Down Weaver's Lane by Anna Jacobs Read Free Book Online Page A

have to warn Lena tonight and hope the girls don’t find out. Maybe I can persuade Madge to leave.’ Though Lena would go mad if he gave his sister any money. She was going through a funny time of life, his wife was, and could fly off the handle for nothing. Well, she’d always had a nasty temper and it’d only got worse as the years passed.
    ‘I doubt your Madge could leave town, even if she wanted to. She’s one of George Duckworth’s girls now. And she still has the daughter with her. I saw them on the street together one evening. The lass looks very like Madge used to.’ Martin sighed. ‘It put me in mind of when we were all young. They’re staying down the end of Weavers Lane, at Old Jen Miggs’ place.’
    ‘They would be. And the lass is probably working with her mother!’ Isaac said bitterly.
    Martin frowned and pictured the little girl. ‘Nay, I don’t think so, lad. She looked nobbut a child an’ - well, fresh and unspoiled.’
    ‘So did Madge, even after she ran away.’ Isaac felt bitterness flood through him. George Duckworth was making a name for himself in town as a bully and procurer. If he was Madge’s protector and was benefiting from her immorality, they’d have little chance of persuading her to leave quietly.
    When Martin had left, Isaac buried his head in his hands, humiliation scalding through him. Then he straightened his shoulders and picked up his quill again. He mustn’t let this get him down. People might not find out, and even if they did, Mr Samuel would never blame him for his sister’s sins.
    But it was a while before he started writing and then he found he’d broken the quill by jabbing it into the inkwell too hard, so had to get out a new one. Adjusting the quill cutter and making sure he had a good point calmed him down, so when his employer poked his head into the office and said, ‘I’m going out for a bit, Isaac lad,’ he was able to nod calmly.
    There’s got to be something I can do about this, he thought when he was alone again, then gave his head an angry little shake and forced himself to concentrate on his work. His elderly assistant would be back soon with the reply to an important message because old Mr Rishmore didn’t trust the mails. And Isaac wasn’t paid to sit here and worry about family matters.
    But he’d keep his wife and daughters well away from his sister and niece, he definitely would.
     
    A few weeks after her arrival in Northby Emmy walked slowly up Weavers Lane. She loved the part near the town centre, where the nicer houses began, and especially the area beyond the church where the rich people’s houses were. Here lived the lawyer, the owner of the bank and some of the owners of various businesses, though the shopkeepers, of course, lived over their shops. The largest house of all, Mr Rishmore’s Mill House, was set a little beyond the others where the road sloped upwards, commanding an excellent view of the long narrow valley that sloped down from east to west.
    She liked to linger outside the houses to watch what was happening: gardeners tending flowers and lawns, maids coming out of side doors to shake rugs, boys delivering things. Didn’t rich people have to go to the shops? she wondered. She had never lived so close to them before and envied the little girls from one house who wore pretty clothes and went out walking on fine afternoons accompanied by a lady dressed all in dark colours with a severe expression on her face. Imagine having clothes so nice, and dainty shoes that were all glossy with polish!
    She was bored and wished she had more to do. For all his promises George hadn’t found her a job yet - well, not one that her mother approved of - and Emmy was finding time hanging heavy on her hands. In Manchester she had known their neighbours, done little errands for them, earning a penny or two most days, been able to walk for miles watching the world. Here, you could walk from one end of the town to the other in ten minutes