Ruby McBride

by Freda Lightfoot

  The Chief Constable turned to Bart and addressed him in quiet, reasonable tones, clearly bent on calming a dangerous situation. ‘Don’t think I’m unaware of your activities, Stobbs, despite your efforts to disguise the true purpose of these dangerous antics. It is not my place to take sides but this is yet another example of your coming perilously close to breaking the law. My men have been keeping a watch on you and your fellow agitators for some considerable time. You’ve been lucky today. This demonstration, as you call it, could easily have turned into a riot. 1 want no illegal . . .’

  Bart interrupted him. ‘Peaceful trades union meetings and demonstrations are perfectly legal, despite the efforts of the judges to destroy us through bankruptcy.’

  The Chief Constable looked irritated and confused. ‘All right then, if not exactly illegal I’ll not have unofficial trades union activities on my patch, however worthy you may believe them to be. I’ll give you five minutes to clear this street, or I’m taking you in for creating a disturbance. Move. Now!’

  Bart remained steadfast for another half second, and then politely doffed his bowler hat and smiled. ‘I thank you, sir, and your officers here, for your exemplary patience. We will peacefully depart, as I believe our point has been made. Good day to you, sir.’ And bowing slightly to the Chief Constable, he cast Pickering a last, withering glance before swivelling on his heel and striding away. The street, by this time, was completely empty.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a union man?’ Ruby considered confessing to negligence over her assigned duties but her courage failed her at the last moment.

  ‘You never asked, having already made up your mind about me. Besides, admitting to union activity only invites trouble in today’s unsettled world.’

  ‘And what was all that about judges and rules you needed to fight?’

  Bart took a long draft of his wine to cool his anger. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me. I’m not stupid.’

  He considered her with a wry smile. ‘No, Ruby McBride. No one could ever accuse you of being stupid. Well then, they’ve decided that although unions may be legal, strike action is not. It’s all a result of a strike last year by the employees of the Taff Vale Railway Company. They were blamed for loss of profits. As a result the company brought an action for damages against them. It bankrupted the union.’

  ‘Whyever did they take such a risk in the first place?’

  ‘Their cause was just, in their opinion, and they thought themselves protected by the Trades Union Act. When it came to court, however, the judges decided otherwise. It’s a decision that rebounds upon us all, Ruby, putting the power back into the hands of the employer.’

  ‘Into the hands of men like Giles Pickering?’

  ‘Yes, sadly, into the hands of men like him. If he thinks he can squeeze a bit of extra profit by underpaying his workers, he will do so. I’m seen as a socialist dissident and so, growing tired of constantly being picked on by the police and taken in for questioning, let’s say I deem it politic to adopt a change of appearance once in a while.’

  She looked at him keenly, seeing him for the first time in a different light. Could he be more honest than she gave him credit for? Could she trust him? `There’s more to it than that, surely? What about those other occasions, like the trick on the pawnbroker, when you actually took money which didn’t belong to you?’

  ‘However true though that might be, in theory, his interest charges were extortionate and the money rightly belonged to my men. More often than not they had paid through the nose without the item they were attempting to redeem being returned to them. We - I- decided to do something about it.’

  Ruby gave a brittle little laugh of disbelief. ‘What are you then, some sort of Robin Hood? Or Saint George slaying the dragon?’

  ‘A happy notion, Ruby, but although much of the money goes to the poor, to those in most need, I am neither folk hero nor saint. Would that I were. I can say no more.’ He leaned closer, the whisper of his breath caressing her skin. ‘Remember, so far I haven’t trusted you any more than you have trusted me. Perhaps you were right to criticise, but aren’t you glad I’m not quite the devil you once imagined me to be?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  A few days later, Ruby woke to find Bart dressed in frock coat, wide silk tie with a stiff collar, figured silk waistcoat and top hat. His appearance had been completely altered with the addition of false whiskers and a droopy moustache which obscured his mouth. Again he wore the padding about his stomach which added years to his age, turning him into a paunchy, mature figure. Ruby almost laughed out loud, so ludicrous did he appear, but then recognised the challenging glitter in his eyes and thought better of it.

  ‘Who are you today? Some posh gent off to the opera?’

  ‘The name is Joshua Parker, engineer to the Ship Canal Company Board. Not that it’s any business of yours, you young chit. I tell you what you need to know, as and when you need to know it.’

  ‘I’ve noticed. Is that Sir or plain mister?’

  He chuckled. ‘Good idea Ruby. Let’s make me a Sir, shall we?’

  Ruby turned her back on him and stalked away, head high, not wanting him to see the laughter in her eyes. What a card he was. Which poor soul was going to suffer today? she wondered.

  After a breakfast of kippers and toast, he instructed her to put on her best dress, bonnet and shawl. She never failed to feel a huge relief at no longer being obliged to wear the dreaded uniform which had so loudly proclaimed her to be at the bottom of the heap, so far as status in the community was concerned. He’d taken her to visit the Flat Iron Market, bought fabric for her to make herself up two frocks, a warm brown one that she wore every day, and a navy blue serge for Sundays. In addition, the baron had provided her with this very plain bonnet and shawl, boots and thick woollen stockings, all of which he happened to have already in his metal chest. Ruby didn’t investigate too closely how he’d come by them, she was simply glad to have them. But to wear her Sunday frock in the middle of the week was unheard of, and made her shudder to imagine what he was up to now.

  On this particular day they didn’t walk through the city streets, as they normally did, nor even take the tram to wherever it was they were going. Instead, he hired a rather smart little gig and, despite her misgivings, Ruby was entranced by it, feeling mighty important and grand to be sitting up so high and looking out at the world over the back of a fine bay mare. She was less thrilled as they ventured out into the hurly-burly of the traffic with the baron weaving his way, at what seemed to be breakneck speed, between omnibuses and electric trams, bakers’ carts and carriages of all sizes, nearly knocking over one crossing sweeper in the process.

  ‘Hey, where’s the fire? I’d like to get there in one piece, if you don’t mind. Where are we going in such a tearing hurry?’

  ‘There and back, to see how far it is.’

  ‘Oh, very droll!’

  He didn’t slow the pace until they were well out into the Cheshire countryside, by which time Ruby felt sufficiently relaxed to loosen her grip on the hand rail. But he offered no further explanation until they approached a lodge house by a set of gates, with a glimpse of a large mansion set at the at the end of a long drive. For one dreadful moment Ruby thought he was taking her to another reformatory or convent school and she almost leapt out of her seat. ‘I’m not going in there! You said I was done with all of that.’

  He seemed to find her reaction so amusing that he laughed loud and long, the first sound he’d made throughout the entire journey. But he drew the horse to a halt and finally turned to address her. ‘You remember the name I told you?’

  ‘Joshua Parker. Sorry, Sir Joshua Parker,’ Ruby obediently repeated, well used to this routine.

  ‘And you are my fiancée.’

  Ruby accepted this fact without argument and tucked her wedding ring into her purse, out of sight. ‘What is my name?’ Her gaze upon his was steady, resigned and yet alert, anxious not to make a
ny mistakes.

  He was smiling down at her, giving her the impression, as always, that he could actually read her thoughts. ‘You can keep your own name, Ruby, along with your virtue, so long as you recognise that we are soon to christen this very practical marriage of ours, hopefully by the time you reach nineteen in July. A twelve-month wait is long enough, I reckon.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning.’ She wasn’t concerned. Not for a moment. A lot could happen before July.

  They were admitted into the house without hesitation. The bay mare and gig were attended to by a groom in the yard while Bart and Ruby were shown into the library where the lady of the house, a Mrs Jessica Pickering, welcomed them with outstretched hand, charming smile firmly in place. Ruby recognised the woman’s surname instantly. It was the same as the man’s at the demonstration in Byrom Street. No wonder the baron was in heavy disguise.

  She knew that the men at Pickering’s Wharf had called off their strike and backed away from further confrontation, despite heated arguments with Bart long into the night. He’d grown angry at their decision, accusing them of being lily-livered cowards.

  ‘Nay, we’ve no money, so how can we risk it? We can’t let us childer starve.’ Sparky had told him, and in the end Bart had claimed to wash his hands of the whole lot of them. Ruby knew this to be a lie, as did the men who’d walked away, shoulders hunched with despair. The baron would rise again and save them, they knew it. They had to believe in him, for who else cared?

  Had this trip today any connection with the men’s reluctance to strike? she wondered.

  Mrs Pickering offered them each a glass of sherry before they embarked upon a tour of the property and for the first time it became clear to Ruby how it was they’d so easily gained entrance. The house was for sale and Bart was pretending to be a prospective purchaser. She’d no notion of the extent of his finances but couldn’t imagine them stretching to buy this place, an Elizabethan manor house of some distinction. He had evidently seen an advertisement in the Manchester Guardian and had written to make an appointment for a viewing.

  Ruby was introduced as his `beloved wife-to-be’ with comments on how fortunate he was to capture such a young beauty at an age when he’d believed himself to be a confirmed bachelor. Ruby became the object of much polite interest and speculation about how she thought she might take to life as the wife of a talented engineer who had worked on this marvellous new project, “the big ditch”, as the Ship Canal was affectionately known. This amused her no end.

  So that was who he was supposed to be, she thought, smiling and nodding as if charmed by the whole idea.

  The lady of the house redirected her attention to Sir Joshua, whom she clearly found far more interesting. ‘Perhaps you know my husband, Giles Pickering? He has a business in the canal basin, and has done rather well with it.’

  ‘Indeed? I am acquainted with the name, though it is a vast area: Salford Docks, the Canal, Trafford Park. One cannot know everyone personally.’

  ‘Of course not. But when you first walked in the door I was quite certain we must have met before.’ She smiled at him, a slight frown puckering her brow.

  ‘Perhaps at some function or other?’

  ‘Perhaps so.’

  In no time Bart had taken control of the conversation and was well into his stride, smoothing the droopy moustache as if it had always flourished there. He sipped sweet sherry while postulating grandly about the development of Trafford Park, claiming to have satisfied even the shareholders in the end, despite a poor showing thus far. He sounded almost as if he knew what he was talking about. He then progressed to outline their plans for a summer wedding and a honeymoon on the Isle of Wight. The woman simpered and gushed, addressing him constantly as ‘my dear Sir Joshua’, finally offering a convoluted explanation of her reasons for moving, which involved an ‘incompatibility with the countryside’ and a necessity to seek softer climes.

  ‘My health is so delicate, don’t you know, that my doctor has advised Italy or the South of France.’

  ‘I’m sure that would be most wise.’

  ‘I am not nearly so young as your young lady here, nor as robust as you undoubtedly are, dear Sir Joshua.’ She fluttered her eyelashes extravagantly at him, clearly hoping for a denial. She was not disappointed.

  He took a monocle from his waistcoat pocket and examined her quizzically through the eye glass. ‘I beg to disagree ma’am. I am sure you must have all the young beaux queuing to sign your dance card, and once the kinder climate of the continent has brought back the colour to your cheeks, I am quite certain you will set the whole place on fire with your beauty.’

  His smile was dazzling, as if he truly were captivated by her charms while the woman appeared riveted, hanging upon every word of this supposedly rich and titled gentleman. Ruby nearly burst her sides with stifled laughter at the performance. She had to admit the woman was attractive, if a year or two older than the baron in actual fact, did she but know it, being probably in her mid-thirties. Bart played the middle aged roué to perfection while flirting outrageously with her!

  ‘And what does your husband say to all of this? Is he happy to decamp to the continent?’

  ‘Dearest Giles spoils me dreadfully. This was the house he shared with his first wife and understands how dreadfully that depresses me. He also owns a small town house close to the wharf, though I loathe staying there even more. So many odours from the canal. Most unpleasant! He is to build me a new mansion. One convenient for the city, without being in the rough and tumble of it, and also a home on the continent.’

  ‘A most generous man.’ Bart’s words came out sharply through gritted teeth and Ruby glanced up, puzzled. Jessica Pickering giggled girlishly, and went on to give a good many more details about the fragile state of her health, her need for company - of the right sort, of course - and the generosity of her husband. Ruby stopped listening and wandered off to look out of the long casement windows on to a formal rose garden. This was a fine house. Why would anyone want to leave it? Imagine having the money to own and live in such a property. How was it some could have so much while others, like Ruby’s own mother, never had anything they could call their own? No wonder she’d died of consumption after all the damp, awful places they’d lived in. Didn’t seem right somehow.

  Finally, Ruby heard the woman say, ‘Oh dear, I really mustn’t twitter on any further, nor presume any longer upon your good nature, dear Sir Joshua. I’m sure a busy man such as yourself has a great many more calls upon his time. Perhaps you would like my butler to show you around now, without further delay?’

  ‘That would be most kind.’

  A slight puckering of her smooth brow. ‘Would it not be inconvenient for you to live here? It is rather far out. Did you say that you worked at the dock office by the Canal or in the Company office on Spring Gardens?’

  ‘It would be ideal,’ Bart assured her, without answering her question. ‘I have been fortunate enough to be left a legacy. Of modest proportions, you understand, but sufficient to provide my dearest beloved with, shall we say, more appropriate accommodation than can be found in the city centre.’

  ‘Oh, how very splendid! Indeed, splendid.’ She quite perked up at the mention of a legacy, clearly hoping it was not too modest and could stretch to the price she had in mind. ‘Shall we proceed?’ she trilled.

  ‘Indeed. Perhaps we could begin with the study?’ Bart swung around, indicating a heavy oak door set in the corner of the room.

  Jessica Pickering looked surprised. ‘How did you guess that was my husband’s study?’

  For the first time, Ruby saw confusion on his face, as if he’d been caught out in some mistake, and wondered anxiously if the woman would notice but then he brushed the awkward moment aside with a dismissive bark of laughter. ‘Seemed logical. A gentleman knows these things, ma’am.’

  ‘Of course.’ Seemingly unconcerned, she sailed before him into the room, and Ruby followed more thoughtfully.

  The tour seemed t
o go on indefinitely, with Ruby trailing along behind, attempting to look suitably impressed and even, at times, enchanted by the delights of the property he was promising to purchase for her. Afterwards they were offered luncheon, which Bart reluctantly declined due to yet another board meeting he must attend that very afternoon, he ruefully explained. He promised to be in touch soon, via Mrs Pickering’s solicitors, and courteously took his leave. To Ruby, the whole thing seemed to have been a complete waste of a morning.

  ‘What was all that in aid of?’ she asked, as they bowled back into town. ‘All that rubbish about board meetings, a summer wedding, and a honeymoon on the Isle of Wight. Got a bit carried away, didn’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps I did, but I became quite engrossed by the whole notion of a honeymoon, Ruby. Perhaps we should consider it. Why not?’

  She chose to ignore this comment. ‘Have you ever been in that house before?’

  His hand tightened on the reins and Ruby knew that he lied when he said, ‘No, of course not. Whatever put such an idea into your head?’

  ‘Only that you seemed to know where the study was.’

  ‘Such rooms are generally found off the main living room, are they not?’

  Ruby hadn’t the faintest idea where a study might be found, since never in her life had she been in such a grand house before. Judiciously, she let the subject drop. ‘Thought any minute you’d be describing what the bridesmaids would be wearing.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s because I was engaged once before but it ended tragically so I was hoping for better luck this time, that we could perhaps achieve a happy marriage.’

  The smile slid from Ruby’s lips. ‘Happy marriage? Don’t talk daft. Look, you can stop this game right here. We’re on our own now. You’re talking to me, Ruby McBride, not Lady Muck in there.’

  ‘It’s no game, Ruby. It’s true. Give me the chance, and I’ll do my best to make you happy.’

  ‘What happened to her then, your fiancée?’