Free God Is an Englishman by R. F. Delderfield Page B

when you get to Liverpool hire a fly at the station, it’s nobbut a few miles. I’ll write our Nelly a note saying I sent you on account o’ the riots, and the hands throwing bricks at his windows. Tell Nelly my letter will be on your heels but someone’ll have to tak’ you to Lea Green, and it’ll have to be Enoch, for he’s the only man left about here and that’s a blessing. Enoch won’t think it daft to be catching a train this hour o’ the night. Have you got money?”
    “About nine shillings. I took most of it from the cash-box.” She nodded fiercely. “I’ll tell him about it. I’ll say I couldn’t see you go wi’
    nowt in your purse. But you’d best leave wi’out the girls seeing you. I’ll find Enoch and harness the trap.”
    “May I take Twitch? Would your sister Nelly mind if I took Twitch?”
    “You could tak’ a zoo along to our Nelly’s. The house is a fair tip, spilling over wi’ spoiled children and spoiled animals, but the vittles won’t be up to the kind you been used to, lass. Her man don’t fetch home a sovereign a week and she was never a one to mak’ do. Tell her I’ll send money for board. Now drop that luggage out o’ t’window and pick it up on the way round. I’ll send Enoch down to the lodge wi’ t’trap.”
    Henrietta turned her back to drop the bags out on to the gravel, but when she faced around Mrs. Worrell had already waddled as far as the door, so that the girl, GodIsAnEnglishman.indd 38
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    Fugitive in a Crinoline 3 9
    with a little cry of dismay, ran across the room, threw her arms about her, and kissed her perspiring cheek.
    “Darling Martha! I made sure you’d stop me. Why are you doing this? Is it because you hate my father?”
    Demonstrations of this kind embarrassed Mrs. Worrell and she shrugged herself free. “Nay, lass,” she muttered, “there’s far worse nor Sam Rawlinson around.
    Besides,” her brown eyes half-closed as though searching the past, “it was kick out or go under where your father started from, but nobody would have wed him to t’wrong lass! Makepeace Goldthorpe indeed! Sharing the bed of a lass I’ve raised.
    I’d see all of ’em burned first, along o’ t’mill!” She went out and a moment later Henrietta saw her beckon from the foot of the stairs. She whistled softly to Twitch, moving along to the front door that was standing wide open. Outside, at the den win dow, she paused to retrieve her bags and looking up at the face of the west turret noted how the glare in the northern sky had coloured it coral. She knew then, with certainty, that she would never see this ugly house again.
    6
    Beyond the copse that bordered the wilder section of the grounds the sky over Seddon Moss was bright orange laced with crimson, and the whiff of the burning mill, and who knew what else besides, was carried for miles on the soft currents of the night breeze. It could not have been mistaken for a bonfire smell for deep within it was the smell of the city, rank and sulphurous, the stink of a dozen factory chimneys out of hand.
    The smell and the coral sky scared Enoch, and it bothered the pony. Neither knew what to make of it and each, from time to time, lifted a head and snorted.
    They pushed on, however, beyond the fork of the dust road that led left-handed over the common towards Lea Green and the string of halts serving Cheshire folk living south of the factory belt. It was about here that Henrietta, on her rare ex cursions to Liverpool had seen the goose-children tending their flocks on the manorial waste, but there was no one here now; just her, the scared pony, and Enoch, Mrs. Worrell’s odd-job man, who had no roof to his mouth and was reckoned half an idiot.
    Because, underneath her outward composure, she was just as frightened as man and beast, Henrietta decided to concentrate her thoughts on remembering how he had wandered up to the backdoor one winter’s day, honking his willingness GodIsAnEnglishman.indd