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‘Aye, and how well that will look before the altar. So, do you think he’s going to stand by you? Or has he made off already?’
‘No!’ Sarah protested. ‘He said he would arrange things. But I thought …’
‘It’s as well you did, my girl.’ Ada’s tone was grim. ‘I think we had better find this Joe Bancroft and make sure he does right by you.’ She pushed her chair back from the table, tea now cold and her breakfast untouched. ‘Where does he live?’
‘I don’t rightly know.’ Sarah faltered. ‘By the canal, I think.’
Ada’s mouth tightened into a thin line. ‘By the canal? Or do you mean on the canal? Is he one of those narrow-boat folk?’ She almost spat out the words.
Sarah could only nod. ‘But he’s a good man,’ she countered. ‘Thoughtful, kind and gentle.’
‘Aye, no doubt,’ Ada said. ‘And how will he provide for you and a baby? Where will you live? Are you to join the boating folk?’
Sarah was startled. She hadn’t considered this. It had never occurred to her that she might live on the canal. She’d spent her whole life in this hilltop village, surrounded by fields and wide-open skies. Narrow-boat life, down in the damp, dank valley, suddenly seemed restrictive and, if truth be told, frightening.
‘I thought I’d live here,’ she said in a small voice.
‘It seems to me that thought has had very little to do with any of this,’ Ada said, tying on her bonnet and shrugging off Sarah’s attempts to help her fasten her shawl in place.
‘I’ll thank you for staying here for the day and keeping house,’ she said. ‘If you’d done more of that and less gallivanting off over hill and dale you might not be in the position you find yourself in.’ And Ada left the house, shutting the door with some force behind her.
Sarah cleared up the breakfast things, glancing constantly out of the window as if she expected her grandmother to reappear at any moment with a shamefaced Joe in tow. What had seemed such a delightful secret over the last two months felt shabby and demeaning now that it was revealed to public scrutiny. And could her grandmother be right? Was it possible that Joe had already left?
Chapter 8 (#ulink_d87a95d3-8f4c-50a1-8158-34f9efe463b4)
By the time Ada reappeared it was late afternoon and Sarah was in a fever of worry, trying to imagine what might have happened. Three times she herself had put on her bonnet and got as far as the garden gate before retreating inside. She was mindful of Ada’s words and fearful of angering her even more, should she return to find the house unattended.
How would her grandmother locate Joe? she wondered. And when she did, what would she say to him? Her thoughts flitted from one possible scenario to another and, when Ada finally appeared at the gate, Sarah could have sunk to the floor in a mixture of fear, apprehension and relief. Instead, she hurried to set the kettle on the hob. When Ada opened the door and was blown in on a flurry of leaves, whipped up by the stormy weather brewing outside, Sarah was ready, solicitous. She helped Ada remove her bonnet and shawl, meeting no resistance this time, and pulled up a chair close to the warmth of the range.
Her grandmother looked grey-faced with exhaustion and Sarah noticed how her fingers trembled slightly as she raised her teacup to her lips. Sarah busied herself with the tea and setting out slices of her grandmother’s fruitcake, feeling sure that she would be in need of sustenance.
Then she asked her, ‘Did you … did you … find Joe?’
Ada gazed unseeing through the window, where the wind was lifting the autumn leaves from the trees so that they rained down in fluttering flashes of orange, red and yellow.
‘Yes, I did,’ she said, after a lengthy pause. ‘It seems that there are folk around here who know more than I do about what my own granddaughter has been up to.’
Sarah winced at the barbed comment, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks even as her heart sank. She had hoped that she and Joe had been discreet in their meetings, conducting them as far as possible from any prying eyes in the neighbourhood.
‘Your precious Joe, it seems, likes a drink just like your father did.’ Ada had colour back in her cheeks now, but her expression was stern. ‘And, just as in the past with your father, I had to go into The Old Bell to fetch him out to make an account of himself.’
Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a gasp. Had Ada really gone into The Old Bell? Had she faced down the stares and the remarks of the men who drank there in order to find Joe? Sarah was filled with a mixture of admiration for her grandmother’s fearlessness and spirit, and embarrassment for Joe. Surely he would have been humiliated in the eyes of the other men? How would this make him react at the mention of marriage?
Ada registered Sarah’s reaction. ‘Oh, as I said, it’s not the first time I’ve ventured through those doors, you can be sure. Your father’s fondness for drink meant that I’ve fetched him from there more than once to stop him spending the last farthings that your mother needed to feed you all. And I’ve spread the word of the Methodist faith both inside and outside those doors. There’s men in there who’d do better to spend their time by their own firesides, rather than The Old Bell’s.’
Sarah wished for a moment that she could have witnessed Ada, the indomitable widow, as she berated the men in the safe haven that they had created for themselves away from their wives and families. But her feelings were short-lived.
‘A pretty piece of work the pair of you have made,’ Ada said. ‘And what a time it has taken me to set it half to rights.’
She was looking angry now and Sarah, barely understanding what she meant, quietly poured her more tea. The windows rattled as the rain gusted harder and the rain came on, splattering against the panes with such force it was as though handfuls of gravel were being thrown against them. Sarah shivered, despite the warmth of the room.
‘So, I’ve spoken with the minister and it is agreed. As a favour to me there will be a quiet ceremony in the chapel on Wednesday afternoon. I’ll write to your mother to let her know, but you’re not to expect her or your father to give up a day or more’s wages to make the journey here. Nor will you have your sisters as bridesmaids.’
Sarah, who hadn’t even considered the latter as a possibility, was suddenly tormented by the thought. How Jane and Ellen would have loved it: bridesmaids, in their Sunday-best frocks with flowers in their hair.
Ada went on, ‘Joe tells me that he can furnish a best man and we’ll find someone from the chapel to give you away. There’ll be no wedding breakfast though: your new husband has to be away to work that very afternoon.’
Sarah was struggling to comprehend the extent of the planning and arrangements that had taken place in Ada’s few hours of absence.
‘So Joe …’ she faltered, struggling to express herself without revealing the fears that she was starting to feel.
‘Joe will be there,’ Ada said firmly. ‘He has met with the minister and provided an account of himself.’ She paused and frowned. ‘He’s a sight older than I expected. He must have ten years on you. I left him in no doubt as to how I feel about the situation, and about how he has exploited you.’
Sarah was moved to protest, ‘It wasn’t like that …’ but Ada cut her off.
‘I don’t wish to know how it was. I thought your upbringing had prepared you for better than this. But what’s done is done and we must make the best of it. I suggest that you see that your best dress is in a fit state to be worn. And take a look at the fit of it.’ She cast a critical eye over Sarah’s figure. ‘It won’t do to make it too obvious why there is a necessity for such a haste to be wed.’ She stood up. ‘Now, I’m going to take a rest and I’ll thank you for not disturbing me until suppertime.’
She climbed the stairs slowly and Sarah heard her close the bedroom door, then the creak of the floorboards as she moved about overhead before settling on the bed. For the next hour, both women were fully occupied with their own fears, hopes and imaginings for the future, thoughts that took them down very different paths.
Chapter 9 (#ulink_cb77b58a-e56f-5512-9460-0640bf41c8ea)
Sarah felt that time was dragging its heels on its way to Wednesday. Joe had shared the news of his departure with her on the Thursday, her grandmother had spoken to him and all the plans were in place by Friday, but there were still four whole days to be got through before her wedding day. Four days in which she had no chance to see Joe, for Ada as good as kept her under lock and key.
‘You’ve brought quite enough disgrace on our good name,’ she said. ‘I’ll not have you flaunting yourself again around the countryside.’
Sarah cast her eyes down, unable to meet Ada’s gaze. In the words that came out of Ada’s mouth the meetings between her and Joe, which had felt so happy, joyous and full of love, had become sordid and shameful. But she ached to see Joe and to be able to discuss plans beyond the wedding day with him. She comforted herself with the thought that they would get themselves a cottage somewhere, either in Nortonstall or Northwaite, and she could keep house for him without having to endure her grandmother’s bad humour.
Sarah got through the days by trying her best to stay on the right side of Ada, to avoid causing further upset, and daydreaming about her future at every possible moment. She accompanied Ada to the chapel on the Sunday, stealing covert glances at the congregation to see whether anyone was paying them undue attention. If they were, surely one glance at Ada, sitting bolt upright in her pew and wearing a forbidding expression, would have discouraged any further observation.
As they departed, the minister shook Sarah’s hand in his usual cordial fashion and made no reference to her forthcoming wedding, presumably to spare her blushes in the face of the congregation. It took every ounce of her will not to look back as they walked down the path away from the chapel but she told herself that the gossipmongers were welcome to have their say; soon she would be Mrs Joe Bancroft and they could still their tongues then.
On Tuesday letters arrived to break the monotony of Sarah’s enforced imprisonment. Ada opened the first one, which had come from Sarah’s mother in Manchester. She skimmed the contents, frowning, then read it out to Sarah.
‘My dearest Sarah,
I do so wish that I could be with you on your wedding day. A day that should be a joyous occasion but that, if I understand your grandmother correctly, has had to be arranged in haste. Sarah, I am sorry that you have followed in my footsteps and I wish I could have been there these last years to offer you guidance–’
Here Ada made a contemptuous snort. ‘I hope you have made a better choice than I did–’ here Ada was moved to snort again ‘–and wish that I could be there to meet your new husband. The fact is that neither the girls nor I are well, barely well enough to make it to the mill each day, so afflicted are we with coughing. So we must postpone our visit until the spring or summer, when we can come and see the baby as well.
All my love, and from your loving sisters Jane and Ellen too.’
Sarah listened intently. Just as her grandmother had predicted, there would be no other family at her wedding. More worrying was to hear that they were ill. But where was her father in all of this?
‘My father?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Will he come to give me away?’
Ada shook her head. ‘There’s no mention of him here. I don’t know why. It will take another letter to ask her, with no time for a reply, so you must resign yourself to the fact that I will be your only family tomorrow.’
Sarah, seeing how tired her grandmother looked, and made anxious after hearing the news of her mother’s and sisters’ illness, was moved to get up and go over to her, to stroke her shoulder.
‘Never mind; they have said they will come in summer to see the baby and meanwhile we will be quite content, just the three of us, tomorrow.’
Ada only absent-mindedly acknowledged Sarah’s attempt at a conciliatory gesture. She had picked up the second letter and was frowning at it.
‘I don’t recognise the writing on this,’ she said, turning it this way and that between her fingers as though hoping for clues.
Sarah, although wishing to suggest she could discover the author by opening it, held her tongue.
‘It’s addressed to you, Sarah. Do you wish me to read it to you?’
Sarah flushed. She had never paid any attention to schooling and found her letters baffling. She’d long ago declared that she didn’t need to know how to read and write, a decision she had come to regret, never more so than now. She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, please.’
Ada spread the letter flat on the table, skimming over it as before, then read:
‘My darling Sarah,
It seems odd to address you this way, by means of a piece of paper rather than face to face, but your dragon of a grandmother has forbidden it.’ Sarah bit her lip, but Ada read on. ‘I wish we could have met in the last few days but I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. There will be so little time to spend together before I must leave, but I know you will be safe with the dragon until my return. Be patient, until tomorrow,
Your loving Joe.’
Sarah was very embarrassed by the flippant references to her grandmother, but also confused by the tone of the letter. It simply didn’t sound like Joe’s voice. Her grandmother was clearly also suspicious. She turned the letter back and forth in her hands, delivering her verdict.
‘I suspect your husband-to-be has employed someone to write this for him.’ She paused. ‘It’s a shame that whoever he chose didn’t persuade him to mind his manners.’
Sarah, once over her initial embarrassment, felt cheered that at least Joe had made the effort to make contact with her. It dispelled her tiny nagging doubt that he wouldn’t show up the following day. What was less pleasing, however, was that he seemed content for her to remain as she was, living with her grandmother. She resolved to try to find a moment to raise this with him tomorrow, after they were wed.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_46fc784f-a7aa-57d2-b480-b97952ca6609)
The day of the wedding dawned full of promise. Sarah was awake early, having passed a fretful night full of nervous anxiety. She thought that she had heard Ada moving about in the night, but decided not to venture from her room herself until dawn had broken. She didn’t want to have to hear anything further on her wedding day itself about how she was a disappointment to Ada, and to the family.
When Sarah went downstairs, rejoicing at the sight of the first blue sky to be seen in several days, she found Ada already seated at the table.
‘Are you all right?’ Sarah was concerned, hurrying to stoke up the range to ease the chill in the kitchen. She feared she hadn’t escaped a lecture, after all, but Ada didn’t seem to be disposed to be critical. She sat quietly and accepted a cup of tea with thanks, after Sarah had hurried upstairs to fetch a bed quilt to wrap around her. It looked as though Ada had been sitting there for some time; her hands and face were thoroughly chilled.
Ada accepted the breakfast that was put in front of her without question and Sarah, feeling if anything more unnerved by her grandmother’s strangely quiet behaviour than by her anger or contempt, noted that she didn’t eat a great deal of it.
‘I had a troubled night,’ Ada said, once breakfast was over. ‘I’m going to try to rest a little before we must go. Be sure to wake me in plenty of time to dress.’ And with that she left the table, trailing the quilt behind her as she slowly mounted the stairs. Sarah was struck by how her grandmother seemed to have suddenly aged: it was as though ten years had been added to her overnight.
She busied herself tidying the kitchen, glad of something to keep her occupied until it was time to leave the house. Her dress for the day was hanging in her room and so, once she was satisfied that there was no more housework to be done, she took off her apron and went upstairs.
She felt that she should be making a special effort with her appearance, something that there had been little call for in the past, so she unpinned her hair, letting it fall halfway down her back. She brushed it well before pinning it back in place. If it had been summertime she would have left it long and dressed it with flowers, but there was nothing much to be had from the garden at this time of year, other than a few berries. So she settled on a tortoiseshell comb, decorated with artificial flowers, as an adornment.
Sarah took her dress off its hanger, spread it out on the bed and scrutinised it. It was plain in style, the fabric lightly sprigged with cream flowers on a brown background. She wished that it could have been a little more elegant for such a special day but, once she had pulled it on and done up the buttons, pinning a brooch at the throat of the high neck, she felt it would do. Appraising herself critically in the freckled glass of the mirror, Sarah wondered whether her appearance was a little sombre for the occasion. She supposed that she would, at least, have colour in her cheeks after their walk to the chapel, for the blue skies and sunshine had brought with them a chilly wind.
Mindful of the time, Sarah went to wake Ada. Her grandmother, who was lying on the bed, already awake, nodded approvingly when she saw how Sarah was dressed.
‘How well you look! No one can criticise your appearance on your wedding day, Sarah. Joe is a lucky man to have you.’ Ada sighed and shook her head but said no more, simply holding out her hand for Sarah to assist her from the high iron bedstead. ‘Help me with my dress then we must be on our way,’ she said.
Within the half-hour Sarah and her grandmother were making their way down the garden path. Sarah had wondered whether, once they reached Northwaite, her grandmother would choose quiet alleyways rather than their usual Sunday route to reach the chapel. But no, she marched along the road through the village, greeting everyone whom they met. The conversation never strayed beyond commenting on the weather, but Sarah could see the villagers’ curiosity as to why she should be abroad on a weekday with her grandmother, both of them dressed in their best clothes. She felt relieved when they had turned off to take the quieter path down to the chapel, then became filled with anxiety as to whether Joe would be there.
She needn’t have worried. As they entered by the main door, the small group waiting at the altar turned around to look. Sarah felt Ada stiffen slightly, then she withdrew her arm from Sarah’s.
‘You should go forward. I will take a seat. Now, don’t rush.’ The last words were uttered as an admonishment to Sarah who, legs made shaky suddenly from the overwhelming nature of what was about to happen, had started forward down the centre aisle, almost at a trot.
‘Oh, Sarah, I almost forgot.’
Sarah turned back towards her grandmother, who had opened her reticule and, to Sarah’s surprise, taken out a tiny posy. There were no flowers, just plants and herbs of different hues of blue and green, some with spiky leaves, some with soft, silver-furred leaves, all tied with a cream satin ribbon. Sarah recognised rosemary, sage, bay and ivy. She buried her nose in the posy, then smiled her thanks at her grandmother. The aromatic scent seemed to steady her sudden agitation and the posy gave her something to do with her nervous hands.
Sarah turned back towards the altar and walked at a more measured pace down the aisle. As she did so, she took in the appearance of her groom-to-be and his best man and realised why her grandmother had reacted as she had when they had entered the chapel. Joe and his best man made a poor show against the smart, restrained appearance of the minister and his chaplain. The latter looked at ease in their Sunday suits; Joe and his friend looked as though their attire had been borrowed from a number of different acquaintances. It was all mismatched, the jackets being of a different tone to the trousers, and Sarah couldn’t help but notice that the sleeves of Joe’s jacket were a good few inches too short for him and that the fabric strained slightly across the back.
He’d made an effort to slick down the wave of his hair, she observed, finding it comical and trying not to laugh. She caught a glimpse of one of his bright waistcoats, partly hidden by his tightly buttoned jacket, and he’d given his love of bright colours full rein in the red neckerchief that he wore at his throat.
Sarah gave Joe her biggest smile, feeling a little lurch of her heart as he reached out his hand to grasp her fingers and pull her towards him. His hands were warm and dry; hers felt clammy and sweaty by comparison. She stole a glance past him at his companion and her smile faltered. No amount of slicking down his hair with water or trying to adopt a smarter dress could disguise the fact that he looked, as her grandmother would have described it, ‘rough’. His nose had the appearance of having borne many a punch in a fight and, when he smiled at Sarah, the gaps in his teeth only backed up that impression.
Sarah raised her posy to her nose, breathed deeply and turned to glance back at Ada, the only guest, who had seated herself halfway down the hall, before letting her gaze roam around the octagonal chapel. Light was streaming in through the windows on each wall, and splashes of colour fell to the floor in front of her from the single stained-glass window behind the altar. Someone had recently polished the pews and the wooden panelling: Sarah could smell the rich scent of beeswax on the air.
Joe squeezed her arm to draw her attention to the minister. Her senses seemed heightened as she waited respectfully for the minister to begin, and so the sudden crash of the main door being flung open, and just as quickly closed again, made her start violently.
Chapter 11 (#ulink_cb4b7a18-8b41-5a3f-8059-588ee3466435)
All heads swung round to see who had entered the chapel and for the second time that day Sarah was aware of the reaction of the person beside her. Joe had stiffened and shaded his eyes against the bright sunlight flooding the room in order to take a better look at whoever had entered. She felt him relax as it became apparent that the visitor was a young man who looked flustered and was making apologetic motions with his hands as he slid quickly into a pew near the back of the chapel.
The minister cleared his throat and Sarah, Joe and his best man turned around to face him. Sarah found herself distracted; who was this young man who had just arrived and why was he here, an uninvited guest at her wedding?
Joe had to nudge her to make her responses and so it was in a kind of daze that Sarah found herself married and on the receiving end of congratulations from the best man, whose name she still didn’t know, then ushered out into the sunshine by the minister who clearly had other things he wished to attend to on a Wednesday in the working week.
Sarah was aware of the young man hovering in the background as Joe introduced his best man as Alfred, then took both her hands in his, looked her deep in the eyes and told her that he must leave, that he was already running late with the cargo that he must deliver. Alfred nodded his head in vigorous confirmation of his words.
Sarah had known that this was going to happen but she still couldn’t help feeling a stab of bitter disappointment. The lack of a wedding celebration after the build-up of tension over the last few days felt like a major let-down.
Joe took her head between his hands and kissed her hard on the lips. ‘I’ll be back with you as soon as I return,’ he said. ‘And my thoughts will be with you every moment I am away. Sarah Bancroft – my own wife!’ and he laughed as if he found it hard to believe. Then he kissed her again, nodded in acknowledgement to Ada and strode away, Alfred scurrying to catch up.
Sarah stood and watched him leave, feeling hot tears well up. She willed him to look back but her concentration on his departing back view was broken by an exclamation from Ada.
‘You don’t say! Sarah, did you hear that?’
Reluctantly, Sarah tore her eyes away from Joe and turned towards her grandmother.
‘This young man has come all the way from Manchester at your mother’s behest. She couldn’t be here today, as you know, but she has asked Daniel to return with news of the day.’
Sarah took in the young man’s appearance: he was as smartly dressed as she suspected his pocket would allow and his freckled countenance was friendly and open. His dark brown eyes seemed to view her with some sympathy and on impulse she said, ‘Why, then you must come and celebrate with us and share whatever news you have. As you can see I have been abandoned already on my wedding day and so we must make our own entertainment.’
Daniel began to protest. ‘I came but to witness the event and I must apologise for the lateness of my arrival and the manner of my entry. I’m unfamiliar with the area and found myself by mistake at the church in the village rather than the chapel. Now, I’m afraid, I must set out again on my return journey.’
‘Nonsense!’ Sarah, thwarted in her wish to celebrate her marriage with her new husband, had now seized upon a different plan. ‘You must at least take tea with us before your return. Let it not be said that the Randalls –’ she paused ‘– and the Bancrofts lacked manners and sent a traveller back on his homeward journey without sustenance of any kind.’
Ada looked a little bemused by the turn of events but lent weight to Sarah’s invitation and promised that means would be found to help convey him to Nortonstall later that afternoon so that he might journey onwards by train to Manchester. So Daniel found himself borne along on a wave of Sarah’s nervous excitement, back through Northwaite, where she was this time oblivious to the outright curiosity of any villagers whom they passed. Ada called in on Mrs Sykes to see whether her husband, the carter, would come by and collect Daniel in good time for his journey and then they made their way back to the cottage.
Ada and Sarah made tea and buttered slices of fruit bread, plying Daniel with questions all the while. How was Mary? And Jane? And Ellen? Was there any improvement in their health? How did Daniel know the family? Where did he work? Where was Sarah’s father, William?
