Factory Bride

Chapter 1

The muffled chime of the parish church bells struggled to be heard against the increasing rumble of the gathering storm. The weary peal reproached the end of evensong. The cold stone walls of the meagre building clung on to the remnants of human warmth.

Rain dribbled from the matted mane of the old mare as she came to a shuffled halt. The horse lowered her head and waited, the drenched leather yoke lay steaming on her old bones. The long hair around her chipped hooves hung heavy with reddish clay. A thousand pounding feet had driven the soil into lanes that had now melted into viscous glue with the constant rain. Angry, bruised clouds congregated above the leaking carriage as it stood gently sinking into the mire.

In the carriage the patched velvet drapes were half-drawn in acquiescent concealment of its silent occupant. A bayonet of light pierced the morose gloom. Thunder circled the carriage and with the shivering of the horse and its master, the carriage rocked on its axle.

Sheet lightening, for one rare moment, illuminated the house into a caricature of its former glory. Then the darkness shrouded the building again leaving the one solitary candle. It had burned almost continuously in the same window for longer than most people hereabouts could remember; a lone beacon for someone long forgotten.

Drive on the voice from inside the carriage murmured to the coachman. He grunted under his oiled cotton overcoat. His head scrunched deep into the upturned collar, which gave him little protection against the rain that pelted him on the driving seat. It was the second evening in a row that he had brought her to this house and the second evening that she had sat in silence. She made no move. He and his ageing mare had waited patiently in the relentless weather and then all she ever said was ‘drive on. Each evening he had driven her back. Well what did he care, it made him a couple of bob a night and there weren’t many fares to be had this weather.

‘Tch! Tch!" he slapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make the familiar noise that would set the horse on her way and up the rise to the road again. She struggled. He urged her on; flicking his whip against the arthritic rump of his mare as she heaved away at the glutinous mud clinging to the wheels.

If'n she wants ter waste her money dammit, 'oo am I ter tern down a measly few bob? the belligerent coachman cursed through the upturned collar of his heavy, barely waxed, overcoat.

The carriage lamp threw weirdly shape-changing shadows as it swung loosely from side to side in the torrent of wind and rain that battered the tiny carriage at every turn of the wheels.

****

You didn’t do it did you? Rhianna sighed at her mother, not trying to disguise the disappointment she felt.

Elizabeth shook her head and stared through the greasy pane that looked out over the at once familiar and strange, scene outside. The deserted street of shops veiled the cobbled alleys of stinking hovels that had terrified her so many years ago. Flickering candlelight sparkled on the rain washed buildings decorating the impoverished brickwork in diamante studded splendour.

I have sat and watched the house; it all looks so much smaller and uncared for. I never see a soul in the place and yet, I know for certain that I am seen. This might sound - oh, I don’t know – silly, but I am so frightened of what lies behind that door. I even hope that I might be turned away if I knock, because then I won’t ever have to find out… She broke off as a deep frown creased her forehead and she thought carefully before speaking again, I have deep unease when I get near to Walton. It sits in my stomach like sour milk, festering and curdling until I feel it rising in my throat, choking me. Elizabeth spoke softly with an even, unfaltering voice. It’s no longer home; it hasn’t been since I was sixteen. Despite all that, I have to go back. It’s been more than twenty years and so many thousands of miles since I left -

Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?

What? Elizabeth came back to the present with a start, Oh no Rhia, I have to go, and I will, I promise - As if on cue, she was interrupted by a roll of thunder that cracked the still, dark evening with a hint cruelness ahead. Perhaps, Rhianna thought, it really was a warning. Elizabeth stepped back, shaken at the intensity of the booming vibrations as the thunder rippled away into the distance leaving an awesome peace behind.

Rhianna sensed the disquiet her Mother felt throughout the long night. As the street below awoke in the damp grey dawn she knew Elizabeth had not slept well again.

Ma? she whispered at the silent figure sharing her bed, are you awake? The muttered reply was smothered under the heavy blanket, which was thrown off as Elizabeth climbed out of bed. Rhianna examined the back of her Mother intently. The tanned shoulders were strong under the plain cotton bodice. Thick tangled hair, the colour of polished mahogany, covered the short slim neck and nestled in the valley of Elizabeth’s spine. She could never have been described as a tall, elegant woman. Elizabeth had lost the fresh pale looks of her youth but had a golden cast on her skin that glowed with health and vitality. Her cerlulean eyes, deep and caring were hardly lined despite everything that had happened. The marks on her face and the faint lines on her back were the only scars that were visible - the rest she carried deep inside her. As she turned to her daughter, Elizabeth became aware of the intense scrutiny.

Don’t look so worried Rhia, everything is going to be all right, she smiled fondly at the daughter who was so much like Conner in every way.

Da was right, Rhianna sighed, he always said you were a real beauty. Elizabeth found herself blushing at the rare compliment from her daughter. I’m not worried Ma, honest. Not about me anyway. Not about you neither in a way, you have always been so strong. It’s just about you going home; I haven’t ever seen you like this before. I wish you would let me come with you.

You can get dressed we have to go and eat young lady. I must ask for the carriage to be here at eleven and Rhia – thank you but this is something I have to do myself. Elizabeth gave some thought to Rhianna’s concerns. They had arrived two days ago and she had not ventured outside the inn apart from the two aborted journeys to that wretched place. She would have preferred to have stayed in the room all the time but the smell of the roasting meat was too much too resist and had enticed them both evenings into the public bar. Elizabeth and Rhianna had sat and ate in the darkest recess she could find. Elizabeth had allowed herself a nip of gin and thought about the first gin she ever tasted; it was in that very same public house. She would have been the same age as Rhianna was now. Still, there was no time to dwell on the past she had come here because she had been summoned and she had no idea why or how.

****

The mare stopped at the same place she had done so last evening and the evening before but this time her ears twitched; she heard the swoosh of the door open and the rocking of the carriage as Elizabeth alighted unaided by the driver who stayed in his seat. The rain had stopped in the night but the late October sun on this early afternoon, was too weak to make an impact on the mud that squelched around her shoes. Lifting her skirts with one hand she started towards the house.

She hesitated briefly at the crumbling pillars that formed the entrance to the path leading to the old building. She stepped over the pool of water that had collected in the worn hollow between the posts and walked down the overgrown pathway. There were no horses grazing in the grass and no comforting sounds of geese and chickens scrabbling in the yard. She stared directly ahead looking neither to the right or left. She avoided looking at the shadowy figures that were hidden behind the grime-ridden windows. The watchers had expected this moment from the first time the coach had driven up and then turned away with its passenger still inside. They were more anxious than Elizabeth could have guessed had she even given thought to their feelings. The small wooden door creaked on its hinges and the tiny figure of an old woman struggled, with the aid of walking sticks, out of the darkness of the house. She squinted against the pale sunlight at the woman she had once thought long dead. Their eyes met and the woman felt her heart pounding in her breast. There was no sign of warmth from either as they faced each other for the first time in twenty years. Time ceased as the moment, laden with uncertainty, sadness and pain, spanned a lifetime.

Move over old woman. A spiteful, bitter voice from inside the gloomy doorway caused the hairs on the back of Elizabeth’s neck to prickle. The woman looked away from Elizabeth, embarrassment haunted her eyes. Elizabeth knew why when she looked into the face that owned the voice. The house seemed to sway sickeningly. Elizabeth put out her hand to steady herself. Blackness enveloped her and thankfully for the time being, the awful truth blurred as she crumpled in a heady faint onto the threshold.

Chapter 2

Elizabeth! Her Mother pleaded …do try to be good to-day. She pulled the brush through the thick, luxuriant hair of her middle daughter.

But Mama, I do. Elizabeth turned to her Mother with wide-eyed innocence; I really do try. Papa is so stern, she scowled, and he frightens Ruth. Rebecca never gets punished. Elizabeth added devilishly.

Rebecca is not an imp my stubborn girl Mother put both hands on Elizabeth’s head and popped a fond kiss on her forehead. Now off you go, I have more than enough to be getting on with.

Elizabeth was never outwardly defiant but she was aware that her father, Jocelyn, despaired of her. She imagined that he also despaired of her sister Ruth because she was so timid. Rebecca, the eldest daughter who was like him in every way, was obviously his favourite.

Daughters! We are making a visit to the Gladstone’s. I do not have to remind you that it is imperative, nay, essential, he supports our chapel and all God’s works. Jocelyn Lisette inspected the three girls, peering intently over the top of his eyeglasses. Ruth shuddered as he examined her pinafore for spots, and held her trembling hands before her.

Hrmph!Jocelyn moved on to Elizabeth. I will tolerate no repetition of our visit to the Davenport’s Mistress Elizabeth. I will not have you acting in the manner of a street urchin

But Papa, Cecilia Davenport said that -Elizabeth interrupted naively.

Jocelyn’s skin turned ashen, his features set in granite, apart from his eyes, which narrowed until they were indistinguishable in the grey pallor of his face. Rebecca lifted her lace-tatted handkerchief to her mouth to conceal the smirk that lingered in anticipation of the expected punishment.

Child! the word rang out with the venom of a curse, speak only when you are spoken to and utter not a word more to your betters. he spluttered, his temper perceptibly torrid.

Papa, I was only trying to tell you that Cecilia Davenport said that -

STOP! STOP this instance I tell you Jocelyn covered his ears and scrunched his angular frame into a manic curve. Mistress Lisette I would be eternally grateful if you could raise your daughters as I would have them raised. I do not expect mere infants to rebuke me in this way. He vented his fury on his diminutive wife. Madam! I hold you entirely responsible for this intolerable behaviour. Jocelyn stomped up and down the room muttering indecipherably as his arms gesticulated wildly and his head shook insanely from side to side. Eventually, his composure restored; his wife on the verge of tears; Ruth a shivering wreck, he stood in front of his eldest daughter Rebecca and laid his hand gently on her shoulder and in a resonant voice he rejoiced.

Lord God, whom I adore above all others, I mercifully thank thee for the gift of my precious Rebecca. A soul sent to gladden the saddest of hearts. Thank you Lord. He gripped Rebecca’s shoulder until she winced with the pain.

Jocelyn was wont to take his family to the houses of the rich and powerful when he was on a mission of fund raising for the chapel. The only reason for this was that he thought it helped soften the attitude of the industrialists and landowners if they saw the three young girls and their Mother with him. He wanted to portray what a perfect family they were. The social visits were wonderfully enjoyable occasions. Elizabeth would get to see the fine houses and eat scrumptious food. Birthday parties were lavish affairs, with rich fruit cakes, puddings and tarts, custards and jellies, and the bitter sweet chocolates made in somewhere called ‘The Midlands’ which were Elizabeth’s most favourite things of all time.

Elizabeth was the favourite of her Mother and the scourge of her Father. A tomboy by nature, she refused to conform to the family image that her Father tried so hard to portray. She was as unladylike as could be. Her dresses had often to be repaired where they had caught on the trees she had climbed by the river, or they would need drying because she had fallen into the water trying to catch a lively fish. It always seemed that she needed a full change of clothing just when her Father was to take them out on a social occasion.

Lisbet! How could you tear your dress so? I told you we were to visit with your Papa this afternoon. What am I to do with you child? Catherine Lisette scolded her youngest daughter, but when she thought Elizabeth wasn’t looking, a smile played around her mouth reaching up to her eyes. They would twinkle with suppressed laughter and at those times it was possible to see how attractive Jocelyn’s wife really was.

Ruth and Elizabeth were very close, she was three years older than Elizabeth, and so amazingly pretty, but when anyone ever looked at her she turned away, it was a tragedy that so very few people realised her true beauty and her gentle nature. It was her burden in life to be painfully shy. She was so afraid of Father that whenever he was around she visibly shrank in size if that was at all possible, slipping behind either Elizabeth or her Mother to hide herself. She was also a little in awe of the older sister Rebecca.

In the chapel Ruth sang with a clear unfaltering voice but so quietly that only those closest could hear her, although sometimes in the special place by the river Ruth would sing loudly, with cheerful gusto whilst samplers were stitched or Elizabeth read the bible or some other more interesting book that she had managed to get hold of. The title was irrelevant. It was the words and the knowledge of the world inside the pages that mattered to Elizabeth. They would talk and talk for hours about what they wanted to do when they grew up and all those things that are important to children.

I want to write plays like William Shakespeare, would be Elizabeth future one day and the next she wanted ten children and to marry the Prince Regent and live as a Queen in the Palace of Whitehall.

Some days if they were on their own, when they should have been learning passages from the bible, Ruth would tell stories about the things that had happened before Elizabeth was born. She was a wonderful storyteller. Although some of the stories made Elizabeth both sad and very angry.

We had a brother, before you were born Lisbet. Ruth informed her but he died. Her voice was heavy with pathos. It was in the early spring of ‘77, Edward Jocelyn was nearly two years old and he had been so snuffly for ages and ages. It was nothing to get too concerned about mama said, but when it came to the Sunday service mama wanted to stay at home with Edward or even leave him with one of the servants. The weather was awful, just awful, cold and miserable; unseasonably cold for March, there were sleety hailstones and a biting wind. Papa wouldn’t have any of it, he wanted all his family beside him at chapel and nothing other than the plague would deter him. There was a terrible argument. Then I remember Mama wrapping Edward as warm as possible. He even had my winter shawl and I had to wear Mama’s summer wrap over my winter dress. The days that followed were simply dreadful. Ruth closed her eyes reliving the pitiful sound of the hollow cough that drained her brother’s life. It was painful for her to continue, His cold developed into the croup. Each night his mama would stay by his bedside, not daring to sleep in case he should need her. I can still smell the mixture of herbs to freshen the air and give poor Edward some hope. Ruth wiped a threatening tear from her eye as she continued. He lived for just two weeks. She let her tears flow and sobbed on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

Ruth, poor Ruth, poor Mother Elizabeth comforted her sister wishing she could draw the family’s sorrow on to her own shoulders. Much later on Elizabeth, working out dates on the gravestones in the old chapel realised that she had been born exactly nine months later, December 20th 1777, and realised that her Father never ceased to expect his conjugal rights even when his wife was grieving. How that man lived up to everything Elizabeth expected of him.

Tell me what he looked like Ruth Elizabeth cajoled her sister into continuing the story.

Edward had dark red hair like Mothers and yours, and the same deep china blue eyes. He was such a happy child that people would stop outside the chapel to pass comment on his angelic face. You’re like that. Ruth told her Elizabeth who laughed out loud because, whilst her hair was copper coloured, it was thick and uncontrollable, her eyes were dark blue but much too wide apart, she was prone to freckles on her fair complexion and was too short and ample to be considered beautiful in any way. No, she never considered herself to be a beautiful child, not like Rebecca, a conventional beauty, tall, willowy, sleek shiny hair that she would put up in a comb and it would remain like that until she took it out at bedtime. Rebecca’s skin was delicate with a translucence that only added to her beauty. Rebecca had inherited her Fathers grey eyes which were fringed with long dark lashes. She held herself straight and adopted an air of gentility well above her station as a poorly paid chaplain’s daughter

Rebecca, my dear, let me show that to you again, Father would take pains to explain to her where she had gone wrong during lessons; both Ruth and Elizabeth would feel his wrath at the slightest error.

It was due to the Reverend Lisette and his preferential treatment that Elizabeth developed the invaluable skill of separating her soul from her physical being. She built an impenetrable wall around herself and somehow the blows and tongue-lashings seemed deflected away. Her indifference to his constant chastisements was a source of great annoyance to him and she gained consummate pleasure from that knowledge. This character would stand her in good stead in later years.

It was not that she couldn’t understand her Father’s disappointment with life, a cruel twist in time made him the younger brother to Edmund Geoffrey Lisette. Elder sons, if not disowned or lunatic always inherited the Estate. Edmund was far from intelligent and he was not charitable either. The estate was being run badly and there was nothing Jocelyn could do to interfere. Time and time again they would hear his raised whining voice complaining to their Mother.

It should have been mine; Edmund is squandering everything Father left him. There will be nothing left soon. Imbecile! Dolt! Ten minutes that’s all it was. I should have been born first. I wish he had died!

Jocelyn! How can you say such a terrible thing? Edmund is a lonely man and you have so much. You have the respect of your parish and the love of your family. Count your blessings Dear, you have so many -

Ha! Blessings, and what would you know about Blessings? his habit of loading his words with poison was only ever experienced within the confines of his home. I provide you with a good home, a respected position and what do I get in return. Wilfulness, disobedience and scorn. You can’t even keep house well, and the servants steal from me. His features contorted and spittle flecked his thin lips as his rage, borne from the insane jealousy, consumed him. The choice for younger sons was a commission or the church. Jocelyn could no more have joined the army than he could be King George. His nature was not that of a brave man. He was verging on the cowardly. He exerted his power over the women in his life. He stood behind God’s wrath if ever he wanted to gain advantage over anyone. His position in the community was purely due to the cloth.

He and his family had to exist on a small trust fund and an even smaller stipend from the parish merely because his twin brother was ten minutes the elder. It galled Jocelyn to accept his given position. The stipend did not allow for any luxuries; the house was sparsely furnished, the barest minimum required of a chaplain. He rarely entertained, but since tipping the servants was no longer a requirement for dinner guests he accepted lots of invitations to dine out. The two retainers were distant relatives who had fallen on even harder times than the angry Jocelyn Lisette.

The three girls tended a small vegetable patch in the yard and could sell any excess produce for themselves. Rebecca did the minimum of work but took an equal share in the profit, it always made Elizabeth so angry, but with her Father’s bias she could not make the share more equitable.

It’s not fair Ruth she often confided her bitterness to Ruth who always replied the same way

God sees everything Elizabeth.

The girls were also allowed to sell eggs if they had a good amount laid by the wandering hens, ducks and geese. Jocelyn also ensured a decent supply of ham, wild game, rabbits and ale. Parishioners whose consciences had been pricked by a particularly scathing sermon from the pulpit often left gifts of food on the doorstep. Scathing sermons were always trotted out whenever supplies were running short.

The Reverend Jocelyn Lisette was responsible for the distribution of the parish alms but by his calculation, the only needy in the village were his own poor relatives and so the alms went into his purse to pay for their keep. It was the bane of Jocelyn’s existence that his older brother, Edmund, lived very well, if recklessly, in the exquisitely designed Apsley Hall, whilst his home was a plain three storey Georgian Farm house in the tiny hamlet of Lower Walton. It was thought to be pretty; it had keystone dated 1740 over the solid oak front door, six chimney pots and nine small windows on the North East facade. The sun shone into the scullery in the morning and lit up the sitting room in the evening. There was a long lawn at the front enclosed with an unadorned picket fence and two simple brick pillars. These sufficed as a gateway between which ran a flagged path to the front door. There were two barns attached; one, which housed the hens, a milking goat, two horses and some geese and ducks; the other stored Jocelyn’s prized possession, his ornate carriage. He would dress Tom, his manservant in red and gold livery and have him drive him to social functions in style. It was never to be used for Chapel, as that would have been considered ostentatious.

The animal’s stalls opened out on to the front courtyard of the house and very often the horses could be seen grazing on the front lawn. They would rest with their necks on the fence under the shade of sycamore trees that formed part of the borderline of the land belonging to the farm. The hens would wander as they liked; the ducks and geese would preen themselves by the pond. The goat would be in the kitchen patch eating the tender shoots. Elizabeth liked to know about the animals. She was sure that they could be better looked after. Tom was really a bit old in the tooth to keep his eye on everything. She read as much as she could lay her hands on about husbandry hoping that one day she would be able to use the knowledge. She would not realise yet that she had an uncanny knack of preparing for her destiny.

Chapter 3

As children the Lisette girls were not allowed to have any friends in the village in case they were tainted by the evil and sin that apparently lived comfortably closeted in every tiny terraced cottage. Their friends were drawn from the Lancastrian gentrified families who lived in the bigger houses in the town and surrounding area - the newly rich industrialists who employed a great many people to work for them.

Mama, why does Papa hate the Granville’s so? Elizabeth enquired, hoping for an especially juicy story to pass the time whilst the sat around the fire, stitching on a cold afternoon. The Granvilles should have been considered rich enough for Jocelyn to fawn around. They were not industrialists really, but old rich. They had been given lands by King William 1st, and had succeeded in keeping hold of it throughout the civil war. They lived in the manor house, over the hill from the Lisette parsonage but the sisters were never allowed to go near the boundary wall that enclosed the grounds. Jocelyn was fond of saying some terrible things about Lady Granville and the scandal that had happened in London where the Granville family spent most of their time. Elizabeth’s Mother said he should not be so uncharitable and cruel because he was a man of God. The King had cuckolded Lord Granville. Lady Granville, an attractive woman had been the King’s mistress for some time and the whole of the court was aware of the adultery. Jocelyn was vexed by the laissez-faire attitude of society and believed them all to be corrupt beyond salvation. The Granville’s, he ranted so often, were especially corrupt. This was more to do with his envious streak rather than an affront to his sense of impropriety. All three girls listened with baited breath and vicarious interest in the conversations they overheard about anything to do with the Granvilles.

Oh they are not good Christians her Mother brushed aside the question and chided them to stitch with care and neatness. When Elizabeth met Alexander, it almost went quite out of her head that her father would disapprove so much.

Life was so simple and time was mostly her own; much of it spent with Ruth Sometimes when their Mother came to the river to find her two younger daughters, she would enthral them with stories about her own childhood. The girls sat enraptured in silent wonder as she related the life she had known in Liverpool before she married Jocelyn. She was always so animated when she talked about her brothers, James and William.

One day, both boys came home holding their sides they were laughing so hard. I remember that your Grandmama was not at all pleased because I think she was still in mourning Mother’s tone lowered conspiratorially and she leaned forward closing the circle with Ruth and Elizabeth. Shall I tell you what they had been up to?

Yes Mama both girls whispered in unison. They were spellbound; stitching samplers came to an abrupt halt as they listened to the outrageous things the uncles would get up to as children.

Well, they had apparently stolen a whole meal from a picnic table and then hid themselves and watched from a distance as the owners came back to find an empty basket with a ransom note. The note said that if they wanted their food back they had to deposit one shilling in the hole in the old oak tree by the lake. James and Wills waited till the gentleman left the money. They said he had stamped his feet a great deal and had steam coming out of his ears. Whilst this was being done the boys ate a portion each from the picnic and hid it behind a tree. Then, as bold as you like, they strolled to the infuriated couple and gave them a note telling them how to find their picnic. They said that this had been given to them by a queer cove to pass on. Ruth and Elizabeth could not stop laughing even though their sides were fit to burst.

The uncles never came to visit as there had been some trouble over her marrying Jocelyn which Mother wouldn’t divulge to any of her children. Oh! How those two Uncles Elizabeth had never known, became so familiar to her.

Rebecca would never venture down to the river, as the sunlight would have damaged her white complexion; she also managed to get out of doing too much work as she suffered almost constantly from the vapours. Elizabeth thought she was the most self-centred person one could hope to meet. Alone in her room, shutters half closed to shade her from the light, she stitched as delicately as her long nimble fingers allowed her. Her trousseau was to be the finest anybody had ever seen. She embroidered complex and colourful designs on cushions and linens. Napkin rings with rare flowers pressed and glorified in satin for eternity. Rebecca took her trousseau preparation seriously. She had designs on anyone of the young landowners-to-be that lived in close proximity. At gatherings she would preen herself swanlike in the sight of the richest of the young men in attendance. She would entrance him and lead him willingly into flirtatious conversation. All this was undertaken with her Father’s compliance. Jocelyn knew that his eldest daughter was the one that could bring wealth into his family. He would sing her praises to anyone who would listen. However, sadly he was acutely aware that he had little or no dowry to offer a prospective husband. A handsome woman may turn the heart but not the head. Whilst young men will flirt with a beautiful young lady, it is money that captured him. Jocelyn’s only hope was that his brother Edmund would never find his elusive bride and would die, as he was now, childless. His beloved Rebecca would then have her choice of beaus and he would take his rightful place in society.

Elizabeth harboured no regrets about Rebecca being so concerned with her looks and not spending time with them on the riverbank. If she had, everything would have been different and Alexander would never have happened. She could never have any regrets about Alexander, her only love for all time.

Alexander, was bright carefree and intelligent and handsome. The day they first met, Elizabeth was in her fourteenth year. She loved him then as much as she did many years later. Because her Father was a minister, he was on the guest list of the powerful and influential and furthermore, he and his family were asked to some of the important occasions of the year. Elizabeth looked forward to going: Christmas, Easter, Harvest suppers. They would be the only social outings of the year where her father wasn’t whingeing about his lot and scrounging for money. They were so much fun.

Alexander was sixteen and looking very irritated that Christmas morning at the Patterson’s annual celebratory breakfast. His family was keeping well away from the Lisettes and diligently avoided wishing them compliments of the season. Elizabeth kept glancing sideways at Alexander and if he caught her, she looked away quickly and just once when she looked, he was pulling tongues at her, she giggled and her Father scowled.

Elizabeth! he hissed between clenched teeth, cease that childish noise this instance. He ordered expecting his demands to be met without question. He dashed off to speak with the constable of the Lancashire who, for a brief moment, was unattended and Jocelyn was not going to let that opportunity pass him. Elizabeth’s misdemeanour was soon forgotten as he ranted on about King George and his insanity.

Who are you? the voice came from over her shoulder as she stood in solitude reading the titles in the vast library. She jumped in surprise. She turned quickly and found herself face to face with the boy who had brought about the reprimand. It still smarted to have been rebuked so publicly and with such humiliation.

You! she exclaimed, I rather think that I have no wish to engage in conversation with you. Alexander stared at her retreating figure, liking the playful toss of her untamed locks as she exited the library in a style she had seen Rebecca use. He smiled to himself but did not yet understand the stirring in his loins as she flounced enticingly out of his vision.

Elizabeth might have been in serious trouble for embarrassing her Father but for the flowing mead, ale and whiskey. By the time they were leaving he was quite a different man. He even stopped at the milliners on the way home and let them look in the window to choose their next bonnets. Jocelyn had lost interest in the incident with Alexander; it passed by, thankfully forgotten.

Elizabeth didn’t see Alexander again until nearly Easter. The Granvilles worshipped at St Thomas’ in Stockton Village, even though they had to pass the Lisette chapel to get there and it was a good hour’s carriage drive. On the occasions that the family had been out and about, the Granvilles had not been in evidence. Elizabeth spent every social gathering hoping to see him again. She dare not ask at home about the Granvilles, as the hostility between the two families was a taboo subject. Elizabeth soon learned, furtively, that the Granvilles were passing the season at court.

Do you know the Granvilles? she constantly asked at each outing. I am so incensed. You would not believe what a boor that boy is! she enticed younger guests, who were always eager to show that they were well up in society, to divulge more and more information about the elusive neighbours and especially about the exciting Alexander.

The winter months dragged on and Elizabeth tried to push thoughts of Alexander to the recesses of her mind; the days carried on as before. Short days and long nights meant more work inside the house. It meant that Papa was far more austere than usual. It meant that the stories by the river would have to wait. Papa would not tolerate anything other than bible readings in his presence. January and February were particularly harsh. Bitter winds swathed the farm carrying flurries of ice-laden snow. Frost drawn fingers of ferns decorated the windows each morning. Mama looked grey and tense as March approached with gusting blizzards so like the ones that took Edward.

Lent came early and out went the few luxuries that the girls received. Prayers were long and monotonous over the paltry fare that they were allowed in the fasting period. Elizabeth said her own prayers. She prayed for something to lighten her days. She craved the sound of laughter blending with the tinkling water carousing over the stones on the riverbed. She yearned for sunlight to warm her face. She desired the strange ache that crept into her dreams to be eased.

Elizabeth, involved in her own thoughts she was deaf to the call. Elizabeth, this time he deepened his tone. Her eyes were tightly shut and her hands were in the prayer position. Enraged he bellowed at her. Elizabeth. She started at the sound of her name.

Yes Papa?

Bring me your dish! his order was evidently not to be questioned. She reached out and picked up her plate of thin stew and bread, carefully she walked towards her father at the head of the table.

Since you do not gratefully receive from the Lord, the bounty that he lays before you, I intend to share your portion with others that do so. He allowed himself a quick smile at his Rebecca.

****

It was the floor Mama she sobbed to her mother the next morning. I tripped, really I didn’t mean for my supper to go all over Rebecca.

"Lisbet, you are so bad