‘You cannae live here,’ said Tibbie defensively. ‘I’m against the railway so you cannae live here. And I cannae answer for what Craigie Scott would do if he knew you were living here – probably shoot the pair of you. He’s gone real soft in the head over this railway.’
Hannah said softly, ‘We don’t want to live here. We’ve just come over to tell you that we were married and to wish you Happy Christmas. We’ve got our own wee house.’
Tibbie cocked a suspicious eye. ‘Your own house – where?’
Hannah beamed, pleased that at last her mother was showing some curiosity. ‘It’s in the camp. Tim bought it. You’ll have to come up and see it.’
But Tibbie was shocked. ‘You’ll be living in that navvy camp! What a place for my bairn to be. I’ve heard plenty about what goes on there – drinking and fighting and that’s not the worst of it.’
‘It’s not all like that,’ protested Tim, but he might as well have saved his breath because Tibbie was shocked and said that there was no way that she would ever consider going into the navvy camp, not even if her beloved daughter was living there.
When Hannah at last kissed her mother goodnight and asked for her forgiveness, Tibbie clung to the girl and let her genuine feelings show. Her tears flowed in a cataract as she sobbed, ‘Oh Hannah, Hannah, what a Christmas this is. I used to dream what it would be like when you got married. I imagined us all in the church, you and me and William and Effie and all the neighbours… I never thought it would be like this. Oh, bairn, I hope you’re happy and that you’ve not made a terrible mistake. But I’ll have to give you a wedding present. What would you like?’
Hannah looked at Tim over the top of her mother’s head and gave a little half-smile. ‘Oh Mam,’ she said through her own tears, ‘I’d like a pair of your linen sheets.’
‘Isn’t that strange? I washed some of them today. Just go up and take a pair out of my big box. Take the ones with the embroidered ends.’
When her daughter was out of the room, Tibbie turned to her new son-in-law and said fiercely, ‘That lassie’s the best lassie in the world. I hope you ken that. She deserves a fine man to take care of her. I hope you’re able to look after her right.’
His face was solemn as he looked down at her. ‘Mrs Mather,’ he said, ‘you mustn’t worry. As long as there’s breath in my body, I’ll love and respect Hannah.’
* * *
After they left Benjy’s, Sydney and the other witnesses walked together through the crisp snow up the camp and paused at the place where two main paths crossed. ‘That’s a bonny lass Black Ace’s got,’ sighed Frying Pan with a forlorn look on his face. He was rocking his feet a little because he had been drinking when Sydney found him to witness Tim’s wedding.
‘Go home and sleep it off,’ laughed Naughten, slapping him on the back and hurrying away as he had some clients for likenesses waiting for him. Sydney was left alone, wandering along with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, when he became aware that someone was moving quickly up the path in front of him. It was Jimmy-The-New-Man, scuttling along furtively like someone anxious not to be seen. For some time, Sydney – like Tim – had been concerned about young Jimmy, who was beginning to show the effects of his nightly debauches with Bullhead. His features were thickening and his youthful slimness had disappeared.
Sydney ran and soon caught up with his quarry. ‘Where are you going at this time of night?’ he asked.
Jimmy whipped round, taken unawares. He looked the picture of guilt. ‘For a walk.’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ offered Sydney, but Jimmy shook his head violently.
‘No, no, I don’t want company. I’d rather go by myself.’
‘You shouldn’t drink so much, Jimmy,’ said Sydney quietly.
‘What I drink’s my own business,’ came the sharp reply, and Jimmy strode away in anger. As Sydney watched him go something infinitely forlorn about the disappearing figure struck him, and instead of going back to Major Bob’s he decided to follow to see where Jimmy was headed.
To his relief, he soon realised that the lad was not heading for Bullhead’s hut but in the opposite direction. Striking out for the camp boundary, he shinned quickly up the stone wall that surrounded it, paused on the top, balancing himself on the uppermost stones, and them jumped down, landing on his hands and knees in the snow at tbe other side. Standing up, he then ran off into the wood that crowned the hill. If he had not been travelling in such a hurry and making such a noise as he crashed through the undergrowth, it would have been difficult for Sydney to follow him, but he took his lead from the sounds of Jimmy’s passage and soon emerged on the far side of the wood in time to see the lad running across a field towards the grounds of Bella Vista. ‘Why’s he going there? I hope he’s not intending to do something stupid like trying to break into the place,’ thought Sydney. He resolved to follow and perhaps step in to prevent trouble if necessary, for he knew that Jimmy was drunk and capable of irrational behaviour.
Bella Vista’s white lawn was surrounded by a wood: the tree branches were weighed down by the snow on them. It looked like a wonderland. Silently, Sydney slipped between the trees and kept Jimmy in sight for he was easy to spot because of his dark clothes against the expanse of pristine white. As Sydney watched, his quarry crept stealthily near to the house and lay down beneath the low-lying branches of an old yew tree. He was spying on the place and seemed to know his way around for obviously he had used that hiding place before. It was well chosen because it gave a sight of both the front and back doors of the big house. Sydney, sitting beneath another tree farther back in the shrubbery, saw that the windows of the rooms in the front of the house were ablaze with light, and there was much coming and going from the back courtyard. He and Jimmy stayed watching for some time till the lights in the front were extinguished downstairs although those in the first-floor bedrooms blazed on. A pair of menservants came out of the kitchen courtyard, laughing and pushing at each other as they headed for their quarters above the stables. A woman shooed out a pair of cats and slammed the back door on them. Still Jimmy did not move. ‘What’s he planning to do, the young fool?’ thought Sydney, and wondered if he should make his presence known and take him back to the camp.
At that moment, two women came round the corner of the house. They were heavily cloaked against the cold and were walking arm in arm, laughing and talking together. One of them swung a glass lantern to and for as she walked. Suddenly one of them broke away and ran into the middle of the unbroken snow of the lawn, scooping it up in her hands and throwing it around like a child. ‘It’s wonderful! It’s lovely! I’ve never touched snow before,’ she cried as she ran. The other woman followed the path that led to a grotto and a summerhouse situated in a grove of ornamental trees in the shrubbery facing where the watching men were hidden.
To play in the snow was a release for Bethya. Her life at Bella Vista was becoming almost insupportable, and coming out late at night with her maid into this silver wonderland was a great escape for her. The snow made her fingertips tingle as she lifted it to her face and rubbed it into her cheeks, making them throb as well. She’d read about snow, of course, but had never seen it before and was as happy as a little child to play in it while Francine sat in the summerhouse smiling indulgently. Bethya’s cavortings took her close to the place where Jimmy lay hidden. She bent down and lifted a huge handful of snow while she called to her maid, ‘Come on, Francine. Let’s have a snow-fight. Come out and join me!’
The maid rose, dark in her cape, and walked across the snow. Her footsteps could be seen in its surface like the track of a spectre. When she was close to her mistress there was a sudden flurry in the shrubbery and, as if released by a spring, Jimmy leapt up from his hiding place and ran towards them. At first they did not see him, but hearing Sydney’s warning cry, they turned round in alarm just as Jimmy was about to throw his arms around the maid and bring her to the ground. She had the lantern and she swung it at his head, hitting him above the
eye and making him reel back with a howl of pain.
Sydney was now running down the path too and the second woman turned towards him with both hands out. ‘Don’t touch us, leave us alone. Go away. I’ve nothing worth stealing,’ she shouted.
‘I’m not going to touch you. I’m trying to stop him hurting you,’ gasped Sydney grabbing Jimmy who was staggering about with his hands to his face. ‘Hold up that lantern and let me see what’s happened to him,’ Sydney ordered the first woman, who was sobbing and gulping as if she was about to have a fit of hysterics.
Her more composed companion snatched at the lantern, saying, ‘Give me that, Francine, and pull yourself together.’ When she held it up they could see that blood was seeping through Jimmy’s fingers and splashing red into the snow at his feet.
‘Is it your eye?’ asked Sydney sharply, but Jimmy shook his head.
‘No, its my brow. She cut my brow.’ He dropped his hands and the light of the lantern showed a deep but clean cut on his left temple.
‘Sit down and I’ll tear a bit off your shirt to tie it up. What did you think you were playing at? You’re lucky she didn’t knock you out completely,’ snapped Sydney.
The women stood behind, the frightened maid still sobbing but the mistress utterly composed now. ‘Will I send in for some brandy?’ she asked.
The maid cried out, ‘No, Madame, no! Send him away. It’s the man who’s been following me. I’ve seen him in the garden several times.’
Bethya stared at her. ‘What does he want?’
Francine was gulping out her words. ‘He’s the one I brought back to the summerhouse – the one I sent away when you said – he’s been following me ever since…’
Bethya cut her off with a noise like a spitting cat. ‘I told you that would cause trouble!’ Then she turned on Sydney and demanded, ‘Take him away out of here. I don’t know what the pair of you think you’re doing, but there’s nothing here for you. Go away before I call the men. If they get hold of you, you could be hurt.’
Sydney wanted to tell her that he was on her side, but she didn’t give him the opportunity. Stamping her foot she shouted, ‘Toom Jao! Go away! Be quiet! Get out and don’t come back. I won’t have my maid terrified by the likes of you. Get out!’ She looked magnificent as she pointed towards the gate. Her lovely face was like a cameo against the dark hood of her cloak and her eyes were flashing fire in the light of the lantern. She was obviously not a woman with whom it was safe to argue.
‘Come on, Jimmy. Lean on me, old chap,’ said Sydney, pulling at the injured man’s arm.
As they limped away Bethya shouted furiously after them, ‘You’re lucky I haven’t sent for the policeman. I will if I ever see either of you here again.’
Sydney turned his head and laughed then, for in her angry voice he had caught the note of shrill India, the sound of the chawl. She knew why he was so amused and coloured a furious shade of red at having let down her guard.
When they were clear of the garden, Sydney said to the groaning man beside him, ‘What the devil did you think you were playing at? You deserved what you got, you know.’
Jimmy mumbled painfully, ‘I love her – I’m mad about her. I’ve been watching her for weeks, ever since that dance.’
‘She’d never look at you, even though she’s a half- breed,’ drawled Sydney. ‘Don’t you know she’s Anstruther’s daughter-in-law!’
‘Not her,’ Jimmy said irritably. ‘The other one – the maid. She took me back with her from the dance as sweet as honey and promised to sleep with me. Then she went into the house and when she came back she was like another person, shouting and yelling for me to go away like that one did tonight.’
Sydney shook his head. ‘She’s playing games with you, Jimmy old man.’
But Jimmy wouldn’t believe it. ‘She kissed me as sweet as sweet, she kissed me and put her hands on my cheeks and said such nice things in her funny voice. I love her, Sydney, I really do. I can’t get her out of my head. I keep thinking if only I could speak to her, ask her what I did wrong… it’s driving me mad.’
‘Forget about her. Find another girl,’ was Sydney’s advice but Jimmy kept shaking his roughly-bandaged head and saying, ‘No. I only want her, just her.’
* * *
The snow started melting that night, and by the afternoon of the next day it had almost disappeared. Tim went round the navvy huts to tell his men, ‘It’s work again tomorrow, boys.’ Then he and Hannah walked to Camptounfoot where she went up to sit with her still-grim mother and he called at the Jessups’ to see Mr Wylie.
‘You’re looking better, sir,’ he said with relief when he noticed that the old man’s face had regained its normal colour.
‘I feel better. Merry Christmas, Tim – I hope you’ve had a good one.’
Maquire laughed. ‘The best in my life, sir. I got married.’
Wylie was astonished. ‘Quick work, my lad, but sometimes that’s the best way. I knew I wanted to marry my Arabella the moment I laid eyes on her. What’s the name of your new wife? Where did you find her?’
Like a boy Tim leaned forward in his chair and poured out the story of himself and Hannah – how he had hung about the village looking for her, how beautiful she was, how everything about her was perfect. ‘I’ve never felt so happy in my whole life before. I used to think I’d not be happy till I was back in green Ireland, but now I know I was wrong. All I look forward to is going back to my hut and being with Hannah. Oh, Mr Wylie sir, I feel as if my heart’s so full it could break open in me chest!’ He was not superstitious so he felt free to acknowledge the delight he was experiencing.
Wylie, listening and watching him, felt an involuntary twinge of envy. ‘Maquire is at his peak, he has all his life before him, with so many joys still to come,’ he thought, ‘but my life is finishing and there is not much left to look forward to.’ But he drove his melancholy away and jumped to his feet to shake his ganger’s hand. ‘May you live in happiness with your Hannah forever. I’m glad for you, as glad as I would be if you were my own son!’ Then he threw an arm around Tim’s shoulder and gave him a huge hug. It was an emotional gesture for both of them and it bonded their friendship forever.
When toasts were drunk with Mr Jessup, Wylie suddenly announced, ‘This is not the way for a family man to spend Christmas, away from the people he loves, is it? I’ve made up my mind to take a short holiday from the bridge, after all. I’ll leave everything to you, Tim, because I know you can do it as well as me. Tomorrow I’ll go down to Newcastle and surprise my family. It’s been too long since I saw my wife, and what you’ve told me about your Hannah has made me realise how much I miss her, and how much she must be missing me.’
Next day, before he went to the station, he drove by the bridge site. The snow had gone and the re-emerged grass looked very green against the piles of red sandstone that lay in huge heaps along the slope. Every day these piles grew bigger as carts laden with huge blocks of stone came trundling down the hill. While the bright winter sun warmed their backs the men laboured with a will, singing in unison as they wielded their picks and shovels or chipped away with their chisels at the ruby-coloured stone.
Standing beside the biggest heap of stone, Christopher Wylie stared up into the pale vastness of the sky above his head and had a vision of what his bridge would look like when it was finished. Transfixed, he stared into the emptiness where soon there would be soaring arches, outlined with pale-pink bricks. He blinked his eyes and the vision disappeared but he knew he’d seen into the future and his spirits rose. His bridge would stand there one day. There was no doubt any longer. He was building his memorial and he felt like an Egyptian Pharaoh overseeing the creation of his own pyramid.
He turned and grinned happily at Maquire by his side. ‘It’s coming on well, Tim. We’ll finish on time now. Everything’s going our way, isn’t it?’
Tim grinned back and eagerly agreed. Everything was ideal, that was for sure. Not only was the work going smoothly but he
and Hannah were as happy as children in their little house. Love had come to him, and that was something he had never expected or even believed was possible.
The mild weather lasted for most of January, and Christopher Wylie did not come back so Tim spent all the daylight hours at work and when he was out, Hannah walked to Camptounfoot every day to visit Tibbie. Although she pleaded with her mother to come and visit Benjy’s there was no relenting. ‘I will not set foot in that camp,’ Tibbie said vehemently when Hannah suggested it. Nor did they discuss Tim, for when Hannah mentioned his name her mother seemed to go deaf. Tibbie preferred to act as if things were still as they had been when Hannah used to run down from Bella Vista. This annoyed the girl, but she could do nothing about it and resolved to let things go quietly until her mother came round of her own accord.
In the afternoons when the light began to fade, Hannah always glanced at the little clock on the mantelpiece and said, ‘I’ll have to go now. Tim’ll be home soon and I want to have his supper waiting.’
One day Tibbie had been labelling bramble jam and she suddenly asked, ‘Does he like jam?’
‘Though she still hasn’t spoken his name, at least she’s referred to him,’ thought Hannah, who nodded and said out loud, ‘Yes, he does.’
‘Take him that jar then,’ said her mother, passing her a basket with a glowing red glass jar in it. It was her way of acknowledging that Hannah was now running her own domestic establishment and that she had a husband to feed – a huge concession.
They were embracing fondly on the front doorstep when Craigie Scott came striding up the street. At the sight of Hannah, he paused and called out, ‘Aren’t you ashamed to have a daughter that’s a navvy’s whore, Tibbie Mather?’
Tibbie’s face went white and then scarlet. She stepped out into the roadway and faced up to him with her fists on her hips. ‘Don’t you call my lassie a whore, Craigie Scott. You’re not in a position to point a finger at anyone, and anyway my Hannah’s a legally-married woman with a paper to prove it.’
A Bridge in Time Page 26