by Anne Doughty
Hugh stopped outside Ballydown, but kept the engine running.
‘I’d be poor company tonight, Sarah,’ he said wearily. ‘Tell your mother I’ll see her tomorrow and I’ll expect Sam up later,’ he went on, as she picked up her camera.
‘Sam?’ she repeated, puzzled.
‘Yes, he’s home this weekend and he needs a bed for the night,’ he replied, all the life gone out of his voice.
‘Goodnight, Hugh,’ she said quickly, baffled by the reference to Sam, but concerned by the exhaustion she saw written all over his face. ‘Thank you for bringing me home. Please try not to worry. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Rose glanced up from her chair by the fire when she heard the engine. She recognised the familiar footstep on the garden path.
‘Sarah!’ she exclaimed, completely taken aback by the apparition who appeared in the doorway.
Her dark hair was threaded with grey, her working dress streaked with dust, her white blouse creased and crumpled and smudged with soot, but she herself seemed entirely composed, unaware of the slightest disarrangement of her dress.
Rose got to her feet and checked her impulse to go and put her arms round her.
‘Sarah love, Peter Jackson told us you’d gone to Millbrook. Are you all right?’ she asked, as coolly as she could manage.
Sarah made no answer. She moved over the threshold and stood looking absently from Sam to the other figure who sat by the fire.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ she replied after a pause, her eyes fixed on an unknown young woman.
‘Come and meet your new sister-in-law,’ Rose said, slipping an arm round her waist and drawing her forward. ‘Martha, this is Sarah, Sam’s younger sister. Sarah, Sam and Martha are going to be married in October, on Sam’s twenty-first birthday. October the 24th. Isn’t that a lovely idea?’
She offered her hand to the red-headed girl and registered at last the uneasy, puzzled glances she and Sam were giving her.
‘Martha, I’m sorry. I’ve just realised how dirty I am,’ she said easily. ‘Ma, do I smell of smoke?’
‘Yes, you do. Very strongly. And machine oil. And you have dark circles under your eyes. I can’t tell whether its soot or tiredness.’
Sam came forward to give her a hug. As she felt his soft, warm arms close around her, she suddenly felt tears spring to her eyes. She had no idea why she should cry. Perhaps it was tears of joy, because he looked so happy. Perhaps tears of sorrow for all the poor people who’d been made jobless by today’s fire. Or perhaps she was just tired out. Tired beyond politeness. Quite beyond saying friendly things to this unknown and rather unprepossessing girl.
‘Martha, if you’ll excuse me. I think perhaps Sarah could do with a hand to get washed and changed.’
Rose picked up a kettle of water from the stove and gently propelled her towards the stairs.
‘Sam dear, would you like to take Martha out to see Dolly,’ she suggested, over her shoulder. ‘Maybe you’d have a wee walk perhaps, till your father gets back. I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Neither Rose nor Sarah quite knew what to make of Martha Loney. A plain girl with rather sharp features and small bright eyes, she laughed a great deal and like many plain girls managed to look appealing enough. She appeared to have no strong likes or dislikes, accepted the preoccupations of the household and said little about herself.
The questions Rose put to her, designed to show interest rather than curiosity, she answered politely enough. But beyond the bare facts that her father farmed near Richhill Station, she had an uncle a grocer in the village itself and two other uncles and an older brother in America, they were left to guess what so appealed to Sam he wanted to marry the moment he reached twenty-one.
Late on Saturday afternoon, Sam explained they had to go back to Richhill to share their news with some friends and to visit an old aunt of Martha’s on the following day. Rose was relieved to see them go. She had found Martha’s presence curiously depressing and she was concerned she’d had no chance to talk to Sarah about the fire.
‘Now, love, I want to hear about yesterday,’ she said, as she pulled forward the kettle on the stove. ‘I hadn’t the heart to ask you when you were so tired and there hasn’t been much chance since,’ she went on, sitting down gratefully in her own chair to wait for the kettle to boil.
‘It’s a long time since you’ve had to wash my face for me,’ Sarah said, grinning broadly.
Sarah too breathed a sigh of relief. Apart from the small murmurings of the kettle the only other sound to be heard in the big kitchen was the soothing tick of the American wall clock.
As Rose made tea, she glanced up at the small and much quieter clock on the mantelpiece and thought of John. Hugh had collected him at eight o’clock and now it was nearly five. She wished she’d made sandwiches for the pair of them. But then they might have had lunch in Banbridge. Much of the morning would be spent there, talking to the Bank Manager and the local representative of the insurance company.
‘Ma,’ began Sarah thoughtfully, her mind still full of the recently departed couple rather than her own adventures. ‘Did you notice that Martha never looks at Sam, except in the ordinary way?’
‘Yes, I did notice,’ said replied, nodding, as she fetched mugs from the dresser. ‘But I thought maybe she was avoiding being too affectionate. Someone may have told her mothers are always jealous.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Sarah retorted, her brow furrowed in a familiar frown. ‘I can’t imagine Martha listening to anything anyone told her. She seems to shake everything off. Nothing reaches her.’
‘“Like water off a duck’s back”, my mother used to say,’ she offered promptly, Sarah’s words bringing into focus something she’d been puzzling over since Martha’s arrival.
They sat in silence for a little while, Rose wondering if perhaps the events at Millbrook were too distressing, or too recent for Sarah to want to speak of them yet, while Sarah was actually asking herself if Martha Loney really loved Sam or was just pleased to have such a good-natured and successful young man to show off to her relations.
‘Ma, how did you know Da was the man for you?’
The question was so unexpected, Rose hardly knew what to say.
‘Oh dear, now you’ve got me. It was rather a long time ago,’ she said, pausing. ‘I suppose there’s no use telling you I just knew?’
‘No,’ said Sarah, shaking her head. ‘I need to know how you knew.’
‘All right. I promise I’ll give my mind to it and give you a proper answer as soon as I can.’
Walking up the slope to the motor, parked by the roadside at Corbet Lough that Sunday afternoon, Sarah looked back over her shoulder and saw the two adult swans moving slowly away across the calm water.
‘I wish I could be here to help you, Hugh,’ she began. ‘Not shut up in the studio all week.’
He smiled and followed her gaze out across the blue-grey, shimmering expanse.
‘You’ve been a great help already,’ he said, as they climbed into the motor and sat watching the family of grubby looking cygnets following behind their elegant parents.
‘Your idea of relocating the engine house at the other end of the building and starting with half a mill is well worth looking into,’ he continued. ‘Your father says the machines have taken no harm at all. Every door was properly closed, so the smoke didn’t get across the stairwell. That’s something to be pleased about.’
She’d left her departure to the last possible moment, utterly reluctant to go back to the city and now sat in the slow-moving train, moodily watching the dusk gather over the countryside. She asked herself why she’d found it so very hard to leave this particular time. She kept coming up with the same answer.
All afternoon, she’d been so aware of the lines of strain in his face. She smiled ruefully to herself. It wasn’t surprising she knew all the telltale signs of weariness and anxiety, was it? After all, she’d known h
im since she was six years old.
‘That’s the problem,’ she exclaimed, alone in the rattling carriage, the lights of scattered farms now blossoming like starflowers in the folds of dark fields and on the sides of the little hills. ‘He’s been my best friend for so long now I can’t tell whether I love him or not.’
With her mind so preoccupied by Millbrook, Rathdrum and Ballydown, Monday’s work at the studio was a real burden. She had to force herself to concentrate. Anything less than her total attention would produce the sort of error that would bring Mrs Cheesman down on her like a ton of bricks. She ended the day exhausted, too weary even to ask for permission to print the roll of film she’d developed at the weekend.
Even when one paid for the printing paper and used chemicals about to be thrown away, Mrs Cheesman managed to make her permission into a grand concession. On this occasion, Sarah felt she couldn’t trust her temper. Had she not wanted to study the pictures as soon as possible, she’d have sent them away to be done.
When the lady in question failed to turn up for work on Tuesday morning, she was relieved and delighted. Not only was the atmosphere more relaxed, but when she had a word with Harry Carroll, the senior darkroom assistant, he offered to print her pictures and give her a lesson in enlarging using her own negatives.
A kindly man, with no great love for Mrs Cheesman, Harry watched as the images came up in the developer and listened to her story of the fire. He nodded gravely when she spoke of the number of people who might be put out of work. They printed all the pictures on Tuesday morning, leaving them to wash and dry while they processed the previous day’s work. Then, late in the day, when they’d studied the prints in good light, Harry made a second set of enlargements himself showing her how to pull out detail by shading in and dodging out as he called it. She went home from work delighted with what she’d learnt and well-pleased with the folder of carefully selected enlargements under her arm. She spent the evening writing to Hannah and Teddy about the fire and ended up feeling much easier in her mind, once she’d set it all down on paper.
But her good spirits did not last. Coming down to breakfast next morning, she found a letter from her mother. Unable to bear the thought of a whole week without news, she’d asked her mother to write if there was any significant progress on the insurance claim, or if the Belfast firm responsible for replacing the engines had given any delivery date.
She tore open the letter and read, her heart sinking with each paragraph.
Ballydown
Tuesday
My dearest Sarah,
I am keeping my promise, but with such a heavy heart. All my news is bad and while I hope things may seem lighter by the time you come home on Saturday, I can’t depend on it. It’s better that I warn you.
It seems the Fire Chief has presented his report to the Insurance Company and told them that the fire started in the engine house and spread to the mill. He says the engine house was already burnt out when he and his men arrived, but the mill was still burning. I know this isn’t true because both you and Hugh have told me what happened, but apparently the Fire Chief’s report is accepted by the Insurance Company in preference to the report from the Mill Manager, for obvious reasons.
I couldn’t understand what difference it made where the fire started, providing all the premiums were paid up. They were, and they are huge. I had no idea how enormous. But it seems that, in order to keep the premiums as low as possible, there are exclusion clauses concerning engine houses, the chief source of fires. That is why Da and Hugh have worked so hard on ventilation systems for them. Apparently, the fire in the mill was discovered DURING THE HOURLY INSPECTION OF THE ENGINE HOUSE when one of the foremen smelt something on the air outside and went searching for it.
If it cannot be proved that the fire started IN THE MILL BUILDING ITSELF the compensation is reduced to twenty five percent, a sum that will not even cover the new engines. Hugh’s accountant is hard at work trying to find money for rebuilding, but although interest rates are steady and Hugh’s credit is good, it is a desperate risk to take. Da is in a bad way as you would expect. As Hugh’s partner, he feels our savings should be set alongside his, as they have almost all come from the success of the mills. Hugh has said a firm ‘no’.
I know this will distress you very much and I pray there will be better news soon.
As I sat down to write, I remembered the question you asked me on Saturday after Martha and Sam had left. This is perhaps not the best time to answer it, but I shall, because I cannot bear to end this letter on such an unhappy note.
The reason I knew that your father was the man for me was that, apart from liking him and enjoying being with him, I felt MOST MYSELF in his company. Sometimes, as I look back on the bad times, and I have been reminded of them today, I am amazed at the things I managed, the courage that came to me, the hope I had the strength to generate. I feel sure these things came to me because I had a man with whom I could be MOST MYSELF.
I’ll write again as soon as I have any news whatever. I know how upset you must be.
Keep up your spirits. I am thinking of you,
Your loving
Ma
It was all Sarah could do to stop herself packing a bag, collecting up her pictures and getting the first train home. The thought was so tempting, she knew it must be wrong, so she put a few things together with her pictures, went in to work early, waited for Mr Abernethy and asked if she could have the day off, unpaid, or even the half day, to attend to a family matter.
Mr Abernethy was his usual avuncular self. Full of sympathy, he went immediately to consult Mrs Cheesman. He returned in a matter of moments full of apologies. It was simply not possible given the high level of booking for the day. He was sure she would understand.
Knowing perfectly well what the bookings were for the day and that it would’ve been perfectly possible to let her go, she was hardly able to contain her fury. As there was no where else to go, she went and sat in the lavatory adjoining the stuffy cubicle laughingly called the Staff Cloakroom. It was still only ten to eight and in there even Mrs Cheesman couldn’t follow her. She tried to think clearly. She could just walk out, here and now, but how would that look if she applied for another job?
As she heard footsteps on the stairs and her colleagues’ voices, she made up her mind. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was better than nothing. She’d get the first possible train to Banbridge after six o’clock and the last one back. She’d have nearly an hour at Ballydown.
Rose sprang to her feet, dropping her book, as she walked into the kitchen.
‘Sarah love, how did you get here? Is anything wrong?’
‘No. Nothing more than we know, that is,’ she replied, swinging off her cape gratefully, for she’d walked quickly from the station on a damp, humid evening and was now thoroughly hot and bothered.
‘Hullo, Sarah,’ said John, getting up to kiss her. ‘What brings you?’ he said, puzzled, his face traced with weary lines.
‘Photographs, Da,’ she said, still out of breath. ‘Ma wrote and told me about the insurance. I think you and Hugh need to see these pictures,’ she went on, taking a bright yellow envelope from her bag, laying it on the table and dropping gratefully unto one of the kitchen chairs beside it.
‘Have you had any supper?’ Rose asked, looking at her pale face.
‘No, I hadn’t time. I only just made the train. But I’m more thirsty than hungry.’
‘Ach, sit down and let your mother get you a bite,’ said her father briskly, as he picked up his cap. ‘I’ll away and fetch Hugh down here. Sure the poor man’s only sittin’ up there with his papers on his own. We asked him for supper, but he said he was no company for anyone,’ he explained as he paused in the doorway before striding off.
‘Would you like bacon and eggs, Sarah?’
Sarah shook her head.
‘What I’d really like is bread and jam,’ she said honestly. ‘And a whole pot of tea,’ she added, laughing.
&
nbsp; ‘You’ve brought good news?’ Rose declared, studying her closely, as she followed her into the dairy and stood watching her cutting bread. ‘Damson?’ she asked, as she reached up into the cupboard.
‘You must have known I was coming if there’s damson,’ she replied happily. ‘It’s been an awful day, Ma,’ she confessed, as Rose boiled water on the gas. ‘I asked for the day off without pay, or a half day, but that old so-and-so Cheesman said no. She could have spared me perfectly well. I nearly walked out.’
‘I couldn’t have blamed you for that. Why didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps I need a little longer.’
She was about to ask what she needed a little longer for when they heard the sound of Hugh’s motor outside.
‘How thoughtful,’ she said. ‘He’ll run you back to the station for the last train far quicker than Dolly. It’ll give you longer.’
‘Sarah,’ said Hugh, coming into the kitchen behind her father. ‘I hear you know what’s happened.’
‘Mmm,’ she said, smiling at him, her mouth full. ‘I hope I’ve got good news. Let me go and wipe my fingers.’
As Rose lit the gas lamp Sarah spread out the pictures on the table. Hugh and John stared at them unblinking.
‘They’re very clear, Sarah, but I’m afraid I can’t see how they help,’ said Hugh steadily. ‘Especially the two of the burnt out engine house with the mill still burning.’
Sarah nodded and drank gratefully from her mug of tea.
‘Those aren’t the useful ones. These are,’ she declared, moving to one end of the kitchen table where she’d lined up the pictures in the order in which she’d taken them.
‘This is the west end of the mill, before either of you got there, when the fire was just getting going and the first hose had failed.’
‘Look,’ she said, pointing to a fuzzy object in the foreground. ‘That’s the little decorative bit on the gable of the engine house. I just didn’t notice it in the picture I was so busy making sure I didn’t fall off the roof. If the fire had started in the engine house, I couldn’t have taken these pictures standing on its roof, could I?’