‘My old lass always admired that house. It’s set in the sunshine, not like where we are now. The houses on Providence Row are in a terrible state and aren’t worth wasting any brass on, as they are all subsiding. It’s only a matter of time and they’ll start to crumble. It’s a pity them bastards owned High Ground. Anyway, they got their just deserts and are all rotting in the cells now. I’ll go home and tell her what you’ve said, but I wouldn’t hold your breath on seeing our Lucy in the morning. Once my Dorothy has got something into her head, it’ll take the devil to make her change her mind, and our Lucy will have to do as her mother tells her. I’ve nowt against you. I think she’d be happy with you, and that’s all I want for my lass in her life. It’s her mother you’ll have to convince.’ Bill slapped Adam on his arm and then stepped out across the yard, ready to deliver the news that the situation was a little more serious than both he and Dorothy had realized.
Adam sat back down in his chair. He played with the poster for the farm sale in his hands and thought of Lucy. He should have gone down to the flay-pits and declared his intentions to her parents as soon as they realized how they felt about one another. She must have let her feelings be known to her mother, and now obviously Dorothy was worried about her daughter’s reputation. Lord, he’d not awoken that morning with the intention of asking Bill Bancroft for his daughter’s hand in marriage, not quite yet. He would have preferred to have taken his time and courted Lucy for longer, to stop any gossiping tongues from wagging and coming to the wrong conclusion about such a quick marriage. Ivy was right; she’d told him he’d be wed by winter, but he’d just laughed and told her not to talk so simple, although in his mind he had been thinking about it. Ivy might be proved wrong, anyway, if he couldn’t convince Lucy’s mother that he was serious, and that he did love Lucy and was not simply a letch who lusted over her. He only hoped that after talking straight to Bill Bancroft, Lucy would return to him in the morning as usual. If not, then he’d pay the flay-pits and the Bancroft family a visit, because he had to see his Lucy and reassure her parents once again that their daughter was to become his wife, whether they liked it or not.
Lucy had moped about the house all day. Her mother had been curt to her in conversation and had asked her to do several chores that were never expected to be done on a Sunday, as it was a day of rest. Her father had disappeared straight after his breakfast, saying that he was going for a stroll, which he did most Sunday mornings, so it was not out of character. But it had meant that she’d been left with her mother and younger siblings, with her older brothers leaving the house to wander the fields in the warm sunshine, sensing that there was tension in the usually happy home.
She sat on a stool with the front door wide open to her in the sharp summer light, as she darned the numerous pairs of socks and stockings that her mother had passed her way. Every so often Lucy wiped a tear away from her cheek and sniffed, thinking that she would never be able to see Adam again.
‘Your face will stay like that, if the wind changes,’ her mother said as she watched Lucy trying to concentrate on the job in hand.
‘I don’t care. I won’t care what I look like, if you don’t let me see Adam again,’ Lucy wailed.
‘Oh, Lucy, hold your noise. It’s only for the best. We are thinking of you – we don’t want you to waste your life on somebody who’s no good for you. I can tell you are upset, but you shouldn’t let these fanciful notions get the better of you. He’ll not think anything of you, lass, he’ll just be stringing you along.’ Dorothy rubbed her hand along her daughter’s shoulders and felt her shaking, as she sobbed yet again. It wasn’t like Lucy to be so upset; she was a fighter and always stood her ground. ‘I’m only saying that you must finish working for him because I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurt.’ Dorothy sighed and looked towards Susie, who was playing with baby Bert with a pile of clothes pegs.
‘How can somebody who loves me hurt me so? You are only saying that to keep me at home, to do some work for you. No matter who I meet, they’ll never be right for you or my father,’ Lucy moaned and then sobbed again.
‘But Adam Brooksbank won’t love you – he’ll just be saying that. They’ll tell you anything, Lucy, to have their wicked way with you, these men.’ Dorothy wanted to hug Lucy and tell her how much she loved her, but knew that her hugs would not be appreciated by her heartbroken daughter.
‘You are wrong, Mother. Adam does love me and he needs me. You’ve got to let me go and see him in the morning, and then he can explain.’ Lucy sobbed and looked up at her mother.
‘You are not going. Your father’s gone to tell him that you’ll not be working for him any longer, and then he’s going for a gill at The Fleece. You can find work elsewhere. Your father will take you into Keighley on Tuesday. The sooner you get out of that
