Tangled Threads (7 page)

He released her. ‘You mean,’ he said mockingly, ‘that if I was to take you out, wine you and dine you, shower you with gifts and take you home to meet my people, then you
would?’

‘No,’ Eveleen said carefully. ‘I don’t mean that at all. We know each other’s “people”, as you put it. But this is hardly a proper courtship, is it? Not
hiding away as if we’re ashamed of our love.’ She put her hand on his arm as she went on eagerly. ‘Stephen, I want you to speak to my father about us. We can meet openly then.
Please, say you will?’

His gaze dropped away from meeting her eyes. He sat down and leant back against a tree, his hands linked behind his head.

‘I could,’ he said, evenly. ‘But I’m going to be busy for a while. I may not be able to see you so much.’

Eveleen felt as if the breath were being squeezed out of her body. She sat beside him. ‘Why?’

Stephen sat forward in a quick, eager movement. His face, animated with excitement, was close to hers. ‘My father is going to stand for Parliament and he wants me to take on more
responsibility for the estate. He’s going to be very busy campaigning.’

‘But why does that mean we can’t meet?’

‘I told you. I’ll be busy.’

‘But you’ve got Mr Jackson. The estate bailiff. Won’t he—’

Stephen dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Jackson’s all right. But he’s still only an employee. It’s not the same.’

‘Are you . . . ?’ Unshed tears caught at her throat. ‘Are you telling me it’s finished?’

He put his arms about her and pulled her to him. ‘Darling, of course not.’ He kissed her but beneath his mouth her lips were cold and unresponsive.

‘Darling Eveleen.’ He kissed her neck and his hands stroked her hair. ‘Of course, it’s not over. It’s only just beginning.’

Won over by his caresses and his whispered endearments, Eveleen wound her arms around his neck.

‘Oh, Stephen,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that I do love you so much.’

Eveleen ran down the hill through the gathering dusk, her heart singing. Stephen loved her, she knew he did. He hadn’t actually said it, but she was sure that was because
he was shy. She had found it difficult to say “I love you” the first time, but now the words came as effortlessly to her as breathing.

‘I love you, Stephen Dunsmore. I’ll love you till the day I die,’ she shouted to the cattle grazing in the field. They took no notice and Eveleen laughed aloud, throwing back
her head and looking up to the stars above that were just beginning to glow. She held up her arms as if to embrace the whole world. ‘I love you, Stephen Dunsmore. I love you, love you, love
you.’

She sat on the bank of the beck and took off her boots and stockings, drawing in a swift breath as she stepped into the chill water. Reaching the opposite bank, she was about to sit down to dry
her feet on her apron and then pull on her stockings once more when she noticed that several of the cows had wandered down to the beck. They were standing grouped in a sorrowful bunch on the edge
of the bank. Then she noticed, through the gloom, a dark shape in the middle of the rushing water. Dropping her boots and stockings she ran forward, afraid that one of the beasts had fallen in. But
as she neared it, she saw that the mound was far smaller than a cow though larger than any of the rocks and small boulders on the bed of the stream. Eveleen stopped, struck by a shaft of
terror.

The shape was that of a person, a man. She leapt forwards, scrambling down the bank and splashing into the cold water once more. The rushing water bubbled its way around the object in its path
as Eveleen reached out with a trembling hand. Though she expected it, knew even before she touched it, it was still a shock to feel the rough fabric of her father’s jacket.

‘Oh, Dad. Dad!’ She ran her hand up and her fingers touched his hair. He was lying face downwards in the water. Crying now, she tried to grip his shoulders and heave him upwards, but
the inert form slipped from her grasp and splashed back into the beck. She felt cold droplets spatter her face. She took a firmer hold of him this time, turning him over on to his back so that she
could grip him beneath his armpits and haul him out of the water. Sobbing, she pulled and heaved his body, made heavier by the water-soaked clothing, on to the bank. Breathless she collapsed beside
him and felt for his face. It was as cold as the water in the beck.

‘Dad, Dad,’ she cried, but knew in her heart already that it was hopeless. She searched for his pulse but her own fingers were stiff with cold, yet trembling with fear.

And then she began to scream for help, the sound piercing the gloom and echoing around the field, but there was no one to hear her cries, no one to come to her aid.

Eveleen buried her face against her father’s sodden jacket and wrapped her arms around him, willing the life back into him. But it was the hopeless gesture of a grief-stricken young girl.
Tearing sobs wracked her and it was several moments before she was able to force herself to rise and stumble her way across the field towards her home. She reached the gateway leading into the yard
and, breathless, fell against it for a moment. At the sound of the back door opening, she looked up to see her mother standing silhouetted in the lamplight.

‘Is that you, Walter?’ Mary called.

Eveleen straightened up and began to move towards her. ‘No, Mam. It’s me.’

‘Oh, there you are. Where have you been? Worrying your poor father half to death.’ In her anxiety, Mary did not seem to be aware of Eveleen’s bedraggled state.
‘He’s gone out looking for you instead of having his supper. He should be sitting in front of the range by now, resting, instead of—’ She paused, surprised into silence as
Eveleen put her arms around her and buried her face against her shoulder. ‘Why, Eveleen, whatever’s the matter?’

Before she could answer, her mother’s voice hardened as she pushed Eveleen away from her and grasped her shoulders. Shaking her, she said, ‘It’s him, isn’t it?
What’s he done to you?’

Stupid with grief, Eveleen said, ‘Who?’

‘Stephen Dunsmore.’

Eveleen shook her head, sending a shower of icy droplets over her mother.

‘But you’re wet through. Your clothes, your hair—’

‘Mam – you don’t understand—’

‘Oh I think I understand only too well.’

‘No, Mam. Listen!’ Now it was Eveleen who took hold of her mother’s arms. ‘It’s Dad. I’ve found him. He – he was in the beck. I – I think
he’s dead.’

There was a brief, stunned silence as mother and daughter stared at each other in the dim light. Then, sharply, Mary said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Eveleen. Where is he? Let
me—’

Eveleen’s grip on her mother’s arms tightened. ‘No, Mam. Don’t. Please, don’t go down there.’

‘Of course, I’m going to him. It’s me he’ll want to help him. I expect he’s twisted his ankle or something, going out in the dark to look for you, you naughty,
wilful girl. Look what trouble you’ve caused now. Get inside and up those stairs this minute. Jimmy!’ She raised her voice. ‘Jimmy, come and help me. We must go to your
father.’

Jimmy came out of the back door. ‘I’m off out,’ he began, but seeing the state of his sister, he stopped and asked, ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s Dad. I found him in the beck.’

‘What do you mean?’

Instead of wasting more time explaining further, Eveleen said, ‘Jimmy, fetch Bill Morton and
run
.’

Catching her anxiety and distress, for once Jimmy did as she asked him. He was away like the wind, running out of the yard and down the cart track towards the lane leading to Furze Farm, the
Mortons’ home.

Mary clicked her tongue against her teeth impatiently. ‘You needn’t have done that, Eveleen. I can go to him.’

‘No,’ Eveleen said harshly. ‘You stay here, Mam. I’ll – I’ll go back. When Bill comes, send him down to the beck.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. I’ll get some dry clothes ready for your father and a hot bowl of soup.’

Mary went back into the house, leaving Eveleen staring after her, unable to comprehend that her mother was refusing to believe what she was trying to tell her. Then Eveleen turned and ran back
to the place where she had found her father.

Bill and his son, Ted, carried Walter home on a door, with Eveleen and Jimmy walking beside them. They hesitated briefly as they entered the yard and saw Mary waiting. Eveleen
ran forward, her boots and skirt still soaking, mud and tears streaking her face.

‘Mam, oh, Mam—’ she began, reaching out to her mother, but Mary brushed her aside and went towards the two men carrying her husband.

She did not touch him, she did not even begin to cry, but stood there, staring down at him.

Everyone else just stood there too, not knowing what to do or where to take him until Bill said gently, ‘Missis?’

Mary sighed heavily and then said flatly, ‘Bring him in, Bill. Into the kitchen and on to the table.’ She turned and began to lead the way. ‘I’ll see to him.’

‘My Dorothy will come over, if you want, missis.’

Mary shook her head. ‘No need, Bill. I’ll manage and Eveleen can help me. Now, gently with him. Don’t make it worse than it already is.’

Eveleen stared at her mother. What could be worse than what had already happened? Jimmy came to stand beside his sister as they watched the men struggle to manoeuvre their tragic load through
the narrow door of the house and into the kitchen.

Bill and his son laid the door across the table and stepped back, pulling their caps from their heads and standing a moment as if silently paying their respects. Then they trooped out, nodding
awkwardly to the two youngsters waiting in the yard. When they were gone, Eveleen and Jimmy went into the house.

They watched in amazement as their mother bustled into the scullery to fetch a bowl, soap and flannel. ‘He’s in a right mess,’ she said, almost conversationally, as if her
husband had merely fallen in the ditch, dragged himself out and squelched his way home to be met by his wife’s berating. ‘And you get yourself out of those wet clothes, Eveleen, or
you’ll catch your death.’

She turned away as if not realizing what she had said. Brother and sister exchanged a horrified glance.

‘I don’t reckon she’s taken it in,’ Jimmy murmured, his glance following their mother as she bent to draw hot water into the bowl from the tap at the side of the range.
‘She – she’s acting like she did when I fell in the dyke that time when I was a kid and came out in black mud from head to foot. I got a right telling off, but she peeled off all
me clothes and washed me all the time she was doing it.’

Mary placed the bowl carefully on the table at the side of the still and silent figure. ‘Fancy getting yourself in such a mess, Walter,’ she said gently as she began to wash his face
tenderly. ‘There, there, we’ll soon have you cleaned up and then you can sit by the fire and have a nice bowl of hot soup. How’d that be, eh?’

Although she clapped her hand to her mouth, Eveleen could not quite stifle the startled cry that escaped her lips.

‘She doesn’t realize, Evie. She doesn’t know.’

Eveleen pulled in a deep shuddering breath, trying to calm her shaking limbs. They both continued to watch their mother as she washed the inert form, murmuring endearments and gentle
chastisement in turn.

‘I’m off,’ Jimmy muttered. ‘I can’t stand this.’ As he made to turn and leave, Eveleen gripped his shoulder.

‘Wait,’ she hissed. ‘We can’t leave her like this, we—’

‘You can do what you like, our Eveleen. I’m off.’

Mary was crooning, like a mother bathing her baby, smiling and singing to it.

Eveleen took a deep breath and gave Jimmy’s shoulder a tiny shake. With a voice that was not quite steady, she said, ‘Go and fetch Bill back and ask Dorothy to come too.’

‘Right,’ Jimmy agreed at once. He turned and fled the house, relieved to have an excuse to get out. But there was no such escape for Eveleen. She moved forward to stand on the other
side of the table to her mother.

‘Mam,’ she began hesitantly.

‘Oh, Eveleen, there you are. Help me get these wet clothes off your dad. He’ll catch his death, else.’

It was a favourite saying of Mary’s and one she had now used twice in the space of a few minutes. Tears sprang to Eveleen’s eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. She must be
strong. She had to be strong for all their sakes.

‘Mam,’ she said gently, her voice hoarse with emotion. ‘It’s – it’s no use. Don’t you see? He’s – he’s . . .’ She couldn’t
bring herself to say the words, not even now. ‘He’s not going to be all right. He’s—’

‘Don’t be so foolish, Eveleen,’ Mary answered spiritedly. ‘Of course he’ll be all right. He’s just cold and tired.’ She looked down once more at the
white face. ‘Come along, Walter. Stir yourself. You’ll have to help us. Me and Eveleen can’t lift you.’

Eveleen moved round the table and put her arm about her mother’s shoulders, trying to lead her away now. ‘Mam, come away. It’s no use. It’s – it’s too late.
He’s – he’s gone.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Mary snapped. ‘Will you do as I say and help me instead of standing there talking a lot of nonsense?’

Eveleen’s voice was a husky croak as she said, ‘Mam. He’s dead. Dad’s dead.’

Beneath her touch, she felt her mother’s body go rigid. Mary stared at her daughter and then slowly turned her head to look down at her husband once more. There was a second’s
silence and then Eveleen jumped physically as her mother let out a heart-rending scream and threw herself across the lifeless body.

She was still trying to prise Mary away when the back door opened and Bill’s huge frame stood there. At once he took in the scene, moved forward and lifted Mary bodily. He held her in his
strong embrace, stroked her hair and made soothing noises.

Eveleen felt a huge lump in her throat and the tears she had tried to hold back spilled over and ran down her face. To see this big man being so gentle and caring with her distraught mother
seemed to emphasize the painful truth as nothing else could have done.

‘Bill?’ Dorothy stepped into the kitchen and, at her husband’s nod towards Eveleen, opened her arms to the girl. With a sob, Eveleen allowed herself to give way to her own
grief, leaving, for the moment, Bill to cope with her hysterical mother.