‘Good morning, Roly,’ the lovely young woman who sat behind his desk said sweetly. ‘Your day starts late, it seems, which won’t please Harry when he hears about it.’
‘Never mind Harry or what he wouldn’t say or do since you and I are fully aware that Harry is incapable of taking—’
‘That is why I am here, Roly, to speak for him. To sit at his desk and keep an eye on his mills.’
‘My mills, damn you, or will be when he makes up his bloody mind about selling to me. Now, get out of that chair and go home where you belong and take this . . . this woman with you.’
He strode across the room, his manner threatening and Adam, who had been lounging against the door frame thinking it was time he made himself scarce since this was really nothing to do with him, straightened up slowly. The woman behind the second desk – what had been her name . . . Harper? – rose and moved to stand protectively behind Mrs Sinclair. He had heard vague gossip about the older Sinclair brother, of whom he knew nothing, but Adam had been employed by young Sinclair, the brother he had assumed was in full charge of the business.
The young woman was quite lovely but there was something unique about the other one, the one called Harper, which he couldn’t put his finger on. She was not as good-looking as Mrs Sinclair but she had the sweetest face in which was set a determined mouth as though she had had her share of troubles but had overcome them. He found himself strangely drawn to her.
Adam was so busy studying Susan Harper he did not notice the speculative expression on Mrs Sinclair’s face. He would have been surprised if he could have read her thoughts, for Lally was suddenly struck with the notion that this young man, though she hardly knew him, would make a perfect match for her friend. Doctor John had been considered, at least by her, but Adam was a better prospect and she was not sure Susan thought of John in that way.
‘Harry has made his mind up, Roly, and he will not sell his share of the mills to you, neither will he split the concern in two. The three mills work perfectly in conjunction with one another, he says, and that should not be interfered with. Someone, yourself, in fact, who has made such a magnificent job of it must continue your travels to find buyers for your goods, yours and Harry’s goods and so—’
‘I shall employ a man to do just that, my dear Lally, in fact I have such a person in mind to sell my cloth while I remain here to run the business. Elliott here’ – nodding in Adam’s direction – ‘is in charge of the machines and should one cause trouble he is trained to repair it.’
‘Harry did that, Roly, and ran the business. Mr Elliott,’ smiling graciously at Adam, ‘clever as he may be, would not be needed if Harry was . . . when Harry is back on his feet . . .’
Roly Sinclair sneered as he placed his hands flat on the desk, thrusting his face almost into hers.
‘Really, Lally, this charade you try to keep up is pathetic. We both know Harry is, shall we say, not exactly himself and is not capable of making any sort of decision. The doctor is constantly at the Priory and rumour has it that my brother needs a minder. Oh, yes, I have my spies and I am told the beating he received from the Weaver brothers has taken a severe toll on his . . . his thinking powers. Best sell to me, my pet. I promise I will give you a good price then you and Harry can live comfortably at the Priory and play with your farms. They are your sons’ inheritance and should be looked after, which you and your steward should manage comfortably.’
Lally sighed as though with irritated exasperation. She shook her head then turned to Susan, taking her hand in hers. ‘What have you to say, Susan? Shall we accept my brother-in-law’s offer?’
‘Perhaps we might have some more details from this gentleman here.’ Susan smiled in Adam’s direction. She held Lally’s hand with both of hers and there was no doubt of where her loyalties lay. It was the first time Adam had heard her speak and he was surprised. He had thought her to be of the same social class as Mrs Sinclair but it seemed she was not. She spoke correctly, grammatically but with a northern accent similar to his own. A Yorkshire accent which was the strongest in the north of England. He felt a stirring of interest that surprised him, for in his thirty years no woman had ever caught his attention except in a physical sense. This was not like that!
He lifted his firm chin and took a step towards the desk, ignoring his employer’s angry glare.
‘I’m an engineer, Mrs Harper. It’s my job to maintain every machine in the Sinclair mills, to ensure that they are in perfect working order and that if one should break down I put it right.’
‘My husband can do that, Mr Elliott. He can do every job in his three mills as well as any man or woman who works for him,’ Lally said proudly, still clinging to Susan’s hand, and Adam felt a secret admiration for this woman’s husband if what she said was true. She turned to Roly who had moved to stare furiously from the window into the yard. ‘I thought you could too, Roly. Or have you lost the knack in the years you travelled Europe, America and all points of the compass? Well, Mr Elliott,’ turning back to face Adam, ‘you will be of great help to Mrs Harper and me until my husband is back behind this desk.’
Roly swivelled forcefully from the window, his face crimson with rage, and Adam instinctively moved forward as though to protect the two women who seemed in danger of violence.
‘Have you forgotten the promise I made you if Harry should refuse to sell me his share of the mills?’
‘The threat, you mean?’
‘Call it what you will, Lally, but I mean it. I’ll show you up for a trollop and Harry for a fool. The child, the children will be ostracised as will you and your husband.’
‘Do you really want the family of your intended bride to know the details of that sordid episode?’ Lally rose and like a young queen stood before Roly Sinclair with great dignity. Her face was white, even her lips, but her eyes were as clear and steady and calm as the waters Adam had once seen lapping a stretch of golden sand on the coast of Cornwall and were the same exquisite mix of turquoise and green. He had only seen it once years ago when he had visited that county to study the pumping engines that were used in the mining industry there but he had never forgotten it.
He had longed to leave this office minutes ago, for what was happening here was not his concern but it struck him that these two brave women who outfaced Roly Sinclair might need support, or even a witness. He had no wish to intrude on what was evidently a family quarrel but something held him fast.
‘Is that what it was? A sordid episode?’ Roly laughed harshly. ‘And the result? Is she sordid too? Decent families will think so, Lally. An illegitimate child. Your child fathered by your husband’s brother.’ In the doorway Adam was heard to gasp.
‘Yer bastard, yer bullyin’ bastard,’ shrieked Susan, reverting, as she did in times of crisis, to her native tongue, her face contorted with contempt, but Lally put a restraining hand on her arm, gripping it fiercely.
‘Don’t, Susan,’ she began, but Susan, usually so self-contained, was incensed by the callousness of the man she barely knew, and was sustained by her deep affection for Lally who had mended Susan’s life when it had been so badly broken.
‘’Ow can yer say such a dreadful thing? The truth it might be but ter threaten nor only a woman ’oo ’as no one ter defend ’er bu’ innocent bairns an’ all is beyond me. Tha’ little girl don’t deserve yer foulness, nor them lads. Ruin their lives – yer nowt but scum.’
‘Who is this . . . this slut who rushes to defend you, Lally?’ Roly asked in an amused manner. ‘Really, you have the most amazing friends and I wonder that Harry allows her into his home. She sounds like one of the hands from the weaving shed.’
‘She was, Roly, but Harry and I befriended her and I don’t know what I would do without her.’
‘Christ! She’s your friend! a woman from the weaving shed! Well, I wish you well of her, and what the devil the pair of you are doing here sitting in my office—’
‘Harry’s office, Roly.’
‘Rubbish! It seem
s Harry is content to loll at home so someone has to run the business.’
‘Susan and I intend to do that. Harry, who is not yet able to get out much, will advise us.’
Roly began to laugh, not a laugh of amusement but of derision. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as though at the woeful lunacy of women, especially these two, turning to face them both, the presence of Adam Elliott of no consequence. Suddenly his face showed nothing but cool hostility, his jaw muscles clenched tight, a hard shell that hid the true Roly Sinclair who, now that his chance had come, was about to snatch the prize and the authority he had always coveted. From the yard came the familiar clatter of men working, horses whinnying. A wind was rising and the sky above the roofline opposite was sketched in winter charcoal and Lally thought idly that it might snow again. As she watched Roly she wondered why it was she had never before seen this side of her brother-in-law, who had been her and Chris’s companion for so many years. He had always been, or seemed to have been, good-natured, easy-going, likeable, fun-loving, careless of the proprieties as they had been. When he left the school he and Chris attended, he had worked in the mill and had learned all the intricacies of worsted manufacturing but being the charming fellow he was his talents had lain in selling the cloth which he had done with great success. But it seemed he had always been ambitious and with no one to restrain him now he had involved himself in the management of the mills with what appeared to be an appetite for expansion and to become the man who commanded attention at the Piece Hall in Halifax. Harry had been known as a hard master, autocratic and shrewd, but fair. To ensure punctuality Harry had locked his gates at five thirty every morning, obliging latecomers to stand outside for an hour, considering the loss of earnings to be punishment enough. Lally had heard that Roly not only locked them out but fined them as well to make up for loss of profit. Harry had been approachable but it seemed Roly was not. He was concerned only with efficiency and profit. The only aspect of his business with which he was no longer familiar was running the machines which was why he had employed Adam Elliott.
She and Susan meant to keep the mills running as Harry had done and to that end Adam Elliott would be a godsend.
Roly turned on the engineer as though only just aware of his presence. ‘Right, Elliott, you and I will ride over to West Heath where I believe a carding machine is giving trouble. When I return I shall expect you two . . . ladies to have vacated my office and returned to your homes. I shall not—’
Lally’s voice was as sharp as the slivers of ice that had hung from the gutters of the mill. ‘Take your time, Roly. While you’re away Susan and I intend to study the account books, the order books, records, delivery dates, etc., indeed everything connected to the Sinclair mills. My housekeeper is being driven over from the Priory with our luncheon so we will be here all day, at least until four o’clock. I am to interview a governess for my children, since Susan, who has been helping in the schoolroom, will accompany me here each day. Now then, on your way out ask – what’s his name? – Hawkins, thank you, Mr Elliott, to fetch in the records.’
Adam fully expected her to say, ‘That will be all,’ to the slack-jawed Roly Sinclair but with an affectionate smile she turned to her companion who sat down and reached for some letters that lay on the desk and proceeded to open them. Adam noticed her hand was trembling.
When the door crashed to behind Roly both Susan and Lally slumped down in their chairs, their heads bowed, letting out long breaths they were scarcely aware they had been holding.
‘Oh, God, Susan . . . Oh, Jesus God . . . Oh, God in heaven . . .’
‘I never thought we’d get through it . . .’
‘I was convinced he was going to hit us and I believe he might if Mr Elliott had not been present.’
‘What will he do next, d’you think? He’ll not take this lying down. What will he do?’
‘Try to go and see Harry, I should think, since he’ll have no truck with women. He doesn’t know how Harry is . . . the state he’s in . . . that he’s not himself.’ Lally was near to tears.
‘Lass, lass, don’t upset thissen. There’s nothing he can do as things stand now. The mills belong to him and Mr Harry and until Mr Harry sells them to him or gets them legally split between the two of them, he can’t move on. Mr Roly, I mean. As long as he never finds out that Mr Harry’s . . . well, as he is, everything that happens will seem to come from him, Mr Harry, I mean. Now then, let’s get that old fool in the office to fetch in all the books, records of transactions, details of prices, lists of customers. The whole history of the mills since old Mr Sinclair’s time. And how about a cup of tea?’
It took them a moment or two to realise that Adam Elliott was still with them!
She sent Martin away and ordered her and Harry’s evening meal to be brought up to the bedroom where Jenny set it out on a table before the fire. She knew Martin was in the habit of encouraging Harry to feed himself, teaching him to use his fork, knife and spoon as one might teach a small child. Biddy had made soup a’ la julienne which contained carrots, turnips, onions, leeks, celery, lettuce, sorrel and chervil, butter and stock, a good heartening soup, for Biddy was of the opinion that what Mr Harry needed for a full recovery was building up with nourishing food. The kind Biddy prepared! The soup was followed by a rich steak, kidney and mushroom pie, the crust so flaky it melted on the tongue, the gravy made from the stock of shin of beef, another ‘building up’ dish. It was accompanied by mixed vegetables, home grown, of course, and potatoes mashed with butter. Then came charlotte russe made from ‘ladies fingers’ of sponge, whipped cream, sugar and wine and if that didn’t set him up nothing would, Biddy declared grimly.
He sat opposite Lally and obediently spooned the soup into his mouth. He ate delicately, carefully, prompted by Lally, then, when the soup was finished and the main dish was put in front of him by a watchful Jenny, and encouraged by his wife, he cleared his plate and to Lally’s surprise wiped his lips with the damask napkin Jenny had placed across his knee. It was as though the habit of good table manners bred in him as a boy still remained. He placed his knife and fork correctly in the centre of his plate and sat back.
To both the women’s amazement he smiled.
‘That was delicious. My compliments to the chef,’ just as though he were dining in a smart restaurant.
‘Oh sir, Mrs Stevens’ll be that pleased,’ Jenny twittered, while something lurched inside Lally’s breast. It was the first time he had spoken, at least in her presence and she was sure Martin would have told her if it had happened while he was in charge.
‘Wilta ’ave a taste of charlotte russe, sir?’ Jenny went on. ‘Mrs Stevens made it specially fer yer.’
She stood with the dessert ready to serve, her face in a huge beam for they were that fond of the master.
Immediately Harry looked confused. ‘I’m . . . not sure . . . Charlotte . . .’
‘Charlotte russe, sir. Try a bit. The bairns love it. Fer a treat, like.’
Lally held her breath.
‘The . . . the bairns?’
‘Aye, sir.’ But even Jenny could see that Mr Harry had slipped back from that crack in the door to his mind, closing it behind him. She looked enquiringly at Lally.
‘Serve it, Jenny, and then leave us, thank you.’
Jenny did as she was told then left the room to gallop down to the kitchen to tell them all that at last Mr Harry had spoken.
‘What did ’e say?’
‘Eeh, never . . .’
‘Thank the good Lord.’
‘I bet it were my soup. Put hairs on his chest that.’ And Froglet, who was in the kitchen on an errand for Barty delivering vegetables, ran excitedly to spread the word outside.
Lally finished her meal, drinking the coffee Jenny brought up, watching Harry sip his, before speaking.
‘Susan and I have been to High Clough today, Harry,’ she remarked casually as though it were no big event, leaning forward to stir the fire with the brass poker. She loo
ked lovely, the fire’s glow enhancing the flush to her cheeks and the sapphire gleam to her eyes. ‘We were not made welcome by . . .’ Should she say his brother’s name? she agonised, then decided to plunge in, for might it not bring about some reaction which surely was better than this total breakdown of not only communication but Harry’s functioning. The wound to his head where a Weaver boot had kicked him must be well on the way to healing and though she didn’t know why some instinct was whispering to her that a direct confrontation might be worth chancing. It was a risk but to her it appeared that a shock, a sudden shock, might restore some of his mental reasoning.
He turned his head to look at her but his eyes were blank, clouded almost as though a mist were swirling in his head.
‘Roly was there and he was furious when I told him you were not prepared to sell him your share of the mills. I really think he might have laid hands on us if Mr Elliott had not been there. Oh, you don’t know of Mr Elliott, do you? He is an engineer employed by Roly to keep the machines running. He seems a decent fellow and with him and Susan to help me – she is pretty good with figures, you know, sharp and quick, and, of course, she is an experienced operative – we’ll manage until you are back on your feet and can tell Roly yourself to go to the devil.’
A Time Like No Other Page 30