For The Sake of Her Family (8 page)

Five o’clock! The only time Alice was ever up that early was when the sun beamed through her window in midsummer, and the combination of clear blue skies and the twitter of swifts
compelled her to venture out of doors and up the fellside before anyone else was awake. Now she going to have to do that every morning – not in order to breathe in pure mountain air, but to
lay coal fires and prepare other people’s meals, without so much as a glimpse of the outside world.

As she placed the clock in its new place next to her bed, Alice realized that she would never again see it as a reminder of her old life at the farm. From here on the clock would be her master.
She’d be counting off the hours to Sunday lunchtime, her one afternoon of rest; maybe even counting to the day she went to the manor.

Oh, why had she sat listening on the stairs that terrible evening instead of marching in there and fighting for her birthplace, for her right to remain at Dale End? Alice tightened her fists in
frustration, fingers going white and numb with anger. Perhaps working at the Moon hadn’t been the right decision, but for the time being she had no alternative but to put her head down and
make the best of it. It would do for now, but she had no intention of remaining in this attic bedroom a moment longer than she had to. When and if an opportunity arose to better herself, she would
be ready to grab it with both hands – and damn the consequences.

‘Put your back into it, you lazy bugger! No wonder they fecking well call you Glassback Murphy.’ Sean O’Hara wiped his brow with his sleeve; sweat was
dripping off him as he oversaw the loading of the marble slab. That Murphy was going to have to go: he was bloody useless. The rest of them weren’t much better. ‘Come on, men –
what are you waiting for? Open the sluice gate, damn you. Let’s get this wheel turning. Bloody stuff won’t cut itself!’

As the crew rushed to obey his commands, the great waterwheel powered the saw into action. About fecking time, thought O’Hara. Sure, hadn’t he been up since the crack o’ dawn
getting that chunk o’ stone in place – and what the feck for? All so some rich man in London could have a new fireplace in his dining room, and lean against it hobnobbing with his
well-to-do friends. Those types had more money than sense. Sure, what was wrong with an open fire, so long as you’d a tot of whisky in hand?

There, that was the trickiest part of the job done. He could leave the buggers to it for a while. Boss wouldn’t show up for a few hours yet, so he might as well nip home for a quick
nap.

He was almost at the cottage door when he heard horses’ hooves striking the cobbles of the works yard. Hurrying in the direction of the sound, he found Lord Frankland dismounting from his
trap, accompanied by two young men who seemed vaguely familiar, though the Irishman couldn’t remember where he knew them from.

‘Ah, O’Hara – just the man.’ He turned to indicate his companions: ‘The tall fellow is Will Bentham; the other is Jack Alderson. I want you to show them around the
quarry and mill, and explain to them what it is we do here. Think you can manage that, O’Hara?’

‘To be sure, sir.’ Sean eyed the two young men, trying to fathom why they would be wanting a tour around the quarry and works. They didn’t look like management; judging by
their clothes, they were a couple of farm lads. Their faces gave nothing away. If anything, they appeared every bit as bemused as he was. ‘Are they to be working for me, sir? Only, I’ve
all the men I need, and I—’

‘For the time being, I just want them to observe and report back to me. Since taking the place over after the death of my parents, I’ve been too busy with other commitments to give
the marble works much attention. It strikes me that a couple of pairs of fresh eyes are needed to judge how efficiently the place operates. I myself will be out of the country for the next few
weeks – my business in Russia requires my attention. In the meantime, I expect you to take care of them, O’Hara, and show them everything. And I do mean everything.’ Gerald
Frankland tapped the Irishman lightly on the shoulder with the tip of his stick, as if pressing home the message.

‘I will, sir. Don’t you worry, sir, I’ll show them how well run Stone House is. I’m sure they’ll be impressed, indeed they will, sir.’ Despite his jovial
tone, O’Hara was inwardly seething. The last thing he needed was two wet-behind-the-ears farm boys sticking their noses in and running back to his lordship telling tales. Pair of spies,
that’s what they were. So far as O’Hara was concerned, the marble works was running very nicely, thank you; he’d spent the last few years arranging things to his satisfaction. And
if these two thought they were going to interfere . . . His thoughts were interrupted by another tap of Frankland’s stick on his shoulder.

‘One more thing – these fellows are locals, but they’ll need transport to get to and from their living quarters. See to it that the horse and buggy is at their disposal for the
duration of their stay.’

‘But, sir, I might need it myself.’ So far as O’Hara was concerned, this was the final insult. His face betrayed his indignation, and the mutinous look in his eye prompted a
steely response from Lord Frankland.

‘I’ve seen you with that gelding I got you, O’Hara. Good horse, but it doesn’t appear to enjoy being mastered by you. Now, Jack here is my top man when it comes to horses
– he might just bring it under control for you.’ He laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder and nudged him slightly to the fore of the group.

Jack was at a loss what to say. Smiling nervously, his blush getting the better of him, he reached out to shake O’Hara’s hand.

‘If you can make anything of that beast, you might as well have him, the flighty bastard!’ O’Hara ignored the outstretched hand. ‘Only thing he understands is the touch
of the whip. Ah! You’re welcome to him – go on, take him, fecking useless brute.’ As if to emphasize his contempt for Lord Frankland, his horse and the two cuckoos about to occupy
the marble works nest, O’Hara spat on the path, then stormed off in the direction of his cottage.

‘Well, boys, you heard what I said.’ Gerald Frankland, unfazed by the Irishman’s wrath, slapped them both on the back. ‘Your silence on the way up here and the look on
your faces told me everything I needed to know – the gossip I’ve been hearing about Stone House is true. When I return in a fortnight, I shall expect you to report to me and tell me
exactly what is going on here. Don’t let O’Hara bully you – he’s a brute of a man, but he’ll not dare hurt you while he knows you’ve got my support.’

‘I’m not happy with this, sir.’ Will looked Gerald Frankland in the eye. Why had he picked him and Jack? They knew nothing of marble works.

‘Nonsense, lad, it’ll be the making of you. Right, I’ll be off. I suggest you spend the first couple of days watching and listening, and then start asking questions. Get to
know the workers, see what they have to say. By the end of the fortnight, I expect you to be able to tell me everything there is to know about Stone House.’ He mounted the trap and turned his
horses in the direction of home. ‘And, Jack, take a good look at that gelding – it was in a bad way last time I saw it.’ With that he whipped the horses into action, and the trap
was soon lost in a cloud of dust as it sped off towards the manor.

Will and Jack watched him depart, feeling like a pair of foundlings abandoned in a hard, dangerous world. Ever since Frankland had first mentioned his intention of sending them to Stone House,
they’d been dreading this day. Both lads had assumed they were going to be joining the marble works crew; though neither of them had relished the prospect, it would have been preferable to
this. Telling tales on the burly Irishman was risky enough – O’Hara was notorious for his violent temper – but Frankland had forewarned the man. He was going to be watching them
like a hawk.

Will turned to his friend. ‘What do you make of that, Jack? Talk about a carry on! I don’t know if I’m right happy with what he expects us to do. I’m not one for snooping
on folk.’

‘Before we do anything else, let’s go take a look at that gelding. I don’t like to hear of any animal being bad done to.’ Jack’s soft nature was taking over.
‘As for the rest, I reckon we’ll be all right if we stay together and steer clear of O’Hara. At least we can go back to the manor of a night.’

‘OK, we’ll give it a go. But I still think he should do his own dirty work.’ Will had never cared for Gerald Frankland – toffs weren’t to be trusted, as far as he
was concerned – and his recent eviction from Dale End Farm had only served to reinforce that view.

Together they set off up the rough, weed-filled yard in search of the stable. Guided by the reek of rotting manure, they followed their noses until they reached a tall wooden door. When they
opened it, vile-smelling remains of what had once been bedding tumbled out onto the yard floor. Peering into the gloom of the stable, they saw what looked to be a decrepit old nag, its back and
flanks covered with festering sores and its ribs showing through as if it had been starved for some time. It flinched in fear as Jack entered the stable. Speaking gently all the while, Jack
gradually calmed the beast so that he could run his knowing hands over its body and judge its age by checking its teeth. His face was grim and his jaw taut with fury by the time he’d
finished. Will couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mild-natured friend so angry.

‘We’re stopping, Will, ’cos of this poor fellow. He looks at least twenty, but he’s only a young ’un. If O’Hara can treat a horse like this, God knows what
we’re going to find at the works and quarry. By God, I’d like to do to him what he’s done to this animal, the bastard.’

Will simply nodded. There was no point arguing: they were stuck with their new job as spies for the manor. Life was not going to be comfortable for the next fortnight. Then again, it was only
fourteen days. What could happen in fourteen days?

‘Now, sir, would we like another dish of porridge?’ Alice smiled sweetly at the toothless leer of Old Todd, a travelling salesman who stopped at the Moon at least
once a month, making him the inn’s most regular guest. She swore if he slapped her bottom one more time, she would accidently spill his porridge right down the front of his throbbing
breeches. That would cool his ardour for a while, dirty old man!

She’d only been at the Moon a week when Old Todd, whose lecherous eyes never missed a single move she made, caught her putting some bits of bacon in her apron pocket. Just a few offcuts
she was planning to give to Will so he wouldn’t go hungry; they had more food in that place than she’d ever seen in her life, and when she found out they were in the habit of throwing
the offcuts away, she didn’t think anyone would mind if she helped herself. But Old Todd had accused her of stealing, and then he’d threatened her, saying if she didn’t come to a
‘little understanding’ with him, he’d tell Annie Woodhead and then she’d be kicked out on the street and everyone in the dale would know she was a thief. Left with no
choice, Alice had agreed to his ‘little understanding’ and gone to meet him in the churchyard, where she’d had to endure his fumbling hands on her and his stinking breath. It had
been such a relief when he’d packed his bags and departed on his travels, but now he was back, leering at her every time she passed his table. How she hated the sight of him.

Working at the Moon had opened her eyes to a whole new world. But no matter what went on in the bar or under the Moon’s roof, it stayed there; tittle-tattle was frowned upon. ‘No
matter what, keep your mouth closed and get on with your job,’ Mrs Woodhead had told her. Alice had never worked so hard in her life, but still she was thankful for a roof over her head and a
full stomach. Annie Woodhead was proving to be a good cook and a fair boss; she always made sure that Alice got her meals and had her privacy in the evening, when all the jobs were done.

Her only break was on a Sunday afternoon, when she could do as she pleased. Usually that meant spending time with Will, catching up on the week’s events. Wednesdays were spent at the
manor; though she’d never have believed it in the light of their stormy first meeting, Nancy Frankland had turned out to be Alice’s saviour. Although she had a temper and sometimes did
not get out of her bed, now that Alice understood the pain, both physical and mental, that tormented that petite body, she was prepared to make allowances. She was convinced that if she could only
persuade Nancy to leave the manor occasionally and join her in visiting some of her favourite haunts it would do the poor girl the world of good. As it was, she would settle for enticing her out of
her bedroom and down the stairs . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hand grabbing at her skirts as she collected the empty dishes from Old Todd’s table. Alice flinched, but much as she hated him, she knew she
daren’t upset him. She’d been naive enough to believe that if she submitted to his ‘little understanding’ it would only be the once. Now she knew better: he had a hold on
her and he wasn’t going to let her forget it.

‘What about it, lass – fancy doing an old man a favour for an extra bob or two?’ Drooling at the thought of sex with a young virgin, he wiped his toothless mouth on his sleeve,
smearing saliva over his chin.

Feeling sick at the thought of the old lecher’s hands on her, Alice retreated to the safety of the main bar.

‘Is Mr Todd giving you bother, Alice? He’s always been an old devil where the lasses are concerned. I wouldn’t mind, but his daughters are about your age. If only his wife
knew. I bet he’s up to his tricks in every pub in the district.’ Annie Woodhead gave the culprit a discreet glance, watching him check his pocket watch while he finished his breakfast
tea. ‘I’ll have words, if you want?’ she whispered.

‘You’ll do no such thing, Annie Woodhead!’ snapped Uriah, whose hearing was sharp enough when it suited him. ‘That’s what keeps the randy old devil coming back to
us – he still thinks he’s a young stallion. Besides, Alice can handle him, can’t you, girl?’ He winked at her and smiled.

‘I can handle Mr Todd. I just wish he’d realize how daft he makes himself look. Has he no respect for his wife and family?’