They could only meet infrequently. Jenny had social engagements she couldn’t shirk, and her mother would have protested if she had spent too many extra hours at the mill. Moreover, Franz had his own work, both in Galashiels and the other wool towns. It was his travels that gave them one golden interlude. He had to go to Ayr for a week. He chose to come back via Carlisle. Jenny had business there concerned with the carriage of goods.
They met at the station, went together to the Crown Hotel where they registered as man and wife. Jenny was unknown in the town and in any case, in her mourning gown and appropriate heavy black veil, she was unrecognisable. They spent a long evening and a whole night in each other’s arms.
In the morning they parted. Jenny saw her carriers, settled her difficulties, took the train back to Galashiels. Franz went north to Moffat, whence he returned to Galashiels by mail coach two days later.
So September passed and October came, and with it the darker evenings. Jenny now had a new foreman of the dyeing department but she could tell her mother she needed to go back to the mill to work on the handloom. She was making samples of cloth for the spring pattern books, and Old Jamie was too unwell to work. Soon everything would be even easier for the double shift would end at the close of October. It was thought unsuitable to ask mill girls to go home after the late shift in the full dark of winter.
Mrs Corvill had an engagement in a neighbouring parish at a meeting of the Committee for the Rehabilitation of Female Offenders. Jenny was actually forbidden to accompany her mother: the discussions were thought to be unfit for the ears of unmarried ladies. She saw her mother off in the carriage after an early evening meal. She worked for a while at her desk. Then, at about eight o’clock, she set off from Gatesmuir.
It had been a sombre day, and was now almost completely dark. She hurried, thinking of Franz waiting in the cottage. She turned a corner, and came across the lamplighter.
‘Good evening, Mistress Corvill,’ he said.
‘Good evening, Leerie.’ This was the affectionate nickname given to all lamplighters.
‘Where are you off to this dark nicht?’
‘Oh, I’m going to the mill to fetch some papers I should have taken home at six.’
‘I’ll walk wi’ you,’ he said companionably, shouldering his lamplighting pole. ‘That is, if you’ve no objection to walking wi’ a workman.’
‘Oh. Of course not. But I don’t want to take you out of your way ‒’
‘It’s no out of my way. I have to light the lamps at the Cuddy Green yet. And how are you, mistress?’
‘I’m well, thank you. And you?’ There was no help for it. She fell into step with him. She knew little about Tam Willis. He was employed as lamplighter only in the season of long nights, during which he came out at dusk to light the gas lamps and again at a quarter after midnight to turn them out, it being the firm conviction of the town fathers that no decent citizen would be out and about after that hour, except at New Year.
He told her he went round helping on a cart in summer, selling fruit and vegetables. ‘I like to be out and about, I like to see life going on,’ he told her, with a glance of unexpected shrewdness.
At the Cuddy Green he should have stopped to light the lamps. Instead he trod on at her side. ‘I’ll see you to the mill door,’ he said.
‘It’s not necessary ‒’
‘Aye, aye, I can spare the time.’
The mill was at work. As she was leaving him at the entrance under the big clock, out came the day foreman of the carding-room, shrugging on his jacket. ‘Mistress! What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to fetch some papers I forgot. What are you doing here?’ For the work in the evening should have been under a charge-hand.
‘Och, you remember the engineer came to see to that fault in machine Number Four ‒ he asked me to stay on to point out the snag.’
‘A happy chance,’ said Leerie. ‘You can see Mistress Corvill to her home again.’
‘Not at all. Off you go, Mr Ainsley ‒’
‘Och aye, if you’re only picking up some papers, I’ll wait and see you home, Mistress Corvill.’
‘Good gracious no, your wife ‒’
‘I sent her a wee note saying it’d be eight or mebbe half past afore I got home. I’ll gie you my arm back to Gatesmuir.’
‘But that’s a fair step past your house, Mr Ainsley ‒’
‘And why should he not step it in a good cause?’ said Leerie. ‘I’ll bid you goodnicht, then, mistress.’ He nodded and walked away, hefting his pole. Jenny had a strange feeling he had arranged an escort for her on purpose.
Trapped, she fetched some documents for which she had no use, put them in the satchel she was carrying, and rejoined Ainsley in the hall. He put on his cap, she pulled her jacket collar against her neck to ward off the night chill, they set off.
They were at High Street when Jenny saw a well-known figure moving towards them under the lamplight.
‘Good evening, Miss Corvill,’ Franz said.
‘Good evening, Mr Lennhardt. Mr Ainsley here is kindly escorting me home,’ she said, so that he could understand her difficulty.
‘Good evening, Mr Lennhardt,’ said the foreman. ‘What brings you out in the night?’
‘Oh, exercise, exercise,’ said Franz. ‘I’ve sat all day at my accounts. May I walk with you, Miss Corvill?’
He fell into step on her other side. At the gates of her home the lamp was shining over the carriageway. They all paused. ‘Goodnight then, Mistress Corvill,’ Ainsley said, touching his cap.
‘Goodnight, Miss Corvill,’ said Franz.
Ainsley waited to walk back down the road with the gentleman, as good manners dictated. There was nothing to be done. The two men moved off.
Jenny went up the drive towards the house, disappointed and yet ironically amused at how things had turned out. She saw a slight movement at the drawing-room window. She frowned, but walked on to the front door. It opened before her hand could touch it.
‘Good evening, mistress,’ Thirley said.
Jenny passed her, unbuttoning her jacket. A frisson went through her. Thirley had been watching out of the window. Watching for her?
She whirled. The housemaid was moving sedately away towards the kitchen quarters.
Foolishness, Jenny told herself. She was in there mending the fire, tidying magazines ‒ any of a hundred chores could call the housemaid into the drawing-room. She went in, to look about and think what Thirley might have been doing. Immediately her eye lighted on the tea-tray, neatly put out on a low table by the fire, lacking only the teapot. Of course.
Yet Thirley had been by the window.
Well, it was nothing. The maid had a perfect right to go and glance out of the window. But it would have been reasonable for her to say, ‘I saw you coming up the drive,’ when she opened the door.
That night Jenny’s sleep was troubled. Her meeting with the lamplighter went through her mind. Had he looked askance at her? He had said he liked to be out and about to see life going on ‒ had he seen her before, flitting through the town, thinking herself invisible?
At about two in the morning she sat up in bed. Clear-headed in the chill of the night, she said to herself, I’m heading straight for disaster. It’s impossible to keep anything hidden in a town this size. Sooner or later Franz and I will be discovered.
Their plans for that evening had been set awry. It was necessary to make a fresh assignation. She couldn’t see him on the forthcoming night, she had to go to the provost’s house to dinner. Franz had a business colleague coming to him from London on the following day, to stay two days.
They met at last at a gathering at the mill for buyers. Jenny had completed the spring pattern books, had given a first sight to the Russian agent Mr Ross, and now threw them open to any buyers who could accept her invitation. She offered Madeira wine and plain biscuits in the afternoon in the visitors’ room at Waterside Mill.
Under cover of studying a page w
ith her, Franz said in a low voice, ‘It’s been so long, Jenny.’
‘I know.’
‘When can we meet?’
She shook her head. Mr Ross, who had accepted the invitation although he had already seen the patterns, stopped beside them. ‘Colours are becoming less bright, I note, Miss Corvill.’
She agreed. ‘Of course, for a special order, I can make some of the patterns in brighter shades.’
‘That might be well. St Petersburg will like the more subdued colours, but I fancy the merchants of Moscow will want brighter tones.’ He began to elbow Franz aside. Franz, annoyed, refused to give way.
The two men turned towards each other. ‘Excuse me, Lennhardt, I would like to discuss this with Miss Corvill.’
‘Miss Corvill and I were engaged in a conversation!’
‘If you have a firm order to offer, well and good ‒’
‘Sometimes one speaks of other things than trade ‒’
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen!’ For heads were turning in the room to find out what the two men were at odds about. ‘Gentlemen, there’s no need for raised voices. Orders won’t be taken now, in any case. This is a purely social occasion.’ With a bow, she walked away, leaving Franz shamefaced and Mr Ross put out.
Later Franz came up to her quite openly. ‘I apologise for quarrelling with Mr Ross,’ he said, in a voice that anyone could hear if they wished to listen. ‘I find him rather … I don’t know the English … anmassend.’
‘Pushy,’ suggested another of the buyers, munching biscuit.
‘He has a difficult market to cater for ‒ he must think of aristocrats following the royal whims, and also the ordinary buyers,’ Jenny said.
‘Huh, everyone has problems. May I take another glass of Madeira, Miss Corvill?’
‘Please ‒ the waitress will serve you.’
When he had gone Franz went on more quietly, ‘When can we meet?’
‘This evening. I’ll come straight from work. But I can only stay a moment ‒ we’re having London buyers to dinner.’
He frowned, but accepted it.
When she slipped into the cottage a little after six that night, he snatched her into his arms and kissed her hard. ‘Du lieber Gott, how I have missed you! It seems a century since you were here last.’
‘Franz, I only have a moment ‒’
He stopped her words with kisses. She wrenched herself free. ‘Franz, listen! Listen, we must be much more careful. The other night … the other night I was nearly caught.’
‘Caught?’
She explained how she had met the lamplighter.
‘But good heavens, my darling, what does it matter if a labourer ‒’
‘Dearest, don’t you understand? I came across him at the corner of High Street. I might just as easily have been in this lane when we met.’
‘But it could never happen again.’
‘That’s not true. Anyone could see me, everyone knows me.’
‘But when it’s dark ‒’
‘Besides, I think one of the maids suspects.’
‘Then dismiss her.’
‘On what grounds? Besides, if she were dismissed without good reason you can be sure she’d tattle her suspicions ‒’
‘What can she possibly say? Don’t let yourself become nervous, dear one ‒’
‘I am nervous, Franz! And your behaviour this afternoon only made me more so.’
He flushed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak like that to Ross ‒’
‘You spoke as if he were a rival. I don’t know how much other people understood but it sounded strange.’
‘No, no, you’re over-anxious ‒’
‘Franz, I’m scared.’ She was shivering. ‘Suddenly I feel we’re heading straight for disaster. It would break my mother’s heart if there were a scandal.’
‘There won’t be, there won’t be.’ He put his arms round her, drew her close, and stroked her cheek. ‘Dearest Jenny, we shall be careful. I bow to your better sense. Even if I die during the intervals, we’ll see each other less often.’
‘Oh, Franz … Thank you … I wasn’t sure if you would agree …’
‘Of course I agree. It shall be as you wish.’
‘Now I must go,’ she said, turning in his arms.
‘No, just a moment longer ‒’
‘No, I absolutely must ‒’
‘You don’t love me!’ he burst out. ‘You avoided me all week and now you want to rush away ‒’
‘It’s not that, my darling! You know it isn’t!’ She was shocked at his reproach.
‘All these silly little ideas about being seen ‒ it’s a way of keeping us apart. You don’t really love me!’
‘Franz, don’t speak to me like this!’ Tears brimmed, she felt herself weakening. Next moment she would have let him lead her upstairs to their heaven of happiness ‒ except that her eye caught the little clock on the office wall. It was past six-thirty.
‘Franz, I must go. Our guests are arriving in an hour and I have to bathe and change.’
‘Why wasn’t I invited?’ he demanded, his voice full of jealousy.
‘Franz, it’s two of the London buyers. What reason could I give for including you?’
‘You could have thought of something ‒’
She went to the door, opened it. ‘There’s no talking to you when you’re in this mood,’ she said, and was about to go out when he seized her and turned her around.
‘Forgive me, mein Schatz,’ he murmured, drooping his head against her breast. ‘I love you so much. I can’t bear to be parted from you, to think of you with other people while I’m shut out ‒’
She kissed him and soothed him and at last hurried away. As she went she found herself thinking, He’s too possessive. He’s getting beyond discretion …
Once she’d got over her rush and her anxieties, the evening was pleasant enough. But while it went on she was thinking of Franz in some inner recess of her mind. And she came to the conclusion that she must end the affair with him before calamity befell them.
How could it be done? He would never let go voluntarily. He had persuaded himself she was the great love of his life. He sometimes quoted Heine to her: Ich liebe alleine, Die Kleine, die Feine, die Reine, die Eine. He told her it meant he loved her because she was small and fine, pure and the only woman in the world for him. She had been flattered at the time but now it alarmed her ‒ his romanticism could lead him to rashness.
She had hurried away without making any further arrangement with him. She felt it in her bones that he would come to the mill next day ‒ it would be perfectly in order, he would want to look through the pattern books again. She must ensure she kept her head clerk with her in the visitors’ room.
Next morning everything was suddenly changed. There was a letter for her by the early post. The handwriting was that of her sister-in-law Lucy.
That in itself was enough to alarm her. Lucy never wrote to Jenny, only to her mother-in-law. It must be something serious if she chose to address Jenny.
Dear Sister-in-law,
I write to you because I can’t alarm Mother with this besides she wouldn’t know what to do nor do I. I am at my wits’ end. Ned is behaving very badly, I can’t control him and in my condition you know I might lose the baby and he is so strange at times and I have had a hint from Mrs McVeigh that the other tenants have complained and we may be asked to leave which would be very hard on me in my delicate state as I wouldn’t want to make a journey to Galashiels for it would make me sick as I have been grately troubled with sickness since my condition began. Come at once Jenny I really need you.
The last sentence rang with desperation. Lucy must be in a bad way to appeal to Jenny for help.
Mrs Corvill had not yet come down to breakfast. Jenny put the letter away, rang for Thirley, and said, ‘Tell Baird to pack for me ‒ clothes for a few days.’
‘Going away, are you, mistress?’ said Thirley in surprise. And then with a faint smile, ‘On business?’
‘My sister-in-law writes to say my brother is ill. I’m going to Glasgow.’
She went up to tell her mother, with utmost gentleness, that she’d had a letter from Lucy saying that Ned was a little indisposed. ‘I think Lucy feels lonely for female companionship, Mother. So I’m going for a few days just to see her and cheer her up.’
‘I’ll come too,’ said Millicent, throwing back the bedclothes as if she would leap out and dress for the journey at once.
‘No, dear, it’s better if I go alone. Besides, you have a meeting of the Church Charitable Committee tomorrow, haven’t you? And the Misses Doone coming to spend the afternoon the next day?’
‘Oh, yes … But I can put it all off.’
‘No need, Mother. I can go in a moment and be back in a day or two.’
‘But the mill?’
‘Everything is going forward. The new pattern books are out, the clerk can take any new orders, the orders in production are going smoothly. I can take a day or two.’ She smiled. ‘To tell the truth, I need it.’
Within an hour Baird had packed a valise for her, and a hackney was at the door to take her to the town. She stopped at the post office first to put a letter for Franz in the box then went to the mill to give last-minute instructions. ‘If anyone calls in person, tell them I had to go to Glasgow on a family matter.’
‘Yes, mistress.’
Franz would come today, receive this message, and then by last post would receive her letter of fuller explanation. While she was in Glasgow she would write again, setting out her feelings that they should break off their affair while they were still able to do so without scandal. She’d been given a respite, unexpected but all the more to be seized because of that.
The apartment in which Lucy and Ned were living was in a tall and very handsome building in Hanover Street, from which the statues of Scott and Moore in George Square could be seen. Their flat was on the first floor, reached by a splendid stone staircase with a wrought iron banister of fine workmanship. A maid, middle-aged but in a very fancy uniform that included a lace collar, opened the door.
A Web of Dreams Page 23