Broken Threads

by Tessa Barclay

  So the year wore round, Hogmanay came, Heather was allowed, sleepy-eyed, to stay up until the New Year came in with a pealing of bells and a skirl of pipes. She had been home for eighteen months and in that time had scarcely said eighteen words. She couldn’t even be brought to speak the ancient greeting to guests, A guid New Year.

  Her father busied himself seeing to the first-footers, as hospitality demanded. But his heart wasn’t in it. The new year stretched before him, with little to beckon him forward.

  He was trapped in a job for which he felt himself unsuited. Day by day he had to play-act, to convince himself he was really the right man for the role. At home he seemed almost as much a misfit. His marriage had somehow gone sour. Jenny had drifted away from him, his child was a stranger to him.

  During January the long-awaited report came from Chalmers in Sydney. He tabulated the prices paid by local merchants financed by London houses, compared these with prices paid first in Sydney auctions and then at the London auctions. He then drew his conclusions, which he set out at length.

  First, he asked for larger funds to be made available to him on the spot so as to get in on equal footing with the agents of the big London merchants. Then he put out the suggestion that he should be allowed to hire an assistant who would travel on his behalf to look at the wool while it was still on the sheep, and perhaps make a bid for it at that point.

  Both Ronald and Jenny read and re-read it. They discussed it intermittently. Then they set aside an evening when they would talk the matter through.

  ‘It seems to me,’ Jenny remarked, ‘that it would be a good idea to send someone out to Australia to see if Chalmers is talking sense or simply building himself up to a better salary.’

  ‘Apart from that, it would be a good idea to have a fresh view. Someone from the Borders who knows exactly what our problems are. For instance, it would be a help to know what the shipping facilities are like in both Sydney and Hobart. The shipping agents fix the rates, but does anybody know whether it’s possible to do it cheaper and faster?’

  ‘It would be a worthwhile investment, the money for his passage out and back,’ Jenny mused. ‘But it would have to be someone we could rely on.’ She thought about it. ‘Kennet has a young assistant ‒ he might take it on.’

  ‘He’s only a laddie ‒ not yet twenty.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a drawback.’

  ‘I tell you what …’

  ‘What?’

  Ronald took a breath. ‘I think I’ll go myself.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The townsfolk of Galashiels were greatly intrigued by the news of Ronald Armstrong’s project. The long-headed businessmen thought it very astute.

  ‘He’ll get a first-hand view of the wool sales the tither side of the world. Pringle have done it already, you know ‒ sent a man to learn the inside o’ it.’

  ‘But is Armstrong the right man?’ wondered some. ‘He never seems to know whose side he’s on ‒ many’s the time I’ve heard him arguing against economic sense.’

  ‘But that’s only where the workforce are concerned. He’s as good a man as any when it comes to valuing the wool.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said the ambitious underlings, ‘who they’ll put in as manager?’

  ‘Ach, the mistress will have men queuing up from all over Scotland. Don’t get your hopes up.’

  ‘Aiblins she’ll go back to managing Waterside herself. I always wondered that she handed it on to her man when she can do it better herself.’

  ‘Aye, but she’d find it hard to do now, would she no? Now that she’s got a wee simple-minded lassie to look after. Na, na, she’ll have to put in a manager.’

  And so hopes ran high among those looking for a chance to better themselves in the textile industry. Those who were more interested in matters of the heart rather than matters of trade were equally intrigued.

  ‘He was aye a footloose kind,’ the women said to each other at their sewing parties and whist tables. ‘The wonder is he’s stayed so long.’

  ‘Australia’s a long way, though. Up to now he’s been all round Scotland and in foreign parts on the Continent. But Australia …’

  ‘She won’t miss him, in my opinion. Short-tempered and sombre, I’ve thought him recently ‒ all his sense of humour seems to have left him.’

  ‘It’s the bairn, of course. Somebody telt me that he didna really think it was his own when Jenny brought it home.’

  ‘Not his? When she’s got his hair and his eyes? Havers!’

  ‘Aye, but … She’s lacking, you know. That’s what he doesna like.’

  ‘So he takes himself off to the tither side o’ the world. Well, absence makes the heart grow fonder. A month or two in a clipper ship and six among the rowdies of the colonies will teach him to value his home.’

  Between Jenny and Ronald themselves, a frigid peace had grown up after a loud, lengthy and hurtful quarrel. At first Jenny had been unable to take his remark seriously.

  ‘Go yourself? To Sydney? Don’t talk nonsense, dear.’

  ‘Where’s the nonsense? We need someone to go and see how the wool is grown and sold ‒ and I know as much about that as any man we’re likely to hire.’

  ‘But you can’t go.’

  ‘Who says I can’t?’

  ‘But … but …’

  If she had said, ‘But I need you here,’ the matter might have ended then and there. But because they were talking about the business she said, ‘You’re the manager of William Corvill and Son. You can’t go stravaiging round Sydney.’

  ‘You can soon hire another manager,’ he said curtly.

  ‘But I can’t understand why you even think of going! There’s plenty here that needs your ‒’

  ‘Plenty of what? People? You don’t need me, you’ve made that very plain ‒’

  ‘Ronald!’

  ‘Don’t pretend to be shocked and surprised! We both know very well that in the first instance you only thought of marrying me because you were afraid of being an old maid ‒’

  ‘What are you saying?’ she gasped, starting up from her chair with the report from Chalmers still clutched in her ferocious grasp. ‘You know very well that you and I ‒’

  ‘Oh, we made love, and we seemed to mean it, but you soon got tired of that once the novelty wore off ‒’

  ‘Be quiet! Don’t you dare say things like that to me, Ronald Armstrong!’

  ‘It’s time it was said. You know damn fine you never want to come to bed with me these days ‒ you’re always listening for Heather’s crying ‒’

  ‘Heather!’ she broke in. ‘That’s what this is all about really, isn’t it? You can’t bear to think Heather is your daughter! Oh ‒’ she threw up her hand to demand silence ‘‒ don’t think I didn’t understand your feelings the first time you saw her after I brought her back. You didn’t want to accept her as your child.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Ronald shouted. His voice was all the louder because he knew it was so.

  ‘And you’re ashamed of her now. When people look after us in the street or at church, and whisper about “the wee dummie”, you’re ashamed. You’re ashamed of your own daughter.’

  ‘I’m nothing of the kind, I’m simply tired of watching you turn her into a spoiled, ill-natured little brat. You give in to her all the time, you never raise a hand to her even when she deserves a good skelping ‒’

  ‘Hit her, is that it? After all she’s been through, you think she needs beating? You’re so stupid ‒’

  ‘If I’m so stupid, why do you want to keep me here at home being a burden to you? I’d think you’d be glad to get rid of me without a scandal. Australia is a long way off ‒ we couldn’t get on each other’s nerves if I was there.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, nodding with angry finality. ‘You’re right. It will be better if you go, especially after the things we’ve just been saying. I don’t really think I want to share my bed with a man who feels I married him from ulterior motives.’

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nbsp; ‘That’s quite plain, thank you. I’ll have my things moved into the dressing room ‒ and I’ll arrange for a passage on the first available ship.’

  If things had just been normal next day, they might have retracted all their harsh words. A night alone after four years of marriage can be a splendid lesson in what really matters in life. But as luck would have it Heather began to sicken with a fever and a runny nose. The doctor diagnosed the beginnings of measles. The child was much more ill than was normal in a simple case of that kind because her resistance was lower than most children due to a long period of malnutrition. Jenny’s mind was too taken up with fears and anxieties to feel any weakening towards Ronald. The more so as, after hearing the word ‘measles’, he refused to take Jenny’s anxiety seriously. ‘Measles! Children all get measles, you’re working yourself into a state about nothing ‒ as usual!’

  He arranged a passage on the Commodore Perry sailing from Liverpool in two weeks’ time, one of the James Baines ships which were famous for their speedy voyages to the Antipodes. It was done, the major step had been taken; now it wasn’t ‘just talk’, the berth had been booked and Ronald Armstrong’s name figured on the passenger list of a clipper bound for Sydney.

  Jenny went to see him off, partly for appearances’ sake because Baird had relayed to her some of the gossip flying around Galashiels. Moreover, after ten long days of high fever Heather was at last taking a turn for the better, and Jenny had time to realise that she was actually going to lose her husband ‒ lose him for at least a year, an idea that had hardly been a reality until now.

  Liverpool, that small, bustling port, had one or two good hotels. The Armstrongs booked two rooms. Neither could make the first step towards a reconciliation. They were polite to each other at dinner and at breakfast next morning. Ronald’s luggage was already aboard when they went down to the docks for the parting.

  The splendid harbour was crowded. The masts of fast sailing ships, the more squat spars of sailing steamers, the funnels of the steam packets now becoming the rule rather than the exception on the trans-Atlantic run: it should have been a colourful sight, but it was almost extinguished by a sky low and full of scudding cloud.

  Suddenly it was borne in upon Jenny that her husband, whom she loved, was about to put his life at hazard on a wide ocean where clouds could rain a deluge and winds could drive a ship to its death.

  ‘Ronald …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t want us … I don’t want us to part so coldly. Perhaps we should think what we’re doing.’

  ‘I know what I’m doing,’ he replied.

  For him it was different. He always liked movement, travel, new challenges. Now he was about to go on a long journey, freed from trivia, facing the elements, a man among men. He was excited, new blood seemed to thrill in his veins. He no longer remembered he was leaving because of a quarrel with his wife. He was being called by that most seductive of temptresses ‒ Adventure. And the call was the more insistent to him because he felt this was his last chance to go to meet her. He was nearly forty years old. If he turned his back on this chance, he might not get another.

  All the same, when he and Jenny kissed goodbye before he walked up the gangplank, emotion stirred him. He wrapped her in his arms, hugged her before letting her go, and murmured, ‘Write to me often. I’ll send letters by every ship.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, my love.’

  ‘You too. And the lassie. Goodbye, Jenny.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  She stood watching while the hawsers were taken off the bollards, the breeze ruffled the sails, the pilot-boat curtseyed ahead to take the clipper out of the Mersey. The rain came slanting across from the Welsh hills. Cloud scuttered across, falling low as the heavy moisture weighed it down. Within ten minutes the Commodore Perry was lost to view in a cloak of mist and rain.

  The crowd on the dock slowly dispersed. Jenny returned to the hotel, collected her luggage, paid the bill, and took the train home.

  Baird came to greet her in the hall with the news that Heather was sitting up eating arrowroot and looking much better. Throwing off her spring wrap and flower-decked bonnet, Jenny went up to the nursery. At her entrance Heather pushed aside the tray with the food and held out her arms to be picked up.

  Wrapping the quilt about her, her mother took her up, and went to sit in the low armchair by the fire. The child snuggled against her, giving a sigh of contentment. For the last two days Baird had managed to account for Jenny’s absence with various little loving fictions: ‘Mama’s gone to ask the elves to take away all your measles spots, Mama’s gone to buy you a cowslip cushion and a primrose pocket.’

  Over her head Jenny stared into the fire, seeing again the ship heading out into the grey distances of the Irish Sea.

  Her vision blurred, her throat ached. But for fear of distressing her little girl Jenny drank up her tears.

  Mindful of gossip, Jenny appointed as manager of Waterside Mill an elderly man, married with grown children. His name was Charlie Gaines, who had managed Begg and Hailes, the weavers with whom William Corvill and Son had shared premises on first coming to Galashiels.

  Charlie Gaines had held several posts since Corvill’s took over the whole of the Waterside Mill, but always in and around Galashiels. He knew Jenny slightly, and was thoroughly familiar with her reputation as a moving spirit in the weaving trade. He was not only willing to take orders from her, he expected to do so.

  Jenny had generally been consulted by Ronald about any problems, and had always kept her role as the main designer of their cloths. But she had got out of the way of taking the major decisions. Nevertheless, as Gaines continued to seek her instructions, she found herself giving them.

  In fact, everyone soon understood the situation. Jenny was managing William Corvill and Son, Charlie Gaines was acting as her deputy. She was often in the mill, but not in the office. She would be in the design studio up on the top floor, and here Gaines would seek her out.

  At first he was taken aback to find her little girl there also. But within a week or two it became a commonplace. Little Heather Armstrong would be sitting in a small chair alongside her mother, carefully colouring charts which Jenny had discarded. Or she would be dressing her dolls in the little scraps of cloth taken from out-of-date pattern books.

  At lunchtime the two would go back to Gatesmuir. Afterwards Jenny would return alone, for the little girl would be having an afternoon nap. But she would come with Baird to have tea at four, and then there would be a walk or some outdoor activity for her until it was time to go home with Mama.

  The people of Galashiels were used to the mistress being a law unto herself. They soon accepted the idea that she took her child to the mill each day. ‘Mebbe she’s trying to teach the wee one to be a weaver like her mother,’ they observed to one another with a grin. ‘But she’ll have to be quicker on the uptake if she’s going to be as good at it as the mistress.’

  The first letters began to come from Ronald. The Commodore Perry touched at various ports to take on fresh supplies or deliver goods. He wrote that he had seen whales through the captain’s glass, that the landscape around Cape Town was surpassingly beautiful, that at Colombo he had been to see the temple dancers perform. After the first two or three which were full of the excitement of seeing new things, he began to sound a little wistful for what he had left behind.

  ‘I regret now that we came to hard words with each other, my dear, and when I return we must make a fresh start. The long stretches of ocean, with little to see and nothing to do, have given me ample time for reflection, with the result that I can now understand how we came to be at odds. I trust that when you write to me, dearest wife, you will tell me that you forgive me my lack of understanding.’

  Jenny’s replies were full of goodwill. And then, five months after he had set out, the letter came announcing his arrival in Sydney.

  This was a totally different kind of letter ‒ full of enthusiasm, energy, and reports
of action:

  ‘Sydney Harbour stretches some eight or ten miles inland. The slopes of the hills are clad in trees whose names I haven’t yet learned, but intend to. Surprisingly to me, there are some very fine villas here, with gardens that surpass anything in the Borders. I have put up for the time being at the Australia Hotel, where letters can be addressed as well as to the care of Henry Chalmers at his office in Pitt Street.

  Chalmers is a good enough laddie but I can see he is indolent. When I questioned him about the sheep farmers he had to admit he had met very few. Within a week or two I hope to have him stirred up enough to introduce me to some of these men. The wool staplers I can soon enough find for myself at the Sydney Club, and will report to you on them soon.’

  These were the purposes for which he had gone, so Jenny had no right to feel a little disappointed at finding almost no personal references in the letter. She passed on some of the information to the other Galashiels woolmakers, enough to let them know that Ronald had arrived and was carrying out their plan.

  ‘There now,’ said the businessmen, ‘didn’t I tell you it was a good idea?’

  The junior men, who had had hopes of the manager’s job, were asking themselves how Ronald Armstrong would feel if he knew his wife had taken over the reins again. ‘I’ll wager she doesn’t tell him that when she replies to his letters. His nose’ll be gey out of joint when he gets back,’ they remarked.

  The gossips didn’t quite know what to make of it. Jenny Armstrong and her husband writing to each other regularly ‒ it hardly looked like a marriage that was breaking up.

  But their hopes revived unexpectedly when something entirely new came into the situation.

  Archibald Brunton Esq. returned to his estate at Bowden, south of Melrose. Anyone who had any kind of a memory recalled that soon after the Corvills came to Galashiels, it had been generally expected that Jenny Corvill, as she then was, would marry Archie Brunton.