A True Love of Mine Read online

  ‘I’m sorry… I’m so very sorry,’ Toby had told her, disobeying his mother to snatch a few moments with her before she departed. ‘Honestly, Bella, I feel dreadful about this. If there’s ever anything I can do for you – when all this has blown over, I mean – then you must let me know, please, Bella…’

  She had tossed her head, too hurt and bewildered to talk to him, but his words had stayed in her mind because she believed they were sincere.

  When she returned to Morpeth after a couple of years away, and following her summer in Scarborough, Toby Lonsdale was married, quite happily, it was said. He had given up his mild philandering and had become a responsible young man. It had not been difficult to arrange a meeting with him.

  She had found temporary lodgings in Ashington and a job as a barmaid, but Toby, on learning of her plight, found accommodation for her at a farmhouse a few miles from Lonsdale Hall; not one of his father’s tenant farms, but one of the few that was privately owned. Bill and Madge Stockton were a middle-aged couple willing to offer Bella bed and board in exchange for her labours. She was a strong lass and was able to work almost to the end of her pregnancy. So it was there that she had stayed for the next few months, and when it was time for her confinement she was competently cared for by Madge Stockton.

  As she held the baby girl in her arms – not a red and wrinkled brat, as she had anticipated, but a pink and white round-cheeked infant with black curly hair and a tiny puckered mouth like a rosebud – her maternal instincts had surged, but only for a moment. Bella knew she must not allow her feelings to influence her. She had been persuaded over the past months that there was only one course open to her, to let her child be adopted. Especially as Madge and Bill knew a couple who were desperate for a child but were unable to have any of their own.

  They were an honest and decent couple, she was told, steady and reliable, and the child would have a good home with loving parents. They were both in their mid-thirties. The man worked at the pit in Ashington, but in the office; he did not go down the mine. And that, Bella, believed, was all to the good. She knew of many poor little mites who had lost their fathers in pit disasters.

  Anyway, how could she, Bella, find employment, which she knew she must do, with a baby to look after? Madge and Bill had been kind to her, but she could not go on living there. It had been Toby, of course, who had persuaded them to take her in and had rewarded them, too, for their pains. And it was Toby who took care of the details when the week-old child was handed over to its adoptive parents.

  Bella was not supposed to know the whereabouts of the child, but she pleaded with Toby to tell her the address. She promised she would not make any trouble and she was true to her word. Only occasionally did she go up to Ashington to snatch a glimpse of the child, watching her grow into a sturdy, stocky little girl with Bella’s dark eyes and hair and bold features. She was satisfied that the child was happy and well cared for. As for Bella, she had moved down to Newcastle where she found lodgings and employment, first in a haberdashery shop and then in the gown department of a large store.

  But when, early in 1886, Toby fell from his horse and broke his neck in a riding accident, Bella felt that it was time for her to move on. She could not have said what made her return to Scarborough, apart from, of course, a vague idea that she might meet up again with William Moon, but as the years passed by she came to believe that it was Fate.

  She had never met Rosalind, Ralph’s daughter, although she had spoken with her once or twice on the newly installed telephone, regarding business matters. She did not enquire about his wife, whether she was still ailing or whether there had been any improvement in her health or temperament. She was content to leave things as they were, not to muddy the waters, so to speak, by any undue poking and prying. She and Ralph were happy and that was all that mattered to her for the moment. The future could be left to take care of itself. She realised afterwards that she had been living in a fool’s paradise. Ralph still spent half of his time in York. He stayed in Scarborough every other weekend, and these were times that Bella looked forward to; the times when they were able to be together as a couple, enjoying the company not only of one another but of the several friends they had made. These were married couples who invited them to their homes or accompanied them on an outing to a concert or to the theatre. It was known that Ralph was leading a double life, but their friends were broad-minded enough to accept this. The consensus of opinion was that his wife, also, must know about his lady friend in Scarborough and be quite resigned to the situation.

  The first weekend in February Ralph had stayed in York and Bella was looking forward to his return on the Monday; he usually arrived back at the shop by mid-morning. This time, however, he was late. The shop closed between the hours of twelve-thirty and two, but when two o’clock arrived he had still not appeared. Bella had drawn up the blind and was turning the notice on the door to read ‘Open’ when the telephone rang, its discordant tone sounding loud and shrill in the small shop.

  She recognised the voice who spoke, addressing her as Miss Randall, as that of Ralph’s daughter, Rosalind. The line was crackly and it was difficult to hear clearly; but what she could make out between the buzzing and the interference made her gasp in shock and horror. She grabbed hold of the counter behind her, leaning against it for support. Rosalind was telling her about an accident; she seemed to be saying that Ralph had been…killed!

  ‘No, no…’ Bella cried out, shaking her head and refusing to believe what she was hearing. ‘I’m sorry – I can’t hear you very well. I thought you said that your father was…dead. But he can’t be…’

  ‘Yes, that is what I said.’ The young woman’s voice sounded flat and emotionless, but Bella had no doubt that she, too, was still in a state of shock. ‘He was involved in an accident on Lendal Bridge on Sunday night,’ she went on, the line sounding rather clearer now. ‘He was crossing the road and there was a runaway horse… He was trapped under the wheels of a cab… They took him to the hospital, but he was already dead.’ Her voice broke and Bella could hear a strangled sort of sob.

  ‘Oh, that’s dreadful,’ she said, her voice, escaping on a drawn-out breath, was scarcely audible. ‘I am so sorry. So completely…stunned. I can’t believe it.’

  ‘No, neither could we. We would like you to close the shop for today at least, as a sign of respect, Miss Randall.’ Rosalind sounded more in control now, quite brusque, in fact.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Bella. ‘That goes without saying.’

  ‘And I will come over to Scarborough to talk with you later this week. There will be several matters to discuss… I will let you know, of course, when I am coming.’

  ‘Yes…yes, that would be helpful…’

  ‘So that is all for now, Miss Randall. I know the news will have been a considerable shock to you, but there is no more to be said for the moment.’ Bella heard the telephone receiver being replaced with a sharp click.

  Sally had entered the shop and was staring at Bella, her eyes wide with anxiety, although she had heard only a little of the conversation. ‘Whatever’s up, Miss Randall?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, Sally…’ Bella cried, reaching out her arms to the young girl, something she would, normally, never have dreamt of doing. ‘It’s Ralph; Mr Cunningham… He’s been killed. Oh, Sally…he’s dead. I shall never see him again.’

  ‘Eeh, deary me,’ said Sally, putting her arms round the older woman. ‘That’s a bad do. Such a nice man he was an’ all. And you and him, you were so fond of one another, weren’t you? Oh dear! Happen I shouldn’t’ve said that, Miss Randall. I’m sorry, but I noticed, see…’

  ‘That’s all right, Sally,’ said Bella, holding the girl’s hands and trying to smile at her. ‘I dare say a lot of people noticed. We weren’t ashamed of it… Now, would you go and make a pot of strong tea for us, please, dear, while I see to closing the shop again. I’ll make a notice for the door. Closed owing to bereavement. That’s what I’ll have to say…’
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  She shut up the shop and sent Sally home for the rest of the day and for the whole of Tuesday. She planned to reopen on Wednesday, just for a few hours, as Wednesday was half-day closing. She was still not able to believe, fully, what she had heard, but if there was any vestige of hope remaining in her mind it was soon wiped out by the stark headline in the evening paper. There it was in black and white, LOCAL BUSINESSMAN KILLED IN ACCIDENT WITH RUNAWAY HORSE… followed by three inches of print extolling Ralph Cunningham as a prominent shopkeeper in the town, respected and well liked by everyone. He owned thriving businesses in York and in Scarborough, and was succeeded by his wife and his only daughter, Rosalind.

  When the shop reopened there were only a few customers, but quite a number of callers expressing their sympathy and – in some cases – commiserating with Bella on her sad loss. She told them to watch the evening paper for details of the funeral, which was sure to be held in York. She was as much in the dark as anyone.

  She was not looking forward to the meeting with Rosalind. The young woman had sent her a brief note saying that she would arrive at the shop at eleven o’clock or thereabouts on the Friday morning. She arrived almost on the dot of eleven and Bella turned the notice round to ‘Closed’. Sally had already had her instructions to make herself scarce for at least twenty minutes and then reappear with coffee and biscuits.

  Bella thought that the young woman, who must be in her mid-twenties now, had a definite look of Ralph, in her deep-set grey eyes and dark hair, but her face lacked the spark of animation that had transformed his features. But the poor lass had nothing much to smile about, Bella reminded herself, and the unrelieved black of her coat and large feathered hat did nothing to enhance her sallow complexion.

  ‘How do you do, Miss Randall?’ Rosalind extended a black-gloved hand, allowing Bella to barely touch the finger tips. She did not smile, but was regarding appraisingly the shop manageress whom she was meeting for the first time. Bella had no doubt as to what was going through her mind. So this is the woman who was my father’s mistress…Bella had long assumed that both Rosalind and her mother were fully aware of what had been going on for the last…almost eight years it had been.

  ‘How do you do, Miss Cunningham?’ said Bella. ‘Do sit down.’ She indicated a small spoon-backed chair upholstered in blue velvet, often used for important customers. She herself perched on a stool which was kept behind the counter.

  Rosalind slowly drew off her gloves and placed them tidily in her lap before looking fixedly and still unsmilingly at Bella. ‘I do not intend to beat about the bush, Miss Randall,’ she began. ‘There is no point in either of us pretending. I know, and so does my mother, that you have been my father’s mistress for several years. He has never admitted it, but neither has he denied it.’

  Bella returned her look just as unflinchingly. ‘And I will not deny it either,’ she said. ‘I loved your father and I believe he loved me. And I was given to understand that the marriage – that of your mother and father – had come to an end long ago.’

  Rosalind shook her head a little impatiently. ‘In many ways, yes, I admit it had. But my mother was still his wife, and now she is his widow. From what she has told me it didn’t take long for him to start looking elsewhere, even in the early days of their marriage. If you believe you were the first, then I am afraid I must disillusion you. There had been several others.’

  What she was hearing came as a shock to Bella, although Ralph had admitted that he had not been a saint. She did not react in any way, though, except to say, ‘No, I may not have been the first… But I was most definitely the last!’ She was quite certain of that.

  Rosalind inclined her head. ‘Yes… I think that is probably true. But the fact remains that you have no rights in law. You are not even what they call a common-law wife.’

  ‘I believe your father will have made provision for me,’ Bella answered. ‘He said that he would do so.’ That, indeed, was what he had said at the start of their relationship, but he had not mentioned it since that time. She was beginning to have grave doubts. ‘There is a will, isn’t there?’ she enquired, trying to imbue her words with more confidence than she was feeling.

  ‘There is a will…but you are not mentioned,’ replied Rosalind. She gave a tight little smile, but Bella noticed that her eyes were no longer hostile, not so cold and unfeeling as they had appeared at first. There was a certain softness in them, a glimpse of understanding there as she murmured, ‘I’m sorry…’

  ‘But I was led to understand…’ Bella began, then she stopped, shrugging her shoulders. ‘I was wrong, wasn’t I?’ Was there any man, anywhere, who could be trusted, she wondered? Even Ralph had let her down.

  ‘There is a copy of the will with our solicitors, if you are in any doubt,’ said Rosalind, before the thought of duplicity could take root in Bella’s mind. ‘I am afraid my father was inclined to put things off until another day. He may have intended to do something. I am sure he didn’t think he would die at fifty-two. Oh yes, he had a good head for business in some ways, but as far as money was concerned, my mother was the one who was in control.’

  ‘Oh…?’ Bella raised her eyebrows in surprise, although she did recall, now, Ralph telling her that Prudence had come to the marriage with quite a substantial dowry.

  ‘This property, for instance – the Scarborough shop and living accommodation – it was bought in my mother’s name. She had money in her own right. When the law was changed she made it her business to claim what was rightly hers. She is no fool, my mother. She has had poor health for many years, but her mind is still very astute.’

  Bella vaguely remembered hearing of a law being passed, several years ago, allowing women to keep their own property after marriage. Until that time all a woman’s possessions, by law, belonged to her husband to do with as he pleased. She was taken aback now by these revelations but she had no intention of going to pieces. She must stick up for her rights. It was a shock to hear that the shop and property had belonged to Prudence Cunningham all along; even if it had been in Ralph’s name, though, it would have passed to his wife now. But she, Bella, had worked long and hard to make it the successful business it had become. She said as much now.

  ‘I have been a faithful employee. I have managed the shop, virtually on my own, for the last eight years and I believe I have been responsible for its success. You father was very pleased with the annual turnover…and I’m sure your mother, too, will agree that it is most satisfactory.’

  ‘Yes, that is true,’ Rosalind conceded. ‘There is no cause for complaint. However, we have decided that it is no longer possible to keep both shops going. So we will be closing the Scarborough shop and concentrating on the one in York.’ Bella was unable to suppress a gasp of surprise.

  ‘Yes, I realise this may come as a shock,’ said Rosalind. ‘We appreciate all your hard work and we do not intend to let it go unrewarded. Nor do we intend to turn you out immediately.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ said Bella, a mite sarcastically.

  ‘No…you may stay in the flat until the end of the month. And in the meantime the property will be put up for sale. The shop will close down at the end of next week, and I will make arrangements for the remaining stock to be transferred to York, if you could pack it up, please, Miss Randall. With the help of your young assistant, of course.’ She smiled, quite charmingly, at Sally who had entered with a laden tray. ‘Ah, coffee. Thank you, my dear. That smells lovely.’

  Bella was glad of the diversion to gather herself together. Silently she handed the cup of coffee and the plate of biscuits to her unwelcome guest. So that was that, was it? After eight years of loyal service she was back on the scrapheap again. She took a sip of her coffee, then another, savouring the full-bodied flavour and warmth, despite the feelings of hurt and insecurity which were beginning to steal up on her.

  ‘So that’s it, is it?’ she asked.

  ‘No, just one more thing, Miss Randall. Well, two more things,
really. Firstly, the funeral will be held in York on Monday.’ Bella already knew because there had been a notice in the paper the previous evening. ‘My mother and I do not wish you to attend.’ Rosalind looked at her uncompromisingly.

  ‘And secondly…as I have mentioned, we do not want your efforts to go unrewarded, and so we have decided to grant you a supernumerary payment of one hundred guineas.’

  Bella nodded briefly. She had no intention of saying thank you. But she almost smiled, even in the midst of her despair, as an amusing thought crossed her mind. She was remembering a favourite quip of one of the fisher lasses. ‘Ah well, ne’er mind,’ she thought to herself. ‘It’s better than a slap in the gob with a wet herring.’

  Chapter Eleven

  In the spring of 1895 building work was going ahead as planned, and William Moon hoped that the shop – ‘Moon’s Mourning Modes’, as they intended to call it – would be completed and ready for customers in a few weeks’ time. His father had been all in favour of this innovative plan; another string to their bow, Isaac said, in a business which went from strength to strength with each passing year.

  Two small run-down shops – a greengrocer’s and a bakery – becoming vacant at the same time had proved fortuitous for the Moon family, especially as these shops adjoined their existing property. The landlord had been persuaded to sell them for a reasonable sum, in view of their dilapidated condition, and Isaac and William had lost no time in employing builders to make the two small shops into one and to convert the upstairs rooms into a large stockroom, and living accommodation which could be let to a suitable person.