. It’s a long time since we first met and I don’t remember where you came from or what you did for a living?’

‘Bad memory, have you?’ he said, loosening his tie, ‘I work with me father. We’ve got a place the other side of Skipton. Good land out there. Sheep mainly, but there's plenty of game too.’ He leaned over to Mrs Oldfield and whispered in her ear. ‘Would you like me to bring you a couple of fat rabbits or a nice red grouse next time I’m out this way?’

‘Fancy that, us eating grouse in this place.’ The woman looked across at her daughter who was not impressed. ‘What’s wrong with your face, lass? You’re allowed to smile.’

But Lucy was more interested in Arthur’s jacket hanging over the back of the chair. She knew the cut of an expensive suit and recognized a nice piece of tweed when she saw one. ‘You and your father must be doing very well,’ she said.

‘Can’t complain.’

Lucy handed a cup to her mother. Arthur helped himself.

‘So,’ he said. ‘You’ve finished at the big house I’m told.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘So, you’ll be home here on weekends.’

‘I shall be home on Sundays but I take mother to chapel in the morning.’

‘Perhaps I should join you, then we can come back here and spend the afternoon together.’

Lucy looked to her mother for support.

‘And you and me can take a walk if the weather’s nice. Get to know each other a bit better,’ he said.

‘Excuse me, Arthur, but I have only been home a few weeks and what with Christmas, I haven’t caught up on all the jobs that need doing around the place.’

‘Then I’ll come over and help you.’

‘But I want to spend some time with my mother. I’ve hardly seen her over the last six years. We’ve a lot of catching up to do.’

‘Then I’ll sit quiet as a mouse and not say a word.’

Mrs Oldfield looked across at her daughter. ‘Oh, lass, you and me’s got every night of the week to chin-wag and it would be so nice to see Arthur around the place. Don’t be mean.’

There was no discouraging either of them so Lucy just smiled, though her eyes did not show it. ‘Whatever pleases you, Mum.’

‘Next Sunday then?’
Arthur said, grinning. ‘It’s a date. And let’s hope it’s not raining.’

‘Mother, put your sewing down. We must talk.’

‘But I can talk and sew, lass.’

‘Leave it, Mother!’

Mrs Oldfield held the yellowed christening gown at arm’s length. ‘Got it off the ragman for a penny,’ she said. ‘Told him it’d make a good duster, but I’m fixing this up for that old doll of yours. It’ll make a fine dress. You can’t have the poor mite sitting around forever with no clothes on. Ain’t decent her sitting there in nowt but her britches.’

‘Mother!
I said leave it!’

Shaking her head, the widow place her sewing on the cushion, folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in the chair.

‘You have to stop encouraging Arthur from visiting,’ Lucy said.

‘But I thought you liked him. He’s ever so polite and helpful. And he has done such a lot for us.’

‘A lot for you maybe!’ she argued, frustratedly. ‘There’s just something about the man which I don’t like. And he comes here every Sunday. Never misses.’

‘And isn’t it nice that we all go to chapel together? The ladies think he’s such a lovely young man, I’ve heard them saying so.’

‘I don’t care what the ladies think,’ Lucy yelled. ‘I don’t like it that he comes home after service and sits down like he owns this place and then stays till after dark. Even then it’s hard to get rid of him.’

‘Lucy luv, you’re not being fair.’

‘Mum, it’s not a case of being fair. I’m twenty-two already and I’m not married, and I would like to find a nice gentleman to walk me out, but I want to choose my own fella and not be rushed into anything.’

‘Well, Arthur has been calling round for three months now. I hardly call that rushing things.’

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’m wasting my breath, Mum, aren’t I?’

‘Just settle down, lass. Everything’ll work out for the best. Now be a good girl and hand me that doll. Let me try fit this dress on her, then you can tell me how you think she looks.’

Lucy flung the doll at her mother and ran upstairs.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Arthur shouted, throwing his cap on the sofa. ‘I had a bit of extra work to do for me Dad. I’ll put the kettle on.’

Lucy looked up from her book. ‘Mum’s not well.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Doctor’s not sure. He said she has a big lump in the side of her belly that shouldn’t be there. He thinks it could be the cancer.’

‘Can he do anything?’

‘No,’ Lucy said quietly. ‘She’s too old and besides we can’t afford hospitals and doctors.’

Arthur picked up his hat and placed it on the hook behind the door. ‘I’ll go up and see her then? Might be able to cheer her up.’

‘Yes, she’ll probably like that.’ Lucy dried two cups and saucers.

When Arthur returned Lucy noticed a change in his tone.

‘She don’t look too good, does she?’

‘No, she doesn’t.’

‘She’s a good old lass,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I suppose I took a liking to her because she reminded me of my old mum. Not that I can remember her much. She died when I was young. But she was a bright spark. Never a bad word for anyone. Just like your mum.’

Lucy sighed and allowed herself to sink back into the sofa.

Arthur sat down beside her. ‘I know I ruffle your feathers sometimes, but we could be good friends, you and me, if you know what I mean.’

As Lucy gazed into the fire, he put his hand on hers.

‘If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.’

She thought about his words. ‘But where can I find you if I need you?’

‘Don’t you worry, I’ll come around during the week. If you want I can stay with her in the daytime.’

‘But what about work?’

Don’t worry about that. I’ll fix it with my Dad. It’ll be all right.’

‘No you mustn’t do that. We’ve got good neighbours who’ll give an eye to her. And if she’s really sick I’ll ask Mr Camrass to let me have some days off.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he said.

She felt ungrateful. ‘I’m sorry, Arthur. I know I sound abrupt sometimes, but it’s just my way and I do appreciate what you have done for Mum.’

Leaning forward, he planted a peck on Lucy’s cheek. ‘There,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t too bad was it?’

Lucy smiled through the tears and let him put his arm around her.

‘It’s something about a house when someone’s sick,’ she said. ‘You can smell it, can’t you?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

On Sunday, 13 April, Mrs Oldfield died. The next day Lucy went to work but took the following Wednesday off for the funeral.

Arthur stayed for the whole week.  

Chapter 3

Arthur Mellor

Lucy felt guilty asking for a day off especially when she had to lie to her employers, telling them she needed the time in connection with her mother’s financial affairs. But having spent all his life involved with the antique business, old Mr Camrass was well acquainted with the problems relating to deceased estates. Unfortunately, his sympathetic attitude made Lucy feel even worse. She had not wanted to deceive the two gentlemen, but she could think of no alternative.

It took nearly an hour to walk to the station. It was still dark when she left the house, but by the time she got to the city it was daylight. The platform was cold but the gas fire, burning in the waiting-room, took some of the chill off the air. Sitting on the bench facing the other travellers, she wondered if she was being foolish and behaving like a child. If she had any sense at all, she would turn around and go home and put the silly thoughts out of her head.

There were certain things Arthur said which did not ring true and it was those conversations that echoed in her head. There was something about him that nagged her, exasperated her and compelled her to go to Skipton to search for the truth.

Clutching a ticket in her hand and with the engine belching steam across the platform, Lucy climbed into the end compartment. A gentleman got in after her and occupied the seat in the opposite corner, his back was to the engine. As the train pulled away he took a periodical from his coat pocket and did not look up for the rest of the journey.

With her eyes fixed on the view from the window beside her, Lucy absorbed the changing scenery as it flashed by, from the factories backing on the canal, to the grimy mill buildings, the tall chimneys belching smoke, and the rows of houses, not unlike her mother’s, running parallel up the hills like furrows in a field. Then, when the houses disappeared, they were replaced by woods and meadows. She saw sheep and cattle grazing and country scenes, the likes of which she’d not seen since the day she left the Hall. As outings like this did not occur often in Lucy’s life, she resolved to enjoy it, no matter what the outcome.

‘Skipton!
Skipton!’ The station-master’s voice rang like a tolling bell along the short platform. The train shuddered to a halt.

‘Allow me, miss,’ the gentleman said, as he opened the door.

Lucy thanked him. He had a kindly face. Fatherly. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘could you tell me the way to the post office?’

‘You’ll find it on the main road, opposite the police station. I suggest you follow the crowd. Most folk will be going in that direction because it’s Wednesday and today is market day.’

Lucy thanked him and stepped down to the platform. As the smoke and steam drifted away, she was able to see how many passengers had got off the train. She was surprised. More than she had expected. But it had stopped at all the small stations along the way.

After joining the queue, Lucy filed past the ticket collector and mingled with the crowd heading for the high street.

It was ten o’clock and market stalls which lined both sides of the street were busy. Some spilled into the side lanes and alleyways. The busiest area was the town’s square where the crowds wandered leisurely much to the chagrin of the carters and travellers who were only passing through.

The stalls varied greatly in size and construction, from planks resting on empty barrels to large tables, handcarts and dray wagons each laden with all  manner of goods – pots, pans and brushes, knitted socks, felt waistcoats, jars of preserves, fresh garlic, spices, smelling salts, soaps and candles. Each stall had its own distinctive sound and smell.

‘Toffee!
Bag of toffee, love!’

‘Lavender!
Dried lavender!’

‘Best price, lady!
T’pence a pound!’

‘Brand new cure-all!
Dr Watts' special formula!’

Lucy walked on, smiling. It was only her second visit to Skipton and she was enjoying the atmosphere. Country markets were always far friendlier than those in the city.

Gazing at the wares made her forget what she was looking for and she had to retrace her steps.  The red pillar box outside the post office was almost hidden between two stalls.

‘I am looking for a family by the name of Mellor,’ Lucy said, to the clerk behind the counter. ‘Mr Mellor and his son, Arthur. I understand they have a farm near here.’

‘Mellor?’ said the clerk, scratching his head. ‘Name don’t ring a bell.’

‘I believe they have some sheep.’ 

The man laughed. ‘There’s lots of smallholdings ’round these parts and lots of people got sheep.’ He shouted to the back of the shop. ‘Ivy, do you know anyone by the name of Mellor?’

‘Not ’round these parts!’

‘Try the police station. It’s over the road,’ the clerk said. ‘They might know if they’ve had dealings with them.’

‘I hope not,’ said Lucy, imagining the worst. ‘Thank you anyway.’

The result in the police station was the same. No Mellors in this area. As Lucy wandered out she felt confused. Had she misheard Arthur? Perhaps it wasn’t Skipton he came from. And if that was the case, she had come on a wild goose chase and it had cost her dearly.

‘I’m so sorry!’ the gentleman said, as Lucy walked straight into him. He leaned down and picked up her basket.

‘No, it was my fault,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m afraid my mind was on other things.’

‘I trust you found what you were searching for?’

Surprised by his comment, Lucy hadn’t recognized the quiet passenger who had shared the train journey with her. She smiled politely, unsure of what to say. ‘Not exactly, but thank you anyway.’

Doffing his hat, the man bade her good day and continued along the street.

Lucy stood for a moment wondering what to do next. She knew the afternoon train to Leeds was not leaving until half-past three, that meant she had several hours to wait. She hadn’t considered idling in the village for the whole day. She had expected to discover where Arthur lived and to visit his farm, even if he wasn’t home.

Now she must find something to occupy her time. A cup of tea appealed to her. It would be nice to be waited on, just for once. There was a little tea shop near the station. She could spend an hour over a pot of tea and before that she would waste a little time browsing through the stalls. No one would think it unusual for a young woman to be ambling about Skipton alone on market day.

Lucy would never have ventured down the narrow side street if it had not been for the horse and cart on the high street which was causing problems. It appeared that one of the wagon’s shafts had broken, dragging the leather harness down with it. As the horse fought to untangle itself, it became increasingly agitated, forcing its load backwards into a group of stalls. Women screamed. Men shouted. Had she not seen what the commotion was about, she might have feared for her safety. The best thing, she thought, was to keep herself out of harm’s way, so she turned down a narrow alley.