A Time Like No Other Page 39

  ‘Roly, do you not think that with Anne as she is it would be . . .’ his mother-in-law began, but Roly only shook his head in exasperation, bowed mockingly to the ladies and left the room. He bounded up the stairs, making for the bedroom in which he now slept, as it was considered his wife was too delicate to share her husband’s bed, for which he was heartily thankful. Opening his wardrobe he took out a pair of field glass lenses. They were the very latest model which had a good magnification and had cost him twelve guineas. Letting himself out of a side door he walked round to the stable yard and shouted for one of the grooms to saddle Foxfire, his chestnut gelding who was reliable, even in the dark.

  It took him no more then fifteen minutes to reach Penfold Meadow. He tethered Foxfire to a handy tree and slithering down a slight incline found the spot he was looking for. It was still only eight o’clock and not yet dark so he could see quite clearly the growth of the great mill that his brother was building. The scaffolding was like a cobweb against the handsome stone which had reached the first floor, and even now at this time of the evening while there was still light men could be seen working, for it seemed his brother was in a hurry to get it up.

  He watched for half an hour, playing his binoculars over every part of the building, then, with a smile on his face that would have disturbed his brother had he seen it, he stood up, placed the binoculars in their case, slung them on his saddle, leaped gracefully on to Foxfire’s back and set off at a gallop towards the fleshpots of Halifax.

  With the greatest of ease and a speed that took them all by surprise, Lally gave birth to her son at the end of the July, called Martin after his grandfather. The house was in a ferment since they had all believed they were in for a long and harrowing night but though she only began her labour at four in the afternoon while taking the air on the bench Barty had set out for her by the wallflowers, they got her into her bed, sent for Mr Harry and the baby came squalling into the world at eight. By half past, Lally, much to the disapproval of the nurse who was not, in anyone’s opinion, needed, was sitting up in bed eating strawberries and cream with a bright blue ribbon in her well-brushed hair.

  ‘Lass, lass, they’ll give you indigestion,’ Biddy protested, casting an anxious glance at Mr Harry who was walking about the bedroom, his son in his arms, a besotted expression on his face. Susan was there, also looking anxious, for she and Adam were to be married on the Saturday and how was Lally to get to the wedding? She’d postpone it, Susan said, but Lally told her not to be so daft. Today was Monday and she’d be up and about by Saturday, she said cheerfully, spooning strawberries into her mouth, to which remark Biddy, Susan and Harry all looked at her as if she were mad and began at once to protest.

  They had all gone and she and Harry were alone, ‘and about bloody time’, Harry said as he cradled her in his arms. ‘What with the children all over you, though I must admit to a certain indifference to the baby on Jamie’s part, I couldn’t get near you. I suppose for a big boy of four who already shares his nursery with what sometimes seems dozens of children, one more isn’t anything to get excited about. He was disappointed it wasn’t a puppy, he told me. He dearly wants a puppy of his own and I feel inclined to get him one.’ He lifted her face up to his and kissed her with a love that bathed her in its warmth and gladness.

  ‘They’ll all want one then,’ she said sleepily, her eyelids drooping, and at once he was ready to bound off the bed and leave her to her rest but she clutched at him fiercely. ‘Don’t you dare leave me, Harry Sinclair. I want my husband in my bed from now on with his arms about me and soon . . .’

  ‘Dear God, woman, you can’t mean . . . ?’ He laughed delightedly.

  ‘I do, my darling, but for tonight just you beside me in our bed with our arms about each other will be enough.’

  ‘That nurse will have my hide if she finds me in here with you. She has already indicated that she finds my presence prejudicial to “mother”.’

  ‘To hell with her.’

  Harry’s arms tightened round her and he sighed in utter content. ‘This has been a day like no other, d’you know that? A time like no other. My wife loves me, my son is here at last and in a few weeks we will be opening the new mill at Penfold. What a celebration that will be. They shall all come, all the children and of course . . . what d’you think of Martin for the boy?’ he asked her diffidently but when he looked down enquiringly at her she was fast asleep.

  At Briar House another child had been born that day, a girl whose grandmother took one look at her and fainted at her daughter’s bedside. A pretty child with fair fluffs of what would be curls on her tiny skull but whose left arm finished in a stump at the shoulder and whose left foot had no toes. It was as though at the beginning of her pregnancy the foetus in Anne’s womb had given up forming certain parts, leaving bits missing.

  On the bed the exhausted mother wept for her husband, who was not here to hold her in his comforting arms and tell her how harrowing it all was, and no, she told the nurse, she did not want to hold her baby in her arms.

  When it was known at the Priory that Anne Sinclair had given birth to a deformed child they all shook their heads sadly. It was noticed that Doctor John who had called to see Lally looked somewhat pensive as though some mystery had suddenly become clear to him.

  ‘Roly Sinclair seems to be a most objectionable man but from what I have heard of him he was not always like that. From what you tell me, Lally, he was once quite an endearing character.’

  ‘He was, John. Chris and I were very fond of him but he changed over the years. He was always wild but never . . . well, I hate to say it, but he seems to have become almost insane.’

  ‘Yes, I agree,’ John mused but refused to say any more.

  When Roly finally staggered home a day or two later it seemed he cared nothing for the child!

  Lally was proved right in her declaration that she would be up and out of her bed in time for Susan and Adam’s wedding which took place at the same church in which she and Harry had been married and where Chris Fraser had been in his grave these last three years.

  Susan’s first marriage had been a plain and simple one, for she and Jack Harper had been hard pressed to find the money for the parson. Many of her contemporaries in the same position didn’t bother with an official ceremony but simply moved in together, probably bearing their first child within six months.

  This time it was not exactly a lavish affair, for that was not Susan’s style, but with Lally urging her on, since Lally wanted her friend to have the very best, she had submitted to a ceremony to which all the servants from the Priory were invited along with Doctor John and one or two of his associates who had attended her when she was in hospital, accompanied by their wives. The tenants from the farms came, all dressed up in their Sunday best, even Mrs Cannon and her handmaidens from Mill House, for they were Adam’s servants and would be Susan’s when she moved in after the honeymoon in the northern dales of Yorkshire that Adam had insisted upon. Adam’s parents came, proud as punch with their son who had done so well and the sensible lass he had chosen as his wife. They were not so sure about Jack, who was a lively lad, merry and cheerful and noisy in the church where he insisted upon beating time to the hymns on the back of the pew with the wooden animal he had been given to keep him quiet!

  The small church was full. The only ones left behind were Cat and the new baby, Martin, and so as not to disappoint Dora, who was the backbone of the nursery, Polly McGinley produced a niece, seventeen and good with children, who was looking out for a job as a nursemaid. She came a day or two before the wedding and proved so reliable Lally employed her on the spot, to work under Dora, of course, for with four young children, one of them not even a week old, it was decided Dora needed help. Jack and Boy, who was devoted to Susan, would naturally go with her to Mill House.

  Susan looked lovely in the silk gown she had chosen, the colour of apple blossom with a wide crinoline which almost brushed the ends of each pew as she walked towards her groo
m on the arm of Harry who told Lally later he was convinced there was not really enough room for someone as unnecessary as himself. The skirt was flounced, the waist, though not exactly tiny, was neat, for Susan could not now be considered slender, the bodice, separate from the skirt, fitted her splendid bosom and was adorned round the neck and at the wrists with the tiniest of silk rosebuds. Her bonnet, worn at the back of her head, had ribbons to match her gown and under the brim was a froth of white lace and pink rosebuds, a posy of which, real this time and handpicked by Barty that morning, matched them. Her bridegroom, apart from his face which was bright and smiling, was sombre in the plain grey and white that was traditional. Susan’s face glowed with happiness, for this was something she had never expected to happen to her again, she confided to Lally and it was thanks to her that it was taking place at all.

  They had a real ‘wick’ time of it after the wedding back at the Priory or, as Polly said to Sean when she could get her breath, ‘Clogs’ll spark toneet.’ Lally, conscious that so many of their friends were what was called in higher circles ‘the lower classes’, had made the celebrations something they could enjoy. They poured into the ground-floor rooms where the food was abundant, all prepared by Biddy and the maids in her charge. Vast platters of steaming chicken, a haunch of mutton, meat patties stuffed with mushrooms, a boiled round of beef followed by rhubarb tartlets, jellies, blancmange and wonder of wonders, since none of them had ever tasted it, strawberry ice cream. And all washed down with ale, wine for those who liked it and champagne to toast the bride and groom who took themselves off afterwards, for they had a journey to make and wished to arrive before nightfall, the ardent bridegroom said, his eyes on his serenely smiling bride.

  Lally was to wonder what the doctors’ wives thought of it all but they seemed to enjoy it and when the dancing in the wide hallway started, country dancing, they joined in, their skirts whirling, their curls bobbing, their faces flushed. She herself, no more than a few days out of her childbed and watched by her husband who never left her side, was carried upstairs by him when no one was looking and made to rest for an hour but no one, it seemed, missed her, except Biddy who fussed about the pair of them until Harry told her to see to the guests in the absence of the mistress of the house. Biddy sniffed, knowing she was being told that Harry Sinclair was now taking care of his wife and would do till the end of his days. She gave in.

  There was a small hiccup when Susan and Adam climbed into the carriage that was to take them to the station in Halifax, for Jack wailed, believing he was to go too and why shouldn’t he, he demanded to know and Boy went quite white with apprehension at the thought of Susan leaving him alone for a week but strangely it was the new nursemaid, named Becky, who calmed him down and was to be seen playing ‘tig’ with him and Jack at the far end of the lawn as the happy couple drove off.

  Their guests had all gone, thank the Lord, said Harry with a heartfelt tone in his voice and they lay in bed, Mr and Mrs Sinclair, their arms about one another and pondered on how long it would be before they could make love. Lally was all for it now, she said, placing a hand on Harry’s stomach and hearing him groan but Harry said best wait for a few days at least though it was bloody hard with her hand on his private parts.

  They were almost asleep when he murmured, ‘I thought we would have heard from Roly by now but he . . .’ His voice was drowsy and he fell asleep in mid-sentence.

  32

  It was October now, a lovely autumn day, warm and sunny, on which it was possible to saunter along with the tribe of children, down to the lake to feed the raucous ducks and the swans which honked in annoyance when they missed a bit of bread, then on to the paddock where the two older boys were heaved up on to the backs of their ponies.

  ‘Knees in, Master Jamie, sit in’t middle o’t saddle, Master Alec, an’ look up, not down,’ Carly would admonish sternly. The boys would obey him at once, for they held him in some awe knowing he would stand no nonsense, aware that their mother and Aunt Susan were watching and that if they did not do as they were told Carly would threaten to put young Jack up on Snowy or Teddy’s back, or even Miss Cat who would do better than they could, ‘an’ none o’ yer old buck’, he would roar at one or the other should they try to answer back. They adored Carly, but at the same time respected him, knowing just where they stood with him. Father, as they called Harry, and who had once more appeared in their young lives and was accepted without question, was away all day and available only at the weekends when he would take them out into the woods and play exciting games from a book which he promised to read to them when they were older. It was called The Last of the Mohicans which they found tricky to say. It was about Red Indians who lived in a far-off place called America and the games involved hiding and pretend fights which they loved. Between them Father and Carly fulfilled all their childish needs, one with books and play acting, the other with their beloved ponies.

  The baby, now nearly three months old, would chortle away to himself as though it wouldn’t be long before he would be up there showing them how things were really done and Lally would sigh at the perfection of her life and Susan would slip her arm through hers in perfect understanding. They were in calm waters now, both of them.

  The little procession left the paddock area and moved towards the woodland. The great oaks were beginning to throw their acorns, forming a dense carpet which would not stay long on the ground, for they would be seized by hordes of birds and squirrels, and by the boys when they were about. The beech trees were showing their vivid autumn colours, glowing and glorious with a mosaic of flaming orange, russet and gold which would gradually darken to a dull copper, leaves already spiralling lazily to the ground. Beside the oak and beech were sycamore and hornbeam. Dora pushed the perambulator ahead of them, trundling it over the acorns and fallen leaves, joggling the baby, keeping her eye on Cat who did her usual performance of tottering, falling, picking herself up, talking to herself, kneeling to admire some plant or perhaps a worm that wriggled out of her baby grasp.

  ‘I wanted you to be the first to know, apart from Adam, of course . . .’ Susan smiled secretly and bent her head.

  ‘What . . . what is it that makes you look so . . . don’t tell me you are pregnant?’ Lally bent her head to peer into Susan’s rosy face then swept her into her arms and kissed her soundly. ‘Well, I must say you didn’t waste much time. I might have known that Adam would have you with child the minute he got you into bed.’

  ‘Lally!’ Susan laughed. ‘You really are the limit . . .’

  ‘Susan, so are you . . .’

  Dora turned round to look at the two women who clutched each other in an ecstasy of mirth and could you wonder, Dora thought. They had both been through so much in the last few years, pain and sorrow, a burden of adversity that would have felled most women and yet they were splitting their sides in a way that made Dora fear for their sanity! Really they were a pair but they deserved to laugh, to be joyful with their husbands and children and those in the household who loved them. There were great comings and goings in preparation for the vast celebrations that were to take place at Penfold Meadow which, Dora had been told by the other servants, was to commence work next Monday. The wonderful new mill which even Dora had walked over to see was finally finished and what a grand and stately place it was, an’ all. They were all to go, the servants, the children and the folk who were to work there to a grand opening, a feast the likes of which had never been seen before. A whole oxen roasted on a spit, hams the size of a cartwheel, loins of pork, meat pies, pickles and cheeses, beef steak puddings, home-made bread, and apple pies and cream enough to feed an army. Barrels of ale and cider and two old chaps who would play their fiddles to accompany the vigorous country dances that would follow. The meal was timed for five o’clock on the Saturday to take place in the mill’s combing shed so that the operatives who were to start work on the Monday at the crack of dawn would have a day to get over the worst of their merrymaking. They were all looking forward to i
t, for it was not often that this sort of thing happened in their hardworking lives.

  The laughter of the two women pealed out over the autumn woodland, lifting with the fragrance of the woodsmoke, reaching even Barty and Froglet, busy with a bonfire while ‘them lads’ were elsewhere – for it was a right to-do-ment to keep the little imps from enthusiastically flinging everything in sight into the flames – but what the mistress and her friend were laughing about they couldn’t tell you!

  The mill was a marvel and a testament to the skill and ingenuity of the modern young architects who had designed it. Harry had, after many discussions with Adam and the operatives who were to work in it, for their ideas came from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, decided against the slightly rigid plans of Albert Watson. Albert muttered about ‘bloody new men and their bloody new ideas’ but as he was to build the thing and would make an enormous profit he hid his animosity with smiles and much rubbing of his hands.

  It was massive, four floors and along the length of each floor were fifty tall windows to let in the maximum of light and each window made to open so that the operatives might have space, light, warmth and fresh air. There were four majestic towers, one at each end and two spaced down its centre and across the front in huge letters was the sign, SINCLAIR. MANUFACTURER OF WORSTED GOODS.

  Already, in the acres of land about the mill, the foundations for the new cottages that were to house the operatives had begun and Albert Watson rubbed his hands together with glee, confiding to his wife in the privacy of their bedroom where she was performing her marital duties in his bed that if Sinclair went on as he was doing she might have that new mansion in the country she had set her heart on!

  There were six men, big, loutish chaps who looked as though they’d sell their own mothers for the price of a pint of ale, gathered with their leader outside the gates that led into the wide, cobbled yard that surrounded the mill at Penfold Meadow.