Ada had learnt her own skills over a very long period of time but Sarah’s thirst for knowledge, combined with the feeling on both their parts that this knowledge needed to be acquired quickly, required a new approach. After a period of trial and error, during which Ada based her teaching around a specific herb, then around an ailment, she settled on working with Sarah’s practical skills. They studied ointments and lotions, infusions and decoctions, powders and poultices, tinctures and tisanes. Sarah discovered that in many cases she somehow knew which parts of the plant would be efficacious, whether it was the flower, the root, the bark, the leaves or the seeds. She could only assume that it was knowledge that she had absorbed over the years spent living with her grandmother.
And, perhaps because the preparation of the herbs was a practical skill, not dissimilar to the domestic chores or food preparation that she was accustomed to doing, Sarah felt quite at ease in her work. She found herself enjoying the concentration required, the measuring and weighing of ingredients, the calm preparation and the scents that the herbs released. Absorbed, she would carry on working late into the afternoon, with lamps lit, and it would be Ada who generally called a halt to the proceedings by suggesting that it might be time for tea, or to make a start on the preparation of food for the evening meal.
As November progressed, so did Sarah’s knowledge. She was eager to absorb whatever she could about the practice of herbalism and found herself irritated that in this winter month she could only work with the herbs her grandmother had dried and prepared during the summer. She longed for the chance to learn how to work with fresh herbs but, in the meantime, there was still much to take in.
Her deftness earned her grandmother’s admiration and, to Sarah’s astonishment, she discovered Ada’s advice to allow her reading and writing to develop in their own good time to be sound. She started to recognise the words written on the labels of the jars that she was using on a daily basis, and to see the virtue of such labels. Even though she was learning to distinguish herbs by their scent, and discovering the importance of putting the bottles and jars back in their rightful place on the shelves as soon as she had used them, the possibility of making an error if she couldn’t read what was written there was only too apparent to her.
Soon, the morning lessons ceased in favour of devoting the whole day to Ada’s teachings on the nature and implementation of her remedies. Within the month, Ada trusted her to prepare the simpler remedies alone, with only basic supervision.
Each evening Sarah would retire to bed, head buzzing with what she had learnt. It would come to her then that Joe had barely entered her thoughts during the day. Indeed, her thoughts turned more often to the loss of her sisters and, if it hadn’t been for the baby growing and making its presence felt inside her, she might have started to wonder whether Joe was a figment of her imagination.
One late November afternoon, Sarah and Ada were working in companionable silence side by side in the kitchen. They had been making tonics suitable for nervous complaints and Sarah was packing away the unused herbs while Ada wrote up what had been prepared in her ledger. A knocking at the door was so unexpected that Sarah jumped and dropped the herbs, which scattered on the floor.
Ada laid down her pen. ‘Whoever can that be at this hour, in the dark? Go and see, Sarah.’
Sarah’s thoughts immediately flew to Joe and it was with a sense of trepidation that she went to the door. She hadn’t considered his return and how he would fit into their household, an unfamiliar male presence in their little house. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the routine that she and her grandmother had established being disturbed by another. And yet, now she thought of him, she felt a sudden longing for him.
She slid back the bolts and opened the door then stood for a moment, uncomprehending. The muffled figure at the door was too tall and too slight to be Joe, and not someone that she recognised as one of the villagers.
‘Who is it, Sarah? You’re letting in all the cold air.’
The visitor loosened his muffler, revealing his face, and at that moment Sarah recognised him.
‘Daniel!’ she exclaimed. ‘Come in at once. You must be freezing!’
There was a sharpness in the air that heralded snow and, as Sarah seized Daniel’s arm to pull him into the warmth of the kitchen, she was aware that he was shivering in his thin jacket. ‘Here,’ she commanded, drawing up a chair for him, ‘sit by the range and warm yourself.’
‘I must apologise for disturbing you without warning,’ Daniel said. ‘I was called upon to make a visit to the mill in Northwaite again and intended to return straight home by train from Nortonstall. But when I enquired at the station as to the next train, they told me that snow had blocked the track through to Manchester. It was clear that I must stay the night in town and try again in the morning. I thought to pay you a visit in the meantime.’
‘And we are very pleased that you did!’ Ada exclaimed. She had set the ledger aside and risen from the table to clasp Daniel’s hand in hers. ‘Sit yourself down, as Sarah bids you. The walk up from Nortonstall on such a cold afternoon is not one to be undertaken lightly.’
‘I confess I almost lost heart and turned away when I reached here,’ Daniel said. ‘I saw through the window how calm and content you both looked within, so that I hesitated to disturb you.’
‘I’m glad that you did.’ Ada was firm. ‘I would never have forgiven myself if you had turned away, after all the kindness that you have shown to my family.’
Sarah had busied herself sweeping up the spilled herbs and she cleared a space on the table to set out tea things. They passed an agreeable hour, talking of Daniel’s work in Manchester and of Sarah’s efforts to learn her grandmother’s trade. After a while Sarah slipped away to light the fire in the parlour, feeling that they shouldn’t entertain their guest in the kitchen all evening. She was well aware that if the snow came on it would be necessary to accommodate him for the night, and bedding down on the sofa in the parlour would be the only option for him. As she returned to the kitchen, Daniel leapt to his feet as she entered and she reflected with some surprise on his natural good manners.
It was clear that he and Ada had struck up a strong rapport during the time she had spent in Manchester. Sarah, observing them as they chatted, became pensive. Daniel knew so much more of Ellen and Jane’s life during the last few years than she did herself. If things had turned out differently, perhaps he would have been sitting here as her brother-in-law. On cue, as if he had read her thoughts, Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope.
He hesitated. ‘I carried this with me when I knew I was coming to Northwaite, on the off-chance that I might see one of you, to pass it on.’
‘What is it?’ Ada asked, regarding the proffered envelope with some suspicion.
Daniel coloured up. ‘It’s something that’s not rightfully mine to keep,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘I should have given it to you when you came to nurse your family but I didn’t want to part with it after what came to pass. Now I feel that was wrong.’ He paused. ‘I have been given a better position at work, with an increase in salary, and so have been able to move out of those lodgings into more suitable accommodation. I came across the envelope when I was moving my possessions and was reminded of what I had done.’
Ada now held the corner of the envelope between her thumb and forefinger. ‘But what is inside it?’ She seemed reluctant to discover this for herself.
‘It holds the few mementoes that I had of Ellen,’ Daniel said. His cheeks were now quite scarlet, standing out in contrast to his sandy hair. ‘There’s a lock of her hair, a ribbon and … a photograph.’
‘A photograph?’ Ada and Sarah, both startled, spoke together.
‘Yes. We visited a bazaar in Manchester on