‘Perhaps a little less lavish expense might be a good thing from your point of view,’ he suggested but she shook her head.
‘Oh no. This will be my father’s memorial, and it’s not done to skimp on the cost of a memorial, is it? I’ll build his bridge. I’m quite sure I can do it.’
Johnstone groaned, ‘I don’t think I should be allowing you to do this. What will your mother say?’
Emma Jane reached into her reticule and brought out the paper she and Amelia had concocted. ‘She’s given me complete control. If this is what I decide to do, no one can really stop me, can they?’
Half an hour passed before, they went back to the big boardroom, and during this time, Miller had changed his attitude from aggressive to oily. He pulled out a chair for Emma Jane, enquired if she would take a glass of sherry or should he send for tea? She declined both and sat with her unsettling eyes fixed on his face so that he was forced to fidget with his papers as he began, ‘We’ve discussed your problem and we think that if the Wylie estate wishes to continue with the contract that is acceptable to us – with qualifications. To safeguard ourselves we must insist that our own engineer Jopp works with your men, Miss Wylie, and we must also ask that you confirm in writing the finishing date stipulated with your father. When you do this, we also want you to agree to a penalty clause covering us against late or non-completion. There will be a financial deduction from your final payment for every week overdue – let’s say five hundred pounds – and if you fail to complete, we pay you nothing. Nothing.’ He looked at Johnstone and added, ‘As you know, a time-clause is normal business practice.’
Johnstone stared back. He thought: ‘Miller’s sure she’ll not be able to do it. He’s gambling on her using the plans to get the project over a sticky stage, but falling down at the end.’ He turned his head to look at Emma Jane, trying to tell her with his eyes not to agree. He wished he could say to her, ‘We’ve got Miller on the run. In a moment he’ll up his cash offer for the plans and let you out.’ To his horror, however, the girl was sitting forward in her chair with her eyes shining. She looked transformed, almost unrecognisable, not the wan little thing who had come into the room two hours before.
‘I’ll accept that. I’ll finish on time,’ she said.
Outside, her carriage was waiting and as he handed her into it Mr Johnstone looked as if he was about to burst into tears. ‘I shouldn’t have allowed you to do such a disastrous thing. I blame myself entirely. I should have insisted that you settled for cash. He’d have gone to ten thousand in the end, you know.’
She patted his arm consolingly. ‘Please don’t worry, Mr Johnstone. I’m quite sure that the bridge will be built – and built by me. In a way I think this is what my father wanted me to do. Perhaps that’s why he showed me his plans and told me so much about the bridge. Oh, by the way, what will we do about the money we owe to the bank? Do you think they’ll insist on it being paid back immediately?’
Johnstone nodded. ‘I thought of that too. I’ve a meeting with Munro again tomorrow. I’ll let you know what’s decided afterwards.’
She opened her mouth to suggest that she attend the meeting with him, but he held up a constraining hand, ‘Munro and I will be best left to talk it out ourselves, Miss Wylie. Have confidence in me – I’ve your best interests at heart.’
Amelia was waiting at Wyvern Villa, sitting in the drawing room with Arbelle and the baby in a basket by her feet. Not even the plain black gown she wore as mourning for Christopher Wylie could dim her glorious life force and vibrancy. Her eyes were alive with interest as she looked at her sister-in-law. ‘What happened, then? Did you manage to screw some money out of those railway men?’
Emma Jane took off her Madame Rachelle hat and put it carefully on an empty chair where it lay like a deposed crown. She felt that some of her confidence went with it and she said in a scared tone, ‘Oh ’Melia, I’m wondering if I’ve done the right thing. I’ve said that we won’t give up the contract for the bridge but that I’ll finish it on Father’s behalf. That’s the only way we’ll ever end up with any money at all, you see. And even then it won’t be much – just enough to keep Mother in modest comfort for the rest of her life, really.’
Even Amelia was surprised. ‘You’re going to finish the bridge, Emma Jane! But you don’t know anything about bridge-building, and you’ll have to go up there and live. You’ll have to work with those navvies!’
‘I know, I thought of that. I’m not worried about going up there. I’ve been before, remember. I’ll write and ask the Jessups if they’ll give me Father’s old rooms. The navvies don’t worry me either – Maquire will see to them.’
Lights sparkled in Amelia’s eyes. ‘Well done, girl, well done. But what do you know about building bridges? Not much, I’ll be bound.’
‘Quite a lot, really. I helped draw up the plans. I’ve read a lot about it, too. I was interested, you see. I feel in my bones that I understand and that I can do it. I’ve got that sort of a brain.’
‘But what about the men? They might not want to work for a woman,’ suggested Amelia and Emma Jane nodded. She remembered Tim Maquire’s lowering stare every time he spoke to to her.
‘I intend to go up there and ask Maquire to be my site manager. If he says no, I’ll find someone else. There’s not much railway-building going on right now and there should be a lot of good men looking for work.’
Amelia rose from her chair and walked across the room to embrace the girl facing her. ‘My dear, I knew you’d a lot of your father and James in you. If there’s anything Dan or I can do to help, you’ve only to ask.’
Emma Jane laughed wryly and said, ‘There is something you can do. I’m going to have to give up this house. The bank owns the deeds anyway and I can’t afford the cost of keeping it going. I’ll sell most of the furniture and silver to raise money for expenses while the bridge is being built, and I’ll give the house to the bank to help repay some of Father’s debts. They’re much worse than we thought, ’Melia.’
Amelia nodded. ‘I guessed they would be. He was a very worried man at the end. Do you want me to give you the cottage?’
‘Yes, please. Just for Mother to live in. I’ll give it back to you when I’ve finished the bridge and sold the railway shares they pay me with. I can’t afford to pay Arbelle’s legacy yet, either, but I will – I promise.’
Her sister-in-law laughed. ‘Of course you can have the cottage.’
‘You don’t mind about losing it, then?’
‘Mind? Of course not. Your father gave it to me so that if something like this happened, you and your mother would have a place to go. He and I talked it through. But bless us, Emma Jane, what are we going to tell your mother? She won’t like leaving Wyvern Villa.’
‘I’m afraid she’ll have to. I’ve been working things out. I’m going to ask Aunt Louisa from Harrogate to take Mother south for a few months. Everything will be done by the time she gets back.’
Amelia threw back her head and guffawed. ‘I’ll make sure to be in Hexham that day, but I’m afraid I’ll be able to hear the fuss she’ll make even from that distance.’ She turned to her daughter who was listening with round eyes and pointed a stern finger at the child as she said, ‘If you breathe a word of this to your Grandmama, Arbelle, your aunt and I will eat you on toast for tea!’
Emma Jane was impressed to see that Arbelle’s eyes widened at this ridiculous threat but she nodded with sincere obedience as she said, ‘I won’t tell. I promise I won’t.’
Next day Mr Johnstone came back from his meeting with Munro and said that, to his surprise, the banker had been favourably impressed by Emma Jane and would not insist on immediate repayment of Wylie’s debts in full, though he did want Wyvern Villa to be sold. Emma Jane took this in her stride and said, ‘Yes, we’d already decided on that. Mama and I will make our home in Amelia’s cottage. It’s quite big enough for us now and Mrs Haggerty has said she’ll continue looking after us. She and Mr Haggerty will live with us, though we won’
t be keeping a carriage. Haggerty will do the garden.’
The old coachman had never shown any interest in flowers or gardens before, but he had come to Emma Jane and said that he wanted to go on working for her, doing anything, and without wages. He’d even offered to lend her back his legacy, for he knew that things were going to be hard with her for a long time. Sometimes Emma Jane thought the Haggerties must have secret listening-places all through the house, because nothing ever happened without them knowing about it. She refused his money but gratefully accepted the offer of help, for the old couple had been with the Wylies all her life and to lose them would be like losing members of the family.
It seemed now that life was in a whirl. She spent her time running up and downstairs to her mother’s room, or conferring with Mr Johnstone and Amelia about the move to the cottage, arranging for the sale of the big furniture and pictures, the gleaming silver and the carriage with its pair of matching horses.
A letter arrived from Mr Jessup saying that of course he would be happy to have Emma Jane as a lodger, but only for a little while. He went on to explain that Christopher Wylie’s death had brought on a severe mental collapse in his sister and she was not as capable as she had once been of looking after their establishment, which meant that the bulk of the cooking and cleaning fell on him. There was even a suggestion that, if her nerves did not recover, she might have to return to Manchester where they had relatives. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s not seemly for a young lady like yourself to live in a house with a single gentleman,’ he concluded.
Emma Jane then wrote to Tim Maquire, addressing her letter to the navvy camp in Rosewell, and informing him that she intended returning to the bridge as soon as possible, and explaining her problem about accommodation. Perhaps, she asked, he could advise her where she might find more permanent rooms, because her stay at the Jessups’ could only be for a few days. She hoped that the work was going well and said she looked forward to seeing all that had been done.
By the end of the week, her mother had agreed to be packed off to Harrogate with Aunt Louisa and when the still-unsold carriage drove off from the front door, Amelia and Emma Jane looked at each other in eager anticipation. ‘Well, girl, this is it. This is when your adventure really starts. Good luck, good luck,’ cried Amelia.
Chapter Thirteen
When the Rosewell post-runner brought the letter from Newcastle to the door of Benjy’s, Hannah, nursing her baby at her breast, looked at it with apprehension. ‘Who’s it from?’ she asked, wondering if she ought to accept it, for neither she nor Tim had ever received a letter before.
‘How should I know? Just take it, Hannah. It’s got your man’s name on it,’ said the postie, who was in a hurry.
She eventually stuck it up on the shelf beside the pretty china and laid her baby in a basket beside the bed. They’d called their daughter Kate, which was the name of Tim’s dead mother, and both parents thought she was the most beautiful baby ever born. Hannah spent hours sitting in silent adoration of the child, softly brushing its silken cap of pale hair, curling and uncurling the little fingers and holding the warm little body close. When Kate slept too long, her mother was always in a fever of eagerness for her to waken so that she could nurse her again.
Today, the weather was strangely threatening and thunderous, with a dark grey sky and tension in the atmosphere that gave Hannah a funny feeling in her head – not a headache exactly, more a constant sensation of a headache about to arrive. Though the sun was not shining, it was very warm and her clothes stuck to her all the time. Everything that had to be done seemed to require tremendous effort, and she felt pity for Tim labouring down at the bridge. When he came home in the evenings he was always dog tired and grey-faced; even the effort of conversation was beyond him. Not that she herself was any more energetic. She didn’t go out much because the walk to her mother’s bearing Kate in her arms seemed too difficult. She wished the weather would break and the crisp days of autumn could come, for it was early October, but still the heat persisted and the sky kept its purple colour. Thunder and lightning had always frightened Hannah, but now she scanned the sky, hoping for the dark build-up of clouds that would presage an electric storm because she knew only that would clear the air.
Her water-bucket was almost empty, so while Kate was sleeping she decided to walk to the burn and fill it. The little water that remained in the bucket had an oily film on top of it – a sinister, multi-coloured sheen. Wrinkling her nose, she poured the dregs out on to the pot of geraniums at her door and walked down to the watering place, where some of the other camp women were filling their buckets. They all knew her now as Black Ace’s wife and greeted her with, ‘Isn’t this heat terrible?’
‘I’m worn out. The bairns are all greetin’ and the milk goes off in an hour. I wish it would rain,’ said one of the younger women.
Major Bob was there too and she lifted her head to tell them, ‘I don’t like it. This is fever weather – I’ve seen it before. It can turn nasty. Don’t keep food overnight: make sure it’s fresh.’
The young woman snorted. ‘Fresh – in this place? That truck-shop hasn’t had fresh meat for a week and the butter stinks so strong that it would drive you out of the room.’
‘I’m only telling you,’ said Major Bob shortly. As she turned to walk away Hannah saw that her face looked yellow and waxen, and she wondered if the old woman was ill. Hurriedly she filled her bucket and rushed back to her house where, mercifully, Kate was still asleep. Her mouth felt dry and she was very thirsty so she dipped a cup into the water and drank it down. That was all that she wanted, for her stomach couldn’t face the thought of food after the talk about rotten meat and rancid butter.
Tim was late coming back and the sky above the hills had turned to midnight grey when she finally heard his step at the door. The first thing he always did when he came in was to look at the baby, who was sleeping again after having been suckled, dressed in a clean gown and wrapped in its soft blanket. ‘Oh, she’s as bonny as ever,’ he said with a little laugh and then looked at Hannah. ‘And so’s her mother.’
She reached for the letter. ‘This came for you. What is it, do you think?’
He ripped it open with his fingernail and ran his eye down the words. ‘It’s from Wylie’s daughter,’ he said. ‘She’s coming up to Camptounfoot the day after tomorrow and she’s looking for lodgings. Why can’t she go to the Jessups’?’
Hannah knew the answer to that. ‘Miss Jessup’s fair out of her head these days. She was always pretty strange, but Mr Wylie dying was the last straw. She’s gone like a bairn and her brother’s awfy worried about her. He couldn’t cope with a lodger as well.’
Tim looked up at her. ‘Do you think your mother would take her? There’s the Abbey Hotel, but Mr Wylie said it was full of bugs so we can’t send her there. Ask your mother tomorrow and say it won’t be for long. She’s a city girl and she’ll go back to Newcastle soon. She’s probably only coming to tell us she’s giving up the contract, anyway. Jopp’s been going on about taking it over. I’m sick of listening to him.’ Tim’s tone was bitter and she could tell that he was angry and disillusioned.
She put a hand on his arm and said gently, ‘Don’t take on, Tim. You’ll find another place to work. We don’t have to stay here.’
‘I know that, but I’ve put a lot into that bridge, just like Mr Wylie did, and look what happened to him – it killed him. It’s a funny thing, but the stretch of line between Maddiston and Camptounfoot was called the Lucky Line because it hadn’t claimed a life till Mr Wylie died. Now everybody’s waiting for the next death. There’s always more than one.’
Hannah shuddered. ‘Oh, don’t talk like that, Tim. Come and have your supper. Tomorrow I’ll ask my mother about taking Miss Wylie. I don’t know if she will, though – remember what she thinks about the railway. What’s Miss Wylie like again? Mam’ll want to know.’
Tim shrugged. ‘You know. She was in the carriage with me on the bridge that d
ay you took umbrage. You called her “a wee thing in a black bonnet”. She’s a fierce-looking little thing if you ask me, an old maid in the making.’
‘Oh, that’s cruel. She didn’t look so bad. I was jealous of her because I thought she was your ladyfriend, remember,’ protested Hannah.
Tim laughed. ‘You were just being silly – playing me up. I know what you’re like.’
In spite of the oppressive heat, which seemed even more suffocating next day, Hannah tied Kate into her shawl and walked to Camptounfoot. Tibbie was sitting in an arbour of honeysuckle with her cat on her lap and her knitting on the ground beside her. When she saw her daughter and granddaughter she held out her arms in delight. ‘Oh, I was just thinking about you. I was going to walk to the camp to see you, as I was feared that you were sick.’
‘I’m fine but this heat’s terrible,’ said Hannah, wiping her face.
‘You’ve not got the fever in the camp, have you?’ asked Tibbie anxiously.
‘What fever?’
‘They’re saying that fever’s broken out in Maddiston, and the folk in Rosewell are terrified of it coming there. I was afraid it might be in the camp. There’s such a lot of folk there now and it thrives in crowded places.’ It was true that the population of the camp had grown in the last few months as more and more men poured in to work on the lines that were advancing from two different directions. Mr Wylie’s summer effort on the bridge had also meant that his labour force was doubled, and these men were still at work under the direction of Tim.
‘I’ve not heard anything about fever in the camp…’ Hannah said, but Major Bob’s gloomy prediction came back to her mind and she resolved to take every precaution to keep their food fresh and free of flies. She’d heard tales about the fever killing people in their hundreds in big towns like Edinburgh, but Camptounfoot, with its deep clean wells, had never had an outbreak in her lifetime.
When she told her mother about Miss Wylie needing lodgings, Tibbie nodded her head. ‘I know, Mr Jessup told me about her. He was fond of her father and he’s sorry that he can’t put the girl up, but his sister’s away with the fairies these days. He’s got to keep an eye on her all the time or she’d wander off and maybe get lost on the hills or drowned in the river. I asked him if Miss Wylie was likely to stay for a long time but he didn’t know. I wouldn’t mind taking her for a wee bit, but I’m not wanting somebody living with me all the time.’
A Bridge in Time Page 37