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  ‘Yes, Manny,’ Emma murmured, ‘Please don’t worry about me. When it’s time . . . when papa has to leave me at last, I will be strong! I promise I will, for his sake. And I really will try so very hard not to give them cause to punish me.’ She gave a sideways glance towards the door and, as she did so, she was startled to see the grim face of her aunt. The little cry that escaped Emma’s throat alerted Mrs Manfred, who swiftly rose to her feet and took a step forward.

  ‘Oh, Madam! I was just explaining to Miss Grady that she is forbidden all meals until tomorrow evening!’ Her voice was somewhat shaky, and beneath Agnes Crowther’s dark accusing eyes Mrs Manfred’s homely features were suffused in a dark pink flush. ‘Excuse me, Ma’am,’ she added, ‘I will be about my business, if I may.’ She hesitated to move, although she was now eager to be gone since she felt most uncomfortable in Agnes Crowther’s company.

  ‘Pray do that, Mrs Manfred . . . without delay !’ Agnes Crowther stood for a moment longer, barring the doorway, with her head held high and tilted back and her hands clasped tight at her breast in that familiar and peculiar posture. Then, she stepped aside and waved Mrs Manfred out of the room, saying in a sour voice, ‘Be careful not to abuse your position in this household. One master’s choice is not necessarily another’s!’

  The threat was veiled, but to Emma, who was now on her feet and waiting to be addressed, there was no mistaking its meaning. Manny had come to this house with her and her papa when his health had deteriorated so much that he had felt obliged to accept his sister’s seemingly generous offer that he be cared for at Breckleton House. Later, when all legal documents were signed and sealed – transferring all holdings and business interests into the trusteeship of Agnes and Caleb, and affording them a just remuneration for their troubles – a number of conditions were incorporated. One of these was that, on Thadius Grady’s demise, his daughter was to be brought up a Christian and afforded every opportunity to be made aware ‘in matters of business’. On the occasion of her marriage – or on her twenty-first birthday, whichever came first – Emma was to receive the sum of six thousand pounds. When she reached the age of twenty-five, all remaining assets would be released to her. These presently amounted to the two working mills and the handsome sum of five thousand pounds, which represented working capital together with a sum acquired from the sale of the house in Blackburn. This figure would have been considerably more, but excess cash was rarely accumulated in the course of maintaining the mills – the on-going costs and immediate necessities of production saw to that. It was on heeding his doctor’s warning to ‘make final preparations’, that Thadius Grady had adopted a much more careful and frugal approach to expenditure, his uppermost intention being to leave his beloved Emma duly cared for.

  To this end, he had made a further stipulation that Mrs Manfred be retained by his sister Agnes as housekeeper at Breckleton House. Agnes Crowther had made no objection, being well aware of both her own and her daughter’s shortcomings in this area. Furthermore, she had a high regard for Mrs Manfred’s talents as a housekeeper – even though she took a very dim view of ‘the woman’s high-handed attitude to her betters!’

  Emma’s papa had given over to his sister and her husband absolute authority, and guardianship, with regards to all matters – including that of Emma’s upbringing. It was as bearer of such responsibility that Agnes Crowther now addressed the watchful Emma.

  ‘Your uncle and I have discussed the matter of your future and have come to a decision.’ Her features moved although it was hard to distinguish whether the movement represented sneer or smile, as she half turned towards the door. ‘Your papa will be spared the details, at least until he has recovered from the consequences of your sinful behaviour this day.’ That said, she brought down one of her hands to pluck at her skirt, looked down on Emma along the length of her nose and, with a small hissing noise emanating through her small straight teeth, she swung around and departed, leaving the door wide open.

  Emma closed the door and returned to her place at the window, where she scanned the surrounding fields reminiscently. It was impossible to see the canal from here because it wound away behind the spinney, and from there it veered out of sight altogether. But, in her mind, she could still see the handsome young bargeman. He was tall and deeply tanned. She hadn’t seen him swimming in the water until after she had stripped off her shoes and stockings so that she could feel the cool wet splashes against her bare legs. When he rose to climb out of the water, his naked muscles golden and glistening wet, and his shoulder-length hair, wet and shimmering blue-black like a raven’s wing, he looked like a young god. For a startling moment he had taken her breath away. But how quickly he’d made her feel at ease, with his black laughing eyes and infectious smile. He had a low gentle voice, which trembled slightly when he spoke and filled her heart with joy when it was raised in laughter. They had laughed at simple things of beauty and wonder – the squirrel that peeped at them from the spinney and would not be persuaded to come closer; the fish skilfully swimming just below the surface of the water, now and then blowing bubbles at them; and the mallard which played hide and seek in and out of the willow branches that dipped deep into the water.

  Emma thought long and hard about the young bargee, and her heart beat faster as it had done when they had sat close together on the warm grass, and a ripple of deep pleasure surged through her. She prayed he had not been too badly injured by her uncle’s vicious attack. She hoped that, one day, they might meet again. Emma recalled his name, Marlow – such an arresting name. Emma knew she would not forget it.

  Not far from where Emma gazed out of the window at Breckleton House, the sun beat down on the waters of the canal as it lapped and splashed against the colourful barge. The other barges had long since gone to ferry their cargoes of coal and cotton up and down the Leeds and Liverpool waterways. Presently, the Tanner barge would follow in their wake. But, first of all, there was an unpleasant task to be done.

  Inside the cosy living-area of the moored barge, Marlow Tanner winced as the raw salt was rubbed into the open gashes across his back. In his dark eyes there was pain – but it was not simply pain of a physical kind, for the life of a bargee was hard and demanding and a man was used to the pain inflicted on his body. No, Marlow Tanner’s pain emanated from his heart. It came from the all-too-brief memory of a young girl with laughing eyes and sun-burnished hair, a girl whose alluring smile had touched something deep within him; a girl who would never be for the likes of him, for she was of a gentler, more privileged stock. His instincts warned him that this girl, whom he knew to be called Emma, would only bring a heap of trouble down on his head; but he could not deny the murmurings of his heart which told him of his love for her. When the cane was brought down on his back, again and again, it was not the impact of it tearing into his bare flesh that hurt him most, but rather the helpless, compassionate look in her tearful eyes. Now, not for the first time since meeting her, Marlow wondered whether he would ever see this exquisite young girl again.

  ‘Still dreamin’ o’ the lass, are ye?’ Sally Tanner was barely past thirty, but, with her thin, wispy fair hair, coarse sun-weathered skin and long-lasting friendship with the beer-jug, she looked some ten years older. Her violet eyes twinkled merrily as she threw back her head, opened her cavernous, almost toothless mouth and gave out a raucous belly-laugh. ‘Bugger me if I ain’t never seen a lad o’ sixteen look so cow-eyed an’ smitten!’ she roared, leaning forward once again to slap more salt into the wounds.

  ‘Seventeen . . . the week after next!’ her brother indignantly reminded her. Then he fell into a deep and thoughtful mood. Sal was right. He was smitten! It had never been this way with other lasses, for they had not touched him so deep inside; they had never lasted in his heart for more than the passing of a day or a week. The image of this girl, Emma, would not leave him. Nor did he want it to – whatever the consequences.

  Chapter Two

  ‘No, Papa!’ Emma reeled back from the bed
as though she had been slapped in the face. ‘Uncle Caleb could never take your place. Never !’ The horror of such a prospect was painfully apparent on her face – the colour had completely drained from it and her eyes, which now stared disbelievingly at her papa, were totally panic-stricken. ‘Caleb Crowther! Do you really think I could ever look on him as my p-a-p-a-?’ Emma’s pretty mouth shaped the final word as though the taste of it on her tongue was bitterness itself.

  ‘Emma, please hear me out.’ Thadius Grady was sorely pained to see that tears had sprung to her eyes. His heart ached for her and he knew now that he couldn’t tell her what weighed most heavy in his heart. Hour after hour he had lain in this bed, his frail body wasting, but his mind active with thoughts of his darling Emma – thoughts which tormented his every waking moment, as he feverishly wrestled with his conscience. At long last, after all these years, he had found it within himself to forgive Emma’s mama, who had been taken from them by her own thoughtless actions and their cruel consequences. He had made his peace with God and he had arranged as best he could that Emma be taken care of when he was gone. He had thought this was enough and had continued to carry the other matter which tormented him so, silently close to his heart, believing this to be for the best. But now, the closer he came to the Lord, the heavier the burden he and Caleb Crowther had kept between them became. Their secret was a part of the past which they had vowed never to divulge to another soul. It had all happened so long ago, yet, at times, when the memories played havoc with him, it seemed like only yesterday.

  Only a few moments ago, he had been ready to confess everything to Emma. But his courage had failed him. He couldn’t do it. Instead, he reached his tired hand out and wrapped it about Emma’s fingers. ‘Sit beside me, child,’ he murmured. As she did, she leaned forward to stroke his forehead with her free hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ she said with a loving smile, ‘but I couldn’t ever do what you’re asking.’

  ‘I know that now,’ he replied, his soft eyes searching her face, as though he might find in it the strength to leave her behind in this merciless world, for it took more strength to die than it did to live.

  ‘I know you mean well, Papa, and I love you for it,’ she told him, fondly lifting his hand and touching it against her face, ‘and I admit that Aunt Agnes and Uncle Caleb are sorely tried by my behaviour at times. They do their best to cope with my wilful ways. But . . . look upon Caleb Crowther as my papa?’ She shook her head from side to side. ‘I’d as soon live in the workhouse!’ There was no smile on her face as she said it, no mischievous twinkle in those serious grey eyes and, Thadius now realized, to have made such a comment about an institution which struck dread in folks’ hearts, indicated just how strongly Emma felt.

  Thadius came as close as he dared to the truth when he told her, ‘Caleb will be like your papa in that he will control your heritage. He will command your obedience and respect – on my explicit wishes, you understand. He will advise and guide you. You must trust his decisions, Emma, for in all truth he has good reason to see you prosper.’ He hoped in his heart that Emma would bring out what ever good there was in his brother-in-law. He had to believe that there was some affection in Caleb Crowther towards Emma – such a thing would only be natural after all, would it not? Yet, the man was often unduly harsh and many had been the time of late when Thadius had bitterly regretted having signed over so much power and authority to Caleb Crowther; yet, Thadius had now found it in his heart to forgive Caleb, and he realized that there was no one else to care for Emma, no one with such good reason to hold dear her welfare than his sister’s husband. That Caleb meant well and would cause Emma no harm had been Thadius’s fervent belief. Now, it was not quite so fervent, but he clung to it nevertheless – he must, or his soul would find no eternal rest. ‘He isn’t a bad man, Emma – nor do I think him totally without compassion. But, please, try not to rile him nor to incur your aunt’s wrath, for she sees in you your mama’s failings.’

  With this he touched upon a great longing in Emma’s heart – a deep need to know more about her mama. She had long believed there were things her papa deliberately kept from her. Caleb Crowther’s recent remarks intimating that Thadius’s wife, Mary, had been a woman of ‘bad blood’ and that Emma showed signs of having inherited the same blood, had both hurt and intrigued Emma. Now, in a soft, persuasive voice she dared to ask, ‘Will you tell me about my mama?’ When her papa’s response was to gaze on her with saddened eyes, which seemed to look far beyond her, into the distant past, Emma ventured, ‘Please, Papa . . . you’ve told me nothing of her. All I know is that her name was Mary . . . she was very beautiful and was lost in some unfortunate accident. Would it pain you so to talk to me about her?’ She pleaded with such hope and passion that on seeing it, Thadius was deeply moved.

  ‘Oh, Emma!’ There was a depth of anguish in his voice as, lifting his hand to touch her face, he went on, ‘Your Uncle Caleb meant nothing by his thoughtless remarks . . . please believe that. There is no “bad blood” in you, my darling. There never could be. You’re everything I hold dear, and that couldn’t be if you were not the good, loyal creature you are. Your mama . . . well, she was never meant to be tied to one man, and that is the only regret I have about her – the only one!’

  ‘You mean, she left you?’ Emma was horrified that anyone could leave her papa. ‘She left you for another man?’

  ‘No, Emma. Your mama did not leave me. Like you, she was so full of life . . . always searching for some adventure or other. There is nothing “bad” in that. It was just that I was so very different – I was content to live the quiet life. I suppose that, compared to her, I was very serious.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘Not much fun at all. Also, in the early days, there was very little money, and things were not always easy.’

  ‘You loved her very much, didn’t you, Papa?’ Emma hated herself for having brought up such a painful subject, but it was so important to her to find out more about her mama.

  ‘I adored her!’ Thadius Grady ran his outstretched hand over his face, as though, in so doing, he might be touching his beautiful wife, now so long gone. ‘It was a terrible thing, Emma. Your mama was . . . visiting friends, along the canal. Nobody really knows what happened because those who could have told it all made good their escape immediately afterwards. Your mama was caught up in some terrible violence – and she never came home again.’ Suddenly it was all too much for Thadius. As though in a frenzy, he grabbed Emma by the shoulders. ‘The barge people are little more than wild ruffians, Emma! They’re a law unto themselves . . . a bad lot! I want you to promise me that you’ll steer clear of them. Will you do that, Emma? For me . . . will you give me your word?’

  Emma gave it gladly, for she had never seen her papa so frantic. But, in that same moment she saw something in his eyes she had not seen before: he was keeping something back, she was certain and she was sorely tempted to press him further. But he was deeply distressed and she couldn’t bear to see him grieved further. The river-people had taken the woman he loved, and Thadius Grady hated them for it! Emma knew that he was not a man to hate without good reason, and knowing this only served to make the promise he demanded from her all the more profound.

  ‘I’ve caused you a great deal of anguish as well, haven’t I, Papa?’ Emma wished she was of the same placid, submissive character as her cousin, Martha. She was so obedient, so ladylike, and Emma had never known her to do anything on impulse. She said as much to her papa now. In answer, he sighed softly and enveloped her face with a look of love. ‘Oh, but your cousin will be shrivelled and old before her time, my darling. There is little joy or laughter in her soul. And you . . . you must never wish to be anything other than what you are. You have the very essence of life in you . . . a vitality that shines from your eyes and lights up the space around you!’ He paused and squeezed her fingers in his own. ‘But try to curb your impulses, just a little, eh? Show your aunt and uncle that you can be responsible.’

  At thi
s point, the door opened and in bustled the tall commanding figure of Agnes Crowther. Sweeping alongside the huge ornate dresser, she brought herself to the opposite side of the big brass bed where, adopting that familiar and unsettling posture, she raised her brows and, holding her head stiffly, she lowered her eyes to look upon the prostrate figure in the bed. ‘You are comfortable, are you not, Thadius?’ A great weariness took hold of him and, as he half nodded his head and closed his eyes, she turned her attention to Emma. ‘Leave your papa now, child. Let him rest.’ Her voice was severe and totally without warmth.

  Easing her hand from his, Emma bent forward to place a gentle kiss on her papa’s tightly closed lips. ‘Don’t worry so, Papa,’ she murmured in his ear, ‘I promise I will be good, and I’ll stay away from the river-people. I’ll never let you down again!’ It was a promise given in love, written on her heart with honour, and, one which would cost Emma dearly.

  Some twenty minutes later, at eight a.m., the entire household was assembled in the dining-room, for daily prayers. This morning, Emma would not be promptly dismissed to her room afterwards, as she had been yesterday, since today was Tuesday and her spell of banishment was over. She had been given permission to attend dinner the evening before, but, not wanting the company of the Crowther family, she had pleaded ‘a feeling of nausea’ and was consequently excused. She had now been without food for almost forty-eight hours – save for the buttered muffin secretly sent to her yesterday lunchtime by the ever-faithful Mrs Manfred. Thus, it was not surprising when, during a long and frightful passage read from the Bible by Caleb Crowther, Emma’s stomach behaved in the most disobedient manner – gurgling and growling with such enthusiasm that it caused the reading of the passage to be temporarily suspended. Caleb Crowther positively glowered at her from beneath dark angry brows.