Chapter Thirty
In the early hours of the following Sunday morning, when the dawn was just streaking the sky, Amber rose and began to pack two carpetbags for herself and Charlotte. She took only the essentials, for she knew that she wouldn’t be able to carry any more with Charlotte to carry as well. Thankfully there was no chance of Becky appearing before seven o’clock at the earliest and so when she was quite sure that she had everything they needed, she sat down and began to pen a letter to Barnaby – she supposed she owed him that much at least.
For a moment she stared at the blank page, wondering what she should write, then after dipping her pen nib into the ink well she began.
Dear Mr Greenwood,
By the time you read this letter you’ll have discovered that me and Charlotte have gone. I’m sorry to do this to you but she is mine as well and I find it very hard to be in the same house as you so I’ve found me a job where I can take Charlotte with me. I hope you’ll understand and not try to find us. I promise she’ll be loved and cared for always.
Amber Ainsley
She was aware that it was very short but under the circumstances she felt the note said all that needed to be said, so after sealing it in an envelope and writing his name on it, she propped it up on the mantelpiece and went to wake Charlotte for an early breakfast.
Unusually the infant whinged and complained, almost as if she sensed what Amber was about to do, but Amber was determined and after wrapping the baby in as many layers of clothes as she could fit on her, Amber tied her shawl about her shoulders and strapped Charlotte into it so that she nestled against her chest. She then lifted the carpetbags and after glancing about one last time she slipped from the room and tiptoed down the stairs like a thief in the night, praying all the time that Charlotte wouldn’t cry and waken anyone.
She didn’t breathe freely until she had turned out of Greenacres’ gates on to the road. Charlotte had slipped into an uneasy doze with her head lolling against her mother’s chest so after glancing behind to make sure that they weren’t being followed, Amber set off on the long walk to Barstow’s farm.
Today she found the going much harder than she had the first time she had gone there, for before long the weight of the bags and Charlotte was making her huff and puff and she had to stop frequently to rest her arms and rub her back. Above her seagulls were squawking and wheeling in the sky and once in the distance she spotted old Trampy Ned heading into town, but apart from them Amber felt she and her baby might be the only living things for miles around. It didn’t help that it was not yet fully light so she frequently slipped and slid as her feet caught in potholes. At last, after what seemed like hours, she came to the top of a hill and there was the farm nestled down below her. Negotiating the steep bank was no easy task for the grass was still wet with dew but finally she made it to the farm gate where she dropped her bags and leant heavily against it as she fought to catch her breath. The farm dog instantly appeared from his kennels and his bark was enough to waken the dead – it certainly woke Charlotte who began to wail miserably as Amber jiggled her up and down and tried to comfort her.
‘It’s all right, me little lass,’ she crooned. ‘We’re here now an’ you an’ me are goin’ to be as happy as can be, you just see if we ain’t.’
Mrs Barstow’s son burst out of the kitchen door, adjusting the braces that were dangling about his knees, and wielding a lethal looking shotgun.
‘Oh?.?.?. it’s you!’ Much to Amber’s relief he lowered the barrel and snapped his braces up over his shoulder. He was wearing a dirty grey vest and he looked even worse than Amber remembered from her last visit. ‘You’d best come on in, an’ can’t yer shut that bairn up?’
He opened the gate for her but made no effort to retrieve her bags so Amber wearily lifted them up again and followed him into the kitchen. There she saw Mrs Barstow and two men sitting at a dirty table eating breakfast. There was an older man who Amber assumed was the farmer and another younger one who closely resembled the young man who had just shown her in.
‘So you’ve come then.’ Mrs Barstow lifted a chipped mug and slurped at her tea as she stared at Amber from narrowed eyes. ‘What do yer think of ’er, Herbert?’
The older man looked Amber up and down and shrugged. He was shovelling food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for a month and as egg yolk dripped down his chin, Amber felt slightly nauseous. He would certainly never win any awards for table manners.
‘Looks a bit on the skinny side to me. I hope as her can pull ’er weight.’
‘Oh she will, I’ll see to that,’ his wife promised him. Then pointing to a small ladder that stretched up to a hatch in the ceiling in the corner of the room she told Amber, ‘You an’ the babby’ll be sleepin’ up in the loft. Tek yer things up then get down ’ere an get some work done.’
Amber’s lips set in a straight line; she’d expected to be offered a cup of tea at least, but she snatched up the bags again and went towards the ladder, which she noticed was rather rickety. It wasn’t easy getting them up into the loft one at a time but neither of the men offered to help so Amber had no choice but to take them up herself, which was no easy feat. At the top of the ladder, she stopped to throw her bags through the hatch, then with Charlotte still whimpering against her chest, she stared around the gloomy room in horror. When she’d managed to clamber in, she stood up carefully, keeping her head low to avoid banging it on the sloped ceiling, and took a couple of steps, shuddering as her feet crunched over droppings. Pushed right to the back beneath the sloping eaves was a filthy straw mattress and she poked a toe against it in disgust. Surely they can’t expect me and Charlotte to sleep on that filthy thing? she thought angrily, brushing a cobweb from her face.
Clutching Charlotte to her, she clambered back down the ladder. ‘You can’t expect me to sleep up there. Its rat-infested an’filthy!There must be somewhere else?’
‘I s’ppose she could ’ave that little room that’s empty next to the laundry,’ one of the men suggested.
Mrs Barstow sighed. ‘Eeh, you ain’t been ’ere two minutes an’ yer causin’ problems a’ready,’ she moaned.
But on this Amber was prepared to stand her ground. ‘Well, I’m sure anywhere will be better than up there,’ she snapped.
‘In that case, yer’d better tek her out to see it, Melvin,’ the old woman instructed her son. ‘But I’ll warn yer now, it’ll be full o’ junk an’ it ain’t been used for years.’
‘In that case I shall get it emptied out, clean it andthenI’ll start whatever you want me to do,’ Amber responded, and with a toss of her chin she followed Melvin back out into the nippy morning air.
When he threw the door to the room in question open, Amber couldn’t stop herself from sighing with dismay. ‘You wouldn’t put a dog in here!’ she exclaimed as she stared at the heaps of rusty tools and rubbish piled up higgledy-piggledy inside it.
Melvin grinned as he picked a piece of bacon from between his stained teeth with a grubby fingernail and spat it into the yard where a passing chicken quickly pecked it up.
‘You could always sleep in the pigsty,’ he mocked, raking her with a contemptuous glance. ‘Reckon you’d be right a’ home wi’ them.’
Amber felt her temper flare. What gave this revolting man the right to judge her? ‘I suppose I’ll have to take the loft in that case,’ she said with an angry huff. From what she could see of it, even if this room was cleaned out there was hardly enough room in it to swing a cat around and no way of heating it either. Although it was spring the nights still tended to be nippy and she didn’t want to risk Charlotte catching a chill.
‘Suit yersen.’
