"Mebbe that's the way it's meant to be, Mrs. Morris," she said as she hurried to the door. "It's just God's will, that's all."
Sally Morris watched her go. It was a long uphill walk to Ivy Cottage and Frank Aysgarth wouldn't dream of spending money on a pony trap for his daughter. "She's got young legs and she'd best use 'em," he always said. It was true enough, but it was also true that Annie's youth was disappearing fast under the workload he imposed on her. She was lonely and she'd bet Frank was lonely too. She'd always said he regretted the move to Ivy Cottage and if it were not for his damned stupid masculine pride he would have sold up long ago and moved them all back again into Montgomery Street where they belonged. And then Annie might have a chance of meeting someone and having a life of her own. But it was no good, everybody knew Annie would never marry now because that would mean Frank Aysgarth would lose a good housekeeper and he was too selfish to stand for that.
When Annie got home that evening, her father was sitting at the oak table, smoking his pipe, waiting for her.
"Sorry I'm late, Dad," she said, flinging her cape over the brass hook on the back of the kitchen door, hurrying to bank up the fire and put the big tin kettle on the hob to boil. "I'll have your tea ready in a jiffy though. I left a lamb hotpot to cook slow in the oven, seeing as you only had cold meats dinnertime."
"Stop chattering and sit down, Annie," he said suddenly.
She lifted her head, surprised. She stared warily at him, wondering what she had done wrong. True, she was a bit late, but he knew she'd been off to the dales so it couldn't be that, and his shirts were all clean and ironed in the drawer, his socks were darned and the house was immaculate... unless something had happened to one of the lads. "Is it our Josh?" she asked, worriedly wiping her hands on her apron and sitting opposite him.
"Nay, it's not the lads. It's Aunt Jessie. Your mother's cousin, you met her once at the funeral. She went to live up Northumberland way and now she's died and left you a small fortune. Though I can't think why she left it to you and not the lads," he added, tamping the tobacco down in his pipe and puffing out pungent jets of smoke.
"A fortune?" she repeated, stunned.
"Aye, lass. A hundred pounds she's left you. In memory of your mother. That's what it said in the will anyway. And that's a sight more than a workingman makes in a year, so you'll not go squandering it on frocks and fur tippets and fancy bits of jewelry. No, it'll go in't bank wi' the rest."
Annie's round brown eyes grew even rounder as she said slowly, "But that's my money. Aunt Jessie has left it to me."
Frank puffed consideringly on his pipe; he wasn't used to his daughter speaking up against him. "Aye, so it is," he agreed, "but lasses don't have bank accounts of their own. So it'll go along with mine, until you have good need of it, that is."
Annie met his eyes angrily. A hundred pounds was more money than she had ever dreamed of seeing and now it was hers and she desperately wanted to see it. "Aunt Jessie left it to me, Dad," she repeated. "I have the right to do what I want with it."
Frank pushed back his chair, placed his pipe carefully in the big glass ashtray and said coldly, "You don't have any rights, Annie Aysgarth, and don't you forget that. You'll do as you're told and that's that."
Annie's head drooped. She stared miserably down at her hands, red from housework, with ragged, bitten nails. "Poor Aunt Jessie," she said, blinking away tears of anger at her own helplessness. "Barely in her grave and we're quarreling over her money already."
She looked up and met her father's eyes. "Please, Dad?" she begged. "I've never asked you for anything before." She watched his set, implacable face with a sinking heart; the money had suddenly become a symbol of the freedom she might decide to buy with it one day.... When Josh was a grown man and had fallen in love with
Sally Morris watched her go. It was a long uphill walk to Ivy Cottage and Frank Aysgarth wouldn't dream of spending money on a pony trap for his daughter. "She's got young legs and she'd best use 'em," he always said. It was true enough, but it was also true that Annie's youth was disappearing fast under the workload he imposed on her. She was lonely and she'd bet Frank was lonely too. She'd always said he regretted the move to Ivy Cottage and if it were not for his damned stupid masculine pride he would have sold up long ago and moved them all back again into Montgomery Street where they belonged. And then Annie might have a chance of meeting someone and having a life of her own. But it was no good, everybody knew Annie would never marry now because that would mean Frank Aysgarth would lose a good housekeeper and he was too selfish to stand for that.
When Annie got home that evening, her father was sitting at the oak table, smoking his pipe, waiting for her.
"Sorry I'm late, Dad," she said, flinging her cape over the brass hook on the back of the kitchen door, hurrying to bank up the fire and put the big tin kettle on the hob to boil. "I'll have your tea ready in a jiffy though. I left a lamb hotpot to cook slow in the oven, seeing as you only had cold meats dinnertime."
"Stop chattering and sit down, Annie," he said suddenly.
She lifted her head, surprised. She stared warily at him, wondering what she had done wrong. True, she was a bit late, but he knew she'd been off to the dales so it couldn't be that, and his shirts were all clean and ironed in the drawer, his socks were darned and the house was immaculate... unless something had happened to one of the lads. "Is it our Josh?" she asked, worriedly wiping her hands on her apron and sitting opposite him.
"Nay, it's not the lads. It's Aunt Jessie. Your mother's cousin, you met her once at the funeral. She went to live up Northumberland way and now she's died and left you a small fortune. Though I can't think why she left it to you and not the lads," he added, tamping the tobacco down in his pipe and puffing out pungent jets of smoke.
"A fortune?" she repeated, stunned.
"Aye, lass. A hundred pounds she's left you. In memory of your mother. That's what it said in the will anyway. And that's a sight more than a workingman makes in a year, so you'll not go squandering it on frocks and fur tippets and fancy bits of jewelry. No, it'll go in't bank wi' the rest."
Annie's round brown eyes grew even rounder as she said slowly, "But that's my money. Aunt Jessie has left it to me."
Frank puffed consideringly on his pipe; he wasn't used to his daughter speaking up against him. "Aye, so it is," he agreed, "but lasses don't have bank accounts of their own. So it'll go along with mine, until you have good need of it, that is."
Annie met his eyes angrily. A hundred pounds was more money than she had ever dreamed of seeing and now it was hers and she desperately wanted to see it. "Aunt Jessie left it to me, Dad," she repeated. "I have the right to do what I want with it."
Frank pushed back his chair, placed his pipe carefully in the big glass ashtray and said coldly, "You don't have any rights, Annie Aysgarth, and don't you forget that. You'll do as you're told and that's that."
Annie's head drooped. She stared miserably down at her hands, red from housework, with ragged, bitten nails. "Poor Aunt Jessie," she said, blinking away tears of anger at her own helplessness. "Barely in her grave and we're quarreling over her money already."
She looked up and met her father's eyes. "Please, Dad?" she begged. "I've never asked you for anything before." She watched his set, implacable face with a sinking heart; the money had suddenly become a symbol of the freedom she might decide to buy with it one day.... When Josh was a grown man and had fallen in love with
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