Edmund looked shocked at her angry words. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just the way he was staggering and there was spirits on your breath too.’

  ‘I kept him company. I just want to put the matter straight.’

  ‘You cared that I thought badly of you, does that mean . . .?’ He looked down at her with hope in his eyes.

  ‘It means I care for my reputation, that’s all. You and I have always been good friends.’

  ‘Then it’s time it was something more, Greta. I could give you a good home and love Persie as my own.’

  ‘Please, not now, don’t let’s quarrel again. Give me time. I’m not ready to give up my independence or my way of doing things. I had enough of that in my marriage.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t be like that with us,’ he protested. ‘I can make you happy.’

  ‘But I fear I would make us both unhappy. There are things in my past . . .’ she paused knowing honesty was needed now. ‘You don’t know all my story.’

  ‘I don’t care about all that stuff. Ever since you were a maid in the house, you showed such spirit. What happened with your husband in America is history. Promise me you’ll think about a life with me.’

  Greta nodded. ‘I just want to be straight with you. I’m not a silly servant girl or any man’s bride now and Persie belongs only to me. I don’t want to talk about her father so let’s leave it there. Let me make you some supper. You can’t go back to Mount Vernon smelling of stale ale.’

  ‘I can stay here with you then?’ he asked.

  ‘Edmund Blake, have you not heard a word I’ve just said?’

  In the morning she found Nellie Webster from next door on her doorstep. ‘Have you heard?’ she rushed in with her sleeves rolled up.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘They’re going to pull us down, all of us . . .’

  ‘Pull what down?’ Nellie was talking gibberish.

  ‘These houses, shops and the pub will go to make a street up to the Minster,’ she said.

  ‘What street might that be?’

  ‘There’s talk about turning out all of us so they can pave a road up the side.’

  ‘Talk, it’s just talk, Nellie. You know how people like to make up stuff. It’ll never happen in our day.’

  ‘But John heard from the Todds and the other shop that there’s plans afoot to widen the street and to pull down the Cross Keys.’

  ‘Is there anything on paper? Surely it all has to go to meetings and committee. You can’t just pull down shops. It won’t be in our lifetime.’

  ‘I tell you, our livelihood’s under threat.’

  ‘It’s my landlord’s under threat. I’m only a tenant. I don’t own anything.’

  ‘Makes no difference, though, does it, love? We’ll have to up sticks and shift to another place. We’ll lose customers and the street will be a mess of rubble.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t come to this, not so soon anyways.’

  ‘Mark my words it will come and we’ll all be the last to know.’

  Nellie flounced out of the shop leaving Greta winded by her threats. Could it be true? Could she ask the vicar? Erasmus Blake might know about town plans. He was always her ally but she had fallen out with Rhoda and upset Hamer. She didn’t want Edmund championing her corner once again.

  To lose her livelihood now was unthinkable. She felt the sure ground of certainty shifting beneath her feet, a rumble of change in the air, a storm on the horizon. Perhaps her mother would lend her an ear but not even Sadie could take this unexpected fear from her. Never had she felt so alone.

  61

  1895

  Dear Friend,

  After much thought and prayer we feel it is our duty to inform you of the following circumstance which we omitted to divulge last year when you were so gracious as to give us such kind hospitality.

  Both my wife and I remarked on the likeness between yourself and your son but we also noticed a remarkable likeness between Hamish and the child of our dear friend Margaret Costello.

  A recent portrait of the said child is enclosed. The child was born in York in September 1889. It was a miracle of God’s grace that she survived being so premature. Her survival was due to her mother’s devoted care.

  Now she is nearly six years old and delights us with her reading. Her name is Kathleen Pearl but within the family she is known as Persie. My wife is her godmother because at that time she had not become a member of The Society of Friends who do not hold with such ceremonies. We perform our duty of care to the best of our abilities and for this reason feel we must speak out on Persie’s behalf.

  She thinks her father to be dead as, of course, do most of Greta’s family. Margaret expressly told my wife not to speak of such delicate matters and not to inform anyone outside the family.

  However, it is in the light of truth that a friend must sometimes intervene in the interest of mother and child. Bearing in mind your recent sorrows we feel sure you would want to know of this child’s existence Be this at the risk of losing the friendship of our most valued sister, we are taking this unusual step.

  How you respond to this letter is entirely up to you. It will no doubt be both a shock and disappointment that Margaret did not inform you herself. It is a measure of her courage and discretion that she prefers to soldier on alone being a most excellent mother.

  Pearl as you can see is a delight to the eye and heart. I am sure she would be thrilled to know she has a half-brother but, of course, this will be your decision.

  We hold all of you up to the light in prayer and hope that one day this matter might be resolved.

  Your Friends in Christ

  Hamer and Rhodabel Blake

  Jem read the letter in disbelief. He read the letter twice over just to be sure then he stormed into the kitchen waving the paper in Martha’s face. ‘Did you know about this child?’

  Martha looked up from her baking and put down her spoon. ‘What child?’

  Jem shoved the photograph in front of her. ‘Oh my, what a little beauty. Yes, Rhodabel let slip something about a birth in one of her letters but it was said in confidence. It was not my place to share.’

  ‘You never did like Mrs Slinger.’

  ‘No, sir, it ain’t for the likes of her to claim your attention when you is already taken up with another. She should have looked the other way.’

  ‘You were wrong to sit in judgment on her. I would have married her and gone out west to start over,’ he replied. Better to tell her the truth.

  ‘But you didn’t, sir. You stayed true to your girl in Clinton.’

  ‘Only because Mrs Slinger left before I could tell her my plan.’

  ‘How would I be knowing that?’

  ‘There’s a lot of things you don’t know about Greta and her husband and the life she endured with him. She did the honourable thing and sent me away and left to bear her burden alone.’

  ‘Pardon me for saying, seeing as I got it all wrong, but you’s free now to do what you please. It ain’t too late now Miss Euphemia is passed to her Glory.’

  ‘No, it’s too late. I am sewn into this city so tight now with the mills and the new button company. I can’t just go swanning off He banged his fist on the table. ‘I can’t believe no one said anything.’

  ‘Then forget this letter and get on with your life here.’

  ‘How can I, now I know about Pearl? She’s my flesh and blood. Look at her . . .’ He pointed at the picture in her hand. Martha held it out at arm’s length to allow her eyes to focus.

  ‘Lordy, she do look like you and the boy. Take time to think before you do anything rash, sir. I know how you is when you go chasing an idea.’

  Jem sighed. ‘What would I do without you to cut me down to size?’

  ‘Outta my kitchen with your soft talking . . . Don’t rush in like a fox in a barnyard.’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to take you with me,’ Jem added seeing the look on her face.

  ‘Oh no. I ain’t going on no ship across an ocean to some cold city. I can go visit my folks while you is gone.’

  Jem kept looking at the picture of Pearl. She was wearing a white dress and staring hard into the lens. He knew that glare. He had seen it plenty of mornings in the mirror. Now he knew of his daughter’s existence, how could he stay away?

  Months later he sat down and wrote the following letter.

  Dear Hamer and Rhodabel Blake,

  Thank you for your letter. Forgive my silence but I have had a lot to consider in the light of the startling revelations you shared with me.

  I have given the matter much thought these past months and have decided that the occasion of Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee might be a good time to take my son across to Scotland so he might see for himself the splendours of the old country and learn that not all Scots are born in castles.

  We will sail from New York to Southampton to visit London and Edinburgh but I wondered if we might impose on you for a short visit to York so we may discuss these delicate matters further. Furthermore, if you might convene a meeting with Greta and her daughter in a way that appears impromptu I would be most obliged.

  I realize this is burdening you with some element of secrecy and duplicity. If you feel this is not suitable, please advise me further.

  Yours sincerely,

  James Baillie

  62

  The news about future street developments was true but it was not going to happen immediately as it was still at the planning stage. Greta had looked at the proposed changes and her premises would be one of those properties demolished to make way for the new road. It was unsettling to know she would have to move one day.

  Over the years that hard shell she had grown to protect her reputation had softened to a thin veneer of confidence. Business was brisk enough to make a modest living. Yet in her heart she knew something was missing in her life, an absence that even Persie couldn’t fill. Edmund’s offer had unsettled her. Rhoda had Hamer. Mother had Bert but there was no one to share her worries with at the end of a long day. Time she could fill: visiting the theatre, listening to bands in the park, checking her suppliers and visiting auctions but there were still moments when she felt alone.

  She was reading to Pearl Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, although it was a little old for her child. Twain had been a reporter on the Muscatine Journal long before her time, living close to Walnut and Front Street for a while. His great success was the pride of the city. As she sat there reading his story she could see the mighty Mississippi in all its glory and recalled those wonderful sunsets, the icy chill of the winters, those great expanses of corn fields, and she felt herself yearning for something long lost.

  For the first time in years she was no longer content to be solitary. If truth be told she was lonely, yearning for the physical warmth of a man’s arms around her, a shoulder to lean on. Was that why she so looked forward to Edmund’s visits to her shop? They had patched up their misunderstanding and she had visited his workshop with a view, she paused, with a view to something more? He was kind and generous, artistic, talented and, like her, he was an individual who was not afraid to step out of line. She smiled knowing together they would make a good team. They could share a workshop and outlet like Norman and Irene. She could raise Pearl in the countryside with fresh air and fields. It could work and she could grow to love the idea of this life together. She tried to put thoughts of Jem out of her mind but reading to Pearl, a vision of Jem’s face came into her mind’s eye. Would she never be free of him? Perhaps though Edmund might be the answer to this.

  Next day she visited the Arts and Crafts exhibition where she knew Edmund was showing furniture and Irene and Norman had their stand. She browsed along the stalls with their tapestries, pewter tableware, trinket boxes and beautiful wall hangings before going to see Irene sitting at their jewellery stall.

  ‘I hoped you might call in. How’s it all going? Do you need some more brooches?’

  Greta glanced over the stall admiring Irene’s work. ‘Not just at the moment. Trade’s quiet. Have you seen Edmund? I’ve not seen him for ages.’

  ‘He’s been lecturing at the art college. He was here a few minutes ago. Ask Alice.’ Irene pointed to a pretty girl minding his furniture exhibition.

  ‘Who’s Alice?’

  ‘One of his student acolytes and by the looks of her, it’s more than the carving she’s interested in so get yourself over there . . . That’s what you’ve come for, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just wanted to see his work.’

  ‘Pull the other one, Greta. Edmund is yours for the taking but don’t wait too long. You’ve kept him dangling for years. Time to reel him in.’

  Greta stepped back shocked. ‘Oh, don’t say that, Irene, it sounds so calculated and cold. I don’t know what I want, if the truth be known. It’s not that he isn’t kind and clever, it’s just . . . I can’t feel for him what I know I should.’

  ‘And what might that be, girlish flutterings and romantic passion? There’s more to marriage than all that stuff. You should know.’

  ‘But I don’t know, not now. I’m not sure.’ How could she explain her misgivings?

  ‘Then leave him be, don’t torture him with hope but make sure you know what you’re doing, my girl.’

  Greta shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’d better go and see him, now I’m here.’ Irene’s words had chilled her. She strolled across to inspect his display. There was a dresser with carved panels that took her eye. The young woman called Alice was guarding his stall as Greta inspected the dresser.

  ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ said the girl, smiling. She had the greenest eyes that lit up as she spoke. ‘He’s such a marvellous designer.’

  ‘Is Edmund around?’ Greta asked.

  ‘Oh he’s just gone to fetch some luncheon.’

  ‘It’s a bit wide for my staircase but I do like the design,’ Greta continued, determined to wait for his return.

  ‘Most of our work can be ordered to your specific dimensions.’

  ‘You work there too?’ She had assumed Alice was a temporary assistant.

  ‘I do some carving. We met at art school, he’s a lecturer there. If you bring us some measurements— Oh, look he’s back . . . Edmund, there’s a lady . . .’

  Greta smiled. ‘Oh we are old friends.’

  Edmund smiled greeting her warmly. ‘This is Alice, and this is my dear friend Greta Costello.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve heard so much about you and your shop in Goodramgate,’ Alice added, shaking Greta’s hand as she looked her up and down. Anyone could see the girl adored him. ‘Mrs Costello was asking about the dresser.’ Alice was eager to make a sale.

  ‘I’m glad I’ve seen you, we’ve been so busy. Alice is such a help.’

  I bet she is, thought Greta with a brief flicker of jealousy towards her rival but for some reason eager to leave. ‘I’ll send you the measurements but I must dash now.’

  How close had she come to making a fool of herself? She had made one mistake in marrying Eben to please her family and for her own convenience. How could she think of marrying Edmund purely because she was tired of living alone? His admiration was always a comfort but she didn’t really want him in the way she had wanted Jem. Marriage to Edmund would be yet another mistake and cruel to her dear friend. Better to live alone than make yet another mistake. She fled from the building into the street, stumbling through the crowds in her confusion.

  You are thirty two years old, a business woman and a mother. What more do you want? You do not love Edmund for himself but to satisfy your own neediness. Pull yourself together and be satisfied that you have your little shiny shop, which was always your dream. Just get on with it. As she pushed her way back to Goodramgate there was no comfort in the familiar buildings around her. Everything was old and shabby, blocking out light and air. Why was she feeling trapped? Why did her home city no longer feel a safe haven? When did this refuge suddenly become like a prison?

  63

  June 1897

  For months now, since the arrival of James’s letter, Rhoda had been worrying about how best to prepare for his coming visit to York. His reply sent her into a flurry of anxiety as to whether it was a good idea to allow them to stay at Mount Vernon but how could they not extend the famous hospitality of Friends to strangers when the whole city would be en fête with jubilee celebrations, pageants and military parades. The streets and bridges were already festooned with banners and flags.

  It troubled Rhoda not to be able to warn Greta of the coming visit but Greta was busy with her own patriotic window display and local trade meetings. They must find a way to lure her up to the house for this ‘chance meeting’ with James but how would she react? Rhoda feared she might refuse at the last minute, saying she was too busy. There was nothing for it but to make her way down to the shop to give her a formal invitation.

  ‘We’ve got friends coming soon from America, ones we visited on our honeymoon trip. I would love you to meet them as they’ve heard all about what you did for me in Muscatine and they are curious. I thought we’d make a First Day luncheon after meeting in the garden. There’s a child so Persie will have someone to play with.’

  ‘I’m not sure. I usually visit Mother on Sundays.’

  ‘Oh, but they’ll be invited too. We’ll make it a real family occasion. It’s not often we get everyone together. I want to show them all the decorations and flags on Lendal Bridge. You are always busy on what should be your day of rest.’

  Greta was wavering. ‘Why do they want to meet me? You can show them round the city without us trailing behind you.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I’d like you to come too. To be honest, you look as if you need a good luncheon. You’re nothing but skin and bone these days and I would appreciate your company as I don’t know them all that well, and we hardly see you these days.’