A Time Like No Other (48 page)

‘I am here because you are not, Roly,’ Harry answered mildly. ‘My engineer . . .’

‘
Your
engineer?’ Roly drew out his cigar case, selected a cigar, lit it and blew smoke across the desk into his brother’s face.

‘Well, he certainly isn’t
yours
, brother. I believe my wife employed Mr Elliott here to do your job and since I have been told that you declined to go abroad and sell our cloth there is another gentleman who is doing just that, and very successfully too, by the look of the orders that are here on my desk.’

‘Now look here, Harry, I have had enough of this tarradiddle. Now that you are back to oversee the mills I can see no reason why we—’

‘
We
, Roly? There is no we about it. Without your help, Lally and Susan Harper, and Adam here, have kept this business running and now that you are married to the richest young heiress in the county I suggest you go home to her and get on with . . . with whatever it is you have been doing for the past five months. You will, naturally, receive your share, or what I consider to be your share of the profit made but as you will never know what that is, since the accounts will be under my supervision, you will just have to accept what you receive. I hardly think you will go hungry, lad, not with George Bracken as a father-in-law and now, if you don’t mind, we have something on a loom we must look at. By the way, all the operatives who lost their jobs at High Clough have been employed at West Heath and South Royd. We are to run the mills twenty-three hours a day. A shift system, you see, until the new mill is opened.’

‘
What bloody new mill?
’ Roly could barely speak he was so incensed.

‘At Penfold Meadow. Haven’t you heard? The footings went in months ago but you, in your wisdom, stopped it. But it seems with the foundations already laid we are to go ahead at once. Albert Watson is putting all his available labourers on the building. It is to be massive, Roly, in the Italianate style, something on the lines of Titus Salt’s place, and will employ 3,000 workers. I have made an offer on the land surrounding the site and intend, as Salt has done, to build an entire village of houses, a park, a school, a library, a learning institute, recreational and outdoor sport facilities. It will cost a great deal of money but my wife—’

‘So your bloody wife is at the bottom of all this, is she? I might have known. She did nothing but interfere with my work—’

‘Your work! What work? I hear from every quarter that you spent your days, and nights, gambling, racing, hunting, shooting and leaving that poor wife of yours—’

‘You leave my wife out of this,’ snarled Roly, ready to leap across the desk and throttle his brother, not because of mention of his wife, who concerned him not at all, but at the reference to his activities.

‘Gladly, if you will leave out mine.’

‘That slut. You do realise that the child in your nursery—’ It was then that Harry leaped over the desk and hit his brother. Harry had done nothing during the past five months but sit in his chair and, apart from some gentle exercise with Martin at his side, had barely moved. He had put on weight and was out of condition which he meant to put right and had already charged Carly, who was well known for his sporting prowess in the boxing ring and on the football field in a team from Moorend, to help him get fit. Nevertheless he managed to get a blow in before Roly, younger and fitter, knocked him down, kicked him in the ribs and stormed out of the office, threatening to go at once to see his lawyer, Alfred Hardcastle, and put a stop to the whole bloody thing. Adam Elliott did his best to get between the brothers and had he not been there Roly might have done more damage to the man who was only just recovering from his past injuries. Roly was shouting, to the enormous entertainment of the men in the mill yard, that if Harry thought he, Roly, was about to part with a bloody farthing for this mad scheme he was out of his mind.

He said as much to his mother-in-law and when his father-in-law, who had heard the commotion from the comfort of his own study where he had been reading
The Times
, came storming upstairs to see what the hell was going on, the whole incident was related again, while in her low chair by the window his wife sobbed pitiably.

George listened – he had no choice – since Roly was so maddened he would not be stopped and George began to wonder if he had perhaps been mistaken in allowing this unstable, as he saw it, young man to take possession of his precious only daughter. At the time Roly had been in joint charge of the Sinclair mills and had seemed a fair prospect but in George’s opinion, who had mills of his own, Roly Sinclair had paid no proper attention to them while his brother was incapacitated. Now the elder Sinclair was in charge and from what his son-in-law was telling him, was doing the only thing possible and that was to get the whole bloody business going again. Of course he had to build a new mill to replace the one that had been destroyed in the explosion, the cost of which would be covered to some extent by the insurance which any responsible man of commerce would have put in place. He had done so himself, so what was Roly Sinclair so incensed about?

‘See, Dorothy,’ to his wife, ‘take Anne to her room. We don’t want her to be upset at a time like this,’ for his girl was pregnant by this . . . this husband of hers and must be protected.

‘Now then, lad,’ he said placatingly when his wife and daughter had left the room. ‘Let’s get this thing in its proper prospective. Those mills of yours—’

‘Don’t call me “lad”. I’m not your lad or anybody’s, come to that, and if I wish to object to what my brother is doing to the mills,
my
mills, as you reminded me, then that is my business and nobody else’s.’

‘Of course, of course, but if Harry believes he is doing the right thing, and I’m inclined to agree with him, then you must abide by what he advises. He’s an astute businessman and knows what he is about. Surely even you can see that what he proposes is the best way to get the mills working as they were before his accident.’

The ‘even you’ was a mistake and George realised it too late.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sweet sake. I can’t take this.’ Roly was beyond reason and with another oath made for the door. ‘I’m not standing for it a moment longer. Until our house at Briar Lane is ready for us my wife and I will move back to Mill House.’

‘Nay.’ George Bracken was appalled. His girl could not possibly live in that poky little house where the Sinclairs had resided for generations. For God’s sake, there was no bathroom, no proper kitchen, a poky parlour and dining room and three, most probably only two bedrooms and the mill . . . well, the mill had gone but it was said that another was to be built in its place and could you expect a delicate lass like his Anne to live in such a place, even if it was only until Briar House was ready for them. But Roly Sinclair was his daughter’s husband and George knew that she belonged to him and that he, George, had no power to put a stop to this.

Roly was already out of the door and on the way along the landing to the room he occasionally shared with Anne. As he had done at the sitting-room door, he flung it open, George at his heels, and strode inside. Dorothy Bracken was just about to loosen her daughter’s stays and help her on to the bed as Roly and her husband erupted into the room, but before she had time to speak Roly was at the bell ringing for a servant.

‘What . . . what . . .’ she stuttered, looking for guidance to her husband but Roly spoke before her.

‘Get up, Anne, and get your maid to pack your things. Enough for one night will do. We will send for the rest tomorrow.’

‘Roly . . . Roly, darling . . .’ Anne began to weep again and Mrs Bracken fell back from her son-in-law’s fury which she had never seen before.

‘Where . . . where . . . ?’

‘We’re going to Mill House, my wife and I, until Briar House is ready for us. I will not stay here to be insulted. Come along, Anne, get yourself packed and be ready in the hour.’

It was Adam’s practice, since it was no more than a ten-minute easy canter, to go home for his midday meal, his home which he hoped one day would include Susan Harper and her lad. He had been ‘made up’ as they said in the north when Lally had told him it was his, and she hoped he did not mind if she was being a bit presumptuous but he was to consider it a wedding present from herself and Harry. He had been overcome, as had Susan when he told her but he had been out of his digs like a shot and had settled into Mill House at once. He and Susan had thought they were being most discreet in their strange courtship but it seemed his actions on the day of the explosion had given their feelings for one another away and so they were only waiting until Susan could walk again and they were to be married.

Mrs Cannon, whom he had asked to stay on, for Susan would need help for a while, seemed only too pleased to have someone to cook for and always put a tasty, light meal in front of him. Something cold, meat and pickles, cheese, newly baked meat pies and fresh bread with a tankard of ale if he fancied it and usually to finish off one of her own fruit pies. Since Mr Harry had married and gone to live at the Priory and Mr Roly had moved to the Brackens’ sumptuous mansion on his own marriage, she and the maidservants had rattled about Mill House, doing the work they were paid for, naturally, keeping the place as immaculate as she had always done. The gardens were tended as they had always been and were a picture of spring colour thanks to George who, although he was getting on in years, took a great pride in his work. The stable lad and groom, Enoch and Arthur, since there were no longer horses to care for, had been taken up to the Priory but now that Mr Elliott had moved in there was talk of one of them being brought back to look after Mr Elliott’s animal and the gig that was to be purchased for . . . well, it was no secret that Mr Elliott was courting that friend of the older Mrs Sinclair and they were somewhat apprehensive at the thought of having a mistress after all this time. Looking after two bachelors was a vastly different thing to being ordered about by a mistress!

George was pottering about the rose beds when the carriage came rattling up the track, pulling up at the front of the house. He stared in astonishment when Mr Roly leaped out, his face like thunder, and made at once for the front door. The coachman, whose own face was stiff with outrage, was left to help a half-fainting lady, who George supposed was Mr Roly’s wife, from the carriage where she wavered, a handkerchief to her face, leaning on the coachman who had his arm about her. Without waiting to be let in Mr Roly barged through the door, almost knocking Mrs Cannon, who had also seen the carriage come up the track, to the floor and from the small dining room where the housekeeper had just been about to put a fruit pie in front of him, Mr Elliott came into the flagged hallway, a napkin still in his hand. On his face was a look of utter astonishment, one that matched that of Mr Roly. George edged nearer, not wanting to miss what was going on.

It was a contest as to who was more amazed, Adam Elliott or Roly Sinclair as they faced one another in the hallway, their mouths agape. It was no more than two hours since they had almost come to blows over what Roly considered to be
his
desk in his office and from where Harry Sinclair had been driven home by his frantic wife to await the arrival of the doctor. Harry had not seemed to be badly hurt but that kick to his ribs had been a vicious one and Adam had felt it needed looking into, especially to a man with Harry’s medical history.

‘Sinclair, what the devil are you doing here?’

‘I might ask you the same thing, you impudent dog. This is my house, a Sinclair house and I demand to know—’

‘Not any longer! This house has been given to me by my employer, Mr Harry Sinclair, and since it is his to do with—’

‘You bloody impertinent dog. How dare you move into my house and take over my servants . . .’

‘This is not your house, nor are they your servants. If you would care to see the deeds which I have in—’

‘Sod your deeds and sod you. I’ll have you thrown out.’ He strode back to the door and turned to where George hovered, the gardener wishing now he’d fled to the safety of the yard at the back of the house. He had heard the exchange between Mr Elliott and Mr Roly and was as flabbergasted as Mrs Cannon who stood dithering in the dining-room doorway, the fruit pie still in her hands.

‘You,’ Roly snarled at the old man. ‘Fetch the yard man, what’s-his-name, and be quick about it. I want this . . . this intruder removed from my house at once, d’you hear. And you’ – addressing his snivelling wife – ‘stop that immediately and come into the house.’ He whirled back to George who stood rooted to the spot, his fear so great he thought he might fall over.

‘There ain’t no one else, sir . . .’ he managed to stammer bravely, while the coachman, who had been with the Bracken family since Miss Anne was a small girl, gently put her back in the carriage, for a lady in her condition should not be treated like this. He was taking her home to her ma and pa and bugger that bully-boy she had married.

Roly beckoned to him imperiously. ‘You, what’s your name, leave my wife . . . yes, she can stay for the moment in the carriage but come here at once and help me to eject this intruder from my house. Come along, don’t stand there with your mouth open. What the devil d’you think you’re doing? Bloody hell,’ for the coachman, just as though his young mistress’s husband had not spoken, indeed did not even exist, had closed the carriage door, climbed up on his box and was prepared to drive away.

Roly stood there, his mouth open, his face scarlet with unbelieving rage, then turned as though he were about to attack Adam. Adam pushed Mrs Cannon behind him, indicating that she must make for the door to the kitchen, then prepared himself for the lunge he thought the maddened Roly was about to make. It was as well he did. Roly half crouched then threw himself forward so that his shoulder hit Adam in his midriff, carrying them both along the hallway, through the kitchen door and into the kitchen where Ivy the housemaid and Mrs Cannon screamed out loud in shock. Tess, the kitchen-maid, at Mrs Cannon’s directions, had run round to the front of the house to fetch George and his pitchfork but the old man was trembling in the flowerbeds and so, shrieking at the top of her voice, she caught the attention of the men who were at work in the yard of the destroyed mill, one of whom happened to be her mam’s brother’s wife’s nephew.