A Time Like No Other (24 page)

Harry picked up his wife, holding her against his chest where she felt his strong, sweet, kind heart beating beneath her cheek. She nestled against him and though he smelled of masculine sweat which was unusual for him she realised he had been fully occupied in helping others and she found it did not repulse her. She was safe with this man, wondering as the thought occurred to her,
safe from what
? And did it really matter?

He knocked on the door of the guest room then entered, still carrying her. For a moment she was dismayed, for it was as though she were entering a church in which a service was about to take place: a service of committal for the small figure on the trestle bed. Sam, whose head had been crushed by the spinning mule but whose face had barely been disfigured, seemed to have a small smile about his mouth. His once impish face looked quite angelic. His vivid ginger hair had been washed and brushed and his curls glowed in the light of the candles that had been placed at the head and the foot of the narrow bed. Susan sat beside him, rocking slowly in the old rocker which someone – Lally for some reason suspected Harry – had placed there for her. It was the sort of chair that would be found in a cottage or the kind of home a woman of Susan’s class would feel comfortable in. Not grand as was most of the furniture at the Priory and Lally wondered where it had been found. Susan was nursing her baby who slept peacefully in her arms. She made no attempt to rise to her feet when her master entered the room.

‘You can put me down now, Harry,’ Lally told him, which he did. He pulled up a small velvet-covered chair, putting it close to the grieving mother, then left the room when he saw Lally comfortably settled. ‘Ring for me when you are ready to leave,’ he said quietly before he closed the door.

They sat there together, the two young mothers, not speaking, but Susan was made aware that Lally Sinclair grieved with her, sorrowed for her and was here, an arm’s length away should Susan need anything it was in Lally’s power to give her.

Then, ‘Tha little lass were born on’t same day my lad died.’

‘Yes.’

It was as though some bond was forged between them with those words. Lally sat for half an hour, studying the face of the dead boy until Susan spoke again. ‘Tha’d best get ter tha’ bed, lass. ’Appen I’ll come an’ see thi’ when . . .’

‘I’d like that, Susan. Bring Jack and I’ll introduce you to my babe. She is called Caterina. Cat for short.’

15

The small funeral service was held at the local chapel of St George’s near Sowerby Bridge, Susan having come from a family who were of the Methodist persuasion. Mr Sinclair gave permission for women, and men if they cared to, to have an hour off from their mules, for the lad’s death had deeply distressed those who worked beside Susan Harper and particularly those who had witnessed the horrifying accident. Those who attended, and there were many of the be-shawled women from the mill at High Clough, were astounded when the maister entered the chapel carrying his wife in his arms. Of course, it was not many days since she had herself given birth to a daughter and it was said that she had done herself some harm when she came hot-foot to the mill when the little lad was killed. Maister had nearly gone out of his mind, those who were there to see it told others, and since Mrs Sinclair had insisted she would attend the committal, even if she had to walk to Sowerby Bridge, he had no choice but to carry her. Both of them seemed not to mind the experience!

The day, as though to mock the sadness of the occasion, was one of those sunshine-filled late April days which seemed to give the promise of the summer to come. The sky was like blue silk stretching above the roof of the plain chapel. The bit of woodland in which the chapel stood contained hawthorn trees that were freckled with green and some firs which stood here and there along the edge. Beyond the dry-stone wall that surrounded the small graveyard the trees seemed to swim in a purple-pink haze as the swollen buds shone in the sunlight and there was a pale tide of shimmering primrose spreading across the rough grass and about the gravestones. The primroses were huge and fragrant, every stem seeming to be about four inches long and some of the women who must have been there early had gathered small bunches which they were ready to put on the child’s grave when he was under ground. The widow stood straight as a lance, her head up, staring into the soft sky as though she could see her lad being carried up to heaven where his pa was waiting for him and was saying goodbye to him. She did not weep, though many of the women did. She had been what they called a bit ‘stand-offish’. She could read and write and kept herself, her home and her little family clean and decent against all odds and had not really been one of them, but the lass had lost her husband and her child to the mill and you could not help feeling her sorrow. Mrs Sinclair held her arm, supporting her, though it seemed to them she was the one who could do with a bit of support. Still, the maister was there ready to catch her if she faltered. Heads bowed, they watched the bereaved mother throw a handful of soil into the grave, then a lovely flower, a rose they thought, come from the garden of their master, before being led away by the doctor who had attended her boy. The rose had actually been grown in the newly refurbished hothouse at the back of the Priory and was the pride and joy of Barty and Froglet.

To their amazement Mrs Sinclair made a great deal of fuss until Susan Harper agreed to return in Mrs Sinclair’s carriage to the Priory, where it was said her baby crowed in the nursery with Mrs Sinclair’s children. Was she to stay there and if so what were they to make of that? they wondered among themselves, watching as the maister swung his wife up into his arms the moment the committal was over and carried her to their carriage, settling her next to Susan Harper and the doctor.

The argument began the moment Susan walked in through the front door of the Priory. She nodded politely at Biddy who stood in the entrance hall waiting for the four of them to come inside. Harry wanted to carry Lally up to her room at once but she waved him away impatiently.

‘I can walk from here to the sofa in the drawing room, Harry. I allowed it at the chapel because I didn’t want a scene . . . well, it was hard enough, but I shall remain down here with you and Susan, and Doctor Burton, of course,’ turning to smile warmly at the doctor who, she could sense, wondered what he was doing here at all, but as she had said to Harry in the privacy of their bedroom, he had been inordinately kind and attentive, seeming to care, not just in the medical way but as a friend would, about Susan and Sam. He had been and would continue to be a great support to them all and she felt he should be present.

‘It might be a good idea if you were to rest, Mrs Sinclair,’ the doctor advised her.

‘I shall do. On the sofa. Now then, Biddy, would you ask Jenny to bring in tea and cakes and . . . well, I feel hungry so would it be too much trouble to ask for hot buttered toast, for us all, I think.’ She turned towards the drawing-room door, beckoning to Susan to come with her but Susan had turned towards the stairs, ready, it appeared, to go up them and collect her child.

‘Where are you going, Susan?’ Lally’s voice was soft and one could even say affectionate. The two men hovered by the door waiting for some sort of development, as it was certain one was to come.

‘Ah’m goin’ fer Jack, Mrs Sinclair. ’Tis time ah were away ’ome so if tha’ would . . .’ Her face mirrored the expression of fondness on Lally’s. ‘Tha’s bin so kind ter me, got me through these last days an’ I’ll never be able ter thank yer but I got ter—’

‘Come and sit down with me, Susan. Have a cup of tea at least before we decide what you are to do.’

Susan’s face became wary. ‘Ter do – what should I do but get ’ome? I’ve me life ter get on wi’. I mun earn me livin’.’

‘And you shall, Susan. But you will stay here to do it.’

But already Susan was shaking her head in denial. Biddy watched, her eyes going from Lally to Susan and back again. She was not awfully sure she liked what was happening here. This Susan . . . well, you could only feel sorry for the poor lass but what on earth was Miss Lally planning and when it was revealed would Biddy Stevens, who was Miss Lally’s only friend and confidante and had been for many years, would she like it? She had acted as a mother to her lass since Miss Delphine, Miss Lally’s mother, had died and felt uneasy at the way things appeared to be going.

‘Susan, don’t shake your head before you have heard what I have to say. Come into the drawing room and we shall have some tea and I shall tell you what I have in mind.’

Both men looked mystified. Susan stood with her foot on the bottom step but Lally, wanting to sit down all of a sudden, moved into the drawing room and sank into the depths of the sofa before the fire which crackled cheerfully in the grate. Biddy watched Susan Harper battle with herself and her damned independence, knowing exactly how she felt. A proud woman was Susan Harper who did not want to be beholden to any living soul. She had been terribly weakened by the loss of her little lad and had allowed herself to be guided, cherished, supported by the kindness and full heart of Lally Sinclair but now all she wanted was to be off back to her life and the work that would keep her and her baby fed, clothed and housed.

‘You’d best go, lass,’ she said softly to her, beginning to shepherd her towards the drawing-room door. Susan hesitated, her bemused eyes looking round her at the splendid comfort of the room. The lovely pictures which Harry had chosen, the deep-piled carpet, the flowers, the delicate ornaments, for in the months since his marriage and with an endless supply of money at his disposal, the house and gardens had been transformed. Outside the undergrowth of years had been cleared, hedges clipped, unnecessary trees cut down, specimen trees planted, the lake cleaned, flower borders laid out and fresh gravel laid on the drive from the gate to the house. Barty and Froglet, with the help of the two men employed by Mr Sinclair, had been in their element, for at last they could display their special horticultural talents.

The young woman who sat, dressed in the black of mourning for Susan’s little lad, last worn for the death of her husband, was patting the sofa, urging Susan to sit beside her.

‘Mrs Sinclair, me babby . . .’

‘Shall be brought down to you.’ She smiled at Biddy. ‘And will you ask Dora and the nurse to bring Caterina as well,’ for with two babies to take Susan’s mind off what must be positively overwhelming her, Lally’s own drawing room and its contents, surely it would be easier to speak to her about the future.

‘Harry, do give Doctor Burton a whisky or whatever he wants,’ she told her husband, ‘or perhaps he would prefer tea and hot buttered toast.’ Her brilliant smile was turned on the doctor.

‘Tea and toast for me, Mrs Sinclair,’ he said boyishly. ‘I love tea and toast.’

Susan smiled for the first time and John Burton was quite bowled over by its sweetness and luminosity. He could not remember ever having seen her smile before.

A large pot of tea, the pot of fine bone china decorated with birds and flowers, accompanied by four cups and saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl, was brought in by Jenny, all set out on a white lace cloth and placed within reach of her mistress. Harry stood with his back to the wide door that led to the conservatory from where the fragrance of the newly planted and lovingly tended blooms floated, watching as his wife poured tea which the doctor leaped to hand round, then passed him the toast which with a boyish appetite he seemed to enjoy hugely. He was twenty-six years old, only a couple of years younger than himself, a clever and dedicated doctor as he had proved when attending Lally, but he was youthful, engaging and one could not help but like him. Even now, though he was tucking in to the toast as though he hadn’t eaten a square meal for days – which perhaps he hadn’t, for he lived in lodgings – Harry could tell he was watching Lally for any signs that she might be overtaxing her strength.

The two babies were brought down by Dora and the starched nurse who had been brought in for Lally’s confinement. Susan held out her arms for her Jack, that lovely winsome smile lighting her face again and Lally nursed the infant Cat for a moment or two before the doctor suggested mildly that Nurse should take her back to the nursery. Cat was a lovely child with none of that crumpled, red-faced, snuffling appearance that newborn babies seem to possess. But young Jack, now six months old, was delighted with the attention he received, sitting on his mother’s knee and beaming round at the company. His hair was the same bright copper as his brother’s and father’s had been, standing in a thick cloud about his head. He had two teeth which gleamed in the pinkness of his gums and he clapped his hands, showing off a new trick he had learned in the last day or two. He was dressed in a little gown that had once belonged to Alec. It had a broad sash and pretty smocking on the bodice. He wore knee-high white socks and little slippers of the softest leather and might have been taken for a girl but his nature was not at all girlish. Within minutes he began to squirm, doing his best to get off his mother’s lap and reach the floor where he was already able to make the motions of a fish on dry land.

Dora took him, kissing his cheek, which was not as rounded as Doctor Burton would have liked, for these children of mill folk did not get enough of the nourishing food they needed to encourage healthy growth.

The two babies were taken away, Jack howling his displeasure and as his voice faded up the stairs Lally at once began to talk.

‘Now, Susan, you can see how we are placed here.’ Her voice was crisp, revealing nothing of her true feelings. She wanted Susan to believe that Lally could not manage without her. Susan’s pride would not allow her to be given charity, Lally had already found that out, and so she must be made to believe that her help and support for Lally were vital. But that was not the whole truth. She really
did
need help for Dora, since two growing toddlers and one new baby was too much for the young girl to cope with. She had done well with Jamie and Alec but they were already strong-willed little boys, taking after their father who had always got his own way, and needed a firm hand and Susan could provide that. Besides which, this would give Susan stability in her life for herself and her remaining son. She was still deep in shock, still grieving not only for Sam but for her young husband, and a home and respectable, worthwhile employment, plus a friend, which Lally felt herself to be, would make her life easier to bear.