Daughters of Courage Read online

  Now, Trip put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. ‘Ah, so you’ve heard too, have you? Mick’s back.’

  Emily looked up at him. ‘How did you know?’

  Trip laughed. ‘The cutlers’ grapevine has been hard at work. But I do have some good news.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Emily murmured.

  ‘George Bayes is coming back to work.’

  ‘Is he? That is good news.’

  ‘He came to see me this morning. Since his wife died last year, he hasn’t known what to do with himself. I thought he was going down on his knees at one point, but there was no need. I’m only too pleased to have him back. And so’s Richard.’

  George Bayes had worked at Trippets’ factory for a long time and had been foreman there for several years, but about two years earlier he had given up his work to nurse his terminally ill wife.

  ‘How old is Mr Bayes now?’

  ‘A sprightly forty-nine, so he tells me.’ A puzzled frown crossed Trip’s forehead.

  ‘What is it?’ Emily, attune to his every look, asked softly. ‘Are you worried about Mick and – and what he might do?’

  Trip pulled a face. ‘I suppose so. We’d better all be on our guard, but it was something George said that set me wondering.’

  Emily waited patiently as they sat down to their evening meal together. Trip picked up his knife and fork, but then hesitated, staring into the distance as if he was seeing not the food in front of him, but something quite different.

  ‘He asked how my father was and I told him there was no change, but it was when he enquired after my mother that there was this look that came into his face. In fact, his whole demeanour changed.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’ When he didn’t answer at once, Emily said, ‘Don’t let your meal go cold, Trip.’

  Trip began to eat slowly, his mind obviously still elsewhere. Between mouthfuls, he said, ‘His enquiry about Father was – well, just the sort of thing you’d expect him to ask. He’s worked for the family firm for a long time and whilst I suspect he had disagreements with my father from time to time, I think he respected him. But it was when he asked about Mother that his genuine concern showed.’

  ‘Your mother’s a lovely woman. Everyone who meets her likes her, loves her even.’

  Slowly, Trip turned to face her. ‘That’s it, Emily. You’ve hit the nail on the head.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘When George Bayes asked about her he didn’t say “How’s your mother?” or even “How’s Mrs Trippet?”’

  Emily frowned. ‘I still don’t see—’

  ‘His words were “How’s Constance?” He used her Christian name.’

  Emily gasped in surprise and stared at Trip, her own meal forgotten too now. ‘You mean – you think he’s in love with your mother?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Trip said slowly, but then he grinned. ‘Though I intend to find out. This calls for an excursion to Ashford on Sunday and when I casually bring into the conversation that George is coming back to work, I’ll just watch Mother’s face.’

  Emily chuckled. ‘Your mother won’t give anything away, I can tell you that now.’

  ‘We’ll see, we’ll see,’ he murmured as, suddenly realizing he was quite hungry, he attacked his food with a great deal more interest. ‘And besides,’ he added, ‘we really should warn Josh about Mick.’

  Three

  The following Sunday was bright and clear, but the country air was sharp. Autumn would soon be on its way, Emily thought, as she climbed into the sidecar attached to Trip’s motorcycle. She glanced up at her husband. He really was a handsome man, she thought for the umpteenth time, with a smile that could melt hearts. He was tall with hair as black as a raven’s feathers. The tiny lines around his warm, brown eyes crinkled when he laughed, which was often. He was kind and considerate and she loved him dearly.

  ‘Hold on tight, Emily. We’re off,’ Trip said, as he started the engine and they weaved their way through the city streets and then roared up the hill towards Baslow and the place they still called home: Ashford-in-the-Water. It was a pretty village near Bakewell, set beside the meandering River Wye. At one end of the main street stood Trip’s home, Riversdale House, whilst at the opposite end and just around the corner into Greaves Lane, was The Candle House, where Emily had lived for most of her life and where her parents now lived once more. Next door was the smithy where Josh lived with Amy, their two children and Amy’s father, Bob Clark, the village blacksmith. But every working day, Josh walked the short distance to the front room of his parents’ home where he had his candle-making business.

  As they always did when they visited their families, they parked the motorcycle at Riversdale House and entered the building by the back door leading into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Froggatt,’ Trip said, putting his arms around the thick waist of the cook, whom he’d known since childhood. He planted a kiss on her red cheek and waltzed her round the kitchen table.

  ‘Oh Master Thomas, you are a one,’ she simpered. Pretending to be breathless but, in fact, enjoying every moment, she turned to Emily with a smile. ‘Come along in, my dear. It’s good to see you both. Everything all right, is it?’

  Trip and Emily glanced at each other. They had decided to say nothing about Mick Dugdale’s reappearance in the city to anyone apart from Josh and maybe Trip’s mother.

  ‘Everything’s fine, Mrs Froggatt, thank you,’ Emily said.

  Then the cook stood with her hands on her hips and regarded them both. ‘And when, might I ask, are you going to bring us some exciting news?’

  Trip laughed loudly, perhaps to cover his embarrassment, though they both knew Mrs Froggatt’s bluntness stemmed from her fondness for them both. ‘All in good time.’

  ‘Don’t leave it too long, Master Thomas.’ The cook wagged her finger at him. ‘Trippets’ needs an heir. It’s not my business, of course, but I’d rather you didn’t leave that to Master Richard.’ She gave a disapproving sniff and then added hastily, ‘Not that I’ve owt against the young man, mind. If your mother can accept the situation, then so can we. But I’d sooner like to think that your son will be at the helm in the next generation.’

  ‘Richard’s a nice young feller,’ Trip said quietly.

  ‘Aye, that’s as may be, and I’ve nowt against him being in the business, but I wouldn’t like to see the firm go down that line, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Oh I do, Cook, I do,’ Trip said softly.

  A less kind person would have taken umbrage at the cook’s bluntness, giving vent to opinions that were none of her concern, but Mrs Froggatt had worked for the Trippets for many years and Trip was aware that she viewed the family as her own. He turned and held out his hand to Emily, knowing that the conversation would have touched a raw subject for her – for them both, if truth be told. They were both disappointed that Emily had not yet fallen pregnant and they, more than anyone, wanted the day to come when they could indeed bring exciting news to Ashford.

  ‘Come, my love, we’ll go and find Mother.’

  ‘I’ll send Polly up with coffee for three, then,’ Mrs Froggatt said and waved them towards the door leading into the family’s part of the house. ‘And I’ll make sure luncheon stretches to include two more.’

  They found Constance in the morning room that looked out over the drive.

  She laid aside her embroidery and rose from the window seat, holding her arms wide. ‘I saw you arrive, my dears. How lovely to see you. Does Cook know you’re here?’

  Trip nodded and chuckled. ‘And we’ve already been admonished for not bringing “exciting news”, as she calls it. Mind you, we’d hardly be telling her first, now would we?’

  Constance raised her eyebrows in a question, but Trip gave a slight shake of the head and she turned towards Emily to give her a warm hug of welcome.

  ‘How’s Father?’ Trip asked, as they sat down to wait for the promised coffee to arrive.

>   Constance sighed. ‘I think you’ll see a change in him. I think he’s deteriorating, I’m sad to say.’

  Despite the fact that they had not married for love, Constance had been a dutiful wife and mother. Her only real sadness had been that she had been unable have a larger family. Two miscarriages after Thomas’s birth had resulted in her husband being warned that if he wanted Constance’s life not to be threatened, there should be no more children. After that, physical union between them had ceased and Constance had found out that Arthur had a mistress in the city.

  Three years ago, Arthur Trippet had suffered a severe stroke, which had left him paralysed and unable to speak, necessitating a live-in nurse, Nurse Adams.

  ‘He’s losing weight and seems weaker,’ Constance said.

  ‘Does he still get up each day?’

  ‘Oh yes. Nurse Adams and Kirkland make him.’

  Kirkland had been the chauffeur and gardener for the Trippets for some years and now helped the nurse with the lifting of her patient from his bed to a chair each day.

  ‘What does the doctor say? Has he called in a second opinion?’

  ‘Yes, we had a specialist visit last week, but I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done. He won’t improve any more.’ Arthur had not left his bedroom since the day of his second stroke, even though Constance had tried to persuade him to use the bath chair she had acquired.

  ‘The villagers have been very good,’ she said, smiling, ‘considering how he always treated them with disdain. The members of the Friendly Society visit him often, though I’m not quite sure how appreciative he is of their visits.’

  Trip laughed. ‘And are you still the leading light of that organization?’

  Constance had built a life for herself in the village. She was well respected and liked by all who knew her and any one of them felt they could turn to her for help. There were only three women in the village, however, whom Constance would call her friends: Grace Partridge, whom she had come to know through the Friendly Society, and Martha and Amy Ryan, to whom she felt sort of related now that Emily and her son were married.

  Constance chuckled at Trip’s question. ‘Now, now, Thomas, none of your sarcasm, if you please.’

  ‘I wasn’t being sarcastic, Mother. As if I would be. They’re a great organization and do a lot to help their neighbours, but I also know that they regard you as their president, or whatever they call it.’

  ‘We all work together,’ Constance said modestly, ‘and certainly they have all helped me over the last three years.’

  There was a break in their conversation whilst Polly brought in the coffee and handed it round. When the maid had left the room, Trip asked, with deliberate casualness, ‘Has George Bayes been to see him recently?’

  Both Trip and Emily watched Constance’s face carefully and later they were to agree that there had been a fleeting glimpse of something in her eyes at the mention of the man’s name.

  ‘Yes, he came once or twice in the first year, then not so often whilst his wife was so ill, but he called a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘He’s coming back to work. Did you know?’

  A smile flickered on Constance’s mouth. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘It was my suggestion that he should speak to you. Since poor Muriel died, he’s been feeling very lost. Times hangs heavy, as they say.’

  ‘I’m glad you did, Mother. We’ve missed him and Richard can’t wait for him to come back and help him with the admin side of things.’

  ‘How is Richard? Are you getting on well with him?’

  ‘Like the proverbial house on fire. He looks after all the paperwork – he’s a very bright lad, actually – and I manage the factory side of things. It works very well.’ Trip cast an amused glance at his mother. ‘It was very astute of you to suggest such an arrangement.’

  When he had disowned Thomas for a while over his refusal to abandon Emily, Arthur had installed his illegitimate son Richard into his firm and had made him his heir. But when Arthur had suffered the second and most severe stroke, it had been Constance who had come up with the idea to reinstate her own son and have the two young men become equal partners in the business.

  ‘I’m only too pleased that it seems to have worked well. It might not have done.’

  ‘True,’ Trip agreed, ‘but, luckily, it has.’

  ‘He comes to dinner with us quite often,’ Emily said, ‘and we’ve even made him promise to come walking with us in the dales some time.’

  ‘He’s not too keen on that.’ Trip laughed. ‘I think he’s a city lad at heart.’

  At that moment, luncheon was announced and Trip decided to delay telling his mother about Mick Dugdale until they had eaten.

  As they sat once more in the morning room after the meal, he said, ‘Mother, I think there’s something you should know, but please don’t say anything to anyone else, though we do intend to warn Josh. We’ve heard that Mick Dugdale is back in the city.’

  Constance nodded, understanding at once. Her glance went to Emily. ‘Is he at home with Lizzie and their mother?’

  Emily shook her head. ‘He visited them briefly and then disappeared again, but we’re pretty sure he’s still in Sheffield.’

  ‘And what is Lizzie’s attitude?’

  Emily wrinkled her forehead. ‘Hard to say, really, but she knows that we won’t tolerate her having anything to do with him, if she wants to keep her job.’

  ‘Just be careful, my dears, and remember the saying: “blood is thicker than water”. And now,’ she added, standing up, ‘you’d better come up and see your father.’

  Four

  It was a great deal more difficult to get Josh on his own than it had been to speak to Constance privately. There was such a flurry of excitement in both households at their arrival.

  ‘I thought I heard your motorcycle go past this morning,’ Josh exclaimed, shaking Trip’s hand and hugging his sister. ‘How are you both? Oh, here’s Harry to say “hello” to his favourite aunty and uncle.’

  ‘We’re his only aunty and uncle,’ Emily laughed, picking up the four-year-old and dancing around the kitchen with him in her arms. ‘How’s my boy? My, you’re getting heavy. And where’s your little sister?’

  ‘Upstairs having her afternoon nap in her cot.’ The little boy was surprisingly articulate for his age. ‘Have you seen Granny and Pap-pap?’

  ‘Not yet. We’ve come to see you first, because you’re the most important.’

  The curly haired little boy beamed and wound his chubby arms around Emily’s neck. Still with him in her arms, Emily turned to her brother. ‘Josh, there’s something—’

  But she didn’t get any further as the door opened and Amy came in. ‘How lovely to see you. Come into the front room. Father’s building up the fire.’ Still talking, Amy ushered them all through into the best parlour, which the family used all the time now, dispensing with the custom of have a front room that was only used on high days and holidays. As they entered the room, Bob turned to greet them with a smile.

  Bob Clark was the village blacksmith and the family still lived in the house attached to his workplace. At forty-four, he was still fit and healthy with a strength belied by his slim stature. His family, friends and neighbours were everything to him. The only time he had ever felt the villagers’ disapproval had been when he’d failed to volunteer in the Great War, but Amy had been more important to him; he couldn’t risk leaving her an orphan, for his wife, Sarah, had died at Amy’s birth and he’d loved and cared for his daughter ever since. And, to his mind too, his work was far more valuable to the local community than his becoming just one more casualty amongst the millions who’d been killed. Grace Partridge and her husband, Dan, had been Bob’s staunch allies at that time, but it had not been until the local folk had seen poor Walter Ryan return from the war a broken man that they’d understood Bob’s decision.

  As Amy had grown, he’d watched with thankfulness in his heart as she and Josh Ryan had become close as children and he’
d seen the love blossom between them. When Josh had been dragged away to the city by his ambitious mother, not knowing that he had left Amy pregnant, Bob had stood by his daughter and cared for her and the child. He remembered that time with mixed feelings. It had been troubling, of course, but, to his amazement, the villagers, led by Grace Partridge, had rallied round the young girl. Grace had helped to look after Amy from the time of her mother’s death and, childless herself, had regarded Amy as the daughter she’d never had. Even more surprising had been Constance Trippet’s understanding. Between them, Grace and Constance had ensured that Amy was never shunned or became the subject of village gossip. And when eventually Josh had found out about his son, he had left Sheffield and come back to Ashford. To the great delight of everyone, there had been a double wedding in the village church in April 1922 – Josh and Amy and Trip and Emily – and afterwards, Constance had held a joint reception at Riversdale House to which the whole village had been invited.

  There had been only one person absent from the celebrations: Arthur Trippet.

  Now, as they sat down together in the front room, the conversation revolved around family matters for the two hours they spent there and when Trip and Emily left to go next door to see Martha and Walter Ryan, they had still not had a chance to speak to Josh on his own.

  As they walked the few paces to the back door of The Candle House, Trip whispered, ‘I’ll try to see him before we leave.’

  The conversation within this household was very different from that next door. After courteous questions after everyone’s health had been exchanged and the young couple had noticed that Walter had improved yet again since the last time they had seen him, Martha asked, ‘And how is business, Thomas? Is the factory doing well?’

  ‘I’m pleased to say it is, Mother-in-law.’ Trip always gave Martha her full title – he felt it was what she expected – though he called Walter ‘Dad’, as Emily did. ‘Despite the unsettled nature of the economy following the war, Emily’s buffing business is going from strength to strength. She’s thinking of taking on another premises and hiring more girls, aren’t you, my love?’