‘What is that smell? I thought the Ouse was foetid but . . .’ Hamer put his hand over his nose.

  ‘It’s the clam shells piled up to be stamped into button blanks. Buttons is big business now. Brought plenty work for folks,’ Martha replied, pointing to boats filled with clam shells. Then they crush what’s left to take to the vegetable-growing fields. Nothing is wasted but it sure does foul up the air. Mr James is big in buttons now,’ she added.

  Rhoda laughed at her words but Martha shook her head. ‘You’ll find him much changed. I never told you how his wife died in a tragic accident. Don’t mention her name in his hearing. He can’t bear to talk about it.’

  ‘What about the little boy?’

  ‘Hamish’s fine, you’ll meet him and see for yourself. He’s just like his pa. He can ride a pony like a savage.’

  Rhoda turned to Hamer to explain their connection. ‘Martha’s employer was our landlord. He was very kind when Greta’s husband drowned and I was ill. He and Greta were quite friendly before we left.’

  ‘The less said about that the better,’ sniffed Martha guiding them across the street to their lodgings. ‘You get settled, have a look around the town. Mr James will send a cab for you this evening. You will dine with him. I’m making pot pie like old times.’ With that she left them to register at their hotel.

  ‘It all sounds very intriguing. A captain of industry invites his tenant’s maid to dine in his mansion house?’

  ‘I can’t believe Martha never wrote his wife had died. I’ve told her all about Persie being born early and all about the shop and she forgets such important news?’

  ‘Perhaps she thought it wasn’t her place to tell you,’ Hamer offered. ‘I was young when we lost our mama. My father went silent for months. He worked and worked but when he was reconciled with Edmund, things got better for him. Mother so wanted Edmund to be a lawyer but he refused so I took that place. Families are strange beasts, don’t you think?’

  ‘I never knew a family until Greta took me in. Her husband was mean and hated me but she made up for him. I was glad when he drowned.’ Rhoda put her hand over her mouth. ‘I’ve never said that out loud before.’

  ‘Speak the truth in love.’ Hamer hugged her. ‘So here we are, back in the very place where it all began for you both.’

  ‘It holds strange memories though. Miss Greta hit Mr Slinger with a skillet and knocked him out when he attacked me. The miser hid his pearls in his clothes and when we found them by accident, we danced around the room with relief. We had the chance to leave.’

  ‘You make my life seem so dull after all your adventures.’

  ‘Sure but the Lord in his wisdom found me someone who would be an anchor to hold me steady.’

  ‘Shall I hold you steady now?’

  ‘No, no.’ She laughed. ‘Hold me rough and keep me close.’

  Jem went onto the veranda to greet his guests as they stepped out of the cab. He saw them looking up at the white portico and shuttered windows with admiration. Could this really be little Rhodabel, the gawky kid he last saw recovering from fever? By her side was a fair-haired young man with a full beard in a sombre black suit. She seemed too young to be married but then Effie was little more than a schoolgirl . . . but no more of that.

  In the year since her passing he had gotten used to the silences. It was enough to hear factory noises thumping in his ears, the clatter of the stamping machine that Boepple was using to produce the buttons. Little Hamish brought his own welcome noise and chatter. They had horses and rode out together. It was a blessing he didn’t look like his mother. There was no reminder of Effie’s fair beauty to choke him with regret.

  Everything he touched seemed to turn to gold: business investments, property leases, a new lumber mill where Jake ran the show. Marcella stayed away and that suited them both. The garden was kept immaculate as a memorial to his wife. Not a blade of grass was out of place and the flowerbeds were magnificent but he never went in the garden. He had a boat on the river so he could go fishing for catfish and sometimes he went clamming. He wanted Hamish to delight in the things that he’d enjoyed as a child in Perthshire. He showed his son pictures of Scotland, promising they would return one day and visit Glencorrin once more. The boy was too young to understand but he like playing on the shoreline and pearling.

  Jem hated the weeks when his son went to stay in Clinton. The silence of the mansion was oppressive and he drowned his sorrows in the saloon bars or visited Madame Honorie’s establishment to relieve himself of all the frustrations of living a batchelor’s life but somehow that left him lonelier than ever.

  There were discreet matchmaking overtures among the wives of his business acquaintances but their wholesome hearty daughters held no appeal. He wanted to spend time with no one apart from Hamish. One day his son would be wealthy but he wanted him to know just where he came from and never to be ashamed of his humble origins.

  ‘My father was a tinker, they said, a travelling man and a pearl fisher, and my mother was the kindest soul who filled his heart with love and tamed his wandering soul.’ How many times had he rehearsed this line knowing the laddie was too young to understand his meaning. No more of all that, he thought, watching Martha bringing his guests up the steps to the porch.

  ‘Welcome to Rosemount,’ Jem held out his hand to his guests. ‘We are so glad to see the wanderer return.’

  Rhoda introduced her new husband and he felt a flicker of envy for the couple looked so happy together.

  ‘What a view!’ Hamer Blake said shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I’ve read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I never thought to visit this mighty river. Thank you kindly for this invitation.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s just old-fashioned hospitality and Martha would never forgive me if we didn’t show off her house.’

  ‘We are sorry for your recent loss,’ Hamer continued bowing his head.

  Jem nodded and moved them into the drawing room. ‘Come and meet my son who has been allowed to stay up late to meet you.’

  Hamish looked up from his jigsaw puzzle and smiled. He was in pyjamas and dressing gown.

  Hamer stared at him, shaking his head. ‘Goodness me, doesn’t he look just like—’ Jem saw Rhoda nudging her husband hard.

  ‘He looks just like you with those dark curls,’ Rhoda replied blushing, a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘Would you like a tour of the house? Most people seem to find it an interesting design. It was only a dream when you lived here, Mrs Blake.’

  ‘Rhoda, please,’ she insisted. ‘I am very curious.’

  He rang a bell and Martha sprang into view. ‘Let them loose while I take this young man to his bed.’

  ‘Why did you elbow me when I nearly remarked on Hamish looking like Persie?’ Hamer pushed his wife up the stairs.

  ‘Because he doesn’t know about Persie but Martha does and Greta was insistent no one should know.’

  ‘Well they could be twins they look so alike, that’s all I’m saying.’ Hamer paused on the landing until Martha was out of earshot before asking, ‘Are you saying what I think you are saying?’

  ‘Shush not a word, the less said the better. I did wonder when she was born so early but it was never spoken about. But after seeing the boy . . .’

  ‘Does James not know then? Shouldn’t he know?’

  ‘It’s none of our business. The two of them were very friendly. I once thought I saw them kissing but I could’ve imagined it. I was such a greenhorn I never thought . . . oh heck!’

  ‘He ought to know if he has another child, for the child’s sake. It affects inheritance . . .’

  ‘Trust you to see the legal side of things. Perhaps in time but he’s lost his wife and Greta is settled with her business. We can’t interfere or break a confidence. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, can it?’

  ‘What you don’t know can destroy trust if the truth is withheld between good friends and then you find out later. We must hold this matter in prayer to the Lord and ask for guidance,’ Hamer suggested. ‘Perhaps we were guided here to find this out.’

  ‘Are you two coming or not?’ yelled Martha. ‘Come and see the marbled bathroom.’

  ‘Coming . . . Lead on Macduff’ Rhoda wasn’t going to spoil this sociable evening by worrying about their strange discovery. After all it might be just a coincidence. Although she had often wondered how a man who died in October eighty-eight could father a child born early nearly a year later.

  60

  Greta couldn’t believe her daughter was now four years old and attending a little dame school close to the Minster. She always felt the draught of her absence however busy she was. Rhodabel was living across the river in Mount Vernon so Greta now ran the shop alone and life fell into an ordered pattern. There were regular visits to auction rooms in Leeds and Harrogate where, after eyeing up jewellery pieces, she’d let a steward bid for her so she retained an air of mystery. The ‘Widow from Goodramgate’ was easily recognized by local competitors in her smart black suit and jaunty hats. She was good at rooting out bargains.

  Yet Greta was beginning to feel cramped and restless in the upstairs living space. Persie had Rhoda’s bedroom now but there was still not much room for the two of them. They took walks around the city and the park and visited the Blakes so that Persie could play in their large garden.

  Rhoda’s honeymoon was still a talking point and Greta was pleased to hear that the couple had visited Muscatine. Their meeting with Jem troubled Greta especially when she heard about Euphemia’s tragic accident. ‘I didn’t know a bee sting could kill you,’ Rhoda added. ‘The poor man looks so sad and his little boy is almost as old as Persie. Hamish looks like his father too.’

  Greta looked at the photograph of Martha holding a small boy’s hand and tried to stay calm. ‘Did you tell James about Pearl?’ she said, not lifting her eyes.

  ‘Of course not, Hamer nearly spilled the beans when he saw Hamish but I stopped him.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ she replied, sipping her tea, her fingers rattling the saucer.

  ‘It’s not our place to tell him he has a daughter, is it?’ Rhoda looked her straight in the eye. ‘She is James’s child?’

  Greta bowed her head feeling defensive. ‘And what good would that do for the world to know? Persie belongs to me, to my family. I am a widow. That’s all people need to know.’

  ‘But it’s not honest. It might cheer his spirit to know he has a little girl too. He’s very wealthy now,’ she added.

  ‘Is that all you Quakers think about, money and business? I am successful too.’

  ‘Of course you are but Pearl thinks her papa is dead. One day she should be told the truth . . .’

  ‘What’s brought all this on? My affairs are my own business not yours. You have a husband to attend to. Please don’t tell me what I should be doing.’ Greta banged her cup and saucer down, spilling its contents all over the cloth.

  ‘We just wanted you to know that we know, that’s all, but if you saw little Hamish—’

  ‘Well, now I know you know and I will never see his son, will I?’

  ‘But lies have a way of unravelling themselves.’

  ‘Don’t preach at me, Rhoda. It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘That’s not fair. I have kept silent but how can I stand by and let someone I love do a bad thing? I’m speaking the truth in love.’

  ‘Rhoda, you are preaching at me. Let me tell you how hard it was to leave when we did but there was no choice and I didn’t realize my condition until we came home. How could I destroy their engagement by making demands on him? Better to let things be, and if you want honesty here’s something else to chew over. Persie wouldn’t be here today if you hadn’t been so sick and at death’s door. Jem came to comfort me while you were all those weeks in hospital. That’s when it all began. There you have it.’ Her heart thudded with the memory of that time. ‘And perhaps we wouldn’t be here if he had abandoned Effie but he made his choice and it wasn’t me.’ Greta paused. ‘I’d better go before I say anything more.’

  ‘I didn’t mean for us to quarrel. I owe you so much.’

  ‘You owe me nothing. What I did suited me as well as you. Come on, Persie!’ she yelled from the French window. ‘Time for home.’

  Persie dawdled over in a sulk. ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘Come when you are told.’ Greta was in no mood for arguments.

  ‘Oh, please don’t leave on a bad note,’ Rhoda begged. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  ‘Well, you have so you must live with it.’

  Greta was furious as they stood waiting for the horse tram. Persie was sulking and it was hot and sticky. Her mind was racing at the thought of Jem’s young wife, cut short in life leaving such a small child. She had never borne her any malice, or had she? Was there jealousy that Jem’s wife was richer, prettier and younger? Would it be proper to write to him with her condolences? Should she renew their friendship with a view to . . . she paused . . . to what? Should she tempt him with news of his other child? Should she slip a portrait of Persie in the letter for him to see the likeness to his son; a resemblance so obvious that even the Blakes were struck by it? Now she had rowed with her dearest companion. How could she be so ungrateful and mean to her? What was the matter with her these days?

  As if to punish her more, the week got off to a bad start. The pavements of York were steaming; the stench from the river had seeped into the narrow streets and with the result that custom was slow. Pride made her unable to write a postcard of apology to Rhodabel. Let her sit in the shade of her garden and contemplate her sermon for all I care, she thought. Greta snapped and sweated with bad temper and fear, keeping herself busy by cleaning out the shelves and cupboards. Despite wearing as thin a dress as she could find, the heat was oppressive and her hair stuck to her forehead.

  To her surprise Sam Broadhurst arrived. It was not his usual market day. He had a grey look to him she’d never seen before, as if he had not been outdoors for days. He looked awkward in his black serge suit and he was carrying a bowler hat.

  ‘Have I missed the day?’ she laughed.

  He stood four square. ‘No, lass, but I thought you ought to know I’ve just buried my lass.’

  Greta stood in shock at this news not knowing what to say. ‘Oh, Sam, I’m sorry to hear that. Please come in. I had no idea.’

  ‘Aye, well, Letty’s been badly for months. We kept hoping but it allus were a poor job. Summat to do wi’ a weakness of the blood, they said at the hospital. She were only nineteen but that pale and tired, she just faded away before my eyes. Tell me, Mrs Costello, what did a lass like her do to deserve such like?’ There were tears in his eyes.

  ‘I’m going to make us a brew. You shouldn’t be out in this summer heat. I am so sorry.’

  ‘They say she were too good for this world. They say the good die young and she’ll be in a better place now but I want her here with me, not over there.’ The anguish was so raw as he wiped his eyes with a grubby hanky.

  Greta shut the shop. ‘Come upstairs and tell me all about Letty.’ It was the least she could do. She knew just what it felt like and thought of Kitty. The poor man had all the stuffing knocked out of him. Blow having tea, what he needed was a stiff drink. She had some brandy in the cupboard for when they were ill. There was almost a full bottle so she poured two glasses and they sipped it as he poured out his sadness.

  ‘It means, I’m afraid, I’ll not be needing them pearls. I’d be grateful if you could buy them back. It took a lot of brass to give her the best send-off. I’d such plans for her to marry and take over the farm. It’ll have to go one day as I’ve no heart in it any more.’

  Greta nodded and let him talk and drink. The brandy loosened his tongue and she heard all about his late wife, his stock, his struggle to build up his herd. The pearls would have to be sold on. None of that mattered when this poor man had lost his most precious girl. This must be what Jem felt after losing his wife. How could she have ever thought of contacting him again?

  Broadhurst fell into a snooze and starting snoring so she left him in peace, knowing rest was what was needed. It would soon be time to collect Persie from her school.

  Feeling the effects of the brandy, she half tumbled down the stairs to open the shop. Edmund was waiting on her doorstep. ‘I’ve been to the printers in Fossgate to collect these posters. There’s going to be an exhibition of Arts and Crafts. What do you think?’ He spread his poster on the counter. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to dash, but I’ll look in later to collect them and to see what you think.’

  Just at that moment Sam Broadhurst staggered down the stair with the smell of brandy on him. Edmund took one look at the barrel-chested farmer and scowled. ‘Oh, you’ve got a visitor. Sorry to spoil your little party, have I interrupted something?’ He didn’t wait for a reply but dashed out into the street and Greta was too stunned to call him back.

  ‘Thank you, lass, for your listening ear. I just wanted you to know the situation. You don’t have to rush about buying them back. They’re only pearls after all. What I’ve lost is beyond price, beyond my understanding.’ With that Sam staggered forth to the nearest public house to drown his sorrows.

  It was only when walking Persie home from school that it dawned on her that Edmund thought she was entertaining a man upstairs in private. How could he ever have thought such a thing? Did he think she was a widow on her own finding comfort where she could?

  She waited anxiously all evening for him to collect his posters so she could explain. He didn’t come that night or the next but then the following evening she caught sight of him staggering out of the Cross Keys in the direction of the shop. ‘There you are. I want a word with you.’

  Edmund raised his cap. ‘Has your fancy man stood you up?’

  ‘Come inside, you’re drunk. How dare you think such a thing of me? You’re like all the rest, women are good only for one thing. That poor man lost his only child and came to tell me before drowning his sorrows. We had an arrangement to buy her pearls that she will never now wear so I gave him some brandy to cheer him up and you assumed that I was whoring on the side, did you?’