would
surprise himself. But what troubled her about the boy was his
nightmares, for Ward had often heard him yelling out from his bed in the loft.
But her joy wasn't only in her own dancing, for hardly a week passed but Ward took her into Newcastle. She had visited the theatre there, and had spent an hilarious evening at Balhambras, noted for its
variety, much of it bawdy, and whose audience. Fanny felt, would not have received her type of act very well; and nor would Mr. and Mrs.
Killjoy and their family have been as much appreciated as they had been at The Empire. But the occasion she had enjoyed most was the dance at the Assembly Rooms. Yet Ward had said that was-their first and last visit there, because she had attracted too much attention.
He had laughed when saying this, but she wasn't displeased that he had meant it.
Ward's consuming love seemed to have touched everything he owned, for his crops were blooming and his cows had never yielded so much milk; yet all the happiness seemed to be contained within the precincts of his land. It was a different story when he went into the village.
Within a few days of his marriage he knew where he stood there. He wasn't in favour in The Running Hare, because Sam Longstaffe and his little wife Linda were church-going. However, at The Crown Head he had been made more than welcome by Michael Holding and members of his
family; not that he frequented the inn often, but on his return from Fellbum or Gateshead, he might step in for a pint of ale. He had
laughingly said to Annie that as long as he had the barman, the baker and the blacksmith, and the shoemaker and the undertaker on his side, he would get by. Nevertheless, it annoyed him that most of the church folk could hardly bring themselves to give him the time of day. And yet it was because of this that it seemed he had found favour with Pastor Wainwright of the Methodist Chapel: he and his four sons would nod to him and bid him good-day. The two younger lads even raised
their caps to him.
It was now the beginning of March 1887, and the month was living up to its reputation, with the wind raging and sending sprays of iced rain against the windows on the day when Fanny told him she was carrying his child.
The farmyard was a sea of mud and Annie was once again yelling at him,
"Will you take your boots off! I'm not getting down on me hands an'
knees today again and scrubbin' this kitchen or that hall, so I'm
telling you. Master Ward. And anyway, if you could lay a concrete
floor in that dancing room for the missis, you could put one in that yard. They tell me that Bainbridge's farm is as clean as a whistle now that he's had the whole place laid with slabs cemented
together."
To this, he had said, "Annie, if you say another word to me about mud or boots or wet clothes, either to get them off, or not put me boots on your floor, I'll take up the first thing to hand and I'll let you have it."
After a moment of silence between them, he asked, and quietly, "Where's the missis?"
"The last time I saw her she was up in the attics. She's taken it into her head to scour them out. I can't stop her, so see if you can. See if you get the same answer as I get. She must keep busy. If it isn't her feet going it's her hands," saying which, she herself continued to be about her own business, whilst he padded across the kitchen floor in his stockinged feet, went into the hall and up the stairs, and on the first landing he called, "Where are you?"
After a moment, her voice came faintly to him:
"I'm up among the gods, sir. I've got a good seat, and it's free."
He took the steep stairs to the attics two at a time, and when he saw her on her knees before an open trunk and scattered around her, pieces of material and old albums, he said harshly, "Now what are you up to?
You're not thinking about washing out the trunks now, are you? "
"Yes; that's just what I am thinking about doing, sir." She laughed at him, then added, "Come and sit
surprise himself. But what troubled her about the boy was his
nightmares, for Ward had often heard him yelling out from his bed in the loft.
But her joy wasn't only in her own dancing, for hardly a week passed but Ward took her into Newcastle. She had visited the theatre there, and had spent an hilarious evening at Balhambras, noted for its
variety, much of it bawdy, and whose audience. Fanny felt, would not have received her type of act very well; and nor would Mr. and Mrs.
Killjoy and their family have been as much appreciated as they had been at The Empire. But the occasion she had enjoyed most was the dance at the Assembly Rooms. Yet Ward had said that was-their first and last visit there, because she had attracted too much attention.
He had laughed when saying this, but she wasn't displeased that he had meant it.
Ward's consuming love seemed to have touched everything he owned, for his crops were blooming and his cows had never yielded so much milk; yet all the happiness seemed to be contained within the precincts of his land. It was a different story when he went into the village.
Within a few days of his marriage he knew where he stood there. He wasn't in favour in The Running Hare, because Sam Longstaffe and his little wife Linda were church-going. However, at The Crown Head he had been made more than welcome by Michael Holding and members of his
family; not that he frequented the inn often, but on his return from Fellbum or Gateshead, he might step in for a pint of ale. He had
laughingly said to Annie that as long as he had the barman, the baker and the blacksmith, and the shoemaker and the undertaker on his side, he would get by. Nevertheless, it annoyed him that most of the church folk could hardly bring themselves to give him the time of day. And yet it was because of this that it seemed he had found favour with Pastor Wainwright of the Methodist Chapel: he and his four sons would nod to him and bid him good-day. The two younger lads even raised
their caps to him.
It was now the beginning of March 1887, and the month was living up to its reputation, with the wind raging and sending sprays of iced rain against the windows on the day when Fanny told him she was carrying his child.
The farmyard was a sea of mud and Annie was once again yelling at him,
"Will you take your boots off! I'm not getting down on me hands an'
knees today again and scrubbin' this kitchen or that hall, so I'm
telling you. Master Ward. And anyway, if you could lay a concrete
floor in that dancing room for the missis, you could put one in that yard. They tell me that Bainbridge's farm is as clean as a whistle now that he's had the whole place laid with slabs cemented
together."
To this, he had said, "Annie, if you say another word to me about mud or boots or wet clothes, either to get them off, or not put me boots on your floor, I'll take up the first thing to hand and I'll let you have it."
After a moment of silence between them, he asked, and quietly, "Where's the missis?"
"The last time I saw her she was up in the attics. She's taken it into her head to scour them out. I can't stop her, so see if you can. See if you get the same answer as I get. She must keep busy. If it isn't her feet going it's her hands," saying which, she herself continued to be about her own business, whilst he padded across the kitchen floor in his stockinged feet, went into the hall and up the stairs, and on the first landing he called, "Where are you?"
After a moment, her voice came faintly to him:
"I'm up among the gods, sir. I've got a good seat, and it's free."
He took the steep stairs to the attics two at a time, and when he saw her on her knees before an open trunk and scattered around her, pieces of material and old albums, he said harshly, "Now what are you up to?
You're not thinking about washing out the trunks now, are you? "
"Yes; that's just what I am thinking about doing, sir." She laughed at him, then added, "Come and sit
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