The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules

With Winston’s career in the navy progressing, Frank’s future temporarily settled, and Edwina safe in Ripon, Emma felt she was free to embark on her Plan with a capital P and devote herself solely to her own ambitions. She was unflagging and intensely involved in her work schedule, one that would have felled anyone else. She was oblivious to the passing of the days, her surroundings, and anything else that would intrude on the average girl’s thoughts.

Sometimes Emma was even oblivious to her friends. At first, Blackie had believed Emma would not be able to sustain the exhausting grind, and so he had quietly cautioned Laura not to interfere. But as the months dragged on and Emma persisted in her endless toil, they both became concerned. In particular, David Kallinski was worried to such an extent that one night he sought out Blackie at the Mucky Duck.

David had been tense, and without preamble had launched into the reason for his visit. ‘Emma won’t listen to me, Blackie. When I last spoke to her I suggested she should be a little kinder to herself, that she should only work during the week, like everyone else with any sense, and take the weekends off. I said something about doing everything in moderation, and do you know what she replied?’

Blackie had shaken his head, his own worry a reflection of David’s. ‘I’ve no idea, lad. She comes out with all sorts of strange remarks these days.’

‘She said to me, “In my opinion, moderation is a vastly overrated virtue, particularly when applied to work, David.” Can you believe it?’

‘Aye, I can. She’s stubborn, Emma is, David. And what ye be telling me doesn’t surprise me. I’ve tried talking to her meself lately, without success. She just won’t pay no mind to anybody,’ Blackie had grumbled.

‘Try talking to her again, Blackie. Please,’ David had implored. ‘Get her to take this Sunday off. I’ll come up to Armley, and we’ll go for a walk in the park, and listen to the band. Blackie, promise me you’ll at least try.’

‘By God, I’m going to do it, David! I shall be real forceful with her. I shall tell her now she is worrying us all. That ought to do the trick, I bet. I’m going to bring Emma to the park with Laura and me, even if I have to drag her there by the scruff of her neck!’

Now on the designated Sunday, a brilliantly sunny July afternoon, David Kallinski walked along Stanningley Road to the entrance of Armley Park. He was dressed in his best suit and a sparkling white shirt, set off by a deep wine-coloured cravat neatly knotted above his waistcoat, and fastened with an imitation-pearl pin. With his carefully pressed clothes, and his black boots shined to perfection, he had a well-groomed immaculate look about him. His thick black hair gleamed like jet and his handsome face, freshly barbered and smelling faintly of bay rum, was vibrant with pleasure at the thought of seeing Emma.

He entered the park through handsome iron gates, surmounted by the city’s coat of arms, and strolled down the principal approach, a wide carriageway leading to a large classically designed fountain. He stood at ease, his hands in his pockets, watching the soaring jets of water being discharged high into the air and cascading back down into the fountain, scintillating like hundreds of strings of tiny diamonds as they caught and held the sunlight. Fascinated by the intricately constructed fountain, he moved closer and read the inscription.

Erected by William Gott of Armley House

In Commemoration of the Sixtieth Year of

the Reign of Her Majesty Queen Victoria

1837 to 1897

The Gott family were immensely wealthy millowners and had endowed many statues to the city of Leeds. When he could afford it, David decided, he would make philanthropic donations that would help people, rather than building statues and fountains, which, however beautiful, were essentially useless.

He turned away and traversed the exquisitely landscaped gardens, laid out in Italian style and flanked by pathways avenued by young limes and elms and poplars, all offering shade on this scorching day. The gardens blazed with glorious colour. Stylized flower beds were awash with the abundant reds and pinks of the gay geranium, the deep purples and sharp yellows of the velvet-petalled pansy, the whites and pinks and mauves of the tall and graceful foxglove. Variegated greens, lushly inviting, sloped away into the distance and were highlighted with patches of pink and white thrifts, and the cheerful little nasturtium leapt like fire alongside the cool blues of the iris. Skirting the gardens were all manner of shrubs and trees, for Armley Park contained more specimens than any other park in Leeds; various hollies moved darkly polished branches towards the softer weigela with its applelike blossoms, while copper beeches, their leaves trembling with a burnished radiance in the warm breeze, towered majestically above mock orange blossom trees, festooned and dripping with the palest of blush pinks. Rockeried paths and open spaces of grass, as smooth as emerald satin, were enclosed by additional shrubs and trees, and richly planted borders of the vivid zinnia ranged down the flagged and gravelled walks.

Along these pathways moved starchly uniformed nannies pushing perambulators; courting couples; prettily gowned ladies accompanied by stiffly tailored husbands. David mingled amongst them, thinking how idyllic the scene was on this splendid day. He was glad to be alive with his future ahead of him and so many things to see and do, so much to achieve. Success beckoned and he was as positive as Emma that his own business enterprises would prosper.

And why not? This was the year of 1907, when King Edward’s reign was at its zenith and his popularity with his people unchallenged; a year when society flirted and danced and hunted and sailed and laughed away the days under King Bertie’s outgoing and benevolent rule; a year when the aristocracy made pleasure the god and gave no thought to the grim realities of life, or of war, for the Africa debacle was forgotten and peace in Europe was assured. In short, 1907 was a year when the ruling classes lived their carefree lives to the full, not considering the stony-faced world beyond the shores of their glorious and invincible England. And every Englishman, David Kallinski included, was lulled into a sense of false security by their debonair example. The years ahead were full of promise. Change was ripe in the air. Things could only get better. The future, for all, was bright with hope.

Consequently, David’s step was lively as he headed for the bandstand. This pagoda-like structure, a dubious tribute to England’s far-flung empire, added a touch of the exotic and the oriental to this typical English park, appeared oddly incongruous in that peaceful and gentle setting. Particularly so this afternoon, since it housed the visiting military band of the Grenadier Guards, bedazzling in their magnificent uniforms and shining from head to toe with the proverbial ‘spit and polish’ of the British army, and curiously out of place in that somewhat outlandish and whimsical replica of a mandarin’s teahouse.

He scanned the seats in front of the bandstand and, seeing no sight of his friends, settled himself in one of the small wrought-iron chairs. The band finished warming up and, after a few flourishes, they commenced their programme with the national anthem. As the concert continued thoughts of Emma drifted into David’s head and took complete hold of him. She was rarely out of his mind these days, and he realized his interest in her was not solely as a business associate, but as a woman. The tender but also passionate feelings he now harboured for her had crept up on him so stealthily he had been taken by surprise. And how did she feel about him? he wondered. Anything at all, other than affection and friendship? Was she too preoccupied with her work to give him a solitary thought? And she was married, a circumstance he had to face. The prospects were bleak for any man who had the bad luck to fall in love with a married woman. But love her he did. Where is that damned husband of hers? David asked himself. The missing husband had not appeared on the scene at all, not even when the baby was born. Sailors came home on leave, didn’t they? It was a mystery, but David had not, as yet, ventured to ask Emma about her husband, or whether she still loved him. David suspected that she did not. Emma never mentioned him, nor did she appear to miss him. David sighed. He had to admit that his hands were tied. He could not, in all conscience, proclaim himself to her, in view of her marital status.

David, lost in his reverie, was startled by Blackie’s voice at his shoulder. ‘There ye are, me boyo!’ David looked up quickly and was disappointed to see that only Laura Spencer accompanied Blackie. David stood and took Blackie’s outstretched hand. He bent down and kissed Laura affectionately on the cheek, and flashed her a gay smile that belied his real feelings. However, he was unable to keep the dejection out of his voice when he asked, ‘What happened to Emma? Where is she?’

‘Ah, David, ’tis sorry I am to be telling ye that Emma declined the invitation. I tried, sure and I did, to persuade her to join us. But she was obstinate as always. She’s finishing a blasted frock for a lady at the Towers, and she wouldn’t budge an inch,’ explained Blackie with a little grimace. ‘Still an’ all, she did say she’d be right delighted to see ye for supper at Laura’s later.’ Blackie continued in a cheery tone, ‘Now, me lad, don’t look so downcast! We’ll go back to the house in a few hours. She’ll be finished by then.’ He swung his head to Laura. ‘And what about ye, love? What would ye like to be doing?’

‘Let’s go for a walk, if David doesn’t mind,’ Laura murmured softly.

‘Yes, let’s do that,’ David said.

The three of them wandered away from the bandstand and the rousing strains of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. David glanced at Laura. She looked radiant. She was wearing a simple dress made of an inexpensive muslin of the palest yellow, patterned with daisies and sprigs of green, and the gauzy fabric floated around her like a cloud of hazy sunny colour, emphasizing her willowy figure and her grace of movement. A large-brimmed straw hat, trimmed with yellow and pink tea roses, shaded her face and there was something ethereal about her today. Under the brim of the hat her face looked incandescent, framed by her golden hair and illuminated by her liquid eyes.

‘You are looking lovely, Laura,’ David said gallantly. ‘And I like your dress. It’s very becoming to you, love.’

‘Thank you, David,’ she said. ‘Emma made it for me. She also trimmed this old hat and turned it into a brand new one. She’s so talented, isn’t she?’

David nodded and Blackie grunted. ‘Aye, but her talent won’t be doing her much good in the graveyard, I am thinking.’

‘Blackie! What a terrible thing to say!’ Laura cried. She gave David a lightning glance. He was silent, but she noticed then that he was biting his lip and looked worried. Laura wisely made no further remarks, but she threw a rather cold glare at Blackie, who had the grace to look chagrined.

They walked around the park slowly. Blackie and Laura talked amiably together about things in general; the usually gregarious David was silent and brooding. Eventually they found themselves at the top of a steep ridge where steps led down to the river Aire. Laura complained of the heat, and so they sat down on a bench under the shade of a weeping willow. David gazed morosely across the river, his eyes resting reflectively on the ruins of the grand Cistercian Abby of Kirkstall on the opposite shore. Then they flitted across the tranquil scenery that stretched towards the horizon, taking in Horsforth Woods beyond the ruins, which were capped further by Rawdon village and Wharfedale’s Reach. He sighed and took out his packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Blackie, who accepted it and murmured his thanks. Finally, David could not hold back any longer. He faced Blackie and said, ‘I don’t understand it, Blackie. What is it that drives Emma so hard?’

‘Hatred, pure and simple,’ Blackie replied automatically, and he could have bitten off his tongue. Furious with himself, he turned away.

Laura gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She said, ‘Oh, Blackie, surely not!’

David was equally disturbed by this statement. ‘Hatred!’ he said sharply. ‘Not Emma. She is loving and sweet. And hatred for who?’

Blackie did not answer for a moment. He cursed himself instead. He was a big-mouthed fool. A stupid boyo. He was that, indeed. In Blackie’s opinion Emma’s hatred was for the Fairleys. But he was not about to divulge this to David or Laura.

‘Come on, Blackie. Give me an answer,’ David pressed. ‘Don’t sit there looking so mysterious.’

Blackie roused himself. ‘I don’t really know, David. I shouldn’t have spoken so rashly, lad. But ye know what the Irish are like, always blabbering on. Anyroads, I didn’t mean anybody specific.’ Blackie paused, his face a picture of assumed innocence. ‘I think perhaps it is hatred for the circumstances of her life,’ he suggested, trying to cover his error. ‘And hatred for poverty. That’s what drives Emma. Her terrible need for money.’

David looked a bit sceptical and he frowned. ‘I know Emma wants money. But then, so do you, Blackie. So do I. On the other hand, we don’t devote our lives to its accumulation to the exclusion of all else.’

Blackie leaned forward, his black eyes intense. ‘Aye, lad, but we be wanting money for different reasons than Emma. It occurs to me ye be desirous of it to buy yeself a better life. Sure and why not? ’Tis the fine house ye be wanting, David, and the smart carriage and the elegant clothes. A few of the beautiful things, I am thinking, just like me. And a bit of security for the future, eh?’

David nodded, for Blackie did indeed speak the truth. ‘But you said Emma wants money for a different reason. What does she want it for?’

Blackie smiled a small, odd smile. ‘As a weapon.’

‘A weapon! Against whom?’ Laura demanded.

Blackie took her hand gently. ‘Don’t be upsetting yeself, Laura. Ye be misunderstanding me, love.’ He regretted having embarked on this discussion and he was loath to continue, but they had him cornered. Two pairs of questioning eyes pinned him down. He had to explain his statements as best he could. Blackie cleared his throat. ‘I mean that Emma herself believes that money is a weapon—’

‘Against who!’ David cried, interrupting him abruptly. ‘You still haven’t answered Laura.’

‘Not against anyone in particular, David.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe against the world. Yes, I am thinking she will use her money, when she has it, against the world. Or rather, them in it that might try to do her wrong. Ye see, Emma wants money to protect herself and Edwina. She aims to build a fortress around herself and that child, so that nothing can hurt them. Ever. That’s all I meant, lad.’

David was not only disbelieving but shocked. ‘You are painting a very strange picture, Blackie. That’s not the Emma I know.’

‘Aye, lad, but I know her better than ye and for much longer. And I think I understand what drives her,’ Blackie murmured, remembering that exigent look in Emma’s eyes the first day they had met on the moors. ‘I know for a fact she won’t rest until she gets that shop. And then it’ll be another shop, and another, and another, Emma aims to be a very rich woman one day. You know something, David? She’ll succeed. Sure and she will.’

‘But at what cost?’ asked David. ‘Look at her now. She’s as thin as a rail and worn out. She has black rings under her eyes far too often these days.’ His eyes rested on Laura. ‘You must admit I’m right.’

Laura confessed, ‘Yes, you are correct to some extent, David, but, in all fairness to Emma, she does eat properly and takes care of herself.’

‘Except that she never sleeps.’

‘Oh, she does, David!’ Laura countered in defence of her friend. ‘At least five hours. She doesn’t seem to need as much rest as other people. But, of course, to be truthful, I am worried about her, too.’ Laura touched Blackie’s arm lightly. ‘Maybe you should speak to her again. I mean, about taking it more easily.’