Jopp stood in the field beside a group of men who had been brought down from Maddiston to augment the Rosewell force. As Sydney walked towards them he recognised Bullhead among them, as large and bestial-looking as ever. Trust him to survive plague and pestilence. Trust Bullhead to have got out of the camp before the cholera began, Sydney thought angrily. Then his attention was caught by a man whom he thought was a stranger – a gaunt and shivering wreck standing beside the big bully. It took a few moments before recognition dawned. This unsavoury-looking specimen was a horribly transformed Jimmy-The-New-Man. In a few months he had changed from a fresh-faced, happy youth to a piece of human flotsam. From his appearance he could have been of any age between thirty and sixty. His eyes were pouched and red-rimmed, his cheeks unshaven, his body hunched and thin and he was shuddering like a distempered dog as he stood beside Bullhead listening to what Jopp was saying. Though Sydney was six feet away, his nostrils were assailed by the smell of stale alcohol. It was obvious that Jimmy had become a drunk, and was now in what looked like the last stages of alcoholic decay.
‘Good God, what’s happened to you?’ asked Sydney, putting a hand on the quivering shoulder.
For a second Jimmy stared at him without recognition and then remembrance slowly dawned. ‘Oh, hello Sydney,’ he said in a toneless voice.
‘What’s happened to you?’ Sydney asked again, deeply concerned.
Bullhead turned round and growled, ‘Nothing’s happened to him. He’s all right, aren’t you, lad?’
Jimmy was clapping his arms around his chest as if he was freezing cold, and his teeth were chattering, but he nodded and after a few seconds managed to ask, ‘Where’s Black Ace?’
‘He went away. His wife and child died in the sickness and he left,’ Sydney told him.
Jimmy nodded, apparently unconcerned, wrapped up only in his own misery, but Bullhead said with a leer, ‘Black Ace’s no loss. Jopp’s the boss here now.’
‘Is he?’ asked Sydney with interest. ‘I thought Wylie’s girl had taken over the contract.’
He looked at Jopp as he said this and the fat little man glared back. ‘Miss Wylie’s running her father’s share of the work, but I’ve been called in by the company to help her and to make sure everything’s done the right way.’
‘Really? Who’s hiring here today, then? I’m looking for work again,’ drawled Sydney.
‘I’m hiring. On my terms,’ said Jopp.
‘And those are?’
‘Four shillings a day and half of it in truck tickets.’ Sydney leaned slightly to the side as he pondered this. ‘Not very good terms, are they? Wylie paid five shillings and no truck.’
‘Things have changed since he died. Now you take my terms or you don’t work for me. I’m bringing more men down from Maddiston tomorrow and I don’t need troublemakers.’ Jopp was bristling like an angry terrier.
‘I think I’ll leave it, then,’ said Sydney and strolled away. He walked over to the site hut and looked in through the open door. A girl with brown hair was sitting facing the door on a high stool before a table on which large sheets of paper were spread. Her head was in her hands and her brow was lined in thought. Sydney tapped discreetly on the door and she lifted her head, staring at him with large golden eyes. ‘Yes?’ The eyes were guarded if not outright hostile.
Sydney smiled. ‘I was wondering if you’re hiring any men, Miss Wylie? I worked for your father but I’ve not been on site during the fever.’
‘Jopp’s doing the hiring for me,’ she said flatly.
Sydney stepped inside the hut and said in a quiet voice, ‘If I may offer a piece of advice, Miss Wylie, don’t let Jopp do your hiring. Your father paid five shillings a day, which is a good wage, and it was repaid by good work. Jopp’s paying four and insists that the men take half of it in truck. You won’t get good men for that. You’ll get drunks like Bullhead and Jimmy-The-New-Man, who wouldn’t be taken on anywhere else.’
She listened to him attentively but remained unsmiling. ‘I told Jopp I’d pay five shillings. I don’t know anything about truck – what is it?’
‘It’s the iniquitous system by which men are paid with food tickets that they can only exchange in a shop owned by their employers. Truck food is nearly always bad. It causes a lot of trouble. Jopp’s a past master at the truck system. The profits go into his own pocket.’
She nodded. ‘I understand. I should hire my own men, then.’
‘If you want to finish this job, I’d advise that.’
‘You’re looking for work, aren’t you?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I am. The bridge fascinates me. I was here when your father started the project and I want to see it finished.’
‘So do I,’ she said fervently. Then she nodded briskly and said, ‘All right, I’ll hire you. Do you know any more men I should hire for my own squad? Good men, I mean.’
‘A lot of the good men are dead and the best one of all has gone away, but I’ll ask in the camp. I’ll tell them to come to you and not to Jopp.’
‘Can’t you hire for me?’ she asked. ‘I’m a woman – they might not take me seriously.’
Sydney said very firmly, ‘No, I can’t. I’m not one of them. I’m an outsider, even more of an outsider than you are. You’re Wylie’s daughter: they’ll respect you for that and if you play fair with them, they’ll respect you even more. Find yourself a good assistant among the men and make him your mouthpiece if you like. I’m far too frivolous for the task, I’m afraid.’
As he walked away she remained staring after his departing figure. ‘What a strange man!’ she thought, but felt glad to have him on her side.
It was nearly time to finish so she gathered up her papers and prepared to walk back to Camptounfoot. As she stepped out of the hut, it struck her that the plans stuck under her arm represented a pipe dream. The enormity of the task she’d taken on was only now becoming apparent to her. In her head she had the idea of a lovely bridge soaring over the river valley, but the reality was a half-built skeleton. To make one into the other she had only an army of ragamuffins and swaggerers. Whom could she trust? How was she going to turn her orders into action? For a brief moment she wished Tim Maquire hadn’t gone away, but then she pulled herself together and determined to do the best she could. She pulled her shawl over her shoulders, remembering Big Lily’s advice about crossing it over her breast, then clumped out into the field in her big boots. Jopp was still standing in the middle of his crowd of men. She marched across to him and asked, ‘Are you hiring men today, Jopp? I need a squad of fifty good workers to help the masons because we must move fast now. The piers all have to be completed up to brick level by the time the bad weather sets in, and that’ll be any day now.’
His voice was like honey as he turned to her and said, ‘Oh, I’ve got fifty good men here, Miss Wylie.’
‘How much are you paying them?’
‘What you told me.’
‘How much is that?’
‘Four shillings and truck.’
She frowned. ‘For that money we’ll only get poor workers. I’ll pay five shillings and no truck.’
As she spoke she turned to look at the gathering, who stared back at her with a variety of expressions ranging from loathing to reluctant liking on their faces. Her eye ran over them. Some were decent enough, but most looked like the occupants of a prison hulk. She could tell that there were few she’d choose to employ.
‘I want to see every man that’s hired for my squad. Anybody who thinks they’re up to my standards can apply to me directly,’ she said and clumped away, a stiff little figure in black.
She was halfway up the hill when she heard running feet behind her and a young lad whom she knew to be Robbie Rutherford caught up with her. His hair was flying in a boyish way and he smiled unaffectedly as he drew up at her side and asked, ‘Can I walk with you, Miss?’
‘Of course. I’m going back to Mrs Mather’s now. You live on the other side of the road, don’t you?’
&nb
sp; He was pleased to be recognised. ‘I do that. My family have lived there for hundreds of years. They’re weavers.’
She shot a look at him. ‘How do they feel about this upheaval that’s going on at their doorsteps?’ she asked.
Robbie considered. ‘They weren’t happy about it in the beginning, but like most folk they’ve got used to it now. A lot of the men are like me, working on the line or the bridge and earning more money in a month than they used to earn in a quarter.’
She lifted her eyebrows. ‘A quarter?’
He laughed. ‘Three months, you’d say. I think a quarter sounds better.’
She laughed back. ‘So do I, but seriously, isn’t the village upset about us? I remember when I was here before there was a strange feeling in the street. I sensed that people were avoiding me. My father felt the same way.’
The boy at her side gave her a sharp look and said, ‘They didn’t like it at first: there was a lot of trouble. My own mother and father were against the line coming through here, but when I got work… and the other men got work… things changed a lot. Look, I’ll take you down to the shop with me and you’ll hear what they’re saying now.’
‘But I’ve been in the shop already,’ Emma Jane said. ‘I bought my boots there.’
Robbie grinned. ‘Then you were only a customer. If you come in with me, you’ll be a villager. Come on – you’ll see what I mean.’
In the evenings, Bob’s shop became the chief meeting place of the village. When Robbie pushed open the door and the little bell pinged, the shop was crammed full of men buying clay pipes and tobacco, and women making purchases of food for the evening meal. They all knew Robbie and greeted him by name. He stepped in and gestured towards Emma Jane, who was at his back. ‘I’ve brought Miss Wylie down to meet you. She’s building the bridge now,’ said he. It was an unnecessary introduction, for they all knew who she was and what she was doing, but they looked either surprised or interested and nodded their heads. ‘Oh aye…’ they said.
Bob leaned forward on his counter and enquired, ‘How’s your bridge doing then, Miss?’ as if it was an invalid on the mend.
‘Very well, thank you,’ she smiled. ‘And so are your boots.’ She stuck out one foot to show that she had them on and someone chuckled and said, ‘It wouldna’ dae tae walk through the glaur in fancy shoon, wid it, Miss?’
The speaker was the widow Bella Baird, who had terrified Jo out of his midnight prowls. She had been one of the villagers who was against the railway, and the fact that she’d even spoken to Emma Jane was a gesture of acceptance, though the girl did not know it.
Robbie said in a loud voice, ‘Miss Wylie was wondering how the village is taking to the railway.’
A hush fell for a few minutes and then someone said gruffly, ‘You ken how they’re taking it, Robbie. You’re working there, aren’t you?’
Robbie turned to the speaker, a man in his middle age, and replied, ‘And so’re you, Willie.’
Willie grinned, ‘And I’m no’ the only yin. Most o’ the men in this village are working on the line.’
Bob interrupted with, ‘It’s been good for the village. It’s brought money in. Even the folk that were wild against it in the beginning have changed their minds… even Tibbie Mather.’
Tibbie’s sister-in-law Effie was in the shop and she piped up, ‘Tibbie’s no’ changed her mind but she’s accepted it – that’s different. There’s others like her. They’re sorry things are going to change but they realise there’s nothing they can do about it.’
Emma Jane raised her voice to say above the hubbub, ‘I’m sorry if we’ve caused an upset here. This is a lovely village and it must have been very quiet and peaceful before we came.’
The village schoolmaster had been listening to the exchange and he pushed his way through towards her and said, ‘Miss Wylie, this village’ll not change, not really. It’s come through worse than this in its time. Camptounfoot is the oldest village in Scotland, you know. It’s survived wars and pestilence, famines and feasts, and the fact it’s still here shows its sticking power.’
‘I hope it goes on surviving, and that when the bridge is built and the navvies move away, life here will return to normal,’ said Emma Jane solemnly.
‘It will, it will,’ Mr Anderson assured her. ‘The trouble’s almost over now. There’s only one or two folk still wild against the railway. Craigie Scott’s the worst one, and he’s half-demented anyway. Don’t you worry about Camptounfoot, Miss Wylie. It’ll still be here, going about its business, when railways have all disappeared.’
As she was walking back up the hill with Robbie, Emma Jane asked him, ‘Why didn’t you become a weaver like your father, Robbie?’ She liked him because he was obviously highly intelligent and willing and she felt that this was a boy who could go a long way.
He paused in the middle of the road and stared at her. ‘It was because of your father. I used to watch him going back and forward to the bridge from the Jessups’, and I wanted to be like him. I want to be an engineer – I want to build bridges and railways like he did.’
She felt tears prick her eyes as she whispered, ‘He was a poor boy, poorer than you when he started, you know.’
Robbie was gazing up the long street with a rapt smile on his face. ‘I’m going to be rich and famous, Miss. I’m set on it.’
Now they were at Tibbie’s door, but before she went in, Emma Jane said, ‘Would you like to help me? I’m needing an assistant I can trust.’
Robbie’s eyes were shining as he looked at her. ‘You can trust me,’ he said.
She thrust the plans at him. ‘Go home with these and take a look at them. Bring them back tomorrow and tell me what you think. I know you’re not an engineer or anything like that, but just tell me how they strike you. And don’t talk about them – they’re very secret.’
Next morning, Robbie was waiting for her at the end of St James’ Wynd with the precious plans neatly wrapped in white linen. ‘Did you look at them?’ she asked.
‘Aye, I did, and there’s some things I’d like to say.’
She looked around at the other figures toiling up the hill in the half-light of early morning. ‘Tell me when we get to the hut,’ she cautioned him.
When the plans were at last spread out on her worktable, Robbie put a finger on the extreme left-hand side of the first page and said, ‘I’m worried that the first landfall bastion’s not going to be strong enough, Miss Wylie. Maybe you should build it up with more stone, make a buttress around it.’
She leaned over and examined the plan. ‘I think you’re right, Robbie. It’s going to have to bear the weight of the arches, after all. But Father must have thought of that.’
‘He didn’t see the earth dug out. I think he assumed there was solid rock under the surface soil but there’s a lot of shale there too. I went down and looked at it last night.’
Emma Jane frowned. ‘You went down specially?’ Robbie nodded. ‘If you’re right, we’d better strengthen it then,’ she said, impressed.
Robbie was pleased, but he cautioned her: ‘We’ll have to work fast because when the really hard frost sets in, we won’t be able to do any more stonework. And it won’t be long now. This valley’s bad for frost – it lies here a long time, too. The buttress should be up before spring, though, because then you’ll be able to start on the arches. I’ve had an idea about that as well. You should build a big scaffolding and put spars across between the piers so they can all be done at once. It’ll need a lot of bricklayers, but they’ll come if the money is good and it would be cheaper in the long run.’
His voice was strong with excitement and enthusiasm, which made her look at him with respect and admiration.
‘How old are you, Robbie?’ she asked. If he had started to shave, it was only necessary for him to do so once a week.
Colour flooded his cheeks like a girl when he answered. ‘I’m nearly eighteen, Miss Wylie, but I know I’m wee for my age. My mother says I’m the runt of her li
tter.’
Emma Jane laughed and patted his shoulder. ‘I know what it’s like. I was small when I was growing up, too, and everybody thought I was a child even when I was a woman. Some of them still do! Never mind – what you lack in size you make up for in brains. I’ll take your advice and if you have any more ideas, don’t forget to tell me.’ It didn’t strike her that she was talking like a woman of forty and not a girl of twenty-two.
Their conference was interrupted by the arrival of several men asking to be hired by Emma Jane. She took some but rejected others, including, had she known it, Bullhead and Jimmy. Her rejection of him infuriated Bullhead, who stormed away muttering, ‘Bloody bitch of a woman. Who does she think she is?’
Jopp took him back, however, because Bullhead’s capacity for bullying and terrifying other men could come in handy at times. Jopp made him a ganger and told him to form a squad to work on the embankment. ‘You can all go and live in one of the empty huts at Rosewell camp,’ he said.
Jimmy, who was trailing Bullhead like a disconsolate shadow, shuddered and groaned, ‘Aw no, not back there.’
The others stared at him and Jopp sneered, ‘Scared of fever, are you? It’s all past now.’
‘It’s not that. I just don’t want to go back to that camp. It’s a bad place, with bad memories,’ muttered Jimmy.
Bullhead grabbed his arm and gave him a push. ‘You’ll come with me. I’ll watch you.’ It was almost as if he was afraid to let Jimmy out of his sight.
* * *
When work began again on the bridge, the navvies noticed that old Colonel Anstruther and his pretty daughter-in-law did not come each morning to watch what was going on. They were unaware that the Colonel had been summoned to Edinburgh to give an account of the state of the bridge to the railway company directors, all of whom had taken great care to keep well away from the district during the cholera outbreak, and were still chary of visiting there.
The Colonel was away for a week, and when he returned he went stumping into Bella Vista calling loudly for a burra peg, then, glass in hand, he roamed the downstairs rooms in search of someone to keep him company and hear about his trip north. He was glad to find Bethya sitting reading by the library fire.
A Bridge in Time Page 44