The wind was high on the top and Emma Jane’s hair escaped from the constriction of her bonnet which she was holding on with one hand. She stopped in the middle of the bridge and stared down at the broad ribbon of silver river running beneath her feet. The view was giddying for there was no guard-rail; only about ten inches of stone parapet projected above the hard surface. It would be horribly easy to plunge over…
She placed one neatly-buttoned kid boot on the ledge and Robbie anxiously pulled at her arm. ‘Don’t go too near, Miss Emma. The wind’s strong and it might just catch you.’
She smiled at him but there was a melancholy look in her eye. ‘Oh, I won’t fall over. I’ve got to see this opened first, haven’t I?’
When they were three-quarters of the way across, they came upon Tim Maquire standing in the middle of a group of navvies. He was making his last examination of the surface before the men moved in to lay the sleepers and then the iron rails. His curly head was bare and he stood proudly with both thumbs stuck in the breast pockets of a bright yellow waistcoat, booted feet firmly planted. It would take a typhoon to blow him off the bridge.
He saw her approaching and turned towards her. ‘Well, it’s almost finished, then. How do you feel?’ he asked.
‘I thought it would never happen,’ she said solemnly. ‘Why,’ she wondered, ‘do I feel so low? I should be throwing my bonnet in the air… How do you feel?’ she said aloud.
‘Wonderful,’ he lied. But there was something in his eye that told her he was sharing her unaccountable dejection. Perhaps he was only happy under stress; perhaps he needed continual excitement, she thought.
‘They’re having a grand ceremonial dinner in Maddiston on opening night,’ he went on. ‘Jopp’s been here flourishing his invitation card. You’ll have had one too, will you?’
She shook her head in surprise. ‘No. I’ve been invited on to the platform for the speech-making, but I haven’t heard anything about a dinner.’
Tim grinned. ‘You’ll hear. You’ve got more right to be there than anyone. You’ve done this. It’s your bridge, Miss Wylie.’
It was the most pleasing and flattering thing he’d ever said to her and she was surprised at his magnanimity. ‘Mr Maquire,’ she replied primly, ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’ That was an enormous concession on her part too.
He laughed and his beard seemed to bristle thicker and curlier than ever. The piratical look was even more marked. ‘Well, we’ve had our fights, haven’t we – but that’s all over now, I hope,’ he said to her.
‘Oh yes,’ she agreed. ‘All over.’ Suddenly she felt that she wanted to weep. Turning away quickly, she took Robbie’s arm. ‘Come, Robbie. I’ve just remembered that we forgot to take the plans out of the hut. I want to keep them as mementoes of this.’
Robbie’s face lit up. ‘Can I have one, Miss Emma?’
‘Of course you can have any one you want. I couldn’t have done it without you either…’ The wind carried her words far, far away over the trees and the hills and the now-tranquil river.
There was still a week to go before the inaugural day, but already carpenters were erecting the platform for the official party to sit on after they came steaming down the line from Maddiston on the first train to cross the bridge. As she walked past it, the sight somehow increased Emma Jane’s depression and she turned her head to the side so that she did not have to look at it. Robbie knew that something was wrong and he asked her, ‘What are you going to do now, Miss Emma?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t really know, Robbie. I’ll go home, I suppose. Father used to say that when the bridge was built he would go to Menton and lie in the sun. I might try that.’
She said nothing about the proposal she’d received from Alex Robertson. She had been thinking about it a great deal, weighing the pros and cons. He was an admirable man and she liked him a great deal, but she did not love him – or at least she did not think she loved him, because the feeling she had for him was not exciting. It was placid, and safe. Perhaps lots of people married for reasons of safety and security; perhaps that was a good basis for a life together, but Emma Jane was a romantic who longed for more than that. She remembered Gentleman Sydney and the beautiful Bethya who threw their hats over the windmill when they ran away together. What did they feel for each other? Not a calm liking, certainly. It must have been much more tempestuous than that. Marriage as a way of escaping from life in Newcastle was a great temptation, but she knew that to marry Alex for that reason alone would not be honest. She longed for laughter, for noise, vitality and passion. She longed for adventure. Life with Alex might bring contentment but it was unlikely to prove adventurous.
Robbie, walking by her side, was thinking about Menton and his eyes were starry. ‘Menton, that’s in the South of France, isn’t it? It must be lovely there. I’d like to see it one day,’ he sighed, gazing at the greystone cottages which lined the street of the place where he’d been born.
‘You’ll go there one day,’ she promised him. ‘I’m sure of it. You’ll make a mark on the world, Robbie Rutherford.’
He looked sideways at her and said in a rush of confidence, ‘I want to – I really want to succeed. I’m awfy ambitious, Miss Emma. When I make my name it’s you and your father I’ll thank for it. I’ll never forget that the Wylies gave me my start.’ His face was changing. He wasn’t a boy any more but a young man with a determined line to his mouth and a hardness in his eye that came from suffering and winning. She knew he’d succeed in anything he set out to do, and felt a certain awe of him.
They parted at Tibbie’s door, and when Emma Jane went in she found Tibbie and Effie admiring a little framed picture that was propped up on the mantelshelf. ‘Look what Tim brought me,’ Tibbie said, turning towards Emma Jane and holding out the picture.
It was a naive portrait of a girl with a mass of red hair. Her eyelids were drooping and her mouth curved sweetly. She looked as if she were on the verge of sleep when the artist drew her.
‘What a beauty,’ sighed Emma Jane. Even though the artist was unskilled, the girl’s loveliness shone out of the picture.
‘It’s my Hannah,’ said Tibbie proudly.
‘And it’s her to the life. She had that sort of dreamy look about her,’ chipped in Effie.
‘But she wasn’t aye dreamy,’ Tibbie said defensively.
‘No, no, but she looked as if she was, especially when she was happy,’ Effie quickly agreed.
‘She was happy right to the end,’ said Tibbie softly. The pain was lessening now but she knew that it would never go away completely.
Emma Jane carefully put the picture back on the shelf and Tibbie told her, ‘Tim brought it to me today. He said he’d been carrying the paper round with him since she died, but he was afraid it’d get spoiled and so he had it framed. Now that he’s going to be off again soon, he’s given it to me. He says that he’ll always be able to see it when he comes back to Camptounfoot. If he kept it, he might lose it.’
What a fine couple they must have looked, thought Emma Jane – the lovely girl with the red hair and the darkly handsome, vibrant man. What sort of a woman would he find to marry as his second wife? Another beauty, no doubt. She felt very small and mousy again: Miss Emma Jane Wylie, spinster of Newcastle.
‘Did he say where he was going after the bridge is opened?’ she asked lightly.
Tibbie shook her head. ‘He’s no idea. He’s been invited to visit that Lord Godolphin in London – the one who ran away with young Mrs Anstruther. He might go but he won’t stay, of course. He was talking about France, too. There’s a lot of railway-building going on there, apparently. Poor laddie, he hasn’t a soul in the world.’
‘He’s got you,’ said Effie.
‘He has – and he says he’ll aye come back and see me. And I’m sure he will,’ said Tibbie proudly.
At that moment it struck Emma Jane that Tibbie had no insecurities about the future. She was settled and secure in Camptounfoot, grounded deep in he
r native village, with family and friends around her; she had no doubt about what was going to happen to her. When the railway-builders went away, her life would go on as it always had. The ghostly Romans would march the street forever. Tibbie would grow old and in time she’d die. In future years someone else like her would live in her cottage, do the same things, have friends like Tibbie’s friends and they, too, would grow old and die… The awareness of a continuing circle of life and death in the little cottage was very comforting somehow.
‘I’m going to Newcastle for a few days,’ Emma Jane told them, ‘but I’ll come back for Opening Day. I hope you’ll be there, Tibbie. I’ve reserved you a seat in the special viewing enclosure – and seats for you and William, too, Effie.’
‘Oh, we wouldn’t miss it,’ they chorused together. Then Tibbie laughed, ‘I never thought I’d hear myself say that!’
* * *
Emma Jane had been away from the city for months; she felt like a visitor from another world when she got off the train and was met by the faithful Haggerty with a hired cab. When they reached the cottage, she was delighted once more by its homely, cosy appearance. Mrs Haggerty was at the door with a broad smile on her face and she cried out, ‘Oh Miss Emma Jane, you do look well! Life up there must be suiting you just fine.’
‘I nearly didn’t recognise you at the station, Miss. You seem to have grown much taller, Miss Emma.’
‘I haven’t,’ she assured him with a smile. ‘My skirt’s still too long for me. You’ve got everything looking so pretty. You’ve done really well.’
The garden was full of the same sort of flowers that bloomed in Tibbie’s – honeysuckle, tightly-furled old roses, tall white lilies, pink and purple phlox, feverfew with its little white flowers and grey-green serrated leaves. Sunflowers were ranged along the cottage wall beside tall pink hollyhocks. It was very different from the regimented trimness of the flowerbeds at Wyvern Villa.
‘Your poor Mama’s so much better. She and your Aunt Louisa are out to tea but they’ll be home soon,’ said Mrs Haggerty as she ushered Emma Jane inside. All of a sudden the girl’s spirits plunged and a cloud came over the sun. Only a little time of freedom was left to her.
An hour later Mrs Wylie, restored to health, came bustling in with Louisa stalking behind her. ‘Darling, you look so healthy, positively rural and almost plump,’ she cried at the sight of her daughter. Emma Jane stood in the hall with a smile of greeting on her face as her mother advanced towards her, lips pursed for a kiss. It was never delivered, however, for she stopped dead and gave a gasp. ‘Oh heavens, Emma Jane, you’ve still got those awful freckles! You’re like a leopard. I told you never to go out without a bonnet. Oh Louisa, look at her. Isn’t it awful? What can be done about her complexion?’
Emma Jane put a hand to her face and stepped back. ‘They’re not so bad in the winter,’ she said defensively.
‘This isn’t the winter,’ moaned her mother. ‘Everyone will see you like that when we go to the opening of your father’s bridge.’
Emma Jane bristled. ‘It’s my bridge,’ she thought, but didn’t actually say it because she drove the resentment away in the same manner as she had always repressed her resentments in the past. Her cowardice frightened her. Little by little, she knew, her old weak personality would re-emerge and engulf her if she stayed at home too long. Like a drowning woman she’d have to fight to keep her head above water, fight for survival.
She decided to change the subject. ‘The cottage is looking very pretty, Mama,’ she said.
Mrs Wylie brightened. ‘Yes, isn’t it? Louisa thinks it’s poky but I love it really. I don’t think I’d like to live in Wyvern Villa again.’ Emma Jane was surprised at this show of independent thinking from her mother and cheered up considerably.
Aunt Louisa was not so easily defeated, however. She laughed politely and said to Arabella, ‘You always did like dolls’ houses, my dear. But you really need something bigger, especially when Emma Jane comes home to stay. We’ll move to a better area where there are more eligible bachelors. She might find a nice husband once those freckles fade away.’
Emma Jane had to restrain herself from telling them about Alex Robertson but instead she said firmly, ‘I don’t think I’ll be staying at home for long.’
The two women stared at her. ‘Where will you go? What will you live on?’ asked her mother.
Of course her father’s estate was vested in her mother for life, but at least she had her allowance – £150 per year. She could live on that, Emma Jane said to herself. After all, she had managed on the equivalent of £30 per year at Camptounfoot. ‘On my allowance,’ she said grandly.
Her aunt and her mother looked at her askance.
‘What’s happened to you, Emma Jane?’ said her mother with a quaver in her voice.
‘I’ve grown up, Mama,’ replied Emma Jane.
Chapter Twenty
Before she left Maddiston to go to Newcastle, Emma Jane had reserved rooms in the recently-opened Grand Station Hotel for Mrs Wylie, Aunt Louisa and Amelia’s family.
With her mother and aunt, she arrived in the town the day before the bridge opening. Amelia, Dan and the children were to come from Hexham next day. ‘I hope you like your rooms,’ Emma Jane said to her aunt when they had settled into the hotel, which was decked with flags to honour the opening of the extension of the railway.
‘They’re adequate. It’s a small place, not like Harrogate, of course. They do as well as they can here.’
Mrs Wylie, who was anxious to keep the peace between her sister and her daughter, enquired, ‘Is your room comfortable, my dear?’
‘I’m not staying here, Mama – I’m going back to Camptounfoot tonight. Mrs Mather’s expecting me. I want to walk the bridge: there might be things to do before the opening ceremony tomorrow.’
‘Oh dear, this bridge!’ exclaimed Mrs Wylie, throwing up her hands as if Emma Jane had been talking about a favourite toy.
‘I’ll send a carriage to bring you all down tomorrow,’ said Emma Jane patiently.
‘We’ll see you there, then,’ replied her mother brightly. ‘It’s twelve o’clock, isn’t it, when the first train crosses Papa’s bridge?’
Emma Jane gritted her teeth, ‘Why do I get so annoyed? She’s not deliberately trying to hurt me,’ she thought, then said out loud: ‘Yes, it’s twelve o’clock, Mama. The carriage will pick you up at eleven.’
She walked the length of the bridge before she went back to Tibbie’s, stepping with long strides over the gleaming metal lines and hopping from sleeper to sleeper. The sides of the bridge were draped with huge festoons of red, white and blue interspersed with flags in the railway company’s colours of dark-green and gold. Flags fluttered from tall poles on the reception platform, and men in striped aprons were carrying up potted plants and distributing them around the speakers’ dais. All the workers were strangers and no one spoke to her, but now she was filled with pride and exultation about her achievement. The melancholy was gone. She stood in the roadway and stared up at her bridge like someone having a vision.
Tibbie’s cottage when she reached it was a haven. She sank into her favourite chair by the fire and heard all the gossip. Wee Lily was definitely pregnant, despite the potion Tibbie had made her drink; she was swelling up fast and, amazingly, delighted to be having a baby. She had forgotten all about its terrible begetting.
‘She and Big Lily are coming to wave flags tomorrow. They’re thrilled. Most of the village is turning out, too – even Jo and Mr Jessup. We’re all fair proud of you, Emma Jane,’ said Tibbie happily.
She didn’t mention Tim Maquire and eventually Emma Jane was forced to ask, ‘Is Maquire going to be at the opening?’
‘Of course. He’s been to London to see Lord and Lady Godolphin and he had a grand time. What tales he has to tell! And you’ve never seen such braw clothes as he’s come back with. He’s a great dandy is Tim. He’s been in here today telling me all about Mrs Bethya and Gentleman Sydney. Apparen
tly Sydney just turned up at the door of Bella Vista and asked the maid to fetch her mistress. When Mrs Anstruther came down, he asked her to run off with him and she went! Imagine! She thought she was running away with a navvy. It was a real shock to her when she found out she’d eloped with a lord! Sydney told Tim he didn’t tell her in case it made her keen to get him. Tim said they’re fair daft about each other though.’
Emma Jane nodded. ‘Gentleman Sydney is a very nice man in spite of pretending that he isn’t. They’ll be happy, I’m sure. They didn’t know about the fire, did they?’
‘Not for a long time. They said the maid went crazy when she saw that Bethya was going away. She shouted and screamed and carried on like a mad thing. They thought she’d calm down eventually, but of course she didn’t.’
‘Are they coming to the opening?’ asked Emma Jane.
Tibbie shook her head. ‘No, they said it would be tactless because Mrs Anstruther and the Colonel will be there. The Colonel’s much better since he heard Bethya wasn’t killed, but his wife’s still very bitter. She’s the only one who seems to mourn that Mr Gus.’
‘Poor man,’ said Emma Jane, but Tibbie dismissed Gus with a flick of the hand.
‘Och, he wasn’t worth much. Now tell me what you’re going to wear for the opening. It’ll take something to outshine Tim, I can tell you!’
‘I wouldn’t even try,’ grinned Emma Jane. ‘I’ve a purple outfit that was made by a dressmaker in Newcastle, and I’ve only worn it twice. I was keeping it for something special and I think this could be it.’
The weather gods were kind, for next day dawned bright and fair. The cloudless blue sky told everyone that there would be no rain to disrupt the ceremony and no wind either, because everything was still and golden under a kindly sun. In her nightgown, Emma Jane walked out into Tibbie’s garden and sat under the old apple tree. Its branches were heavy with green apples, and a flock of multi-coloured butterflies fluttered past her as she breathed in the gloriously sweet air. She felt utterly tranquil and happy, her mind emptied of all speculation about the future and all regrets over the past. There and then, she made a resolution. ‘I’m not going to worry about anything all of today. I’ll think about my future tomorrow.’
A Bridge in Time Page 57