1 June, 1902 The Girl
IT WAS THE most glorious summer’s day, but even as the sun warmed her face and the sound of birdsong thrilled her ears, Emily Ramsden’s young heart trembled with fear as she hurried stealthily from the house. He was in there. He must not suspect what she was up to, or her life would not be worth living. Running across the yard, she was oblivious to the sharp mounds of dried mud and rough hoggin that sliced open the soles of her bare feet. She was desperate to get as far from the farmhouse as possible, away from prying eyes and into the upper reaches of the old hayloft. From there, she would know if anyone approached. He hasn’t caught me yet, she thought defiantly. He won’t catch me today, neither! Something was about to happen, but as yet she didn’t know what. All she had been told was, ‘Be at the usual place, at the usual time, and there might be cause to celebrate.’ Excitement raced through her. She could hardly wait. In fact, she was far too early, so she had time enough to waste. Overnight there had been a torrent of rain, still evident in the many puddles and flooded potholes along the walkways of Potts End Farm. Though the sun was already beginning to dry them up, there were still places where the squelchy earth pushed up and squeezed between her toes, creating long, thin sausages like her mammy made. It was uncomfortable and messy, but it didn’t matter. She would run down to the brook later, and wash her feet in the fresh, cool water. With that in mind, she happily gathered the hem of her long skirt and splashed her way through. Yet in the midst of her excitement the fear was never far away. He was never far away. Nearing the barn, she felt a deep sense of relief. Soon, she would be safe. Safe! She groaned inwardly. Not so long ago she’d felt safe all the time. But ever since he had arrived, their lives had changed for the worse – until it seemed she and her mammy and dear old Grandad would never be safe again. ‘I won’t let him ruin everything!’ the girl muttered to herself. ‘Especially not today.’ Her heart almost burst with pride at the thought of her lover. ‘Today is our day … mine and John’s.’
Yet even as she drew pleasure from the sights and sounds around her, she had no way of knowing that this day would prove to be the worst day of her life.
Emily Ramsden was such a pretty little thing. Small and slim, with thick plaits of sun-kissed brown hair and warm, smiling eyes the colour of nutmeg, she had a loving nature and a gentle heart. At only sixteen years of age, a girl trembling on the brink of womanhood, she worked as hard on the family farm as did any of the hired labour, and through her generosity and honest demeanour, she had earned the respect and affection of men and women alike. Yet there was one man in particular who yearned for more than a friendly word or an innocent smile. This was a man without compassion or decency. Just lately, his avaricious eyes were following her every move, his cravings growing stronger every passing day. Now, just as she reached the clearing in front of the barn, she heard the kitchen door being flung open. When his angry voice called out, her heart sank like a lead weight. How had he known? She had been as quiet as a mouse, and still he must have heard her leaving the house. Quickly, before he could see her, she dodged behind the huge pile of newly-chopped logs, her heart beating so fast she was certain he must hear it. Whatever happened, he mustn’t find her! These days, ever since he had rescued Potts End Farm financially, her Uncle Clem ruled their lives with an almost insane passion, and though it was against her nature, Emily had learned to hate him with that same passion. ‘Emily!‘ his familiar voice boomed out. ‘You’d best not be skiving again, or you’ll feel the crack o’ my belt across yer bare arse!‘ In that same instant, Emily recognised the ominous whistle of his thin leather belt as it sliced through the air. She knew that sound as well as her own heartbeat, for all too often, she had felt the sting of his belt across the back of her legs. Stealing into the barn, she softly closed the door and instantly felt more at ease in the twilight of that great dark place. ‘YER BUGGER, WHERE ARE YER?’ His voice shook with rage. ‘WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU UP TO, YER LITTLE BITCH?’ Emily pressed herself against the cobwebby wall and, for what seemed an age, she hardly dared breathe. To comfort herself, she clutched the locket John had given her on her sixteenth birthday, and which she wore hidden beneath her pinafore. Within lay a lock of his hair. It was so romantic! She loved to feel that a part of him was so close to a part of her. When, a moment later, the barn door inched open, she thought she would die of fright. He was coming into the barn and there was no other way out! She almost laughed aloud when her mammy’s voice called out, ‘Clem! Clem, get back to the house. There’s somebody here to see you.’ Outside, in the yard, Clem Jackson swung round to face the older woman, who was hurrying towards him. ‘What the devil d’yer want?’ Aggie Ramsden was a weathered version of Emily, but with blue eyes and a tiredness about her that told its own tale. The likeness to her daughter was uncanny, for she had the same confident way of standing, the small, straight nose, full mouth, and that peculiar air of defiance in the face of hardship. Taller than Emily, she had a slight stoop at the shoulders, and though she was only in her thirty-fourth year, her long, dark brown hair was already streaked with grey. Tied tightly back, it made her look severe, when in fact she was a kindly soul at heart. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ she repeated. ‘There’s somebody to see you.’ ‘What?’ His mind was still on the girl. ‘Yon Emily’s gone missing again, the little besom!’ ‘Oh, for God’s sake, why don’t you leave the lass alone?’ Weariness marbled her voice. ‘And why don’t you bugger off.’ There was the sound of that belt again, threatening, vicious – like himself. With the toe of his heavy work boot, he lashed out at the barn door, which slammed shut. ‘What d’yer mean by fetching me from my work, woman!’ ‘Hmh! You should be glad I took the trouble,’ Aggie retaliated. ‘I’ve left my own work to come and find you. Besides, you wouldn’t have been pleased if I’d sent him away without telling you.’ For what seemed an age, he regarded her through daggers of resentment. He recalled how his sister had once been a real beauty, but that was a long time ago. ‘I thought I told you to bugger off.’ ‘An’ I told you … there’s somebody as wants to see you.’ Her voice was flat and uncaring. Her spirit seemed broken, when before it was bright and alive. ‘Aye well, happen I don’t want to see them, ’ave yer thought o’ that?‘ ‘I don’t get paid to think. I’m just passing on a message, and I’ve got better things to do than run errands on your account.’ ‘You’d best watch yer tongue, woman! Anyway, what are all these “things” yer ’ave to do? You’re two o’ the bloody same, you and your skiving daughter … allus trying to dodge whatever work comes along.’ ‘We both do our share and well you know it.’ ‘Not so’s you’d bloody notice!’ He had a way of sneering that fired her anger like nothing else, but after six months of his tyrannical rule, she had learned to keep her anger under control, or suffer the consequences. Yet
