Josiah and the others went to help but by the time they got there everything was under control and the pony was standing calmly. As Josiah arrived, the miner tapped her back leg and the pony obediently raised her foot so that he could see if the skid had damaged her hoof. Ranged evenly around the horseshoe, Josiah saw four nails with familiar, raised square heads.
23
McBrinnie
So the mine could be the source of the nails used on Elijah. ‘It must be a big job keeping all the ponies you need shod securely,’ Josiah remarked to Johnstone.
‘We have our own blacksmith for that job as well as repair of any machinery that’s needed,’ replied Johnstone.
Josiah’s could see Mr Hailsworth talking to some of the women workers near one of the piles of coal.
‘Mr Johnstone, will Mr Hailsworth be ready to go soon do you think?’ he said.
‘Not yet, Mr Ainscough. He’ll be talking to the women for a while. He always takes particular care when he comes to see they and the children they bring are well.’
So Josiah might have enough time to get to know the blacksmith if he could think of an excuse. As usual when indecisive he started to bither, as he mother put, with his clothing. He checked the buttoning of his coat, adjusted the stock at his neck and tightened his belt. As he did so his hand brushed the handcuffs that were clipped to the belt.
‘Then could I impose on your hospitality a bit more?’ he said to Johnstone.
‘Of course, Constable.’
‘My handcuffs have been damaged and are not as secure as they might be. Would your blacksmith have a look at them for me, while I wait for Mr Hailsworth?’
Merriman chuckled. ‘I’m sure he would,’ said Johnstone. ‘His name is McBrinnie. His forge is over there.’ The manager pointed to a building at the far end of the site. ‘Mr McBrinnie will help you if you tell him I sent you.’
‘Aint ye going to warn ’im, Mr Johnstone?’ said Merrimen, clearly amused.
‘Yes I suppose I should,’ said Johnstone. ‘Mr Ainscough when dealing with Mr McBrinnie bear in mind he doesn’t like to be called a blacksmith. He insists on calling himself a farrier. He can become rather dour and uncommunicative if you call him a blacksmith.’
Merriman chuckled, ‘He do that, lad.’
The smith’s workshop was a well-made building and reminded Josiah of many of those he’d seen in villages over the years. It had a slate roof and stonewalls but the front was open, with the roof supported by stout timbers. A man was silhouetted against the dull red light from the forge. As he got closer Josiah could hear the ringing of a hammer on an anvil.
His target was in view. He’d introduce himself, give McBrinnie the handcuffs and while McBrinnie was working on them he would find look for a supply of nails. with which to confront the blacksmith or whatever he wanted to call himself.
On a large anvil, a thickset man, a good six feet tall, with powerful arms and a large but rather unkempt black beard, was hammering what looked like a pickaxe blade. Apparently satisfied with his efforts, he pushed it back into the hot coals. He pulled twice on a chain that operated a pair of bellows. The coals on the hearth glowed fiercely: blue, yellow and red flames danced on their surface.
‘Mr McBrinnie?’ the man looked up. ‘I am Constable Ainscough, Mr Johnstone said you might be able to help me. I think my handcuffs are in need of repair.’ Josiah went over and handed McBrinnie the cuffs.
McBrinnie took them and looked carefully at them. ‘The ooter links look soond. If there’s a problem it’s with the middle shackle. Give me a wee second then I’ll check the threads for thee.’ He returned the handcuffs to Josiah and went back to the pickaxe blade.
So far so good. While McBrinnie’s attention was occupied, Josiah took the opportunity to look around. There was a long row of tongs and hammers hung near two other anvils of different sizes. Two different cooling troughs were close by: one plain water, the other a pale yellow, oily looking liquid.
‘You seem to have a well-appointed workshop here?’ he said.
‘Aye, bit more than a farrier’s normal workshop that’s for shuir.’
He pulled the red-hot pickaxe out of the hearth with some tongs, gave it two more well-chosen blows on the anvil, pushed it back and applied the bellows again.
‘I heard you prefer to be called a farrier rather than a blacksmith?’
‘By ma ain choice. There’s skill in being a farrier that no simple blacksmith cud comprehend. I was apprenticed a farrier and I’m proud of my trade.’
‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Nearly a year.’
The blade glowed brightly from below the coals, turning from red to white hot. Next time he pulled it out McBrinnie clearly thought it ready. Suddenly he plunged the blade into the yellow liquid. A thin trail of blue-black smoke emerged from its surface. Josiah could hear the Scotsman counting under his breath. When McBrinnie got to twenty he pulled the blade out of the first bath and plunged it into the water. The water sputtered and hissed, and a great cloud of steam billowed up to the rafters. When the ferment was over McBrinnie removed the blade from the trough, tested the residual temperature with his forefinger. Satisfied, he put it with others on a shelf at the back of the workshop. He took off his protective leather apron and wiped his hands on the cloth one underneath.
‘Let’s see about yer ’cuffs.’ After a couple of minutes’ work McBrinnie had them apart.
‘Anything wrong?’ asked Josiah.
In reply the farrier passed the middle shackle to him. ‘Look carefully at yon thread. Ye see whaur it’s been damaged? Someone chaffed agin ’em in the past when they’ve been used to restrain some reprobate. Ah’ll re-tap it for ye, but ye need to show it to ye ain people. There should be some pegs at the ends of the thread that lock thaim. I’ll replace them for ye as well. Without ’em someone cud break them in twain if they waur braw enough.’
Whilst Josiah had looked around carefully as much as he could he had not seen any evidence of the hoped for nails. In fact there seemed to be no evidence of horseshoes or anything needed for what McBrinnie prized as his true calling.
‘How many ponies does the mine have, Mr McBrinnie?’
‘About twenty.’ He paused and looked up at Josiah. ‘Constable, I cud get on wi’ this job a lot quicker if you wheesht yer haver.’
‘Sorry,’ said Josiah.
McBrinnie unlocked the cuffs from the vice he had been using and gave them a tug or two. Then he handed them back to Josiah.
‘Thank you,’ Josiah said. Behind him, there was the noise of someone coming into the workshop. It was Johnstone.
‘Mr Ainscough, Mr Hailsworth asks if you’re coming with him or do you need more time?’
He looked at McBrinnie but the farrier had gone back to his forge. Time had run out for Josiah. His choice was clear, confront McBrinnie with Johnstone there as witness or bide his time. He had been too quick to accuse Abram of lying about the sulphur at the powder mill and he might still live to regret that. He would be prudent and wait a better opportunity. There might be hundreds of nails within touching but he had found none of them and as a result could do nothing.
‘I’ll be right with him,’ replied Josiah. Frustrated he turned and followed Johnstone.
As he walked back towards the entrance to drift Josiah was glad to see that Merriman was talking to Mr Hailsworth’s coachman who had brought the broughman over. Even if he had failed with McBrinnie in Merriman he felt he had found a useful ally.
Josiah shook hands with him. ‘Well thank you again.’
‘Yer welcome, lad.’
Josiah paused. ‘Could I ask you one last question?’
‘Ye free to ask lad.’
‘A craftsman’s view of Mr McBrinnie, does he do his job well?’
‘Very well. The only issue I have with ’im is the daft idea t
hat he always has to be called a farrier. He is a good bit more than that. In fact he’s much, much more than that, if you tek my meaning.’
‘Not really,’ said a cautious Josiah.
‘Well all he does, is done with ease.’
‘Yes he spent ages heating and reheating a pickaxe blade just now and cooled it twice in two different liquids.’
‘He were case-hard’n the blade. That’s not even done in the foundries. Case-hard’n blades have an outer layer that makes them last longer and cut better. He’s one of the best foundry men I’ve ever worked with and he could earn three or four times what he earns ’ere at any of the larger mills in Stockport or Manchester. He’s a craftsman and no mistake. He pays just as much attention to making the nails for the horseshoes as he does to mekin new wheels for trucks. Ye should see the concentration on ’is face when he’s at it.’
So McBrinnie did at least make the nails. Josiah felt in his pocket and pulled out one of the nails head collected from bellow the cross. ‘Nails like these?’ he said.
Merriman took the nail. ‘Yer a brave man taking one of these away with ye. He’s particularly proud of these. He says they are his own design.’
Josiah looked at the nail in Merriman’s hand. It was evidence but he had a few left. If he sent a nail to McBrinnie through Merriman, the farrier would know Josiah had not taken it from the forge. Perhaps he might react in some sort of way that would be helpful. Josiah took the chance.
‘Then you’d better prevent any argument and return it to him with my apologies. Thank you again.’ Then he turned and joined Mr Hailsworth in the brougham.
At last Josiah had a firm link from the crucifixion to a suspect, even if he did not have enough proof of McBrinnie’s involvement to accuse him. He could not show it but Josiah was elated.
24
Ham and Pickles
Josiah’s excursion to the coalmine had been productive in unexpected ways but it had not lasted the whole day so that he ran the risk of meeting Rachael, something he recoiled from. What could, what would he have to say to her?
To successfully avoid her for the whole day also meant he could not appear at the community evening meal. It occurred to him to ask Mr Hailsworth for some food instead but the frosty reception that Mrs Hailsworth had given him that morning suggested that if he asked then there would be a conflict between Barbara and Steven Hailsworth about where he should eat: with the family or below stairs. He did not care to be the cause of such conflict.
Then it occurred to him that one of the public houses in Marple would be able to feed him and they might have the advantage of offering such exotic fare as ham and pickles. He reflected that though he was happy enough on the plain food at Long Clough he had a craving for something a little sharper to the pallet. So he asked Mr Hailsworth to drop him as near to Marple as was convenient, which of course, to Josiah’s embarrassment, meant that after the broughman had delivered Mr Hailsworth back to the Hall, it took Josiah on to Marple.
It was late in the afternoon and the Navigation was the only public house open. He sat down on a bench in the courtyard and tried to write up his notes but he could not concentrate on them, his head was far too full of what Mr Hailsworth had said about his illegitimate son. It had shown Josiah something in his own feelings and thoughts, he had never really understood. Mr Hailsworth had been right, Methodism with it standards and discipline could be a harsh mistress. Forgiveness was, of course, at its centre, he and all, of his fellow adherents were saved sinners. But somehow it was easy to lose any thought of the forgiving nature of God in the middle of so earnestly living a useful, determined, dutiful life for others. Had he ever really understood this? Understood that God did forgive? Was overwhelmingly happy to forgive. Could he be forgiven for his seduction of Maria?
He could not do what Mr Hailsworth had done in making peace with his past. Maria was gone. There was no way to return to Spain find her and ask her forgiveness. So he could not do what Elijah had thought was the central moral duty of reconciliation.
God would forgive him. So perhaps all he could do was trust that God would then in some way make it up to Maria. But that involved a trust of God he did not possess. The fact was that the best Josiah could do was try to do for other Marias something that was not equivalent but still of value, as a symbol of his desire for atonement. But that would mean he would have to forgive himself. With a shock he realised that he could not do that yet.
It was the simple delicious smell of fresh bread, wafting out of a nearby window that brought him back to the here and now, reminding him of his original purpose in coming to Marple. A serving girl passed him.
‘Excuse me, Miss, but could I have some ham, pickles and bread to eat?’
‘Of course you can, my dear,’ she laughed. ‘Shall I add a pint of our best ale to that?’
‘No beer, Miss, thank you. It doesn’t agree with me but could I ask for a cup of tea if that could be arranged?’
She grinned. ‘Well I’m not sure our reputation will stand it if a good looking officer like you is seen drinking tea, in preference to our best bitter but I’ll see if the missus is prepared to take the risk.’
A few minutes later she popped her head out of the door to the bar. ‘Beg pardon but missus said you drinking tea in the yard just won’t do. Apart from anything else, she’s frightened her china will get chipped. So she’s set you up at a table just inside if you don’t mind.’
Having eaten one ham sandwich and drunk two welcome cups of tea, Josiah tried to return to his notes. But as he relaxed at the end of his meal and finished the tea, he heard a familiar voice.
‘Right you lot! I have not got all day. Have you got the plans finished?’
‘Yes Sir.’
The first speaker, Celeb Arlon, was using all his usual politeness and felicity. The other voice was also familiar, Jimmy, the surveyor he had caught on Children of Fire land with Mr Arlon. Josiah pricked his ears up.
There was a pause. All he could hear was a low burble of voices without being able to distinguish individual words. Then he heard Arlon again.
‘How much will it cost?’
‘Within the sum you originally mentioned,’ said a third unfamiliar voice.
‘Including the basin?’
‘That is my professional opinion, Mr Arlon, backed up by twenty years as an engineer.’
So there was to be a new basin at the aqueduct at the end of the new road. But Marple was Arlon’s town, dependent on the work he provided at his mill? Except for the limekilns, there wasn’t much work outside Arlon’s control.
‘In that case, I thank you, gentlemen. Your work is done until I get control of the land.’
Josiah was consumed with curiosity. What was Arlon about? But it didn’t sound as though Josiah was going to find out more until the Engineer spoke again.
‘Mr Arlon. While you have given enough details to make our measurements and estimates you have not told us of the purpose of this very expensive development.’
‘Why should that be any damn business of yours? I pay you.’
‘In principle nothing, Sir. But in practice as it says in the proverb, there can be many a slip between the cup and the lip.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Engineering is a matter of art as well as science. I make judgements, guesses if you like, about what we might or might not find when we put picks and shovels into the ground. It helps reduce the risk of my making an expensive misjudgement if I know more about a proposed constructions general purpose.’
There was a pause before Arlon spoke. ‘I take the point. So I’ll tell you but the reason must not get outside this room. I need the road and the new basin for the transportation of a new product at my mill. I need to avoid the dirt from the limekilns in Marple. It’s the same reason that Macclesfield refused permission for the railways to build a huge junction in their town.’
>
‘I understand,’ said the Engineer. ‘That eases my mind.’
‘Well it don’t easy my mind,’ said Jimmy. ‘If you make a mistake my livelihood’s on the line as well.’
‘I’m going to change from spinning and weaving cotton to spinning and weaving silk.’ said Arlon. ‘Silk has to be kept clean. Everyone satisfied now?’
Josiah considered what he should do. The prudent course would be to withdraw and pretend he had not heard Mr Arlon. That was what Mr Prestbury would expect, perhaps also what Mr Hailsworth would advise, but what purpose would it serve? If Arlon got his way, his bullying way, for everything seemed to be a matter of bullying with Arlon, nothing good would come of it. Josiah decided he would shake Arlon’s tree to see what fell out.
The serving girl came to clear the plates. ‘Is that Mr Arlon’s voice I can hear?’ Josiah asked.
‘Yes, Sir. He is in the room next door to this one.’
‘Thank you, I must pay my respects to him before I go. Where is the door to their room?’
‘Just to the left over there,’ she pointed.
He went through an archway and knocked on the door he found.
‘Who the hell is that?’ shouted Arlon.
‘I’ll see’, said Jimmy. The door half-opened in front of Josiah, showing the surprised face of the surveyor. Before he could recover Josiah spoke. ‘Is Mr Arlon with you?’ he asked.
‘Get rid of whoever it is,’ Arlon blustered. A heavy tread came across the room behind the door and it was flung fully-open.
‘What the devil? Ainscough?’
‘Yes,’ said Josiah. ‘Constable Josiah Ainscough of the Stockport Police at your service. I heard your voice, Mr Arlon, and I felt I should apologies for my deception the other evening. Though it was with Mr Hailsworth’s permission, I still felt it might look as if I spying on you.’
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