‘Aye, well, I’ll settle the matter this morning. It’s Sunday, so I’ll have a walk up that way and talk to him. Tell him that Lucy seems to have feelings for him and that she’ll no longer be working for him. It’ll be for the best.’ Bill turned and looked at Susie, who was still fast asleep between them and appeared angelic. ‘I wish children stopped at this size; they are nowt but worry as they grow older,’ he muttered.
‘They are always a worry, no matter what age they are, but usually I don’t tell you the half of it.’ Dorothy turned and looked at Bill. She remembered when she had told her mother and father that she had met the man she was going to marry, and their reaction to the news: that Bill Bancroft had not been good enough for her; that they’d hoped for better than the son of the local tanner. Listening now to the sobs of her daughter, she thought perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything. That she should have let true love run its course, because she too remembered words said in anger, and the hurt that her parents had caused, when she was denied seeing the man that she eventually wed. Their words had only strengthened her resolve to be with Bill. And now here she was, still married to him twenty-one years on, and with children around her feet and not much money to their names. But she did love her Bill, despite his moods and his love of a gill. Perhaps she should have said nothing. But like any good mother, she just wanted the best for her daughter, and she thought that was not Adam Brooksbank.
Bill Bancroft strode out along the lane leading to Black Moss. He didn’t know exactly how he was going to approach the subject of his daughter being besotted by Adam, but the more he thought about it, the more he became sure that it was all Lucy’s doing. She was young and she knew she was attractive, and she got these fanciful ideas over fellas. Unfortunately, she had set her sights on Adam, whether he knew it or not. Despite telling Dorothy and himself that Adam said he loved her, it was all in Lucy’s head, and the best thing for her to do was leave his employment and find somebody her own age and, hopefully, better prospects. After all, Adam Brooksbank was a small-time farmer, living off a few acres that his father had left him. Although he looked like a gentleman, he didn’t own that much land, and Bill thought he’d never amount to much. A father wanted better for his daughter – particularly the daughter who had always been special to him.
Bill stood in the farmhouse doorway and looked quickly around him. The yard was tidy and well kept, with hens strutting and clucking around the few weeds that grew there, and the kitchen garden was weeded and full of vegetables. Adam Brooksbank was a tidy farmer, he’d give him that much; and the old farmhouse looked as if a lot of care had been put into it since his arrival. It was a pity that he had come with the news he had. But it was better for all if the man knew where he stood, when it came to Lucy’s supposed love for him. Bill picked up his Sunday walking stick, tapped on the closed door with the handle and waited.
The door opened and Adam stood before him. He was in his shirt sleeves and looked surprised to see his visitor standing there on his doorstep.
‘Good morning. I wasn’t expecting visitors, with it being Sunday. Let me put my jacket on.’ Adam looked at Bill and wondered why he was calling so early on a Sunday morning. He left the door open and reached for his jacket, feeling as if he was half-dressed in front of the man who had obviously made an effort that morning and was in his Sunday best.
‘Nay, you needn’t stand on ceremony for me.’ Bill walked in behind Adam and looked around him. ‘I’ll not be stopping long. I’ll say what I’ve got to, and then I’ll be on my way.’
‘You’ll sit down surely and join me in a pot of tea. I’ve just brewed it and it’s a good Darjeeling, which I treated myself to on my visit into Keighley when I dropped my visitor off.’ Adam smiled and offered Bill a cup from the dresser, then waved for him to sit down. ‘Everything’s alright, I take it? Lucy is not ill or anything?’
Bill sat down, with his hands balanced on the top of his walking stick, and looked at Adam and his fancy tea and best china. He shook his head as he was offered a newly brewed cup of a tea that he had never heard of.
‘Well, you could say that. You could class it as an illness – women get these funny dos, and they are hard to explain.’ Bill gazed around the room. It was spotless and lovingly kept and, looking at the ornaments and furniture, it suddenly dawned on him that although he knew Adam Brooksbank to dress as a gent, he might also be worth a bob or two. ‘My missus thinks it’s best that Lucy doesn’t work for you no more, because our Lucy has got it into her head that she thinks a lot of you – perhaps a little too much. It’s not being right, seeing as she is your maid. She even thinks that you feel the same way about her, although we’ve tried to tell her she’s probably dreaming.’
Bill looked across at Adam and gazed around the room again. It was full of good-quality furniture and was not what he’d been expecting. He was
