‘Well — ’
‘Is he in rags?’ Rebecca's eyes were like flints. ‘Is he starving?’
‘No. But — ’
‘No doubt he feels he's stricken.’ Rebecca grimaced. ‘But then, he hasn't seen the poverty here. He does not know the orphans of this town. He hasn't stumbled over bundles of rags, which are actually human beings. Or seen the miserable creatures who huddle against my furnace wall on cold winter nights. Who creep into my factory yard to beg stale scraps, or a bucketful of cinders, or a few bits of coal.’
Rebecca sniffed. ‘Never fear,’ she said. ‘I don't want his money. I don't want anything from the Lowells.’
‘No?’ Relieved and delighted, Ellis hugged Rebecca close. ‘I hoped you'd say that.’
‘Did you? Why?’
‘Because I think I understand you. That when I decided you were generous and good–hearted, I did not deceive myself. I — ’
‘I shall never sell my factory, you know.’ Rebecca met his eyes. ‘If I become your wife — if I become anyone's wife — my husband must not imagine I shall meekly hand all my property to him. To do with as he thinks fit.’
‘My dear Rebecca!’ Ellis shook his head. ‘What sort of tyrant do you think I am? I offer you everything. My home, my land, my heart. Will you take it all? Give nothing in exchange?’
‘If we marry, I shall be obliged to give you all that I have. The law will allow you to call everything of mine your own.’
‘Not necessarily. In our case, definitely not.’ Reassuringly, Ellis smiled. ‘We will see a lawyer. There will be a settlement. It will bind us both. Rebecca, I — ’
‘You mustn't think I'm mean. That I'm greedy.’ Rebecca felt guilty now. ‘You see, my grandfather left everything to me. I owe it to myself, to my children even, to see it prosper. If I marry, I must be the wife of a man who understands this. Who will not destroy everything for which my grandfather and I have worked.’
‘I understand.’ Ellis hugged her. ‘It sounds as if you might have changed your mind,’ he added. ‘Have you?’
‘I — ’
‘Will you marry me?’ Taking Rebecca's face between his hands, Ellis made her look at him. ‘Ladies love to torment,’ he whispered. ‘To tease. To keep men in suspense, to exercise their power. But all the same — ’
‘Ellis, that's not fair! Rebecca pushed his hands away. ‘Whatever I am, I'm no tormentor. I do not tease. I say what I mean. I always have.’
‘Then say you'll be my wife.’
‘I — ’
‘Say it!’
‘I'll be your wife.’ Rebecca looked at him. ‘With all my heart I will. Ellis?’
‘Yes?’
‘Our wedding. How soon can it be?’
Ellis kissed her. ‘As soon as the banns are read,’ he replied.
Chapter 14
Lalage was furious. She cursed Ellis and his prospective bride roundly, wishing them nothing but misfortune and sorrow for the rest of their days. She found little comfort in the fact that the wedding was to be a hole and corner affair. She couldn't imagine Ellis wanting anything else.
Obliged by law to marry in an Anglican church, as opposed to a Presbyterian chapel, Rebecca insisted on a plain and simple ceremony devoid of idolatry or fuss. Ellis hadn't argued the point. Informed by Lalage that, if no persons of quality or fashion were invited, she wasn't coming either, he simply shrugged. He told her to do as she thought fit.
Married early one Tuesday morning in the plainest, lowest church in the whole of the West Midlands, Ellis and Rebecca had their marriage vows witnessed by Lyddy Searle and her good friend Matthew Harris. Feeling it incumbent upon him to attend, Alex was an uncomfortable and self– conscious groom's man.
After a simple wedding breakfast at Rebecca's old home, the new husband took his bride straight back to Easton Hall. Disgruntled tenants, who had stuffed and tippled for days when Lalage and Alex were married, lined the drive to see the new mistress go by. They waved and grinned, but there were no cheers or whoops of glee.
‘They were hoping for a rather more lavish affair. They'd expected there to be feasting and carousing. Dancing on the village green.’ Taking Rebecca's hands in his, Ellis shook his head. ‘We'll have to give them all a good dinner, instead.’
‘Of course! We must see to it at once.’ Rebecca smiled. ‘Could we use one of the bigger barns? Would they all fit in? Dear Ellis! I want to know everyone on the estate. Every single person. I must meet them all.’
* * * *
A day or two before the wedding, Rebecca's boxes had been taken to her new home. Now, as the wedding coach bowled merrily along the avenue towards the Hall, her new maid was busily unpacking them, and exclaiming as she did so that the new Mrs Darrow's taste in underclothes was singular. She'd never known a lady who favoured things so plain.
‘Oh, she don't need finery. She don't want frills.’ Detailed to assist the lady's maid, the under–housemaid began to fold bedgowns and shifts. These she would stow in the new cedarwood press. ‘She's like an angel,’ she declared. ‘Fair–haired. Blue–eyed. Her skin's like ivory. She's really beautiful.’
The girl grinned. ‘I expect the master's longing to get her to bed. I'll bet he can't wait for dark.’
‘Don't be so vulgar, Molly.’ Finishing her unpacking, the lady's maid looked all round the bedchamber. ‘Well,’ she said complacently, ‘they can come up any time they please. It's all ready now.’
* * * *
‘I'm sure we shall be the very best of friends. The closest of sisters, too.’ Welcoming this new sister into the family, Lalage treated her with a gracious condescension which, at first, Rebecca found extremely unsettling. But she was determined to love her sister–in–law, so she tried very hard to adapt.
She succeeded. A fortnight into her honeymoon, the new Mrs Darrow was receiving small gifts and extravagant compliments every bit as graciously as her sister–in–law could offer them. She decided that although her husband's sister was undeniably affected, very silly and most unattractively overdressed, Lalage was probably good at heart.
So, like a grub burrowing into a wholesome apple, Lalage wormed her way into Rebecca's affections. When she was comfortably established, she would sit down to plot.
* * * *
‘Rebecca! How charming!’ Charming herself in blond lace and pale blue satin, the following Sunday morning Lalage cornered Rebecca in the drawing room. She exclaimed and complimented until Rebecca blushed scarlet. Then she turned to her husband. ‘Alex!’ She dragged him across the floor. ‘Darling, do look at Rebecca! Did you ever see anything so lovely?’
‘What?’ Alex seldom saw anyone even half as lovely as his wife. He was never attracted to pasty–faced blondes. But, obligingly, he glanced in Rebecca's general direction. Seeing she was simply dressed, in a pink striped gown which suited her very well, he smiled. ‘She looks very pretty,’ he said. He took out his watch. ‘Lally, what's become of Ellis? He's very late.’
‘No, he isn't. It's only a quarter to. Don't fuss.’ Lalage took Rebecca's hand. ‘Shall we go outside?’ she suggested. ‘I told them to bring the coach round here. If we stand on the sweep, we can take the air while we wait.’
‘Ellis said something about walking to church.’ Rebecca looked towards the door. ‘My dear Lalage, a five minutes’ walk — ’
‘A walk?’ Scornfully, Lalage laughed. ‘Oh, my dearest sister! The Darrows never walk to church. Whatever would the parish think of us?’
‘All the same, Ellis did say — ’
‘What did Ellis say?’ Coming into the room, Ellis looked from his wife to his sister. ‘Well, Lally? It's a fine morning, so I suggest we walk to church. If we go across the meadow and up the lane — ’
‘We will arrive muddied to the knees and frozen to the marrow.’ Lalage frowned in distaste. ‘Oh, Ellis!’ she wailed now, her voice high in mock despair. ‘Your breeches! Your hat!’
‘What's wrong with them?’
‘They make you l
ook like a farmer. A tenant farmer, at that.’ Eyeing her brother's plain black coat and drab fustian breeches, the elegant Mrs Lowell shook her head. ‘I had hoped your wife might civilise you,’ she said. ‘But I see now that it is not to be. Whatever Rebecca may say, you will have your own way still.’
Now Simmons came in, to announce the carriage was at the door. Ellis frowned. But then he shrugged. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘Ride if you wish.’ He offered Rebecca his arm. ‘Will you walk with me?’ he asked.
Rebecca put her hand on his sleeve. ‘Of course, my dear Ellis,’ she replied.
They watched the carriage bowl away. ‘Would you have preferred to ride?’ asked Ellis.
‘No, not at all,’ Rebecca replied.
‘Good.’ Ruefully, Ellis grimaced. He sighed. ‘I know things are sometimes difficult,’ he said. ‘I'm aware that it's awkward for you, living here. Adapting to a completely different way of life.’
‘I don't find it all difficult.’ Rebecca smiled up at him. ‘There are certain things about Easton Hall which I love.’
‘All the same.’ Ellis smiled in return. ‘You don't have to come to church, you know. If you wish, we could drive over to Hensham. To attend the Presbyterian chapel there.’
‘That won't be necessary. Not at all.’ Rebecca shrugged. ‘I belong here now. So I shall attend the church on this estate.’
‘As you wish ’
‘I do wish it.’ Rebecca shook her head. ‘I have searched my conscience. I've prayed for guidance, and received it. I'm doing the right thing, I'm sure.’
* * * *
Mrs Ellis Darrow kept her controlling interest in the factory, visiting at least twice a week. Usually, Ellis went with her. Soon, he began to understand the toy trade. But with understanding came the desire to be involved. To interfere.
‘You know, Becky,’ he began, as he and she drove home through the darkness of a winter afternoon, ‘you must get a manager. I need you at Easton now. I can't have you spending whole days in Birmingham, when you might be at home with me.’
‘Ellis, when I agreed to marry you, I told you quite plainly — ’
‘That you wouldn't give up the factory. I'm not asking you to. I'm merely suggesting you should appoint a manager, who will make decisions and protect your interests when you can't be there.’
‘Good managers are as rare as unicorns.’ Frowning, Rebecca bit her lower lip. ‘I am the manager,’ she added, crossly. ‘I make the decisions. I — ’
‘Why don't you put Miss Searle in charge?’
‘Aunt Lyddy?’ Rebecca stared. Then she laughed out loud. ‘Oh, Ellis! That's absurd. Why, she's ignorant. She's old.’
‘Nonsense. She's not yet forty.’ Ellis shook his head. ‘She may not be well–educated, but she's very sensible. Clever, even. She has your best interests at heart. I think she'd be ideal.’
‘Do you?’ Rebecca grimaced. ‘Ellis, forgive me, but I must speak plainly now. You're meddling in matters you don't understand. Allow me to manage my manufactory as I think fit — and, in return, I shall not criticise the way in which you run your estate.’
‘Speak to your aunt about taking over.’
‘No!’ Rebecca folded her arms. ‘Ellis, it's a ridiculous scheme. One which will end in disaster for all concerned.’
‘Very well.’ Ellis sighed. ‘I'll speak to her myself.’
‘Ellis, you mustn't. You can't!’
‘My dear Rebecca, I shall make no proposals which I have not previously discussed with you. But you must at least consider what I say.’ Complacently, Ellis smiled. ‘I'm sure we shall eventually reach an amicable agreement here.’
‘Are you, indeed?’ Turning away from him, Rebecca stared out of the window. But, able to see nothing but the black silhouettes of winter trees made eerie by the flickering light from the coachlamps, she lapsed into contemplative silence.
Long before Ellis had brought the subject up, Rebecca had indeed been wondering how she was to combine the rôle of factory manager with that of squire's lady. She'd soon realised it was an impossible task. There was simply too much to do. A series of sleepless nights, turning various expedients over in her mind, brought her no nearer a solution to the problem. Tonight was no different in that respect.
The following morning, Ellis told her he and his land agent would be riding over to a tenant farm some seven miles distant, so would be away from home until supper time. ‘Have a rest today, my dear,’ he advised, as he kissed her goodbye. ‘You look tired.’
Rebecca ordered the carriage and drove into Birmingham, instead.
* * * *
Hearing wheels on the cobblestones, Lyddy came out to greet the visitor. Out of the office, not out of the house. ‘Rebecca!’ Delighted, she beamed. ‘Did you leave something behind yesterday?’
‘No.’ Rebecca kissed Lyddy's cheek. ‘I merely wished to talk to you again. That's all.’
‘Well, then. Talk away.’ Gaily, Lyddy laughed. ‘My time is yours, after all.’
Now, for the first time in months, Rebecca looked closely at Lyddy Searle. She was struck by the changes these few months had made. For a start, Lyddy was smiling — she smiled a good deal these days. Also, there were touches of colour about her attire.
Formerly clad only in penitential browns, greys and drabs, now Lyddy sported blues, pinks and reds. Today, a bright blue neckerchief adorned her shoulders. A pink ribbon was threaded through the bodice of her gown.
Lyddy took Rebecca into the house. On the table were flowers. Fresh, hot–house flowers. ‘Where did you get those?’ asked Rebecca.
‘Oh, a friend sent them over. Yesterday evening.’ Lyddy blushed. ‘Tea, Becky? You look as if you could do with a cup.’
Lyddy always had the tea things ready. Now she picked up the kettle and poured hot water on to the leaves. ‘You're looking very pretty today,’ she observed. ‘Very sweet indeed. Is Mr Darrow well?’
‘Ellis is in excellent health.’ Rebecca sipped her tea. She remembered now. Yesterday, while she went round the workshops, Lyddy and Ellis had been alone together for a full half hour. Maybe more. ‘Have you and Ellis been discussing me?’ she asked. ‘Talking about me, behind my back?’
‘Of course not!’ Colouring, Lyddy shook her head. ‘But yesterday, he did say — ’
‘The factory needs a manager.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘He thinks it should be you.’
‘Oh, no!’ Looking Rebecca full in the face, Lyddy's countenance was open. Her blue eyes were perfectly candid — there was no guile in them at all. ‘But he did say he was concerned about you. That your duties at Easton were numerous, and he felt you needed — ’
‘A manager. Quite.’
For a moment or two, both women were silent. Each sipped her tea, and considered. Then Lyddy reached across to touch Rebecca's sleeve. ‘I could do it, you know,’ she said, mildly. ‘I could take charge.’
‘You, Aunt?’ Rebecca put down her cup. ‘You, manage a great manufactory?’
‘Why not?’ Lyddy shook Rebecca's arm. ‘Over the years, I've seen all that goes on here. I understand the processes. I know how things are done. When you were first married, who managed the place then? Who oversaw the manufactory for at least a fortnight, who — ’
‘I don't deny you could cope for a mere two weeks. Anyone could. But — ’
‘Ask me anything.’ Lyddy was on her feet now. ‘Test my fitness for the task. We'll go round the workshops, shall we? You can examine me in detail then. I may surprise you!’
So, Rebecca and Lyddy made a tour of the factory. Here, Lyddy displayed such perfect grasp of the processes and profound understanding of the work in hand that Rebecca was astonished.
‘Miss Searle?’ Michael Cuthbertson spoke now — not to Rebecca, but to Lyddy herself. ‘I've three boys idle this morning. Shall they go and help the furnacemen, or shall I give them instruction in soldering? I've finished the task I was working on myself.’
Accustomed to gi
ving orders, Rebecca was about to reply. But then she realised Michael was not even looking at her. She glanced at Lyddy.
‘Take two of them into the workshop, and let one go and help work the bellows. Turn and turn about.’ Lyddy looked at the boys in question. ‘Henry here has some experience of soldering, has he not?’
‘Yes indeed, Miss Searle. But David and Jacob — ’
‘Have not. In that case, take them for the morning, then call Henry to join you at noon.’
* * * *
Seated in Rebecca's office, Lyddy started to open the day's post. ‘Well, Becky?’ she asked, as she smoothed letters, sorting them into separate heaps of bills, orders and general enquiries which required more detailed attention. ‘Did I disappoint you?’
‘You amazed me.’ Always candid, Rebecca smiled. ‘You have the respect of the men. You know more about the apprentices than I do myself.’
Gratified, Lyddy blushed. ‘So?’
‘I think you'd be an excellent overseer. For the time being, anyway.’
‘Temporarily, you mean. Until you find someone more suitable.’ Lyddy bit her lip. ‘You'd really prefer a man to be in charge.’
‘Oh, no. But I must consider — ’
‘What about Michael Cuthbertson?’ Lyddy spiked the last letter on to its pile. ‘He and I could do the job between us.’
‘Could you?’
‘Certainly.’ Lyddy shrugged. ‘I know he's a rough sort of man, but he does know his trade. He's honest, and the other men like him. Becky, it would be as well to have a man like Michael firmly bound to us.’
‘Bound to us?’
‘Yes.’ Lyddy was solemn now. ‘They're always murmuring, you know. Among themselves, that is. Even here, they read pamphlets, they discuss policy, they plot and they scheme. After work, they attend meetings. Those clubs and friendly societies — they're just a cover for sedition! Mark my words, Becky. One day, there'll be trouble.’
‘But what have they to complain of?’ Rebecca frowned. ‘Their work is hard, I grant you. But I pay them well. I'm no slave driver, they could never accuse me of that.’
‘No, indeed. They think well of the Searles. They've no quarrel with you or me.’ Lyddy sighed. ‘It's the system they hate. They want no more divisions, no more distance between master and man. So, trust me. Speak to Michael. Offer him the chance to be a manager, answerable only to you and to me.’
A Green Bay Tree Page 16