A Time Like No Other (42 page)

Lally and Adam were concerned with replacing the mill that had perished, using the insurance money, naturally, studying the plans drawn up by Albert Watson and the devastation to the yard where he meant to build it.

Roly, who had not been seen for several days after the explosion, came cantering along the lane on his fine horse and bade them ‘Good morning’ just as though he were a passer-by who had stopped to stare at someone else’s misfortune. He had been like that ever since he had first come from the direction of his father-in-law’s house in Skircoats. He had not felt the need to leave Lord Billington’s estate when news of the disaster reached him, for he could not have been expected to forgo the pleasures of Lord Billington’s Hunt Ball, could he, nor the attention of the sweet young thing who had caught his eye when she was blooded. He expressed regrets at what he saw as
Lally’s
adversity. After all, it was nothing to do with him. She had made her choice when she refused to sell him Harry’s half of the business, for which now he was truly thankful, since it meant he must part with not one penny piece towards its rebuilding.

‘When do you expect to be in business again, my dear Lally?’ he enquired sweetly. ‘Some time in the distant future it would seem.’ He smiled, his lip curling up in his handsome face.

Lally returned his smile then drew her hood up over her short hair. There was a fine rain drifting lightly across the dismal scene and it clung to all three of them. Several men were rooting about in the ruins, given permission by Lally to glean what they could from the disaster. One man had a rickety cart which he was piling up with burned bricks and bits of timber. He was going to build a hen-house in his back yard, he was explaining to another and if the man would help him pull the cart he would give him some eggs. The man agreed.

‘As a matter of fact we are already trading, Roly. I’m sure you will be pleased to hear it. I know Harry was when I discussed it with him this morning,’ her heart wrenching for the silent man who sat and stared from his window at God only knew what. ‘He has given me carte blanche to do whatever I think best. With Mr Elliott’s help, of course.’

Roly’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’

‘Oh yes. You may remember Mr Heaton. Brice Heaton. He has already travelled abroad to . . . where is it, Adam?’ She turned enquiringly to Adam.

‘New York. He has the names of several buyers there, taken, I believe, from your desk at South Royd, Mr Sinclair. While you have been . . . er . . . absent the three of us have been over there and he has a list not only of those who are interested in our yarn but how much is stored in the sheds. We mean – Mrs Sinclair and I – to continue business from South Royd and West Heath until the new mill is up and running.’ He smiled then drew a case from an inside pocket. Taking a cigar from it and with an enquiring look at Lally to obtain her permission, he lit it and drew the smoke deeply into his lungs.

‘Now look here, you two . . . two . . .’ Roly began to bluster.

‘Yes, Roly, what is it you wish to say?’

‘You won’t get away with this. Those mills are still legally part mine and I will not countenance you rummaging about in my office and taking it upon yourselves, without consulting me—’

‘You were not here to consult. Perhaps you might like to put your hand in your pocket, or perhaps your wife’s pocket to help with the rebuilding of the mill, Roly. It is to be erected on Penrose Meadow, by the way. Harry means to sell this piece of land and begin afresh. Not only with a mill but decent cottages for the workers, a library, schools, shops, somewhat in the style of Titus Salt’s industrial village. The new mill will employ over 3,000 operatives and the children will work only four hours a day. The rest of the time they will spend in school. We mean to—’

‘Dear Christ, philanthropists, is it, you and my dear brother,’ he sneered. ‘Well, I wish you well of it. Now I really must get home to my wife. We are also to build but it is to be a house, a mansion, so what Harry means to do with Mill House I don’t know, or care.’

He was about to turn away but Lally stopped him with her next words.

‘I’m glad to hear you say that, Roly, for it will not go to waste. Mr Elliott and Mrs Harper are to be married as soon as she is able to walk up the aisle and Harry is to give it to them as a wedding present.’

It was a good job Roly was looking at her and not Adam or he would have seen the look of amazement on Adam’s face.

‘We’ll say “good morning” then, Roly,’ Lally added cheerfully, putting a hand on Adam’s sleeve and drawing him away towards the gateway and the carriage that stood there. Waiting until they were both in it Adam burst out with the words he had been holding in.

‘Now look here, Lally . . . er, Mrs Sinclair. What on earth possessed you to tell that idiot that Susan and I are to be married? No one knew and now it will be all over Moorend and—’

Lally laughed and on the seat where he had the reins in his hands Carly smiled.

‘Oh, Adam, everyone knows how you feel about Susan and that she returns your feelings. You are waiting only—’

‘But . . .’ Adam’s face was a picture.

‘Is it not true, then?’

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘Well then. Mill House is empty and you and Susan and Jack will need somewhere to live so what could be more logical than that you should take it over? You will need, as the mill manager, somewhere suitable.’

‘Mill manager . . .’ he spluttered.

‘Of course. Now then, let us talk of the need to get the operatives who worked at High Clough back in employment. Susan and I have discussed it, as I am sure she has with you, and we propose to run West Heath and South Royd round the clock. Twenty-three hours a day. Shift work, in fact. Two shifts until Penfold Meadow is in production. That way we will produce twice the goods and lose none of our operatives who will lose none of their jobs.’

‘Susan did say you had that in mind,’ he told her wryly but she interrupted him.

‘It means more hours of work for you, Adam, with a higher wage, of course, and with Brice selling whatever comes off our looms we should keep our heads above water. I was wondering if, among your university friends, you might know of a good man to be under-manager. I . . . er . . .’ she paused delicately, ‘I shall not be able to . . . work for much longer and you cannot do everything and with Susan laid up for the time being it all falls on your shoulders. One day Harry will be recovered,’ she went on bravely, her mind returning as it frequently did to the quiet figure by the window of the bedroom. He was beginning to put on weight and though Biddy strenuously argued against it, Doctor John had put him on a diet. Martin walked him down the lawn every day but it was not the vigorous exercise to which he was accustomed.

Adam grinned boyishly. ‘And we thought we had kept it quiet . . .’

‘How could you with you at the infirmary every day? Now, with Susan back home soon I suggest you move into Mill House right away. Mrs Cannon will be surprised but she doesn’t care who lives there as long as she gets her wages. Now, shall we get on to West Heath.’

To their astonishment and delight orders began to come from established customers, one of whom remarked on the efficiency of young Mr Heaton with whom he had dined several days ago. It came from New York where Brice Heaton had approached several of their customers and had been so charming, so persuasive, so free with his entertaining, not to mention the excellence of the samples he produced, it seemed they would be hard pressed to keep up with him. The plan to run the two mills round the clock had been received with great thankfulness by the operatives put out of work by the disaster at High Clough, and, with a young man of impeccable credentials come from the same university as Adam and Brice, a young man by the name of Frank Schofield, at his side, Adam had every spinning frame and loom working night and day. They needed extra care from the two men and a great deal of watching, for the machines carried an extra load in the way of producing yarn, each one examined and maintained so that no breakdowns or accidents occurred.

The month rolled on and though Lally had been struggling on with the accounts, the wages books, the work records relative to the manufacture of woollen goods, they now found that Hawkins, who had once been awkward and inclined to resent what he considered their intrusion into a man’s world, was surprisingly helpful. It seemed he knew which side his bread was buttered, thankful that he was given an office at West Heath and retained his job. Lally, without Susan but with Hawkins’s rather old-maidish advice, was helped to read a balance sheet, with ledgers, contracts and copies of negotiations with suppliers and customers. Adam, with Frank Scho-field on the mill floor, often worked beside her, reading the weekly reports, audits and the invoices delivered at regular intervals from Albert Watson regarding the slow building of the mill at Penfold Meadow, called now by the one name, Penfold. From somewhere Hawkins, who had worked for the Sinclairs since he left school and could not bear to throw anything away, produced records that were extremely advantageous to Lally and Adam and she was heard to say that she wondered why the hell he had not shown them to her from the start!

Every evening she returned home to dine with Harry, sitting with him before their fireside, and in the hope that the familiar facts and figures – familiar to him that is – that she poured into his ears might awaken his dormant brain she talked to him of her day, and every morning she visited the infirmary to see Susan and do the same. Adam rode over to the infirmary every evening, his expression ardent, and instructing her severely to name a day for their wedding. He was living at Mill House and Mrs Cannon had proved most obliging. Susan would have nothing to do but give orders and be waited on hand and foot, he told her. No, she was not to return to the office at the mills since they were being run most efficiently by Lally and Mr Hawkins, forgetting in his ardour that Lally would soon not be able to
be
at the office.

She was getting heavy now in her body and she found she had to make a great effort not to allow her senses and her emotions to become lulled, her identity as a woman submerged in her role as breeding female, fighting to take over.

‘I wish you could see what has been accomplished, Harry, and in such a short time. A Mr Grassmann called today and quite took over the place, looking at every sample. He had come all the way from London, staying at the Golden Plough in Halifax. He was quite amazed at the sight of me and Adam but really Adam is a marvel. He took over and talked him through the weaving of what he wanted and before half an hour he had him eating out of his hand. They were talking of warp and weft, delivery dates, profit and loss as though Adam had been in the woollen trade all his life. I, very circumspectly’ – putting a hand to her swollen belly – ‘stayed behind my desk. Adam took him to the sheds and carefully showed him several pieces still on the loom.’

She leaned towards him and took his hands, then clumsily knelt at his feet, looking up into his face. Since the weather had begun to turn warmer Martin and he not only took short walks down the sloping lawn but sat on the garden seat by the lake and his face had taken on a healthier colour.

‘Darling, darling Harry, though we are managing to keep things ticking over we need you. We all need you. What am I to do when the baby comes?’

She put her face on their clasped hands which lay in his lap and as she spoke the word ‘baby’ his glance fell on her but she did not see it. She sighed and her breath moved the fine hairs on the back of his hands and the expression on his face, which was really no expression at all, changed in some way but again she did not see it. She got heavily to her feet, her swollen body barely registering that in some way Harry was helping her to rise.

‘Oh well, I’d better go and have a word with Dora. That lad Susan saved, not to mention Jack, should be in their beds by now. Honestly, Harry, the nursery is becoming very full and with this one soon to be added to it we shall have to think about extending the rooms. And Dora really needs some assistance though she does very well. Of course, Philly is a great help and plays nursery maid as much as governess. She is even attempting to teach Boy his letters, poor little lad. I wonder where his family is, or even if he had one.’

She kissed Harry, her hand smoothing the thick riot of his dark hair, her mind registering that it really did need cutting, then with another loving kiss she left him.

27

Spring came in with such surprising vigour Barty was to say again and again to Froglet he didn’t know how the devil they were to keep up with the jobs that were ready for doing. You only had to look at the massed heads of the wild daffodils, which normally at this time of the year would just be thrusting their spears through the grass and were already flaunting their magnificent golden trumpets, to realise that winter had truly gone. And would you look at them wallflowers, like a flame they were against the front wall of the house. A proper picture, didn’t Froglet agree and he couldn’t remember ever having seen a finer show of honesty in the corner of the stable yard with their white and purple flowers already attracting early butterflies. The geraniums he and the lad had planted in pots along the terrace were almost in flower. The magnolia trees were that lovely he wished they would flower all year round. The sweet bay needed a good pruning and the grass already needed mowing. Aye, this was the busiest month of the year. Straw was needed to protect the magnolias, delicate roses and hardy plants growing up the walls, but the later in the season the tender plants could be kept in a dormant state the better, he explained to his acolyte. The gladioli must be planted along with the chrysanthemums, lupins and other annuals. The dahlias should be increased by cutting and the rhododendron beds should be dressed with cow dung brought from the farms, and with leaf mould. The sweeping and rolling of turf and gravel must be seen to and all this before they started on the kitchen garden. And everything was so far forward would they ever catch up? he asked gloomily. Froglet shook his head as though in despair.