It sometimes seemed to him that the peace he found in the ancient building seeped into his very bones and he would come back to the inn seeing no need for anything but a quiet life earning his daily bread, not being greedy for money, helping others when he could, as he’d helped several sets of fugitives now. He often wondered what had become of the first ones, though. So many children for that poor couple to tramp the roads with. He hoped they’d found a home.
He went out to tend the mare and check the cart, finding the stranger’s sodden bundle lying in the back of the latter. Oh, dear! He should have remembered that last night. He took it in to Phoebe, who opened it and made a sad sound as she found a child’s clothing inside as well as the woman’s, and a small child’s at that.
‘Eh, the poor lass!’ she said quietly. ‘And to think of her keeping them. She must have loved her daughter very much.’
They both contemplated the little garments, then Phoebe looked at the clock and gave him a shove. ‘Look at the time. You’d better get on with things, Toby love. We’re late starting today.’
Once or twice as he worked he remembered his encounter with Mrs Greenhalgh in Halifax and wondered what his dear brother would say to that. Well, let him say what he would. Toby had more or less promised Jethro Greenhalgh to stay away from Backenshaw, even though he missed his old friends, but he wasn’t limiting where else he went. He had a business to run, Phoebe dependent on him – and now a stranger to look after, too. He must be free to do the best he could for them and go wherever he needed to.
He paused, puzzled. Why had he included the stranger in his responsibilities? He didn’t know. But he certainly wasn’t turning the poor woman out into the wintry weather so he’d have to look after her for a while. How she’d survived so far was a mystery to him – and probably to her as well.
Jethro sat in his carriage on his way to see Andrew. The latter had summoned him urgently but hadn’t revealed why in his hurried note. Jethro was growing a little tired of these summonses, because he was enjoying the simple pleasures of living with his wife and not having his father ordering him around. And he enjoyed the happier atmosphere in the mill, too. He felt no need these days to be always seeking more ways to make money. The mill and a few other business investments produced more than enough for a sane man.
But Andrew seemed driven in the same way Jethro’s father had been, always seeing trouble, always dissatisfied and wanting to make more money. He could never have enough and kept coming up with new and more grandiose plans to make their fortunes. John Greenhalgh would have been interested in such plans, but Jethro wasn’t, especially when they broke the law.
There was nothing like marriage and fathering children for sobering a man down, he decided with a wry smile at himself.
When he arrived in Tappersley, Harriet came out to greet him and ask after her sister.
Andrew pulled her back roughly. ‘Get about your business, woman! He’s come to see me on a matter of urgency, not to tattle over teacups with you.’
Jethro saw her eyes fill with tears and looked at his host in disapproval. He had felt guilty for a while now because each time he saw her, his sister-in-law looked more subdued and downtrodden. As the two men went into the mill office, Jethro said mildly, ‘I was surprised to hear you speak to Harriet like that. Are the two of you not on good terms?’
‘You know what’s wrong. She’s not done what I wanted her for, not produced a son for me.’
‘That’s still no reason to treat her like that.’
‘Mind your own business. My private life’s my own.’
Jethro could feel himself stiffening. ‘It
is
my business. She’s my wife’s sister, for goodness’ sake. If you make Harriet unhappy you make my wife unhappy too. Besides—’ He broke off, not sure whether to proffer advice or not.
‘Besides what?’
‘If you want to get a woman with child, Tettie says you should make sure she’s content. The unhappier the woman, the less likely she is to conceive.’
‘Have you been discussing my affairs with your damned nursemaid?’ Andrew thumped the desk, his face flushing with anger.
Jethro could feel the muscles in his own face growing rigid, could always tell when he’d donned that expressionless mask he saw sometimes in the mirror. Well, with a father like his, it’d sometimes been extremely important not to betray his true feelings. ‘Certainly not. I consulted Tettie when I wanted to get
my
wife with child and followed her advice – with the results you see. One son born, another child on the way.’
‘Sophia’s breeding
again
?’
‘Yes.’
‘Congratulations.’
He sounded, Jethro thought, as if the word had nearly choked him.
‘But you can still keep out of my affairs. I treat my wife as I see fit. I don’t believe in pampering women. They’re there to serve us, not the other way around.’
Jethro said no more, could only hope the seeds he had planted would take root. He was feeling guilty now that he’d matched Harriet with Andrew, but hadn’t previously realised how badly his fellow millowner treated women because Andrew had been more his father’s friend than his and Jethro had not often come here in those days. He changed the subject because he knew when it was unwise to pursue a point. ‘You said you had something urgent to tell me?’
‘Aye. Your bastard brother has been seen in Halifax.’
‘Well, it’s only to be expected that he’ll visit nearby towns.’
‘He was seen there by our wives.’
‘Ah.’
‘And
your
fool of a wife accosted him, asked him who he was.’
Jethro paused for a moment to control his reaction to that way of describing Sophia, then managed to ask quietly, ‘Did she now? And what did he tell her?’
‘Said he was a distant connection, according to Harriet. She was full of the resemblance between him and you, couldn’t stop talking about it till I shut her up.’ He let out a little growl of anger and the quill he’d been fiddling with snapped suddenly. ‘Did your precious Sophia not tell you about the encounter?’
‘No.’ And he’d have words with his wife when he got back about that – no, not ‘have words’ but ask her gently. In her condition he didn’t want to upset her.
‘I think we’ve no choice but to get rid of Fletcher now. An accident, perhaps. Your spy can arrange something, no doubt? I gather that fellow will do anything for money.’
Jethro didn’t even need to consider this. ‘No.’ The word was flat and very emphatic.
‘Why not? Surely you’ve not grown squeamish? You’re John Greenhalgh’s son, for heaven’s sake. He’d not hesitate to rid himself of a problem.’
‘He never touched Fletcher, who was always a risk. And when he was on his deathbed my father made me promise not to harm the man. I see no reason to kill my half-brother just for existing.’
‘What happens if someone recognises him, knows the story, lets the secret out?’
‘I think if that were going to happen it’d have done so by now.’
‘It can still happen at any time, as I keep damned well telling you!’
‘Well, if it does, we’ll deal with it then. After all, it’s me who’ll be affected not you.’
‘If one secret comes out, others will follow. I’ve no mind to have
my
past raked over in public.’
‘Then let sleeping dogs lie.’
Andrew spent half an hour trying to change his companion’s mind, by which time each man was holding his temper on a tight leash.
Tired of arguing, Jethro stood up. ‘This is getting us nowhere. If that’s the only reason you brought me here, then I’ll get back home. I do have a mill to run and a family to care for. That’s enough for me these days – and should be enough for you too. What do you need more money for anyway?’
‘To rub in the faces of the county set. To make them recognise men like us.’
‘A waste of time. They’ll never treat us as equals, however rich we become. Who cares what they think anyway?’
‘I do.’
Jethro waited impatiently for his carriage to be brought round, refused an offer of refreshment that was made grudgingly and was relieved to get away from a man who increasingly irritated him. All he regretted was that he’d not managed to speak to Harriet. He’d ask Sophia to question her sister, find out why she looked so unhappy.
On the way back he saw the Packhorse in the distance and on a whim stopped there for a drink and something to eat. He might as well see how things were for himself.
To his surprise he was served in a side parlour clearly set aside for the better class of customer, and the dish of stew was very palatable indeed, though Dixon’s wife who served him didn’t look well and apologised for coughing.
His half-brother came to stand in the doorway.
‘You didn’t come for your free pot of ale this year.’
‘I was too busy.’
‘We’ll not charge you for the meal, then. After all, you are a relative.’
Jethro looked at him and decided to speak openly. ‘I have to thank you, I believe, Fletcher, for telling my wife that you’re only a distant connection.’
‘It suits me better. I’m not proud to have my name linked with yours.’
‘What’s wrong with the name Greenhalgh?’
‘It’s associated with harsh treatment of the folk who work for you and bring in all that money.’
‘I think you’ll find that things have changed since my father’s day.’
‘Pity they didn’t change before
my
mother worked herself to death in that mill.’
Anger sparked briefly in Jethro but he held it firmly back. He had to admire his half-brother’s calmer demeanour, even if reluctantly. ‘How is business?’
‘Adequate for my needs. Excuse me.’
Someone had come into the public room and Jethro listened to Toby exchanging greetings with a regular customer, who teased him for buying more books. Jethro was surprised about that. He hadn’t figured the fellow for a reader. The lawyer had said he could barely sign his name on the deed of gift.
When he’d finished his meal Jethro rang the hand bell and thanked Phoebe, then asked for his carriage to be brought round.
As he went out into the public room one of the other customers goggled, looking from him to Toby and back again.
‘We’re distantly related,’ Toby said, with a grin in Jethro’s direction. ‘Hardly even know one another but the Good Lord made a mistake and gave us the same face.’
‘Very distantly related,’ Jethro confirmed. He didn’t like the way the other men were staring at him as if they resented his very presence. People were too independent up here on the tops. Even since the decline of the handloom weaving that had given the district its name, most of them managed to earn a living without calling any man master.
As the carriage bounced along the road again he decided there was nothing to worry about with Fletcher. The man was minding his own business and living quietly. He didn’t know why Andrew was creating such a fuss about what was mainly a Greenhalgh concern.
But he did wonder why Sophia hadn’t mentioned the encounter with his half-brother.
That night was the first time Andrew gave Harriet a serious beating. He’d thumped her before, but not actually beaten her. When he started raining blows on her, she tried to shield herself, but he wouldn’t stop, couldn’t. It infuriated him to see her bear the beating stoically, making no sound loud enough to be heard outside the bedroom. That made him unleash the full fury of his fists on the tender parts of her body that no one but him would see. He wanted her to scream for mercy as his first wife had, but she didn’t.
For some reason he couldn’t get that damned nursemaid’s advice out of his mind and drew back, breathing heavily, hearing Harriet whimper as she moved her sore body, all the time watching him warily.
When he reached out to touch her shoulder, she yelped and jerked away from him, saying, ‘In God’s name, no more! What have I ever done to deserve this?’
What
had
she done? he wondered suddenly. Nothing, really. He was subject to these fits of rage and always took them out on the nearest person. Shame mixed with the anger still simmering in him and he surprised himself by muttering, ‘I’m sorry,’ into the shadowy darkness left by a single candle burning on the mantelpiece.
And he
was
sorry, for the beating had done no good to either of them. He was still anxious about Fletcher and still concerned to get himself a son. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I won’t again.’
Harriet said nothing, but she didn’t believe him and lay awake for most of the night. She hated him now though she didn’t dare show it because she was trapped. What a fool she was to have rushed into marriage so quickly. Even life with her mother would have been preferable to this.
The following morning her face bore the marks of a blow or two that had been meant for her body and he was appalled by how dark the bruises were. ‘I think you’d better stay in bed till your face recovers.’
‘Who will run your house for you if I do?’ She looked at him coldly from across the bedroom. ‘If you will beat me, we must both face the consequences of your actions.’ She was out of the room before he had his new surge of anger under control.
So he turned his rage on another object. Toby Fletcher. If Greenhalgh was too weak to act, then he wasn’t. By hell he wasn’t!
When Meg next woke she saw an older woman stirring something on the stove. A vague memory surfaced of a man with a kind face. He’d talked about someone called – she searched her mind for it and felt pleased when she remembered. ‘Phoebe?’
The woman turned round. ‘You’re awake, are you? How do you feel?’
‘A lot better, thank you.’
‘I have the clothes you were wearing washed and dry, and you’ll want to use the privy, I should think.’ Phoebe came to help her up, but was caught by a bout of coughing. ‘Sorry. Had a cold and can’t seem to shake it off. The coughing makes me dizzy.’ She leaned against the table.