‘You’ll marry who I bloody well say you do. Happiness doesn’t enter into it; all that matters is security and money. So you can bloody well do as you are told,’ Bill growled as the youngest of his family started to wail and his wife, Dorothy, looked at him anxiously. He was fed up of constantly having children at his feet and headstrong women nagging him – the worst being his eldest, Lucy, who was proving to have a mind of her own when it came to finding a suitable husband.
Bill sighed and swore at his wife, as Lucy banged the kitchen door behind her and made her baby brother cry even more, sensing the atmosphere in the room. ‘It’s you, woman, that’s made her like this. She thinks herself better than a lass from the flay-pits. It’s time she was lined up with a man. I’ve seen how everybody looks at her when she struts about the place. And this last week or two, since she went to work for that Adam Brooksbank, she’s put on right airs and graces,’ Bill growled.
‘Well, you’ve only yourself to blame for that. You got her the position. I told you I needed her at home, but you wouldn’t listen. You should be proud of her. She’s the bonniest lass in the district, and she could turn many a man’s eye. Don’t you be giving her away to just anybody. And she’s right in what she says about Thomas Farrington – he isn’t right in the head. Alex Braithwaite or one of the Bucks would be suitable. I could see myself, all dressed up on her wedding day and being talked about in society. Nobody would look down their noses at us then.’ Dorothy smiled and thought about a lifestyle that she could only dream of.
‘Lucy’s a working-class lass, a maid on a farm. It was all talk on my part, and well you know it. But the sooner she gets wed, the better. It’ll be one less under my roof, and one less noise of a morning. For God’s sake, woman, shut that brat up before I lift my hand to quieten it!’ Bill jumped to his feet and glowered at the baby in Dorothy’s arms. ‘I’m off to work, I get more sense out of the men than I do in this madhouse.’ He pulled on his leather jerkin and slammed the door behind him.
‘Nothing’s ever your father’s fault, is it, little ’un? Happen if he kept his todger in his pocket, his house would not be as noisy. But our Lucy has a mind of her own, and she’ll not listen to him and his plotting. The right fella will come along for her one day. And for now, I’m happy that she is still at home.’ Dorothy sighed.
Lucy walked with intent up the track to her work. She wiped away a tear that was falling down her cheek and breathed in deeply, in order to set aside her fears about her father wanting her to marry. Why Thomas Farrington had been mentioned in the conversation, she didn’t know. She hated him and she was scared of him; he’d be the last person on God’s earth that she would want to spend her life with. She could not understand why her father had not got rid of him, from both his job and the cottage that he rented from them. She longed to be away from the small community on Providence Row and the stench of the flay-pits. She was better than all of that, and she would prove it, if given the chance.
Her feet carried her, like magic, up the winding moorside and into the yard of Black Moss, her head so full of thoughts that the usual drag up the hillside went unnoticed. It was still early morning and there was dew on the grass and a chill in the air as she opened the gate into the yard. She was taken aback by the sight of a shorthorned roan cow standing in the centre of the yard, with a halter around its head. It looked at her with large, soulful brown eyes and then carried on with the business of eating the docks that grew wild around the edge of the yard.
‘Ah, Lucy, so you’ve met my latest buy.’ Adam came from round the back of the house and walked towards the cow, grabbing its halter and leading it with a switch across its back to what used to be the old cowshed. ‘Ted Leeming brought her up for me from Denholme before it was light this morning. I told him last week I was in need of a cow of my own, when I went to buy some milk from him, and he was good enough to sell me Daisy here. She needs milking. Have you ever milked a cow before, or do I have to show you?’ Adam tied up the cow to one of the wooden stalls that used to hold up to three cows when he was a child, then stood back, looking at his latest piece of livestock as Daisy munched contentedly on some hay that Ted Leeming had also brought that morning.
‘Me, milk a cow! I’ve never done that in my life. I know where it comes from, but I’ve never been that close to a cow before, let alone milk it.’ Lucy looked at him in horror.
‘Oh, well, I’ll have to show you then. I’d hoped that you already knew, but it won’t take long to learn. I’ll expect you to milk her every morning, and make butter from the excess milk we have left over, as we will have plenty of that for a while – that is, until I buy myself a pig or two. They’ll soon drink and eat anything that’s going to waste.’ Adam
