Broken Threads

by Tessa Barclay

  Jenny was sitting close to the tiny red glow of the fire. Her dressing-gown was wrapped closely about her. Her face was pale, dim in the glimmer of the lamp turned low. She looked up as the maid came in. Her dark eyes were fixed on her.

  ‘Baird,’ she said in a small, firm voice, ‘would you come to Australia with Heather and me?’

  The toddy, glass and holder went down on the Brussels carpet with a little clatter. Baird threw her hands up to her mouth to stifle a cry of horror.

  ‘Australia!’

  ‘I’m getting out as soon as ever I can arrange it. I’ll take Heather ‒ I couldn’t leave her, it would be terribly bad for her to part from me ‒’

  ‘You’re going out to settle there with him? Mistress, I’d do almost anything in the world for you and the wain, but I canna give up my native land, not at my age!’

  ‘It wouldn’t be for good, Baird. I must have worked it out in my mind while I was asleep just now. I was so perplexed, so baffled. And now it all seems clear to me. I have to go there, to Sydney, to see him. I have to talk to him. I’ve been told things that … if they’re true … But I have to hear it from his own lips.’

  ‘Guid sakes, can you no just write him a letter?’

  ‘Letters! That’s what makes it so awful ‒ nothing but letters, that don’t really say anything, explain anything! Set down on paper, things can seem so ‒ so convincing. But before I give up hope for my marriage I owe it to my husband to ‒’

  ‘Ach, now you’re blethering, if you’ll allow me to say so,’ Baird said, in a tone that dared Jenny to tell her to stop. ‘Your man went away and then he decided he wanted to stay away ‒ and he never felt it was his duty to see you and talk it over.’

  ‘This is different, Baird.’ She hesitated, on the verge of telling her maid what Chalmers had reported. But she had always had a horror of women who gossiped with their servants. ‘All I can tell you is that it’s very serious to me, and I want to talk to Mr Armstrong ‒ I need to talk to him. But I promise you this: whatever the result, we’ll come back to Galashiels. This is my home, this is where my work is.’

  She had come to this unconscious decision. She would speak to Ronald face to face, and hear the truth about this other woman. If he wanted to remain in New South Wales with her, she would divorce him so that he could remarry.

  As for herself, she would come home. She would devote the rest of her life to her daughter and her work. These would be her consolations, her compensations. She would not marry Archie Brunton ‒ she didn’t love him, she never had, and it would be wrong to take shelter with him from the malice of gossips.

  She slept for four hours, then woke for a late breakfast and two hours’ work at the factory before lunch. Heather went with her as usual, much intrigued at the idea of Mama staying in bed till eight-thirty and having to apologise for being late when she met Mr Gaines.

  Gaines was summoned from his own cubbyhole of an office for a conference.

  ‘I’m going away, Mr Gaines. I want you to take complete control while I’m gone.’

  ‘Oh aye, mistress? How long for? Will it be for the New Year?’ For some of the mill owners went to Glasgow or Edinburgh for the festivities.

  ‘It will be at least six months, perhaps nine.’

  ‘Eh?’ gasped Charlie Gaines.

  ‘I’m going to Australia, to join my husband for a visit.’

  ‘A visit?’ He sounded as if it was unheard-of.

  ‘You’ll move into this office and take charge. Everything is tidy for the present. Orders are coming in for our spring patterns, so you’ll just carry on filling those ‒’

  ‘But Mistress Armstrong!’ yelped Gaines. ‘Mrs Armstrong! I canna manage the mill without you!’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘Of course I canna! When I took this job, it never entered my head I’d have to do it without you there at Gatesmuir to turn to.’

  ‘But you’ll manage fine, Gaines. You know all there is to know ‒’

  ‘Aye, aye, if it were any ordinary mill. But this is William Corvill and Son. Standards are higher here, the volume of work ‒’

  ‘But it runs smoothly even so. We’re within our capacity. And you need only just keep things going.’

  ‘But what if anything goes wrong?’

  ‘If it’s to do with finance, you speak to Mr Dolland at the bank. If it’s to do with leases or contracts, it’s my lawyer Mr Kennet. Anything to do with the machines, you know better than I do how to handle it, and the foremen can manage most minor problems. If it’s anything really serious you’ll have to turn to the suppliers of the machines for their mechanic ‒ but that’s not likely, now is it?’

  ‘We-ell, no ’

  ‘I have confidence in you, Mr Gaines.’ She looked at him with her fine dark eyes and smiled, and Mr Gaines felt his opinion of himself rise in consequence. She said he could do it, so he could do it.

  But he was still stunned at the notion. ‘When do you think of going?’

  ‘I’ve started inquiries now for a berth. I hope to leave within a fortnight.’

  ‘But Mistress Armstrong ‒ you’ll be travelling at the worst time of year and the weather when you arrive will be the midst of their hot season ‒ would you no put it off till the spring?’

  ‘I can’t, Mr Gaines. It’s important to go now.’

  ‘And here,’ he said, struck by a terrible thought, ‘what about the new patterns? What are we to put in the book that’s due out in March?’

  ‘I’ve some designs ready, you can use those. Some samples have already been woven and I’ll get others ready before I go, to see if they’ll do. They won’t be enough, I agree, but you can include some from former books ‒ it’s time to repeat the Bewsley check and the one with the grey and green background, the Forester. As to the rest, I’ll be working on the ship, so I’ll send back a packet of designs from our various staging points.’

  ‘My lordie, you’ve thought it all out!’

  ‘Yes, I’m trying to do so.’ It surprised her how much she had planned even since waking this morning. Already she was looking ahead to the day of embarkation, what must be done before she left, what absolutely must be signed and agreed and contracted for.

  ‘And by the way, Mr Gaines.’

  ‘Yes, mistress?’

  ‘There’ll be a commensurate increase in salary for taking on this extra responsibility.’

  He blushed with pleasure. A much married man, he had five children to provide for. The promise of extra money was a great boon.

  ‘Is it to be telt to the workforce?’ he asked as he turned to go.

  ‘I think so. They’ll have to know sooner or later so you may as well mention it now. I hope to leave at the beginning of December. If anyone asks, I’m taking my daughter and my maid.’

  From her little chair by the window, Heather looked up at the mention of ‘my daughter’. She rose, came to stand by the desk, not intruding but looking from one to the other as Jenny spoke to the manager.

  ‘The trip should last until about June, but that isn’t definite. As I’ve explained, I’ll send back designs and instructions, and I’ll write to you at suitable opportunities to give you news of my plans.’

  ‘Right you are, then,’ he said, and went out to spread the word. When he had gone, Heather put a small hand out between her mother’s gaze and the papers on the desk. Jenny knew this signal well ‒ it meant Heather wanted her attention.

  ‘Yes, darling,’ she said, ‘we’re going to Australia.’

  Heather hesitated. Then she went to find one of the books that were kept on a shelf by the window, to amuse and educate her while she was in the office with Jenny. She brought it to the desk. It was a large illustrated volume called Our Colonies. She opened it, looking for a particular picture. When she had found the page, she laid it questioningly in front of her mother.

  The picture showed a tumbledown hut made of rushes and branches by the banks of a wide stream. Outside stood two or three black f
igures, the men in a travesty of white men’s garb, the woman in a skirt of coarse cloth and holding a cooking-pot. The title below read: ‘Aboriginal mia-mia ‒ typical living-place.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Jenny said with a laugh. ‘This is where we’re going.’ She flicked over the pages until she came to a panoramic view of Circular Quay in Sydney. ‘Here you are, lambkin. And look, this is like the ship we’ll sail in.’ She pointed to the spars of a sailing-ship seen distantly among the smoke-stacks of the local shore steamers.

  Under this picture Heather had printed in rather limping letters, ‘Papa is here’.

  She now put a finger under the name.

  ‘Yes, Heather, we’re going to see Papa.’

  A long pause. Then, satisfied that she knew all there was to know about the venture, Heather nodded and returned to her sum-book by the window.

  Jenny had only resumed her desk-work for ten minutes when the hall porter came in to say that Mr Brunton had arrived. Sighing, she asked to have him shown in.

  ‘Good morning, my love,’ he said cheerfully as he entered, stripping off his gauntlet gloves. ‘How are you today?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you, Archie,’ she said, hiding a frown at his term of endearment. She hoped the porter hadn’t heard it as he closed the door.

  ‘You do in fact look better,’ he agreed. He was looking well himself, his fresh skin glowing from his drive in the crisp November air, his eyes sparkling with expectation. He had dressed with care ‒ a light tweed jacket over a fine flannel shirt tied with a loose satin cravat of blue, and dark brown dogstooth trousers. Elegant and well-bred, a fine figure of a man: just the man any woman would want for a husband.

  ‘Sit down, Archie. Can I offer you some refreshment?’

  ‘Thank you, dear. A glass of something would be welcome after the cold outside.’

  ‘Madeira? Whisky?’

  ‘I’ll take Madeira, I think.’ He watched her contentedly as she busied herself pouring the wine.

  She realised with dismay that he had settled everything in his own mind to his own satisfaction. He took it for granted she was going to say yes to his suggestion of last night.

  She went to Heather by the window. ‘Go outside, darling, and see if you can find some moss among the stones at the back of the yard. I need it for a colour-match later.’

  Heather sprang up. She loved to be sent on errands. Taking up the little oilskin bag in which she brought home such treasures, she ran out, pulling her outdoor cape around her shoulders.

  ‘Well done,’ said Archie. ‘Now we can talk in private.’

  ‘Yes ‒ and what I have to say can be told in a few words.’ She drew in a breath. ‘I’m going to Australia, Archie.’

  The expectant smile washed off his face. He looked at her in total dismay. ‘Jenny!’

  ‘I can’t do anything else. I need to talk to my husband.’

  ‘But that’s absurd! He ‒’

  ‘Everyone is only too anxious to tell me what “he” did. But he and I are the only ones who know the inner side of our marriage.’ She paused. It was impossible to explain it to a bachelor like Archie. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘No!’ He felt he must prevent her. His hold on her was precarious ‒ only since that moment of weakening last night. ‘No, why should you undertake ‒’

  ‘It’s the only thing I can think of.’

  ‘But what about the child?’ he exclaimed, snatching at the only objection that might have some weight. ‘She’d miss you.’

  ‘I’m taking her with me.’

  ‘Surely it will be very bad for her?’

  She made an uncertain gesture. ‘I don’t know. She’s been cowering here in a corner of Galashiels for over three years now. Perhaps it’s time to take her out into the world.’

  ‘But on a journey of that length!’

  ‘I know, but I can’t leave her.’

  ‘Why must you go at all? It’s a foolish venture. What will it gain you except heartache when you see him with his doxy? Think of the embarrassment, the indignity ‒’

  He was using weapons that had edge to them. Jenny had pride: to be made to look foolish would hurt her.

  But she simply closed her lips firmly and shrugged.

  ‘And you really mean you’d leave all this’ ‒ he gestured at the busy-looking little office, a gesture that took in the humming sound of the busy mill ‒ ‘to grab at a man who’s grown tired of you?’

  She disregarded the cruelty of his words. She knew he was floundering for some hook with which to hold her. ‘I’m not going for ever,’ she said. ‘I’m coming back.’

  ‘Ah.’ That at least was something. ‘What if he says he won’t come back, he wants to stay with this woman?’

  ‘Then I’ll come home without him.’

  He didn’t want her to go. If she was absent from him he could easily lose her. The confidence of last night oozed out of him. She didn’t love him, he knew that. He had relied on the fact that she was lonely, wounded, unhappy. But now she was exerting herself and taking control of her situation ‒ and her need of him, if it had ever existed, was diminishing like a snowman in spring.

  ‘Don’t go, Jenny,’ he said. ‘You’ll only regret it.’

  ‘My mind is made up.’

  ‘But you haven’t done anything irrevocable. Change your mind ‒’

  At this moment the door of the office opened and the hall porter came in. ‘Telegraphic message, mistress. The messenger’s waiting for an answer.’ She opened it with a quick flick of the fingers.

  ‘Cabin available price eighty-four pounds sterling aboard clipper Larksong sailing 8 December please confirm immediately consolidate by writing with fare Baines Shipping Liverpool.’

  She picked up a pen, wrote on a pad from her desk.

  ‘Confirm cabin booked collect fare from Agent N. Luker North Street Liverpool pp Corvill and Son send boarding instructions Mrs Armstrong Galashiels.’

  She handed it to the porter with money to tip the messenger. He touched his cap and went out. She turned to Archie. ‘That was the notification that there’s a passage available. I’ve accepted it.’

  ‘No, no, this is too rash ‒’

  ‘I know what I’m doing, Archie.’

  ‘I forbid it!’ he cried, catching her by the arms and almost shaking her. ‘I forbid it, do you hear!’

  She did nothing. She stayed absolutely motionless in his grasp, looking at him with troubled eyes. After a long moment he let her go.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, stepping back. ‘I have no right, of course.’ Now he found he couldn’t face her. He knew tears of disappointment and loss were gathering in his eyes. It was unmanly. He didn’t want her to see him like this.

  ‘This had better be our leavetaking,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’m sorry that you’ve been involved in my problems, Archie ‒’

  ‘Don’t,’ he begged, feeling as if he were suffocating. ‘Don’t. It’s my fault, I’ve been too late all along. If only I’d …’

  But he couldn’t finish the sentence. He saw only too well that he had missed all his chances. ‘Goodbye, then, Jenny. I wish you a pleasant voyage.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘If things don’t go well … If when you come back …’

  ‘No,’ she said, with a gentle shake of the head. ‘No, Archie, it’s better to tell you straight out. It never could be. You see, I love my husband.’

  She listened to him drive off. But behind that sound she heard the echo of her own words.

  I love my husband, she thought. And I’m going to the other side of the world to fight for him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  To the utter astonishment of Jenny and her maid, Heather revelled in the rail journey to Liverpool. Trains she had seen before. She had even become blasé about them, for a goods locomotive came into the loading yard at Waterside Mill.

  But travelling in a train, in a reserved compartment, was exciting. So was changing at Carlisle, with a short stay in the f
irst class waiting room with a bright fire to warm them, and having hot food in a basket brought to them at one of the stops so that they were picnicking while the countryside rushed by. The docks at Liverpool alarmed her. She hid herself against her mother’s side as they followed their porter through the noise and bustle. Jenny had to carry her aboard the Larksong, her face turned inward against her mother’s shoulder. Jenny’s heart sank. It had been a bad mistake to force this experience on the little girl.

  But once Heather saw their cabin, she was enchanted. They could see she thought it was a new way to play doll’s house. And certainly the cabin, eleven feet by nine, was small enough for such a notion.

  There were two bunks, one above the other, and a low fixed bed along another wall. They had a large stern window which could be opened for air and had a reed blind against the sun. There was a private water closet. This was truly a luxury cabin.

  Heather’s happiness was obviously complete when she was told she was to have the upper bunk. She took this to be a special favour. In fact, it was to save Baird the necessity of having to clamber up past a sleeping child.

  After the confines of the cabin, the saloon was capacious and handsome ‒ more than thirty feet by fifteen. It was surprisingly well furnished, with upholstered sofas and mahogany fittings. Here the cabin passengers would take their meals and pass their time when not on deck enjoying the sea views or the games.

  Seasickness set in while they were beating up the Irish Sea. Two days later, both Jenny and Baird were on their feet again. Heather had not been affected at all. Jenny, who had heard many travellers’ tales from her business friends, was relieved and pleased. Too soon. The frightfulness of the Bay of Biscay came upon them.

  This time everyone was seasick except the crew. Groans from the Larksong could have been heard in Guyenne and Gascony. But they passed into the lee of Finisterre, and the sea calmed, and the world righted itself. Essence of peppermint was put away, likewise rum potion and barley water.

  There was plenty to occupy the passengers if they wished to be occupied. There were games of quoits and spillikins on deck, there were innocent card games in the saloon during the afternoon and less innocent games among the men at night. There were three ample meals a day ‒ breakfast, luncheon and dinner, none less than four courses.