‘Goodnight.’ Seconds later she heard his tread on the stairs and laying the dress aside, she sighed. Their first day of living together in the same house was over and it hadn’t been so bad, so perhaps things wouldn’t be as hard as she’d thought. She could only hope so because there could be no going back now.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Over the next week, the little family started to get into a routine. Each morning before Barnaby left for work, he rode to the nearby farm to fetch them fresh milk, while Amber looked after Charlotte, kept the house clean and attempted to improve her cooking skills. She had been trying her hand at baking their bread and the first few attempts had bordered on disastrous. The first loaf was so firm she was sure one of them would break their teeth on it but Barnaby hadn’t complained, in fact he’d made a joke of it. The second attempt had been slightly better but now she was quite proud of her efforts. The vegetable garden, with Barnaby’s help, was now dug over and planted, but as it would be some weeks before it yielded any crops, she would have to rely on what she could buy in town. It was a task she was dreading but supplies were now running low and she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer.
‘I shall have to go food shoppin’ today,’ she informed him at breakfast.
He reached into his pocket and laid some money on the table asking, ‘Will that be enough? I’m afraid Mrs Boswell saw to all the bills so I have no idea what you’ll need. I shall have to make you a weekly allowance for that, and for anything you or Charlotte might need. Will you be taking the barouche?’
She shook her head. She’d had a couple of lessons that had gone quite well, but she didn’t feel confident enough to take it out on her own as yet. ‘Thanks, but no. It’s a nice day so the walk will do us good. I thought I might take the little hand cart on wheels you found in the stables. I can drag that back wi’ the shoppin’ easier than carryin’ it, an’ Charlotte can sit in it an’ all to save me havin’ to carry her.’
‘It’ll be hard work dragging it up the hill,’ he pointed out, but Amber sniffed.
‘I ain’t a weaklin’, I’ll be fine. An’ as for the money, I won’t need that much.’
‘Please take it anyway,’ he encouraged. ‘Better to have too much than not enough. Get whatever you think we may need.’
Half an hour later, Amber dragged the little cart from the stables and after placing a blanket in it she gently sat Charlotte on it. The child thought it was great fun and giggled as her mother began to drag it along the cliff path. At the top of the steep hill Amber paused to catch her breath and looked down on her home town. It was a fine day and far out at sea beyond the harbour she could see the trawlers with their nets cast wide. It already seemed a lifetime since she had lived there; so much had happened in such a short space of time. After getting her breath back she moved on and soon came to the market square, which was teeming with housewives shopping.
There was a cluster of them standing outside Mr King’s grocery store, and taking a deep breath and raising her chin, Amber moved towards them, painfully aware that they had all stopped talking to monitor her approach. Then Mrs Preston stepped from inside the shop, and Amber’s heart sank.
‘Well, well who do we ’ave ’ere then, ladies?’ the old woman chortled, her lip raised into a sneer. ‘If it ain’t the little whore from up on the hill! How’s your fancy man then, eh, lass?’
Amber felt colour flood into her cheeks but she kept walking towards her with her head held high. But Mrs Preston wasn’t done with her yet, not by a long shot. ‘So what’s it like bein’ a rich man’s fancy, eh? It’s ’is poor wife I feel sorry for,’ she said with a shake of her head, addressing the women clustered around her. ‘Not even cold in ’er grave she weren’t afore you stepped into the poor lass’s shoes.Shameon you.’
Amber’s temper started to rise. ‘I shouldn’t call me too much if I were you, Mrs Preston,’ she said in an icy voice. ‘Not when your own family ain’t blameless. Is it right what I hear? That your Bertie’s on the run from the police for murder!’
‘My son’sinnocent!’Mrs Preston spat as the women started to titter.
‘Andsoam I,’ Amber retorted. ‘So, my advice to you would be don’t make assumptions about things you know nothing about. I’m only there to care for this little one here an’ there’s nowt goin’ on between me an’ her father!’
‘Huh, an’ I’m a monkey’s uncle! You don’t fool us, Amber Ainsley. It’s as clear as the nose on your face that the little ’un is yours! Just look at ’er! She’s the bloody spit out o’ your mouth an’ it don’t take much workin’ out, does it? Afore she were born you worked up at Greenacres an’ suddenly you up an’ leave for months to “care for your sick uncle?” Why, you must think we’re all dense. Next thing you know, when you come back he’s sendin’ you off to work for ’is posh friends afore settin’ you up in the nursery up there to care for his children. Admit it, lass. That girl there is yours an’ Greenwood’s bastard!’
Amber had reached them by now and without another word she scooped Charlotte, who was sitting quietly sucking her thumb, into her arms and swept into the shop.
The shopkeeper’s wife, Mrs King, had been a good friend of Amber’s mother and she asked gently, ‘What can I be gettin’ for you, lass?’
Amber handed her the list she had made and as the woman busied herself piling everything onto the counter, Amber cradled Charlotte to her. The shouting outside had clearly unnerved the little girl.
‘Right, that’s flour, a twist o’ tea, sugar?.?.?.’ Mrs Richards ticked everything off and once she had paid her Amber started to carry everything out to the cart. Some of the women had drifted away but Mrs Preston was still there and ready to do battle if the look on her face was anything to go by.
‘It’s all your fault my poor lad ’as gone off the rails,’ she accused as Amber gently pressed Charlotte down amongst the groceries. ‘It were when you dumped ’im for better prospects that ’e changed.’
‘That’s rubbish. Ineverdumped him,’ Amber retaliated. ‘We were never together to begin with.’ With her nose in the air, she grasped the handle of the cart and turned it towards the butcher’s, but she’d gone no more than a few yards when she felt something hit her squarely between the shoulder blades and reaching round to her back to feel what it was she felt raw egg dripping down her blouse.
‘Go on, be off wi’ you,’ Mrs Preston shouted as she lifted another egg from her basket and aimed it at her target. ‘We don’t want scum like you comin’ into town mixin’ wi’ decent bloody folk. You’re nowt but a little whore!’
The second egg landed on Amber’s arm and now Charlotte started to cry. Cheeks blazing, Amber moved on, painfully aware that everyone in the square was watching her closely. She had never felt so humiliated in her life but she was also aware that if she responded it could only make things worse and she didn’t want to upset Charlotte any more than she already was. It was another half an hour by the time she’d bought everything on her list and was able to begin the hard trek back up the hill. It was only then that she allowed the tears of humiliation to fall, but strangely her anger was directed at Barnaby more than Mrs Preston. If he had kept his hands to himself none of this would ever have happened and once again her resentment of him flared.But then, a little voice whispered, ‘It wasn’t entirely his fault, you didn’t exactly try to stop him – quite the opposite.’
She had almost reached the top of the hill when she heard hoofbeats coming up behind her and turning about she saw Barnaby. She was red in the face and panting with the exertion of pulling the heavy load by then and without saying a word he leapt from the saddle, handed her the horse’s reins and proceeded to pull the cart the rest of the way up the hill. With no other choice, she followed slowly behind him.
It was only when they reached the top that he noticed the stains on her blouse and her tear-stained face and his eyebrows creased into a frown as he asked, ‘What’s happened?’
‘The townsfolk have put two an’ two together an’ realised that Charlotte is my girl,’ she told him coldly. ‘An’ now they think I’m your fancy piece an’ that you an’ I are livin’ in sin!’
‘Oh, Amber?.?.?. I’msosorry.’ He looked genuinely distressed but Amber was too angry to care how he felt.
‘Well, it was only goin’ to be a matter o’ time afore the truth came out, weren’t it?’ She reached out to take the cart back again but he shook his head and before she could stop him, he lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather and swung her up onto his saddle.
