Orphans from the Storm: Bride at Bellfield Mill / A Family for Hawthorn Farm / Tilly of Tap House

‘He died of smallpox, sir.’

‘You were not with him?’

‘Yes, I…I was with him.’ She had nursed Milo through his final days and hours, and it was hard for her to speak of the suffering he had undergone.

‘But you did not take the disease yourself?’

‘I had the chicken pox as a child, and my late aunt was of the belief that those who have that are somehow protected from smallpox. I think it would be best if you were to lie down now, sir.’

‘Oh, you do, do you? Very well, then.’

Automatically Marianne went to help him as he struggled to get up from the chair, doing her best to support him. He was obviously weaker than he himself had known, because he fell against her, causing her to hold him tightly.

He smelled of male flesh and male sweat, and his thick dark hair was oddly soft against her face as his head fell onto her shoulder. The last time she had held a man like this he had been dying, and he had been her husband. Marianne closed her eyes, willing the tears burning the backs of her eyes not to fall.

To her relief the master managed to gather enough strength to get himself onto the bed, where she was able to put a loose clean cover over his wound and a fresh sheet over him, followed by some blankets and an eiderdown. She noticed that he was shivering slightly, and resolved to make up a fire in the bedroom as well as heat some bricks for the bed.

She had just finished straightening the linen, and was about to leave when, without opening his eyes, the master reached for the keys she had returned to him and spoke. ‘Here—you had better take these, since you have taken it upon yourself to announce to the world that you are my housekeeper.’

Marianne stared at him, but he had turned his face away from her. Uncertainly, she picked up the keys. These were her official badge of office—one that everyone coming to the house would recognise and honour.

Relief swelled her chest and caused her heart to beat unsteadily.

To have accomplished so much and gone so far towards keeping her promise in such a short space of time was so much more than she had expected.

From downstairs came the sound of someone knocking impatiently on the back door. The Master of Bellfield was lying still, his eyes closed, but she knew that he was not asleep.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_6451c41d-b931-56cc-b15f-2feff2be3c6d)

‘SORRY it’s tekken me so long to get here, missus,’ Charlie Postlethwaite apologised when Marianne opened the door to him. ‘Only it took me dad a while to get hold of old Harry to ask him about that honey you wanted.’

‘You got some?’ Marianne exclaimed, pleased.

‘Aye. He weren’t for giving it up at first, but when Dad said that it was for Mr Denshaw…’

Marianne tried not to frown. Here was someone else telling her that the Master of Bellfield was a man well regarded by those around him. And yet there were others all too ready to tell a tale of cruelty and neglect towards those who had most deserved his care.

‘Mr Denshaw said to tell you that he wants to see a Mr Gledhill,’ she told him.

‘Aye, that’s t’manager of t’mill. It’s all round the town now, what’s happened, and there’s plenty saying that they’d never have thought of anything like that going wrong at Bellfield, on account of the way the master is always having his machines checked over and that. Them that work in t’other mills are always getting themselves injured, but not the people at Bellfield. My dad’s sent up a chicken, like you asked for—he said how you want to make up some soup with it. Got some turtle soup in the shop, we have, that would suit t’master a treat,’ he told her, repeating his father’s comment.

‘I’m sure it would,’ Marianne agreed diplomatically, ‘but chicken soup is best for invalids. Will you thank your father for me, Charlie? Oh, and Mr Denshaw said that I was to see if you could ask your uncle at the laundry to send someone up.’

Nodding his head, Charlie headed for the door.

Marianne had no sooner seen him cycle out of the yard and fed the baby then there was another knock on the door, this time heralding the arrival of the nurse.

‘I’ll show you up to Mr Denshaw,’ she told her, after she had let her in.

‘There’s no rush for that. He’s waited this long. He can wait a bit longer. A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, mind.’ The nurse sniffed and wiped her hand across her nose. Her hand was grubby, and Marianne couldn’t help but notice the strong smell of drink on her breath.

‘You’ve come from Manchester, then, have you?’ she commented, settling herself in front of the range.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Marianne fibbed.

‘Bit young, ain’t yer, to be taking on a job like this?’

Marianne said nothing, lifting the kettle from the fire instead, to make the tea the nurse had requested.

‘A nip of something in it would go down a treat,’ the nurse told her. ‘Just to warm me old bones.’

‘The doctor said that he would send a draught up with you for Mr Denshaw,’ Marianne told her, pretending she hadn’t heard.

‘Aye, a good dose of laudanum to keep him quiet, so as we can all get a decent night’s sleep. I can’t abide nursing anyone what don’t sleep. Heard about what happened to his wife, I expect, have you?’ she asked Marianne.

‘I heard that she died in childbirth,’ Marianne felt obliged to reply.

‘Aye, and some round here said they weren’t surprised, that they’d thought she were daft to marry him in the first place. Ten years older than him, she were, and a widow with a son what should have inherited this house and everything that went with it. Only she had her head turned by him coming along and making up to her, so she let him have what the wanted, like a fool. He married her out of vengeance, so they say. And to get his hands on the mill, of course. See, his pa and hers were in business together at one time. Only his pa decides to go and set up on his own, and then things went wrong for him, and he got himself into debt. Blew his brains out, he did, and him upstairs were taken into t’workhouse.’

Marianne’s heart clenched with pity and fellow feeling.

‘Poor woman, she must have regretted the day she stood up in church alongside Heywood Denshaw. She’d be turning in her grave, she would, if she knew what he did after she’d gone. Drove her son, what was the rightful heir to Bellfield Mill, away. And Amelia, that niece of hers, as well—the master’s ward, what the young master were sweet on. Ran off together, they did. And there’s some folk that say as they’ll never come back, on account of a foul dark deed being done by a certain person, that they’re lying in their graves now…’

Marianne’s hands shook, and seeing them the nurse said, ‘You do well to look fearful, lass. A terrible man the Master of Bellfield is. If I was you I’d get that babby swaddled nice and tight, so that it lies quiet instead of moving about like that.’ She changed the subject to look disapprovingly at the baby in the basket. ‘A bit of laudanum in its milk at night and you’ll not hear a sound from it. That’s what I tell all them I nurse, and I’ve never yet had a mother complain to me that she can’t get no sleep, nor a husband complain that he ain’t getting his nuptials neither.’

Her words caused Marianne to go over to the baby and place a protective hand over him. She had seen babies in the workhouse tightly swaddled and fed laudanum to keep them quiet, their little bodies so still that it had been hard sometimes to tell whether they lived or died. She would never allow little Miles to be treated like that.

‘Some say that his sister should have given him a home, but I can’t see that there’s any sense in going blaming a Christian woman like Mrs Knowles for not wanting to take on a bad lot like him. Always in trouble, he was. Ran away from the poor house once and had to be brought back. Anyways, Mrs Knowles and her husband was living away then, on account of Mr Knowles’ health. Always delicate, he were, and it’s no wonder he went and left her a widow. Luckily for her she’s got a good son to do his duty by her. Like I said, she’s a true Christian woman is Mrs Knowles. Recommends me to all her friends, she does, when they want any nursing done.’

Marianne tried not to show her astonishment. From what little she had seen of the nurse, she was not only a gossip and partial to a drink, she was also dirty—and, Marianne suspected, all too likely to neglect her patients.

‘Does Mrs Knowles live locally? I am sure she would wish to be informed of her brother’s accident. It may be that she will also wish to oversee his convalescence,’ Marianne suggested.

‘Well, as to that, after the way he treated her the last time she tried to help ’im, I’d be surprised if she wanted to set foot inside this house again, brother or no brother. Told ’er he put the blame for his wife dying and taking the babby with her on her shoulders, when everyone knew that it were ’is fault. Even came over herself when she’d heard his missus had gone into labour, and sent for Dr Hollingshead as well. See, her and the missus were close friends, and she told her that she blamed herself for introducing her to ’er brother. No, there’s no call to go sending any message to Mount Vernon to tell Mrs Knowles what’s happened. ’Cos even if she was to be Christian enough to come and see him, she ain’t there. She spends the winters down in Torquay, on account of her Jeffrey’s chest. Won’t be back until the spring starts, and by that time…Well, owt could happen.’

It was plain to Marianne what the nurse would like to see happen, and it shocked her that someone who was supposed to care for the sick should show such relish at the prospect of death.

Marianne could see the nurse surreptitiously removing a flask from her pocket and tipping some of its contents into her tea, and her concern deepened.

By the time Marianne was opening the back door to the tall, thin man who introduced himself as, ‘Archie Gledhill, t’mill manager,’ the nurse was asleep and snoring, and smelling strongly of drink.

‘Yes, do come in Mr Gledhill.’ Marianne smiled politely at him. ‘I am Mr Denshaw’s new housekeeper, Mrs Brown.’

‘Yes, I ’eard as to how you was ’ere. And lucky for t’master that you are an’ all,’ he told her, glancing approvingly round the pin-neat kitchen. His approval turned to a frown, though, when he saw the nurse. ‘You’ll not be letting ’er anywhere near t’master?’ he asked Marianne sharply.

‘Dr Hollingshead sent her up,’ Marianne told him.

‘T’master won’t want her ’ere. Not after what happened to his missus and babby. If you’ll take my advice you’ll send her about her business.’