The Blacksmith's Wife

by Anne Doughty

  ‘Listen to this,’ he said without more ado. He began to read a convoluted text about the purchase of some land and the provisions and conditions made for its sale.

  She listened carefully, noting one or two terms with which she was not familiar.

  ‘What do you think of that?’

  ‘Of the proposition the writer is making or the terms in which he is putting them?’

  ‘Both,’ he said shortly, as there was a knock at the door accompanied by a rattle of tea cups.

  ‘Come,’ he said, raising his voice, ‘over here by the fire and put some more logs on before you go.’

  ‘Go on,’ he said, turning his back on the trolley as the two housemaids wheeled it carefully across the room, avoiding the obstacles as best they could. ‘Tell me what you think.’

  ‘I think it is unnecessarily complicated. He is making three main points. They could easily be made in half the time and space and in simpler language.’

  ‘How would you reply to that?’ he asked, poking the offending text.

  ‘If it were me or if it were you?’

  ‘Both.’

  For a moment, Sarah was completely taken aback, but there was no doubt what her answer should be.

  ‘I would apply plain speaking, ignore the flourishes and pretensions and reply as if it were simply a courteous request for a response to a proposition.’

  ‘Come to the fire, Mrs Hamilton. It is not cold today, but I find a fire cheering and tea more enjoyable with the flicker of flames. Do you agree?’

  ‘Very much so,’ she said, amazed at the sudden change in his tone. ‘However vexatious the day, it always seems better if one can watch the flicker and glow of flames and catch the smell of wood or turf. Definitely one of life’s joys,’ she said, as she sat down gratefully in the armchair opposite him and took the cup of tea he offered her.

  Yet again George Molyneux surprised her. Throughout tea, which he insisted she needed, he encouraged her with sandwiches and cake, while entertaining her with stories of his family, the problems presented by the unfinished house and those being dealt with on the committees in some of the public bodies on which he served. Without criticising individuals or revealing anything of a confidential nature, he made her laugh over the elaborate comings and goings that surrounded some of the most basic of problems.

  At one point, he mentioned a lengthy meeting in which the Workhouse Committee, of which he was chairman, was required to decide whether the purchase of ribbon for certain girls in their care was an appropriate expenditure. Sarah immediately remembered the stories told by Lily, the bonnet maker, one evening by Mary-Anne’s welcoming fire and thought how Mary-Anne would react were she to tell her that she had heard a version of the same story from Sir George himself.

  Much recovered in spirits, Sarah resumed her chair opposite Sir George who now surveyed her across the broad, leather-topped desk with its leaning towers of paper.

  ‘Mrs Hamilton, I have not forgotten the errand which brought you here, but I have one further question which has a bearing on the way that problem can be resolved. You are aware, I am sure, that I have been somewhat overwhelmed by my various duties,’ he said, waving a hand at the nearest top-heavy pile. ‘I came back from a business trip to Dublin and found that my so-called man of business had departed, leaving me his resignation without any explanation,’ he said, glaring at the offending piles of letters and documents.

  ‘That was over a week ago and although I have interviewed two young men who sounded promising, I was not impressed by their personality, despite their glowing references and their education.

  ‘I need someone with common sense, as well as education. I’ve met no one at all suitable for the position until today. I am sure we can agree a suitable salary and conditions of work to allow a certain flexibility for your other commitments, but first I must ask for your answer. Will you take over this task? You will have all my support and co-operation, but I have great need of your obvious skills.’

  Sarah laughed, put her hand to her mouth and apologised immediately. ‘My dear grandmother always told me that when I was puzzled or couldn’t understand all I needed was patience,’ she explained. ‘All would be revealed if only I applied patience.’

  She was pleased to see him smile and wondered if she should ask him for time ‘to consult her conscience’, to wait upon insight as to what she should do. But before the words had even shaped in her mind, she knew there was no need. She knew she had already made up her mind. The answer was yes.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Despite the fact that it was only a little after five o’clock, Sarah felt as if she had been away from home for several days. It was clear that both Scottie and Mary-Anne felt the same.

  She had barely turned in between the gate pillars before Scottie was taking the reins and helping her down, while Mary-Anne appeared in a flurry of skirts from the swirling smoke of a new fire, well made up against her arrival, the kettle now down at the first sound of Daisy and the trap.

  While Scottie ate his supper and Mary-Anne and Sarah downed large mugs of tea, the events of the day were tumbled out and shared, one thing leading to another, a name, a word, a person, opening up a whole new train of thought.

  It wasn’t just that Scottie and Mary-Anne had difficulty in grasping all that had happened, Sarah was having trouble herself. While she was easy enough answering their questions about the house, the stories they’d heard about it compared to what she’d seen and what Sir George had said about paying the half-year rent, she found she was just too tired to give them a full account of everything else as well.

  When Mary-Anne saw Sarah droop in her chair and announced that she’d come back up first thing in the morning, Sarah was grateful. What she missed was the look that Mary-Anne gave Scottie that had him on his feet in moments, but she sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and gave thanks when they both said, ‘See you in the morning. Sleep well,’ and she heard them pull the front door closed behind them.

  No visitor ever knocked at a closed door unless it was a matter of known illness, for a closed door meant either absence or a need for privacy.

  For a long time Sarah simply sat looking into the glowing heart of the fire, cherishing the smell of the applewood logs Billy Halligan had brought her by way of thanks for mending his best jacket so the tear it had suffered was totally invisible.

  Time passed and she found herself thinking about John. What would he say if he knew she had acquired a position with Sir George? She could almost see him on the opposite side of the hearth listening to what she told him, nodding his head and agreeing that indeed he was right, sure wasn’t she far more reliable than any young man, and just as well educated, even if she hadn’t been to some expensive school?

  But if she still had John, she would have no need and certainly no wish to have any other job than making a life together and running the forge accounts to help them make their living.

  She found herself arguing with herself. Of course, John would congratulate her if she was on her own; he would understand she had to pay the rent, he would back her on keeping the forge going, in hoping that Sam Keenan would recover and be able to come back to work as soon as he could. But what John would do was not relevant; the real problem was what she herself felt about this strange change in her fortunes.

  She sat for a long time, the fire making her drowsy. Then she found herself alert, replaying the conversation she’d had with Sir George after she’d said yes to the task of looking after his affairs, answering his letters and keeping his accounts.

  To begin with, she couldn’t quite keep up with him. When he started laying out his side of the bargain, he offered her a weekly sum that was as much as the takings for a good week at the forge in summer. He made it clear that he needed extra help in the coming month, but in return for extra hours this month she would subsequently have a day off every week until Christmas so that she could pursue her plan to collect finished pieces of clothing and embroidery from home
workers for sale in the market in Armagh.

  He also made it clear that she would have her meals with the senior staff and receive a share of leftovers with the rest of his staff whenever there was entertainment for a large number of guests.

  She’d had trouble at the time, taking it all in, but he was so clear and confident in his offer that he might as well have been reading a set of indentures written out in a clear copperplate in front of him. It all came back to her as she sat by the dying fire, too tired to make it up, but too reluctant to go to bed.

  He left out nothing. Daisy would be fed as if she were at home. If circumstances meant Sarah had to stay late, or the weather was severe, one of the outside staff would drive her home in one of the smaller carriages and pick her up again the next morning.

  He even mentioned her dresses. Having assured him that what she was wearing was her best dress, he suggested that she needed at least two more to see her through the winter. Whether she chose to make them herself or preferred the house’s dressmaker to make them, he would pay for them. She remembered smiling when he added: ‘As I pay for uniforms for the house staff, I don’t see why you should not have the same consideration. Your appearance is an appropriate part of your work.’

  She wondered what he meant by that, but by this time her eyelids were drooping and her eyes prickling with tiredness. She had to remind herself that it was still only Monday, the first Monday in October and she had said she could make a start on Wednesday. In forty-eight hours she would have completed her first day at work, a work which she could never have imagined at any time in the last years.

  Her grandmother was right, as she usually was. Time would reveal all. However interesting, taxing or boring, the task she had to perform only time would reveal. The only thing she was sure about at this moment was that Sir George Molyneux, however irritable he might be when provoked by circumstances, was a good, kind man, and from all she had now seen and heard, one whom she would willingly support in his many and various enterprises.

  Sarah was up early on Wednesday morning knowing she had bread to bake for Scottie’s evening meal and herself to wash and dress after she’d done all the dusty and dirty morning jobs.

  But there was more to do than she’d expected. She needed a fresh collar for her best dress and found her fingers were all thumbs when she took out her sewing things to secure it with a few stitches. Scottie arrived early for breakfast and asked for cleaning materials, clearly wanting to polish up Daisy’s harness before they went. She spent longer over their bowl of porridge and pot of tea than she normally would for Scottie seemed to be anxious at her being away all day, not only today, but Thursday and Friday as well.

  In many ways, it was not surprising that he was anxious, though he’d been managing well in the forge. He’d been completing any tasks that came in where he had the relevant experience, as well as shoeing all the various horses from the breadman’s heavy draught animal to the fine-boned hunters kept by the Cope family. His skill in shoeing seemed to parallel his gift of making horses feel comfortable which he’d had since his very first weeks in the forge, now over five years ago.

  But today he seemed remarkably uneasy. It looked as if it was because she was going out all day, when he’d become used to knowing she was only yards away in the house, doing her everyday work or sitting by the fire sewing small garments.

  Until now, he’d never seemed troubled if she went into Armagh with the Halligans or walked down to Mary-Anne to collect eggs, or milk, if they were running low, but she’d never been away for a whole long day, like Monday. That, it seemed had really upset him, so Mary-Anne had told her on Tuesday morning. Now it would be four long days in the week and the fifth day would join them in November when they started selling in the market in Armagh.

  Given he was not yet in his last year of apprenticeship, there was nothing surprising in him being anxious about being left on his own, but if that really was the problem what could she possibly do to reassure him? It would be a different matter, of course, if Sam Keenan was back at work, but there was no news yet this week of that happening. His wife had said last week that ‘he hadn’t the energy of a good fly’, and Sarah knew from many such stories she’d heard that if he tried to force himself it would be a bad mistake. But that was hardly going to help Scottie.

  As they sat drinking their tea, Sarah was only too aware of time moving on and things she still needed to do before she left. Try as she might, she could think of nothing she could say to him that might reassure him in her absence.

  ‘Which way d’ye go in to the demesne, the front or the back?’ he said suddenly, just as she was beginning to think she must get moving whether she liked it or not.

  ‘Oh, I think I’ll stick to the back,’ she said smiling. ‘I might bump into a coach if I went the front way. The back way is only carts and gardeners and they’re not in a desperate hurry like the coaches sometimes are. At least so says James Ervine.’

  She’d spoken lightly, but she saw the colour drain from his face. ‘What’s wrong, Scottie? What have I said to upset you?’

  He shook his head and she saw tears in his eyes. ‘I’ll niver forgit that day I waited on the pillar to see the boss comin’ home and him dead on a door wi’ the Halligans carryin’ him,’ he said, his voice choked by a great sob.

  She stood up and put her arms round him. ‘And you think I might go and die on you as well?’ she said gently.

  He nodded, tears dripping on to his dusty working trousers and marking them with dark wet spots.

  ‘Now how could I go and do that when it was you taught me to drive?’

  She was amazed at the lightness of her tone and she had no idea where the words had come from, but their effect was magical.

  ‘Aye and there’s no stone walls that way either, only ditches,’ he said, wiping his eyes, as if the ditches would provide complete protection for her in the event of an accident.

  ‘And how could I go falling in a ditch in my best dress when it’s the only one I’ve got at the moment?’

  She saw him smile and some dark shadow moved away.

  ‘You’re not anxious about being here on your own till we get Sam Keenan back?’ she asked quietly.

  To her great relief, he shook his head, ‘Ach no. People are all right if ye’re honest wi’ them. If I’m not sure I can mend somethin’ I say so. An’ if they ask about Sam I tell them what his wife tole me las’ night: “He’s grand in hisself but he still hasn’t the energy of a good fly.” He was in his bed already whin I called to see him, but shure everyone says it’s jus’ a matter of time, maybe only a week or two. He’s over the worst.’

  ‘Oh that is good news,’ Sarah said happily. She’d not expected to hear again from Sam’s wife till payday and this fresh news was a further relief. ‘If you’re ever anxious about anything, you know you could go down to the Halligans, don’t you? They’d always help out,’ she said, wanting him to feel easy.

  ‘Aye. Ah know that,’ he replied promptly, ‘but it was only you I was worried about.’

  She did her best to suppress a smile at his unconsidered honesty. ‘Well, if I promise to drive carefully, will you make sure you eat what I leave for you? So that I don’t have to worry about you, now that I’ve Sir George to look after. I’m not even in my work dress yet and it’s nearly time to go,’ she added quickly.

  ‘Never worry,’ he said, beaming at her as she turned towards the bedroom stairs. ‘I’ll tell Daisy yer a wee bit late. She’ll not let you down.’

  Scottie was right. Daisy herself seemed to be delighted to be harnessed up again. She needed little encouragement to set off at a good pace and very little guidance at the sharp turn that took them towards Hockley Lodge and the back entrance. They drew up outside the stables a few minutes before nine o’clock and were greeted by Robert Ross and a tall, blonde youth called William.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am. I’ve heered the news about you comin’ to work here an’ it seems Sir George is in much better for
m than whin you last come. Long may it last,’ he said, raising his eyes heavenwards. ‘Now, William here is going to look after Daisy. Tell me, do you ever ride her?’

  Sarah laughed and shook her head.

  ‘I’m afraid horse riding was not on the curriculum of the wee school I went to. It was Scottie who taught me to drive.’

  ‘Aye, an’ yer a right han’ at it, if it’s new to you,’ he replied, nodding vigorously. ‘Now I’ve a favour to ask you. Wou’d ye mind if William here got Daisy ready for a saddle and rode her when she’s ready? Sometimes we hafta take letters to local folk and we’ve only a couple o’ the young ladies’ horses we can use. If Daisy wou’d help us out it wou’d be company for her while ye’re at yer work. An’ ye might give it a go yerself when she’s broke in. Though there’ll be no trouble there for she’s used to people and is good-natured forby. What dy’e say? Fer I know I’m keepin’ ye back and I’m sure yer man is waitin’ on ye.’

  ‘By all means go ahead,’ she said nodding happily. ‘I’m sure Scottie would ride her even if I didn’t. I certainly know she likes company. She really stepped out this morning when she knew where she was going.’

  ‘Aye, they can tell these things,’ he said, as he fell into step beside her, leaving William and Daisy to their morning’s work. ‘Yer man, Sir George, was powerful pleased when he came to see me about Daisy. That’s how we know’d about yer new job. Ye’ll find everyone knows now. Things go round this house faster than grooms on horseback,’ he said, laughing as he rang the doorbell and waited till Bridget Carey opened the heavy door.

  ‘Good luck,’ he said, saluting her as Bridget took her arm and drew her inside.

  She was grateful that Sir George was nowhere to be seen, so she propped her bag with her own pens and paper, her jotter, rubber, and a comb and mirror, by the side of the desk and studied the towers of papers built with loose sheets. Some packets were tied with tape and others with string, the whole lot covered with a fine film of dust, presumably from the log fire burning merrily in the grate.