‘Who have you got for our job?’ asked Wylie, and Tim pushed his hat to the back of his head as he rubbed a hand over his face.
‘Let’s think. As well as my own gang I’ve got the Donegal boys – remember them? And I brought in Benjy because he’s a good carpenter. I promised them all five shillings a day and no truck. I’ve taken on Bullhead and his boys too. I know they’re wild, but there’s nobody faster than Bullhead when he gets his teeth into a job.’
Wylie pulled a face. ‘But he’s a trouble-maker – you’ll have to watch him. At the first sign of a riot, he’s off the site. Remember the battle he caused at Preston? In the end they had to call out the Army!’
Tim nodded grimly. ‘I’ve already warned him. I told him I’d wrap his prayer book round his neck if he causes any upset. The people round here don’t like us anyway, and they’d be down like a ton of bricks at the first sign of trouble.’
Wylie laughed because he knew that when he talked about wrapping Bullhead’s prayer book around his neck, Tim was referring to the man’s huge earth-moving shovel. The navvies called their shovels ‘prayer books’ because they said they stared into them so much.
Now he nodded in approval. ‘Anyway, you seem to have found some good men. Five shillings is top rate but these men are worth it. Well done, lad.’
Tim was pleased to have earned his boss’ congratulations. ‘The men are always ready to work for you, Mr Wylie. It’s not just because you pay fair wages either, but Jopp’s men are already grumbling because they’re being paid half their wages in truck. He’s buying in cheap food and paying them with that. He’ll have trouble with them soon if he doesn’t improve the quality of his supplies. The butter is rancid in the barrel and the meat’s got worms in it.’
Wylie looked disgusted. ‘That’s a pity. If Jopp’s men get restive, they could cause trouble among the others.’
Tim wasn’t worried. ‘Our men won’t listen to them, they’re all old hands. But there’s still one thing I haven’t done – I haven’t found you other lodgings yet. I’ve tried all over Rosewell but nobody’ll take in a man connected with the railway. They’re all afraid of coming out in favour of it because the Duke of Allandale’s the local landlord and they’re scared of offending him.’
Wylie grimaced. ‘Ah well, it’s back to the bugs then,’ but Tim told him, ‘No, don’t give up. There’s one place I haven’t tried yet – that village near the bridge. There must be somebody there who’ll take a lodger.’ He didn’t say that he had taken to walking to and fro to the bridge site by way of Camptounfoot in the hope of catching another glimpse of the beautiful red-haired girl; so far, however, he had not seen her.
‘Don’t you think I might get murdered in my bed there?’ Wylie asked, only half-joking. ‘Remember our friend with the gun.’
‘They can’t all be mad in that place,’ Tim objected, ‘but I’ll sound it out, Mr Wylie. I’ll enquire at the alehouse tonight.’
As Wylie was driving away from the camp gate after speaking with Tim, a man he recognised as Colonel Anstruther, on a big bay horse and accompanied by a very pretty woman on a sweetly-pacing grey mare, rode up.
‘Morning Wylie,’ said Anstruther, for his sharp little eyes missed nothing, and though he’d only met the contractor once he immediately knew who he was. He reined in his horse beside the other’s carriage and asked, ‘When’s the bridge going to begin?’
‘Tomorrow, I hope. My men have already marked out the site of the north pier and we cut the first sods at dawn tomorrow.’
‘Well done, that’s quick work. I’ll come over and watch. You’ve some fine-looking men, but there’s a few villains among them, I can tell. It must be like managing an army, running a gang of navvies. It’s difficult to control men like that.’
Wylie shrugged. ‘I’m used to it. I’ve a good ganger to help me and most of them have worked for me before.’ He sounded more confident than he really felt, for the prospect of two more years at the work-face secretly depressed him. ‘I’m too old to go on like this much longer. Thank God for Maquire,’ he thought.
Colonel Anstruther had a fair idea of the enormity of the effort that loomed in front of Wylie. They were about the same age and he knew that he would not like to have to shoulder the other man’s responsibilities. The mechanics of railway-building fascinated him, however, and he had already got into the habit of riding over from Bella Vista every day to the camp to see what was going on.
A few days after she arrived in his house, his new daughter-in-law had offered to accompany him on his morning ride, and now they were making it a daily outing. The pair of them quickly struck up an unlikely alliance. The Colonel enjoyed Bethya’s company, for his wife would not go near the navvy camp and his son was worse than useless as a companion. Gus never rose before noon and when he did, his first concern was to call for the brandy decanter, but Bethya was always eager for an outing because time hung heavily on her hands and, what was even more important, she took a vicarious pleasure in watching the magnificently muscled men who strode like gods around the navvy camp. On days when the sun shone, they took off their shirts and strutted about naked from the waist up. Bethya, who admired goodlooking men, loved those sunny days best of all.
Now the Colonel turned in his saddle and told her, ‘If they start on the bridge site tomorrow, we’ll go down to watch, my dear.’
She sparkled at him. ‘Oh yes, Bap, let’s! What a lufrah that’ll be!’
When they were alone together they used many Anglo-Indian words which had quickly become part of their ordinary conversation, but which met with raised eyebrows of incomprehension at Bella Vista. The Colonel talked away happily to his daughter-in-law about burra pegs when he meant double whiskies; double roti when he meant bread; gharris instead of carriages; wallahs instead of men; chokras instead of boys… Because she was so beautiful and exotic, because she awoke in him memories of lovely Indian princesses in shadowy palaces, he gave her the affectionate name of Begum and in return she called him Bap. Once or twice, a servant would hear her addressing him in this way and the news soon got back to the kitchen that young Mrs Anstruther called her father-in-law by the local word for a bread roll which was what Bap meant in the Borders. The scandalised servants did not realise it was also an affectionate Indian word for ‘Father’.
‘Yes, we’ll come back tomorrow my dear, that’ll be a sight to see, but we’d better go home now. That crook Miller’s coming to luncheon,’ the Colonel told her as they rode away.
When they reached Bella Vista, Francine was waiting in Bethya’s chamber with steaming water in a Chinese rose famille bowl and a flounced muslin dress lying on the bed ready to be stepped into. Flapping her hands excitedly she said, ‘You must hurry and dress. Sir Geoffrey has arrived in very good speereets. You must look as pretty as possible.’
Bethya sighed, ‘I wish he was more attractive. I’ve been up at the navvy camp with Bap and those men are thrilling, Francine! They’re wild and rough and so male. They turn my stomach to water just to watch them.’
Francine sniffed. ‘They’re animals. You must find yourself a gentleman. If you are clever with Sir Geoffrey you will have him on a string. The servants say that his wife is very sick now. She has not long to live, apparently. And he’s very rich—’
‘I know. He’s also a bore and as pompous as a pandit but – don’t say it – he’s a baronet as well. And it’s not as if I have much choice round here. No one ever invites us out except terrible rustics like Falconwood. I thought we’d move in society. I want to meet people like the Duke of Allandale – he’s a bachelor, they say – but because of the railway, we’ve thrown our lot in with the wrong set. If I’d known how dull life was going to be here I’d never have married Gus.’ Bethya sighed and stuck out her pretty feet for the maid to slip on her satin shoes. ‘I have all those beautiful clothes and no one to admire me in them. I’m young and healthy and I need love – but what do I get? Gus, who doesn’t even share a bed with me, not that I want hi
m to, I must admit. The only thrills I have are from watching the navvies. I’m beginning to fantasise about being raped by one of them, I really am.’
Francine did not approve at all and her face showed her. Bethya leaned down and stared at her. ‘I don’t understand you. You’re a woman, you’re young and striking-looking but you have no beau, do you? Haven’t you seen the navvies? Don’t they make you long for them – with those muscles and the swaggering way they walk? They’re real men. I thought French girls liked real men.’
‘I think the navigators are very coarse,’ said Francine, rolling her ‘r’s’ in emphasis.
Bethya laughed teasingly. ‘I love the way you say that word – ‘navigators’. You’re a snob, that’s what’s wrong with you. But of course I am too. I might enjoy a navigator in my bed but I’d never marry one. And yes, you are right – I must concentrate on Sir Geoffrey and put the navvies out of my head. Where’s my pearl necklace? It should go well with this dress.’
A few minutes later, Bethya swept downstairs in a cloud of scent, with golden bracelets jangling on her elegant arms. She paused on the bottom step in full view of the drawing room, just long enough to give herself an advantageous entrance. When everyone was looking at her, she kicked back her skirt and stepped through the open door. Gus curled his lip as she advanced first on him and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Good morning, darling,’ she chirped. ‘Are you feeling better today?’
His mother, sitting stiffly on the other side of the room, snapped, ‘He’d be better every day if you didn’t encourage him to drink so much.’
Bethya opened her lovely eyes very wide and said, ‘Oh Mama, you mustn’t say things like that. I love Gus but I can’t stop him doing anything he wants to do. He’s very headstrong.’
Mrs Anstruther’s irritation was so overwhelming that she even forgot Sir Geoffrey was in the room. ‘Don’t Mama me,’ she spat. ‘I see how you’re twisting my husband round your finger. I’ve heard you calling him Bap – but you’re not going to call me Mama!’
Knowing full well that she was being watched by their guest, Bethya wisely said nothing. By acting meekly she had the advantage. The Colonel and Sir Geoffrey were so overwhelmed with pity for her and Anstruther resolved to remonstrate with his wife as soon as they were alone for bullying the poor girl so unmercifully.
Sir Geoffrey defused the situation by saying in an excited voice, ‘I’ve brought good news today. The station at Maddiston’s almost finished and the line’s laid all the way between there and Edinburgh. We’re going to open it officially next month, on the tenth actually, and can you guess who will perform the ceremony?’ He looked around the room hopefully, encouraging one of them to hazard a guess.
‘Your wife,’ said Mrs Anstruther in a nasty tone while looking at Bethya.
Sir Geoffrey ignored that. For once he looked really animated. Bethya was laughing inside, wondering how he’d react if she suggested Genghis Khan or Christopher Columbus, but she fixed admiring eyes on his face and remained modestly silent.
Gus took a swig from his glass and muttered in a surly voice, ‘Oh come, Miller, we could be guessing from now till Christmas. You’ll have to tell us.’
‘Queen Victoria herself!’ said Sir Geoffrey, sitting back in his chair and slapping both hands on his knees.
The reaction was all he desired, even from the senior Mrs Anstruther. Her face went scarlet and she gasped, ‘Is the Queen really coming to Maddiston? Will I meet her?’
‘Of course you’ll meet her, my dear lady. You’ll be in the reception party, and so you will you, Mrs Bethya. She’s coming on the tenth of August and you’ll all turn out in your finery to greet her. She’s doing us a great honour. She’ll come down from Edinburgh by train and open the station. Then she’s going to take a tour of the district before travelling back by our train again. Just think, the local gentry will have to turn out to meet her. They can’t ignore such a visit. They’ll be forced to acknowledge that the railway has arrived in the Borders. What a victory for us!’
Bethya played up for all she was worth. Half-swooning, she fanned her face with her open hand as she gasped, ‘Oh I’m overcome, such a surprise. The Queen! How clever you are, Sir Geoffrey. I’ll count every day until the tenth of August.’
Sir Geoffrey’s predictions about the reaction of the people who opposed the building of a railway line were accurate. On the day the news was broken at Bella Vista, the Duke of Allandale, a tall, good-looking bachelor of twenty-eight, arrived back in his mansion Greyloch Palace that occupied a magnificent position on the southern slope of the Three Sisters. He had been travelling in France and Italy, and had returned with crates and boxes full of antique treasures picked up on his travels. He was furious to learn that the railway plans were so well-advanced and, worst of all, that the Queen herself was going to give her sanction to them by opening Maddiston station.
He shouted at the factor who brought him the news: ‘Goddammit, I’ll have to go and meet Her Majesty off the train! I’ll be forced to mix with all that riffraff backing the railway.’
‘They’re not all riffraff. The Chairman of the Board is Sir Geoffrey Miller,’ protested the Duke’s man of business.
The Duke glared. ‘Never heard of him! Which Miller is that?’
‘An Edinburgh Miller.’
The Duke shrugged. Edinburgh Millers were beneath his notice. He asked, ‘When is the Queen coming? We’ll have to entertain her, I expect. You’d better tell my mother. She’ll want to make the arrangements.’
The Duke’s formidable mother was in charge of all his local social life. She lived at Greyloch Palace throughout the year and was far more feared by the neighbours than was her son. His chief activities when he was at home consisted of hunting foxes, shooting grouse, or fishing for trout and salmon, and it greatly irked him that his sporting properties were about to be disrupted by a railway line. The intrusion of modern times was not to his taste at all. After his factor was sent off to see the old Duchess, the Duke called for a horse and headed for the rising ground above the river to spy out where the bridge was to be built.
When he found an advantageous viewing place, he drew a spy-glass from his pocket to inspect the men working in the meadow below him. He was scanning the ground closely when a voice spoke up behind him. ‘’Mornin’, Your Grace. It’s a sin what they’re doing over there, isn’t it?’
He turned in the saddle and saw a man dressed in working clothes and leaning on a tall stick behind him. It was Craigie Scott. ‘It’s an upheaval we could do without,’ he agreed.
‘Can’t you stop it?’ asked the man in a passionate voice.
‘I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve kept them off my land but I can’t ban them from land that belongs to other people.’
‘That field down there was my best grazing field. My family rented it for fifty years from Falconwood and now he’s taken it back to build his bridge on it. I went to my lawyer but he’s in Falconwood’s pocket. He said I couldn’t do anything. What’s the law if it can’t protect us from things like this?’ Scott shook his stick furiously in the direction of the valley.
‘You might get your grazing back when the bridge is finished,’ suggested the Duke, but that was not well-received.
Scott leaned towards the mounted man and said, ‘It’s what they’ll find in there that worries me. I’ve unearthed things you wouldn’t believe when I was ploughing it.’
The Duke was interested. ‘What sort of things?’
Craigie’s eyes took on a crafty gleam. ‘Wonderful things – helmets and breastplates and a golden mask, which I’ve got in my shed. I’ll show it to you if you like, sir.’
‘If you found a golden mask on Falconwood’s land you should have given it to him.’
Craigie snorted, ‘I paid a good rent, why should I give him what I dug up?’
The Duke had not expected to be arguing Falconwood’s case but now he said sternly, ‘Because it’s the law.’
Craigie lifted his stick and shou
ted angrily, ‘To hell with the law! It doesn’t help folk like me. I curse them. They’ll all suffer, you see if they don’t. I hope their bridge is never finished. I hope it lies in a pile of stones for evermore. The old Dukes wouldn’t have let this happen. They’d have driven them off the land.’
The Duke saw the man was beyond reason. ‘Things have changed, I’m afraid, but if it’s any comfort to you I don’t want this railway either. I’m having to make the best of it too.’
Craigie Scott lifted contemptuous eyes and said, ‘Then I’ll curse them for you as well.’
The Duke rode hurriedly away, chilled by the knowledge that he had met a madman and unsure whether the curses were not directed at him as well. When he reached the road, he was close enough to see the features of some of the men labouring in the field. He gazed at them without curiosity at first, but suddenly started when one man in particular caught his attention. He brought out the spyglass again and put it to his eye. ‘It can’t be,’ he said aloud, dropping the glass. Then he took a second look and laughed. ‘What a strange thing to imagine. As if he would be there!’ he said, before folding up the glass and shoving it back in his jacket pocket.
* * *
When the day’s work was over, Tim Maquire mopped his brow and, pointing over the hill, said to Gentleman Sydney, ‘I’m going to the alehouse in that village over there. Do you want to come with me?’
Sydney, who missed nothing, grinned and replied, ‘You’ve been making a habit of patronising that place. What’s so special about it?’
‘Nothing, but the ale’s good enough and it’s not crowded like the Rosewell alehouses. Come and see for yourself.’
They walked slowly up the hill to Camptounfoot and into the alehouse, where the locals around the bar went quiet as soon as they stepped inside. Sydney called out a greeting but no one spoke in reply. Tim, however, did not seem to care about the hostility. He walked up to the wooden counter and laid down the money for two mugs of ale which he and Sydney carried outside to drink sitting on a wooden bench set against the wall.
A Bridge in Time Page 13