A Time Like No Other (19 page)

Harry, as if he could stand no more and wished only to escape her, turned sharply away and began to walk towards the carriage. Doctor Channing emerged from the rotting doorway, wiping his hands on a bit of cloth which he then stuck in his bag. It was bloodstained and Lally knew that what she proposed to do was right. This man cared nothing for the rough working folk in this place, or indeed any place, and had it not been for Harry and his power he would not have deigned to come out to Susan Harper.

‘I’ve stitched her up,’ he said carelessly in Harry’s general direction as though to say he had earned his fee but Harry stared away from him and from Lally towards the distant horizon.

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Lally said to him. ‘Is she all right to leave for half an hour or so? I must get—’

‘Of course, Mrs Sinclair.’ He smiled pompously. ‘These women are up and out of childbed before the child is barely wiped round. She’s probably—’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’ She interrupted his smugness quite rudely, making a mental note to look for a decent man to doctor to her own household’s needs should it be necessary which, naturally, it would when her child was born. She watched him climb into his carriage, saying something to Harry and nodding courteously but Harry did not respond, then with a click of his tongue and a slap of the reins on the horse’s rump they were off and bowling along the road, followed by a screaming group of half-naked children. The women in their doorways watched Lally as she turned towards the doorway of the woman they called a ‘stuck-up cow’ and went inside.

‘I’m off home now, Mrs Harper.’

‘Susan, please, Mrs Sinclair.’ Mrs Harper, or Susan as she had asked to be called, had the baby at her small breast which, to Lally’s inexperienced eye did not appear to have enough milk for even this little mite but the infant was sucking heartily while Sam sat and watched with great thankfulness.

‘Us’ll be all right now, thank you, Mrs Sinclair. Sam can get up ter’t mill fer—’

‘Oh, no, Susan. Sam will do no such thing. I shall go for the carriage and I shall take both you and Sam and the baby . . .’

‘Jack.’ Susan looked with great fondness at the infant.

‘Pardon?’

‘Ah’m to call ’im Jack after me ’usband.’

‘Oh, of course. That is just right, but let us talk of your move to my home where—’

‘Oh, no, Mrs Sinclair. This is our ’ome an’ as soon as ah’ve ’ad me a bit of a rest I’ll tekk meself back ter work. Mr Sinclair’s bin right good to us but ah can manage on me own now.’

Susan Harper, like her husband had been and the Yorkshire family from which she came, was fiercely independent and had it not been for the baby in her womb would not have accepted Harry Sinclair’s help. But now she was delivered she would see to herself and her family. This lovely young woman who had appeared so magically to help her and Sam had been a blessing but Susan would strap her baby on her back, take young Sam’s hand and within a day or two be back at her loom.

Lally, who argued with her for the best part of an hour, was forced to admit defeat for the time being but as she moved slowly out into the fitful sunshine she made up her mind that she would keep her eye on this little family and at the first sign of it faltering she would make it her business to make their lives better. After all, she had delivered young Jack!

12

Within weeks of their marriage Harry began the renovations to the Priory but though there was warmth, comfort, luxury even, apart from the new
bathroom
which was a miracle to the maidservants who had the task of cleaning it, somehow he managed not to change the nature of the beautiful old house. The original medieval great hall, stone-flagged, oak-ceilinged. The long gallery lined with an impressive array of Fraser ancestral portraits. An old wing with plasterwork and paintwork so obviously nearing the end of its life that it reminded Harry of the musky beauty of rose petals approaching decay. The carved oak staircase rising majestically from the hall, the dining room, the drawing room, all in sad need of repair and the ancient and dilapidated winter garden. All had a frail beauty, the baroque plaster moulding mellowed from the original white to delicate cream in places and all of which would need a master craftsman to put right. The chimneys which smoked would be cleaned and repaired and, in short, Harry Sinclair meant to make this his own magnificent establishment until he decided the time had come for him and his growing family to move on.

Even outside where Harry liked to stroll with an after-dinner cigar was scarcely touched; the wych-elms, the sycamores, the gnarled and knotted oaks from generations ago seemed to please the new tenant and he spent many hours with Barty and Froglet discussing their care. He inspected the stables and outbuildings, assessing what needed to be done to restore their crumbling walls and leaking roofs, the coach house which had the small gig for Lally’s use and soon would have a new and splendid coach with its own coachman. There would be quarters above the stables and coach house for the outdoor servants and their families.

Inside the house the hall was furnished with deep and comfortable armchairs grouped round the enormous fireplace in which a great leaping fire was kept burning night and day and at one side of the hall a big refectory table of heavy oak was installed on which estate maps were laid out along with newspapers and sporting magazines. The bedroom where he and Lally were to sleep, since he did not care to use the same bed she had once shared with Chris, was transformed into what looked like a bridal posy in peach silk and white lace with a dressing room knocked through to a somewhat more spartan bedroom where, should he be late back from a meeting or at the mill, Harry would spend the night. Their bedroom had an enormous bed, its curtains drawn up into a gleaming brass crown, the curtains at the windows of the finest, lightest silk, exquisitely draped and tied back with lace ribbon. There were crystal chandeliers with flickering candles in the main rooms downstairs, their floors covered in pale Chinese carpets in lovely shades of apple green and pink, their texture like velvet.

The winter garden was given over to Barty who could scarcely believe the amount of brass he was allowed to spend. It was completely stripped of its wilting plants and re-stocked with a huge pot containing bird-of-paradise flower, tubs of bleeding heart vine, orchid cactus in hanging baskets plus a vividly colourful display of trailing ivy in all shades of green and geraniums of every hue from the palest pink to a startling red with white mock orange blossom to set it all off. There were water hyacinth in a small pool and even cages in which singing birds poured out their hearts. There were crimson climbing hibiscus and perfumed jasmine, a wax plant with flowers that perfumed the night and passion flowers with edible fruit, and here and there a magnificent palm tree. The floor was re-tiled in terracotta and in the centre stood a round table covered with a green, floor-length cloth topped with a lace throw. Four wicker chairs heaped with cushions surrounded it and, usually drowsing in a companionable heap, Ally and Fred and the kitchen cat found they liked its warmth. Even in the winter when the sun was absent it was warm with some hidden heating system Harry had had installed.

Extra servants were employed, two gardeners named Wilf and Evan, a groom, Ben, come from Mill House to care for Harry’s bay, Piper, Ebony, whom Chris had once ridden, Jeb, the moor pony, Blossom the cob who pulled the gig and the lawn mower, Lally’s mare, Merry, and the two ponies Harry was to acquire for Jamie and Alec when they were old enough to ride. There were two more housemaids, one for the kitchen named Dulcie and another called Tansy who was to help Jenny and Clara as a parlour-maid. Biddy was in charge of the kitchen and housekeeping but Harry confided to Lally that he was seriously considering employing someone to do all the cooking, for Mrs Stevens, as he called her, had enough to do with the general supervising of the house. A steward was hired, a man by the name of Cameron with a broad Scots accent, stern and dour with a wife and three silent children and they were housed in what had once been a tumbledown cottage at the back of the stables, but with money spent on it was transformed into a cosy home for the five of them.

Lally often wondered what the Weavers of Foxwell Farm made of Cameron but as she grew bigger and more ponderous and it was realised that the new Mrs Sinclair was already pregnant with her third child, Mr Sinclair’s child, it was no longer considered circumspect to move about the estate and the tenants scarcely saw her. She sauntered about the increasingly well-kept gardens, her two sons tumbling about her skirts for Alec, now over a year old, was already floundering perilously on sturdy legs, constantly and good-humouredly falling over and picking himself up. The two dogs raced about and knocked the boys’ legs from under them and the garden was filled with laughter. Even the kitchen cat deigned to walk in a dignified manner at Lally’s back! It was winter now, and cold, with Christmas come and gone, but she wrapped them up warmly in their brand-new outfits and to Dora’s disapproval she took them out of the nursery and down the back stairs, out into the garden and across the meadow to the paddocks where Jamie as usual did his best to nip under the fence rails to get to the horses. There were six of them and Jamie wanted to ride them all!

She lived in a luxury she had never before known. Harry had given her carte blanche to spend whatever she wanted for the children and the rooms they occupied at the top of the house and with the help of a builder and a decorator provided by Harry, who seemed always able to call on men to do his bidding, she had walls knocked through so that there was a night nursery, a day nursery, a bedroom for Dora and a room planned for a schoolroom. It was all painted in a delicate cream with scores of highly coloured pictures in bright rows where small people could most easily see them. There were toys, for with money to spend without thought she bought her sons trains and boats and stuffed animals, books and games all piled on to white painted shelves and Dora again tutted disapprovingly because her charges were in distinct danger of being ruined!

When it was delivered she often took the gig over the moor – with Carly on the sturdy moor pony beside her since Harry would not hear of her going alone – to visit Susan Harper who, though she was glad to see her and thanked her politely for the huge basket of food she brought over, was not best pleased to the recipient of charity. But Lally knew, being a sensible and responsible mother, that Susan was deeply glad of the extra food, since it kept her Sam healthy and made it possible for her to nurse Jack with a plentiful supply of milk and though the three of them set off each weekday to tramp to the mill, the exercise did them no harm. Her room was kept spotless and her fire was never allowed to go out for she could afford the extra coal. Susan knew, as did many of the nursing mothers who worked at High Clough Mill, that Mr Sinclair was a fair employer. He expected a decent day’s work from them all, men, women and children, but he was resented in many parts of the woollen trade for what was considered his laxity with those who worked at his spinning machines and power looms. It was well known that women who were forced to take their newborn babies to work with them were allowed time to stop and feed them and it was a bloody wonder to them how he managed to make a profit with his soft ways. There was a sort of a cre’ che where a woman was kept to tend to these infants and a schoolroom where, for an hour a day, the older children were taught their lessons. Those who scorned him did not realise that Harry Sinclair, instead of being ‘soft’ was in fact a shrewd businessman, for the women he employed were the most efficient in the industry. Susan Harper knew that, for wasn’t she one of them? He had even sent across one of his men to put sturdy locks on her door in the tenement building where she and her children lived and though she was not on intimate terms with Mrs Sinclair she was deeply grateful for the better life her friendship – if she could call it that – with the maister’s wife afforded her.

It was March when Roly Sinclair came home from his travels!

She was dressed in a warm and luxurious bottle-green cloak, its hood and hem edged with pale grey fur and on her hands she wore pale grey kid gloves. She was in the garden in deep conversation with Barty who, with no children or grandchildren of his own, and with the extra help had a bit of time to spare, asked her hesitantly whether she might fancy a tree house for the lads, as he called them. There was a grand old oak with branches that would lend themselves to such a thing, not far from the house and with a ladder, which he, of course, would build with the help of Froglet and the handyman. Master Jamie and Master Alec, when they were a bit older, would be made up with it, in his opinion. It would be safe and sturdy, he would see to that, and Lally was made to realise that he and Froglet, who hung about at his side, were quite excited at the idea. They kept their eyes averted from the burgeoning bulge of her pregnancy as Barty walked her down the grassy slope towards the tree he had in mind, his arm at the ready should Mrs Sinclair need it in her cumbersome state. They were all surprised by the speed at which she and the new master had started a bairn and at the size of her already but they were simple folk and accepted her condition without question.

Not so Biddy! She had watched her mistress almost from the first days of her marriage, for the speed with which it had happened had startled her. Of course with Mr Sinclair about she and Miss Lally had not been as close as once they had been. She could no longer wander in and out of her little mistress’s bedroom as she had been wont to do and when she did, after the master had left for the mill, Miss Lally was often still in bed. But one day, a few weeks after the wedding, she had taken up a pile of freshly laundered underwear and with barely a tap on the door had entered the bedroom to find Miss Lally about to shrug herself into her shift. For a moment the girl had stood with her arms above her head, the shift in her hands, and the swelling of her belly, the growing fullness of her breasts were fully revealed.