Free The Stony Path by Rita Bradshaw Page A

through it was a new emotion, one of fear, and it was this that Henry’s sixth sense picked up and which he capitalised on.
     
    ‘Oh, I dare, lass. Make no mistake about that,’ he ground out slowly, walking across to the bed and bringing his head low until his face was no more than a few inches away from that of his wife. ‘I’ve not much joy in me life, you’ve seen to that, but me bairns’ laughter is somethin’ I couldn’t put a price on, an’ I’ll be damned if I let a spiteful bitch like you finish it. You say one word to stop them lads comin’ or break up their friendship an’ you’ll have me to answer to.’
     
    The hatred which was in his eyes was reflected in the narrowed, opaque orbs staring back at him, and after waiting a moment or two for Hilda to speak, Henry straightened, staring down at the rigid, furious figure in the bed as he said, his voice quiet now, even calm-sounding, ‘I mean it, Hilda. I’d do it an’ you know I’d do it, don’t you.’ It was a statement not a question, and Hilda remained silent as he turned and quietly left the room.
     
    His bairns’ laughter! Hilda ground her fleshless buttocks into the bed. His bairns . As far as Henry was concerned – and Walter too – she had only ever given birth to one bairn, their beloved Polly. Her mind conjured up the image of a bright, laughing face with great azure eyes set under fine curving brows, and again her buttocks churned the mattress. Always cheerful, always seeing the rainbow in the storm, the girl was enough to drive anyone mad. Ruth now, Ruth was different. Ruth understood her mother was a gentlewoman, that she had been born to better things than this miserable farm.
     
    Henry had called her an unnatural mother once, and maybe she was. She considered the thought quite objectively. It had been when Polly was learning to walk and was always hanging on her skirts, and one day she had lost her temper and smacked the child’s hands away. They had all gone for her on that occasion – Walter, Alice and Henry, and she had shouted back that she hated the farm and everyone and everything in it, including her daughter. And she had meant it, and Henry had known she meant it.
     
    He had talked to her that night once they were in bed, his voice soft and flat, and she had known quite clearly that they had reached a crossroads in their marriage, and the way they would proceed from that point would depend on her. ‘I know you’re not happy, Hilda, an’ bein’ wed isn’t all you thought it would be, but all I’m askin’ is that you make some kind of an effort, if not with me an’ Mam an’ Da, then with the bairn. Can’t you try an’ love her? At least show her a bit of affection now an’ again? Mam said you boxed her ears yesterday for nothin’ an’ shut her away upstairs, an’ she was still bawlin’ an hour later.’
     
    ‘It’s up to me how I deal with my own child, I’ve told your mother that.’
     
    ‘Aye, maybe, but she’s nowt but a babby still an’ it’s not fair to take out your disappointment with me on her.’
     
    She had been surprised then, she hadn’t credited him with such insight, but her voice hadn’t mellowed when she said, ‘She might be young, but she’s wilful with a mind of her own and it needs breaking. Your parents are too soft with her, that’s half the trouble.’
     
    ‘It upsets ’em when you won’t pick her up when she comes to you, or speak kindly to her, an’ it does me an’ all if you want to know.’
     
    ‘I don’t want to know.’ The darkness had made it easier to say what had to be said. ‘I don’t care what you and your parents think either, Henry, and I shall continue to discipline Polly as I see fit. Spare the rod and spoil the child.’
     
    ‘She’s barely fourteen months old, woman!’
     
    ‘And don’t woman me!’
     
    Things hadn’t been the same after that. Hilda settled back against the bolster, and there was no regret in her thinking. But