Angel Meadow Read online

  “What has that to do with anything? We shall continue to be together in our professional life. I shall come and take tea with the new Mrs Josh Hayes at Riverside and hope she will visit me in Grove Place but, as for the rest, I’m sorry, Nancy, I can’t.”

  “You have disappointed me, Jennet. I imagined us sharing . . . well, not my married life, obviously, but the social side of it. I would have been glad of your support.”

  “You will have your husband’s support and I shall always be here, with Annie and . . . and Mary, I suppose. When you are married you do not intend taking her to Riverside House, I presume.”

  “No, of course not, but I intend including her in . . . in whatever they do there. I want her to mix with young people: Josh’s brother and his friends.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I am not a girl, Nancy. I shall be twenty-four next birthday and have long since given up any idea of a husband and children, that’s if I ever had any, which I don’t believe I did. I am a spinster, one of life’s natural spinsters. I do not care for . . . for parties and such and though I shall be quite happy remaining your friend, indeed it would break my heart if . . . if we lost one another, I shall stay here.”

  They had argued for an hour, silencing Annie and Mary in the kitchen to an appalled stillness, and even Kitty, sensing trouble, crept fearfully on to Annie’s comfortable lap, her refuge when she was upset.

  But nothing Nancy could say to her would change Jennet’s mind and she had to be satisfied with it. This had taken place on the day Josh had informed her that his mother was eager to introduce her to her dear friends, adding that she was not to be nervous, for his mother had quite taken to her and his father approved of her, not, she suspected, as a wife for his son but because she had refused to let life grind her down.

  “I am not nervous, Josh,” she had interrupted him quietly, “and though I don’t wish to upset you or your family I’ll tell you why.”

  “Yes?”

  “Though I’m sure your mother and I, and your father, I think, will get on, I don’t really care about anyone else. Your mother’s friends will not be a part of my life, our life, d’you see, and so whether they approve or not means nothing to me.”

  The expression of tender concern on Josh’s face turned to one of frowning disapproval and she knew she had offended him. It meant more than she knew to Josh Hayes that the woman he loved should be accepted, that she should become a part of his world, his mother’s world and though he had assured her, and believed he meant it, that she should continue with her career, in his male mind and heart and perception of what a woman of his mother’s, and therefore his wife’s life should be, he fondly visualised afternoon calls, carriage drives, functions at which Nancy would shine as brilliantly as the moon on a cloudless navy blue sky, and lastly, children, which would lead her irrevocably to a life in her own home, his home. Jennet and Mary would be there to run her business, or businesses, as she insisted it would be in a few years’ time. He still hoped for this but if she was not to do her best to please his mother’s friends then the changeover would be that much more difficult.

  He was wise enough not to pursue the conversation, believing, as men do, that when they were man and wife she would change her mind.

  They were married on a cool, clear day in September. Nancy felt an almost enchanted need to start this day with as little haste as possible, to gaze about her, to take in deep breaths of the sweet, scented air that drifted from the nursery gardens at the back of Grove Place. She watched with delight as long-tailed swallows moved in sweeping flight across the pale sky and listened almost painfully as a blackbird sang its heart out from the cover of Mrs Denby’s sweet chestnut tree. She smiled serenely, knowing a great tranquillity of heart as Jennet helped her into the Hayes’ carriage.

  Mrs Denby next door and her John had been invited, as good friends and neighbours of Annie’s, not only to the wedding but to the reception at Riverside House, much to Mrs Denby’s gratification and had already departed, but the rest of Grove Place was out in force to wave her off, their wide-smiling faces avid with curiosity. The eyes of the women drank in every detail of her gown which, she was well aware, they would be whispering to one another had cost a fortune, but then, they would tell one another, she was marrying a wealthy man to whom a few guineas meant nothing. They didn’t begrudge her, not a bit of it, they would say, but when you remembered where she had come from, since they all knew by now, it was like a miracle, wasn’t it?

  Jennet, neatly and faultlessly dressed in her new gown, which she had reluctantly allowed Nancy’s husband-to-be to give her as a gift, sat beside her in the carriage. It was as though this special day had given Nancy a clear-sighted vision, not just of the specialness of the day but of everything on which her gaze fell. She was acutely aware of the hedges lining Bury New Road which were full of berries, hips and haws, elderberries and blackberries, all scattered among the bright crimson of bittersweet. Of the horse chestnut trees and the mighty oaks under which the carriage passed and which bore a plentiful crop of chestnuts and acorns. The neatly enclosed fields beyond the hedges dazzled her eye, still carpeted with the brilliant yellow of corn marigolds mixed with the deep scarlet of poppy. It was as though some benign being had laid a hand on this, her wedding day, making it almost unbearably beautiful, a setting in which her love for Josh Hayes, to be consecrated and consummated this day, was in its proper place at last.

  St John the Evangelist Church stood at the rear of a row of houses on Bury New Road, reached by a narrow lane beside the parsonage. The lane was lined with sightseers, those who can’t resist a wedding, come to get a glimpse of the bride-to-be, standing shoulder to shoulder in the shade of the very old yew trees which are commonplace in country churchyards, no doubt due to their handiness when the yew foliage was cut as “palm” for Palm Sunday.

  She knew she looked well. She had chosen not to wear a heavy satin or silk, which was the fashion, but had decided on a diaphanous, foaming tulle, a waterfall of flounces, each one laid delicately over the one beneath, the skirt held out by a crinoline so wide she wondered if she would get it through the church door. Each flounce was edged with narrow white satin ribbon. The bodice was plain with a high, ruffled neckline, on which her chin rested, the sleeves close-fitted. Everything white, no colour except in her bouquet. Defiantly virginal, she supposed was how she thought of herself though she was no virgin. Could the victim of rape, one who had borne a child from that rape, be considered innocent? she had agonised to Jennet, who, knowing there was not a more innocent, untouched woman in Manchester, a better and more honest woman, had told her stoutly that she could. Every woman deserved her wedding day and if this was what Nancy wanted, then begger the rest, she added.

  On her abundant hair, coiled low on her neck, was a small crown of orange blossom. Her misted veil fell to her breast at the front but floated to her heels at the back. She carried pale, apricot carnations and white rosebuds. Her white satin slippers had a heel so high that when she reached her bridegroom at the altar, having walked entirely alone up the aisle, to the amazement of the congregation, for surely every girl has some male relative to give her away, she was no more than an inch or two shorter than he was. She thought of herself as looking her best. She was not to know that she looked quite exquisite, breakable and yet, at the same time, strong and durable, a worthy mate for any lusty man, or so many a lusty man in the congregation believed! Josh had turned to watch her come up the aisle, waiting for her, holding out his hands for her in his loving eagerness to have her at his side. He was ready to kiss her, then and there, his manner saying to hell with the convention, but she shook her head a little, watching as his shoulders rose in a rueful shrug. They continued to smile at one another, much to the consternation of the parson, who liked his brides to be shy with downcast eyes and his grooms to be nervous, her flowers discarded on the steps of the altar. The ceremony begun, there was a ripple of consternation –
for was it legal? – when, looking round him in bewilderment, the parson asked the question, “Who giveth this woman?” and the bride spoke up with words none of them would ever forget.

  “I do. I give myself right gladly!” which Nancy had thought appropriate and Josh an incredible act of bravery.

  His mother wept out loud into her handkerchief and several women on her side of the church were seen to wipe away sentimental tears. They were ordinary women, plainly and decently dressed but working-class women, the ladies on his side were inclined to think, so where had they come from and why? They knew as little about the bride as they had done when they received their astonishing invitations, so who were they and where was her family?

  They themselves were fashionably, even extravagantly dressed, for this was the wedding day of the son of one of the wealthiest and influential of Manchester Men, whose wife was their dear friend. Despite the peculiarities of Joshua Hayes’s domestic arrangements, which was how they referred to the small boy in the nursery at Riverside House, many of the ladies had nurtured hopes that one of their daughters might catch his eye, for Josh Hayes was an exceedingly eligible bachelor. They had been disappointed!

  They stole glances at the other side of the aisle where the pews’ occupants in turn stole glances at them, overawed, dumbstruck, eyes out on sticks, mouths agape. Just three were suitably dressed for what might be termed a “society” wedding, one of whom was obviously the sister of the bride. She wore a misted shade of ivory, a simple and beautifully cut gown of plain silk with a wide sash in the palest duck-egg blue, eminently suitable for a girl of her age and for the occasion. Her ivory, wide-brimmed hat, which was tipped forward over her brow, had a low crown and broad ribbons tied under the chin to match her sash. She looked charming, with downcast, dewy eyes in a face as lovely as a flower. Beside her stood a small, plain young lady, dressed soberly in dove grey and white, perhaps her governess, they surmised. Next to her was an elderly woman dressed in good quality black who could only be the Miss Brodys’ childhood nanny, and on her other side a stately, handsome, well-dressed lady of mature years. Was she Miss Brody’s mother, though there was no resemblance, or perhaps an aunt? She was evidently not without money, so it seemed to them that Miss Brody must have come from a well-endowed family.

  They had it all worked out to their own satisfaction before they had even left the church!

  Nancy remembered the day in fragments. Snatches put together in her memory that did not form a whole, like a jigsaw puzzle that has pieces missing. Through it all Josh’s lean, attractive face remained constant, her hand in his, his arm about her, protecting her, never straying from her side in his determination that none of these passionately curious guests of his parents might say or do something to upset her.

  There was the splendour of the dining-room at Riverside which she had scarcely noticed on her whirlwind tour of inspection when she had been shown her new home. Now it was decorated with massed flowers, apricot carnations and white rosebuds to match her bouquet, all come from the gardens and hothouses of Riverside, picked only that morning and arranged by a clever florist of her new mother-in-law’s acquaintance, with the dew still fresh on them.

  There was Annie, caring nought for the grand folk who drank Edmund Hayes’s champagne from fluted crystal glasses, asking the frozen-faced butler if he could find her a drop of porter.

  There was Jennet entirely at her ease among these people who were slightly less well bred than she was, for she was the daughter of a gentleman. Her father had had a cousin who was a baronet though she did not brag about it and even Nancy did not know of it.

  There was Mary, keeping close to Hetty Underwood’s side like a chick clinging beneath the wing of its mother hen. By the simple expedient of keeping her eyes lowered shyly and speaking only when spoken to, prompted by Hetty, and then in a soft murmur, she managed to charm every man in the room. Even the ladies who were more insistent with their questions, though they had to admit they could not get past the handsome Mrs Underwood who turned out to be a family friend, could not fault her.

  There was her mother-in-law who had decided right from the start that this new daughter-in-law of hers was just the sort of kind-hearted, easy-going, brave young woman she would have picked for her son and she let every guest know it. She herself had been cushioned and cossetted and over-protected all her life, first by her father then by her husband and her admiration for this beautiful creature her son had married, who treated her with what seemed to her to be growing affection, was profound. She was determined to overlook her unpromising beginnings, for who, looking at her now, would ever guess that she had any. She could hold her own with anyone, she had told Edmund in the privacy of their own room, fully believing that Nancy was as eager to hide her past as Emma Hayes was. How she was to explain Kitty had not seemed to occur to her.

  There was Arthur, who attached himself firmly to Mary, hardly daring to believe his luck that his new sister-in-law, whom he had met for the first time two days ago, had a sister who was just as beautiful as she was. He was engaging, still a schoolboy really, like a puppy who would be happy with a pat on the head, but good-natured and eager to please.

  And then there was Millicent! Nancy could not help but be aware that she would have trouble with Millicent and though she knew Josh was very keen that they should reside at Riverside House, which, after all, he said, was big enough for a family twice the size to live in comfortably together, there might come a time when Millicent would make it impossible for them to do so. She said nothing to Josh about it, of course.

  They took the same train, though later in the day, to Preston and then on to Lytham where her mother-in-law’s housemaids had with the utmost delicacy and unobtrusive tact prepared the house on the seafront into a haven of peace and perfect solitude for the newly married couple. Their wide-bayed bedroom window looked over the golden sands down to the gently lapping waters of the estuary, a sound that sang to them as they lay in one another’s arms in the lavender-scented bed. They talked hardly at all, just a sighing endearment, a soft laugh as he struggled with tapes and buttons then laid her naked on the bed. He brought over a lamp and with his hands and eyes touched and caressed her from the curve of her eyebrows to the rich swell of her breasts, to the softness behind her knees, to the hollows of her ankles and the high arch of her foot. His fingers were feather-light, rippling her skin to delight and, in turn, she laid her hand on his body, loving the feel of him, the smell of his fine-textured flesh, the taste of him, so it was more than an hour later before he finally penetrated her.

  They sank into one another’s arms and slept, perhaps for no more than two hours when she was kissed to a dreamy half-waking, taking his body into hers with a slow, slumbrous delight that enchanted them both, then drifting back to sleep in the certain knowledge that he would be there the next day and every next day of her life. His body had totally expunged any lingering memory hers might have of Mick O’Rourke’s, for now her body was loved and knowing it was loved was clean and fresh and . . . yes, innocent of another man’s touch.

  Every day they walked the long strand of the beach, pausing every few yards to place a kiss on a chin or an eyebrow, oblivious of the stares of other walkers and at night slept and loved in the softly draped feather bed.

  “I love you, Nancy,” he told her a dozen time a day. “I need you.”

  “You have me, Josh.” And so he had, for she knew she was entirely and irrevocably his.

  25

  Freddy Hayes and Kitty Brody were just over three years old when they were thrust into one another’s company in the nursery at Riverside House.

  Nancy had agonised for hours on end in the weeks preceding her marriage to Josh on what would be, in the long run, best for her daughter. Her daughter who loved Annie, Jennet, Mary and Scrap, in that order, before her own mother. Not that she could blame Kitty for that. From the moment Nancy had known she was pregnant she had bitterly resented her, not just because her own goal to become the
best something, she hadn’t been sure what exactly at the time, in all of Manchester, had been seriously disrupted, but because of the way the child had been forced on her. When a seed is planted as violently as Kitty had been, surely it was forgivable when the womb that received it found it intolerable? Of course there were women, hundreds of them in Angel Meadow alone, who were impregnated against their will every nine months and it was known, for she had witnessed it herself, that these same women, dragged down and weary from childbearing, sick and tired of being constantly pregnant, doted on the infant from the moment it was born and, should it die, which frequently happened, were heartbroken.

  Kitty’s birth had been as violent as her conception, hours, more than thirty-six of them, as Nancy struggled to rid her body of the terrible burden Mick O’Rourke had forcibly injected into her, and when it had finally arrived, that burden, her daughter, she had wanted nothing to do with her. She had done her duty by the child, naturally, for when had Nancy Brody ever shirked that, but nothing more, for by then she was hurrying from here to there and back again as though she had a pack of hounds at her heels, which was what it felt like: the journey to Oldham to buy her sewing-machines; setting them up in Church Court and then her move to Grove Place; her new workroom; the search for cotton at the Hayes warehouse; a hundred and one things that needed her urgent attention and which left no time for motherhood. Kitty would not feel the lack, Nancy had consoled herself, since the child had three doting women to pick her up whenever she cried, to pet her and hug her when she fell down, to soothe her to sleep, to watch her first steps, to listen, marvelling, to her first baby words. In fact to be her mother in Nancy’s stead.

  So, should she take her to Riverside House where she would be brought up as a little lady among little gentlemen or should she leave her in the decent, there was no doubt of that, comfortable, none about that either, but working-class environment of Grove Place? The residents and their children were a cut – several cuts – above those of Church Court. The fathers were in steady work with good wages coming in. The mothers were hardworking and thrifty, homemakers, respectable, most able to read and write, since their parents had been responsible and forward-looking and had made sure that they had at least a bit of education.