A Time Like No Other (46 page)

He was in thrall to her, listening to every word she said to him, though it was not very clear whether he was actually taking it in and believing it or whether it was her voice, her earnest face, her lovely beseeching eyes that had his fixed attention.

‘. . . so you see, we cannot ignore what this doctor – I forget his name but John will tell you, the one who has written the report, along with many others. The figures are indisputable, relating to Halifax where many of our operatives live. There are 16 deaths during the year – these are for one year, you understand – in the upper classes and the average age at which they die is 55; there are 137 deaths among the middle classes whose ages at death, taken one with another, give a mean figure of 24 years; but among the artisans, the workers in your mills and others, there are 434 persons who die at the average of 22 years of age. Doesn’t that tell us something, Harry?’ Her eyes were bright with hope, wide and the loveliest shade of green and blue and as he looked into them, mesmerised, Harry swore to himself that he would, the moment that bloody doctor agreed to his going into town, buy her the biggest, the most expensive turquoise he could find. Earrings, with a bracelet and necklace to match those magnificent eyes of hers, something so special she would know what she meant to him, how he valued her. She was the most precious thing in his life, his treasure and what he had longed for more than anything in the world had at last happened. She loved him as he loved her.

‘What would you have me do, my darling?’ wanting her to ask for something nigh impossible to obtain but it seemed she was talking of the mill again and he sighed, for he wanted to . . . to give her the moon – isn’t that what all men in love said – the stars strewn across the midnight velvet sky: some vast thing that was beyond all men’s reach but which he, Harry Sinclair, would get for her.

They had not then been beyond the gardens that lay in front of the house, sauntering hand in hand, or arm in arm, along the well-tended paths bordered by the rainbow beds that Barty and Froglet, with some help from Wilf or Evan since Barty was feeling his years, had brought to life. The rhododendrons were bursting into bloom, pink and white and vivid purple creating a magnificent background to the low hummocks of yellow alyssum and the vivid blue of lobelia. White arabis edged the borders of the beds, spilling out on to the paths, and aubretia in leafy cushions smothered in mauve and purple flowers. Wallflowers, Barty’s favourite, which made such a splendid show from March to July, exploded against the sun-warmed wall where he had placed a wooden bench and sure enough he and the others were elated when Mr and Mrs Sinclair sat down on it, their heads together. They even kissed lovingly which made the men look away guiltily as though caught spying, but it was so grand to see them, like a couple of love birds and didn’t they deserve it, after what the pair of them had gone through.

Harry had been told, of course, of the disaster at the mill and had had to be forcibly restrained from climbing on to Piper’s back and galloping over there to see the scale of the calamity. He had been somewhat appeased by the man who came at once to the Priory when he was summoned by Lally. He was inclined to distrust Adam Elliott, since he didn’t know him or his qualifications, but the man’s quiet, dignified manner, his very obvious experience, his devotion to Lally and Susan, which showed in his determination to keep it all going despite neither lady being there, and his confidence in himself went a long way to calming Harry’s fears. After all, the man whom Lally and Susan trusted so implicity had been helping to keep the business going for some five months while he, Harry, had been . . . well, he was not sure how to describe his own condition: not in his right mind, he supposed and it was all still ticking over nicely, with, apparently, another chap selling their goods abroad, for heaven’s sake. He had been appalled not only by the loss of his mill but by the loss of life, but John Burton was a shrewd man who told no one what was in his mind although Biddy had her suspicions and thoroughly approved of them. He was well aware that these two needed the healing peace, not only of one another, but from the hurly-burly of commerce which the mills would throw at them and neither was ready for that yet, he was positive. So, drawing Harry aside, he told him that his wife needed at least a week of rest before she could even think of visiting the mills with him and that the only way to keep her at home was if Harry stayed there too. Though she was very calm, serene even, the experience with the Weaver brothers must have affected her and she needed time to recover.

Privately, he did the same with Lally, not alluding to the brothers, of course, swearing that Harry could not be thrown in at the deep end, so to speak, despite having Adam Elliott to help. So, both believing that they were doing the best for the other, they had taken a week to recover, to regain their strength, to be at peace with one another and with the children who, seeing their mother and father walking down the lawn, shouted that they must go too.

‘Let them come,’ Harry told Dora and Philly, taking the little girl, his brother’s child, throwing her into the air and catching her, when he kissed her thoroughly, kissing Pinky as well when the soft toy was held up to him, pleasing the little girl enormously. She was not sure she cared for this stranger tossing her about but he made her laugh, and kissed her beloved Pinky and when he put her down on the grass and held out his hands to her she staggered from her mother to him, falling into his arms. He lifted her on to his shoulders where she clung to his hair as they all trooped down to the lake to feed the ducks. Lally held Boy’s hand, for he was still withdrawn and easily frightened but the others, meaning her two sons and Jack, had become used to him by now and sped away to the fascination of the lake, bags of crusts begged from Biddy clutched in their hands. They had fun with this big man Jamie and Alec vaguely remembered and, as children do, became accustomed to his presence with their mama.

The men who had gone out to find the Weaver brothers, and there were a dozen of them, all ready to kill them with their bare hands, or at least the one their mistress had said was still alive, fell silent when they entered the cave, for the sight that met their eyes was pitiful. The brothers were there as their mistress had told them they would be. Ham leaned against the wall at the back of the cave which was filled with spring sunshine. He held the limp form of his dead brother lovingly in his arms, cradling him to his chest. The place stank and the men hung back, for it was obvious that the pathetic man who had clearly lost his mind, posed a threat to no one. He fought like a savage when they tried to take his brother from him, felling Carly and Denny McGinley with one sweep of his muscular arm and it was not until Bert Jackson and Ben from the stables clung to his arms and forced him to his knees that they managed to lift the body of Jed Weaver on to a stretcher.

‘Don’t let the master go with you,’ Biddy had whispered to Carly. ‘Wait till he’s down the front garden with Miss Lally. You never know what he might do, how it might affect him.’ And so Jed Weaver, with a blanket thrown over him, and his brother Ham, like a child now with his hands tied securely at his back, were taken to the police station in Halifax.

Of Roly Sinclair there was no sign and Harry did not ask about him!

It was a strange sight when the carriage drew up to the gates of what had once been High Clough and the men who were clearing the yard and removing the rubbish of the devastated mill asked one another what the hell was going on. They had heard, of course, that the master had recovered from his strange illness but when he and the mistress descended from the vehicle, the mistress helped not only by him but by the coachman they all fell silent and still. They were labourers who were employed by Albert Watson who was at this moment drawing up plans for a new mill at Penfold Meadow. Lally had sat in Susan’s room, Susan lying on a chaise-longue brought up for her from the drawing room, Lally in a deep and comfortable chair, so deep and comfortable she had serious doubts she would ever be able to heave herself out of it. They had discussed the possibility of building
two
mills, one on the site of High Clough once it was cleared and one at Penfold Meadow and now that Harry was recovered she meant to put it to him.

He stood at the spot where the steps had once led up to the office, looking up to the empty blue sky that stretched serenely over what had been the building. The men watched them curiously, the man and the woman who were leaning against one another, the fascinated men not sure who was supporting who though the missus was big with child. It was April and it was rumoured the child was due in July. Three months to go but many of them who were fathers several times over and were familiar with the shape of a woman ‘up the spout’, as they called it in their class, shook their heads in disbelief. They were not even sure who had told them that Mrs Sinclair’s bairn was due in July, probably their foreman who had the ear of Albert Watson who employed them.

‘Was the office building destroyed with the sheds, my love?’ Harry asked musingly.

‘No, but Mr Watson thought that while he was building a new mill, a large mill, the office might as well be incorporated in the same building so, after consulting with Adam and myself, the office building was pulled down with the rest. Adam suggested a new wool carding mill which would house the process of carding and slubbing under one roof. Condensers would draw off the wool in continuous rolls and would then wind them straight on to large bobbins ready to be taken over to West Heath for spinning.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it, my darling,’ he said smilingly. ‘You will have to take me in hand to catch up.’

She put her hand to her mouth in dismay. ‘Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I have become so used to . . . to doing things, making decisions with Susan and Adam I quite forgot. Dearest, you must, of course, order everything as you would wish it. This is all yours and has been for . . . for . . .’

‘Sixteen years. Ever since the death of my father but how can I deny that you have kept it all in order, made decisions that were the right ones and coped admirably with . . . Dear sweet Christ . . .’ He dragged her into his arms under the awed gaze of the men, kissing her with such tenderness they all, without exception, looked away. They were rough working men, labourers, most of them accustomed to taking their wives, or any female who was handy to them, every Saturday night and would not dream of showing affection, especially in public, but these two, the master and his missus, seemed oblivious to them all.

‘After what you have been through it is only a marvel that you are not in the local lunatic asylum.’

‘I nearly was a couple of times, Harry. Only Susan, and Biddy, of course, kept me sane.’

‘Those two bloody men . . .’ His face became strained and his eyes bleak but she pulled away from him and took his hands in hers.

‘Harry, darling, it’s all over. You are back with us, with me and the children and soon you will be returned to your desk at . . . well, wherever you feel is the best place to run things but first I want to show you something.’

‘Show me something?’

‘Yes.’ She took his hand and under the silent gaze of the men in the yard who were doing their best to make a halfhearted attempt to resume work, for even the foreman had stopped to gape at the man and woman, led him to the carriage where Carly was waiting. They both lifted her tenderly into the carriage, Harry fussing with rugs and cushions until she told him briskly to climb in and, as Susan would say, ‘give over’. She felt that she should be the one fussing over Harry for she was having a baby which was a natural thing to do while he had been desperately ill for five months.

John had seen him only yesterday. ‘Have you a headache, Harry?’ he had asked casually, noting the way Harry kept his face turned from the window. At once Lally threw a worried look at her husband, for surely John was not telling them there could be further cause for anxiety?

‘Yes, I have as a matter of fact. They came on me suddenly, just this last week, but what’s that got to do with my returning to work as you know I am eager to do?’ Harry began to look irritable, for he was not a man to sit about while there was work to be seen to, a lot of work, a lot of catching up. He was at home for one reason only and she sat beside him. Had it not been for the doctor and what he had said to Harry about Lally, he would have yelled for his horse and gone thundering up to his destroyed mill and started the process of putting it together again the moment he was in his right senses.

Dear God, his head began to throb so badly he had put his hand to his forehead but suddenly she was behind him, one hand soothing his brow, her cheek resting on top of his head, one arm about his shoulders and, wonder of wonders, the child in her belly,
his
child, kicked against his shoulder blades with such vigour it was as though it were speaking to him, reassuring him, telling him it would soon be with him and not to despair.

‘Dearest Harry,’ Lally murmured into the tumble of his dark hair, ‘I’m sure John would tell us if there was something . . . something wrong. John?’ She turned to John, her gaze steady as though to say whatever it might be she was strong enough,
they were both strong enough
to go on.

‘There is nothing, Lally. It is only to be expected after the blow to his head that he would have some after-effects. He must be careful not to overdo things. Oh, I know you well enough, Harry, and the minute—’

‘No, I will not let him do anything that might . . . might take him away from me again. I am here, Harry, we are all here to tell you how much we love you and need you. We, Susan, Adam and Brice have held it together for you, awaiting your return ready for you to pick up again. We love you, Harry. I love you, your children upstairs love you and here’ – turning him towards her and putting his hand on her swollen belly – ‘is your son or daughter waiting to be born and love you too. We thought we had lost you but you’re back again . . . oh, thank God, thank God.’