Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection. Josephine Cox

Yer a persistent devil.’ Taking in a long, deep breath, he blew it out through swollen cheeks. ‘Go on then. I promise.’

      Back downstairs, Emily was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is the lass?’ Realising she must be outside, Aggie set about her tasks. She checked the fire and opened one window slightly to let the fumes from the burning coals disperse. She then replaced the fire-screen and going to the oven, checked the cake which was rising nicely.

      When that was done, she went outside to find Emily.

      The girl was in the outhouse, her sleeves rolled back, and up to her elbows in the washing tub. ‘I can’t seem to get these stains out,’ she said, rubbing hard at a corner of the bedsheet. ‘I’ve soaked them with a blue bag and scrubbed them with soda, and rubbed them over the washboard until my knuckles are raw, but they just won’t shift.’

      Dropping the sheet back into the copper boiler, she blew away a wisp of hair. Wiping an arm over her brow, she leaned against the wall, her face glowing pink and wet from the heat. ‘It’s the last time I let Gramps have beef broth in his bed,’ she said.

      Aggie had warned her at the time. ‘I told you,’ she chided. ‘I said not to let him hold the soup-bowl himself.’

      ‘He threw a fit when I tried to spoon-feed him!’ Emily recalled the occasion well. ‘He said I had no right treating him like a babby and that he was more than capable of holding his own soup-bowl an’ spoon.’

      Aggie chuckled and said, imitating Thomas Isaac’s voice: ‘If you can’t trust me to feed meself, then I’ll not eat at all. In fact, yer can take the damned soup away and fetch me some milky-pobs. That’s what yer give babbies, ain’t it?’

      Emily laughed. ‘All right, don’t rub it in. He caught me good and proper, but from now on, I’ll be one step ahead of him, the old devil.’ She couldn’t help but feel for him though. ‘It’s his poor old fingers. Some days they’re no problem at all, and other times he can’t even grip the sheet to pull it up over himself.’

      ‘Aye, lass.’ Aggie felt the same compassion for her father-in-law. ‘That’s what comes of working out in all weathers for the best part of your life.’

      Even Aggie couldn’t get the stain of beef broth out of the sheet. ‘Leave it to soak in saltwater,’ she told Emily. ‘You can have another go at it later on. We’d best get on. There’s a cake to be iced and sprinkled wi’ hundreds and thousands, a few cheese straws to make, sandwiches and little fancies to be got ready. Oh, and you’d best preserve your strength,’ she warned. ‘I promised Grandad we’d fetch him down for the occasion.’

      With that in mind the two of them set off, back to the scullery and the excitement of the day.

      Keeping his distance, Clem Jackson watched them go back into the farmhouse. ‘Bloody women!’ he cursed. ‘I’d just as soon do away with the lot of ’em!’

      Recalling how he had attacked Emily in the barn, he had no shame or guilt, but when he realised he had got her with child, he had suffered a few sleepless nights, but only because he was afraid his sister Aggie would find out, and take revenge. Given the right circumstances, she was capable enough. When the blame fell on John Hanley, he was relieved – though up to now he had been wise enough to keep his distance from Emily.

      From afar he had watched his daughter grow into a little person, and he was oddly fascinated – though he was not foolish enough to lay claim to her. He was a man who enjoyed his fun, but refused to take the consequences.

      Slinging the shotgun across his shoulder, he whistled to his dog and thought, To hell with them all. The taste of John’s name on his tongue was bitter. That young bugger had a lot of gall. At one point, Clem had really feared he might be getting the better of him, and that would never have done, oh no! He recalled how even when he was torn open and bleeding, John had kept coming back at him. That one was dangerous, he mused grudgingly. A man to be reckoned with.

      He congratulated himself on having seen the last of John Hanley. One thing was for sure: it would make his life that much easier, now Emily had picked up with the milkman – especially as the man seemed besotted enough to take on the bastard as his own.

      All in all, Clem thought he had been clever enough to turn the whole situation to his own advantage. And if ever he felt the need for another tumble in the hay with Emily, he would have no compunction about helping himself.

      She would know better than to blab: if she so much as hinted at what had gone on between them, he would make damned sure they would all suffer. She was intelligent enough to know that.

      For now though, he had a ‘friend’ of his own in the barmaid at the Red Lion. Bold and brassy, Betty Warwick was more than capable of satisfying his carnal needs for the time being.

      As he came up to the top field and his prize-bulls, he leaned on the fence, his proud gaze focused on the great beasts. ‘I knew you were winners right off,’ he told them. ‘Another season an’ you’ll be the best there is. What! I’ll be the envy of every breeder for miles around.’

      Nodding with satisfaction he drew such a large breath his chest expanded to twice its size. With the confidence of a man who believes himself to be above the proudest beast, he bade the dog stay where he was, lest he spooked the bulls, then climbed the fence and swaggered past them.

      He was not deterred by the sly, watchful look in their eyes. Nor by the reason he had got them at a low price. The cowman’s son at an adjacent farm was nearly trampled to death by them. As it was, he’d been kicked in the thigh and would always walk with a limp. He’d tripped over in his haste to escape, and being a skinny lad, had just managed to roll under the fence in time, their stink in his nostrils, before he’d fainted.

      ‘The lad was crossing the far side of the field when they came at him,’ the owner had confessed. ‘He was lucky they didn’t kill him.’ He was all for shooting them. But Clem Jackson persuaded him otherwise.

      It was eleven-thirty the next morning when John climbed aboard the tram in Blackburn. Tanned by sea and sun, and with a jaunt to his step, he caught the attention of several women passengers. ‘Now there’s a good-looking young man.’ The woman who whispered this was nearer sixty than fifty, and when John smiled at her she didn’t know which way to look, so she turned to her friend. ‘Did you see that?’ she breathed. ‘He’s got a lovely smile, don’t you think?’

      Her friend was older and wiser, and the teeniest bit envious. ‘Lovely smile or not, he’s probably on his way to break some young woman’s heart.’ She’d been around long enough to know about such things.

      Some way along the tram, John seated himself, paid his fare and got chatting to the conductor. ‘You’ve made a conquest back there,’ the conductor said, rolling the ticket out of his machine and handing it over. ‘Them poor women are swooning all over the place.’

      ‘I can’t be seen flirting with other women,’ John said with a grin. ‘I don’t think my future wife would like that.’

      Being as the tram was almost empty, and this route was a lonely one, the conductor sat in the seat opposite. ‘Oh aye?’ He was ready for a chat. ‘On your way to be wed, are you?’

      John nodded. ‘Soonever we can arrange it,’ he said proudly. ‘I’ve been away, but now I’m back for good.’

      ‘What’s her name?’

      ‘Emily.’

      ‘Pretty name.’

      ‘Pretty lady.’

      ‘What made you leave her?’

      Here, John grew cautious. ‘Oh, this and that.’

      The conductor guessed. ‘Family problems, I expect,’ he remarked knowingly. ‘We all have ’em.’

      John neither denied nor confirmed it. Instead he answered lightly, ‘Getting wed is an expensive business.’

      ‘So, you went