Off the Rails (9 page)

‘I’m a rich man now,’ he told his dizzied wife, ‘an’ I must live according. Rich men live well. What’s the point of having brass if you don’t use it? I
tell ’ee, Lizzie, this might be a windfall and unlooked for, but I mean to mek it work for me night and day. Night and day. You see if I don’t. For a start, I mean to build a railway from York to the Midlands, an’ when I’ve built one, I shall build another and another. There’ll be no stopping me. And every one’ll mek me money. This inheritance is just the start. It’ll be doubled in a twelvemonth if I have my way. I’m the richest man in York today, there’s no doubt about that, but give me a year or two and I’ll be the richest man in England. That’ll show ’em back in Howsham.’

Lizzie would have been quite content to be married to the richest man in York and had no national ambitions at all, but she only said, ‘I’m sure you will, dear,’ and smiled at him because she’d learnt by then that it wasn’t wise to disagree with Mr Hudson when he’d set his heart on something. Besides which she didn’t want to risk upsetting herself with an argument, not while she was carrying.

Another two weeks of ceaseless preparation followed and then her rich husband invited all his cronies to a splendid dinner, where roast beef was served in copious quantities, a great deal of excellent wine was consumed and raucous songs were sung. The guests didn’t leave until past midnight, by which time they were so drunk they had to be lifted into their carriages and were declaring that ‘old Hudson’ was a stout feller, ‘be dammed if he wasn’t’. It was all extremely satisfactory and successful and the best thing about it was that when his guests were stupid with drink, old Hudson had told them about the new railways and explained what a wonderful idea they were and what a lot of money they would bring to the town, and they’d been so well oiled they’d been happy to agree with him. Of course he knew that it would take time to really persuade them. They were too set in their opinions to change overnight. But they would be persuaded
eventually
. He would win them over with rich food and fine wine and enthusiasm. He’d made up his mind to it. Sooner or later he would build a railway between York and the coal mines and the prosperous
manufacturing
towns of the Midlands, just as he’d promised Lizzie, and these men would help him do it.

Meantime he had to find a way to meet George Stephenson and persuade him that he should be the principal engineer of that railway. And he also had to find his workforce, the first of whom had to be the engineers who’d learnt their trade on the Stockton and Darlington. Nothing less than the most experienced would do. His head was so full of plans he could barely sleep at night. Change was coming to his ancient city and he was the man who was going to bring it there. Even if it took years to raise the capital and to persuade the government to pass a bill to legalize the venture, his railway was going to be built. He hadn’t the slightest doubt of it.

Jane Jerdon had to admit that living in a house that was being revitalized was an exciting business. It wasn’t at all what she expected but that’s how it was. There wasn’t time to sit and brood over the injustice of having to work for George Hudson, she was too busy working – and being surprised. For not only had her life quickened to a head-spinning extent but surprises followed one after another.

The Hudsons had been in the house for two months when Lizzie Hudson sent a maid down to the kitchen one hot afternoon to ask if Mrs Smith would come to see her in the parlour and bring a jug of lemonade for two, which Jane duly did. It had become a habit to take tea or lemonade with Lizzie and one she rather enjoyed. The first time it happened she’d been rather surprised because the lady of the house never took tea – or lemonade for that matter – with one of her servants but as the days passed she’d become accustomed to it. After all, they were rather more than lady and housekeeper now. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the great wealth that
occasionally
opened a chasm between them, they could have been friends.

‘I got a question to ask ’ee,’ Lizzie Hudson said, when they were settled. ‘Well, more of a favour, if truth be told. What I means for to say is … I got a question to ask you about your Milly.’

Jane was alarmed. Has she done summat wrong? she thought. But surely not. I’d have known if she had. Someone would have told me.

‘Aye,’ she said, speaking pleasantly, and waited.

‘The thing is,’ Lizzie said, ‘I need a nursemaid to help me with my little Richard. He can be a right little terror when he likes, I got to admit, and now that I’m carrying … Well, tha knows how it is. Anyroad, t’long and short of it is, Mr Hudson says I may choose whomever I like, what is kindly done, uncommon kindly, don’t ’ee think, I mean for to say when you consider what a lot he has on his mind, what with the shop and the house and all his properties and everything. He’s such a kind man. So what I mean for to say, I mean the thing is …’ She gulped and took a deep breath and went on, her words tumbling from her as if she couldn’t wait to get them out of her mouth. ‘The thing is, I wondered whether your Milly would care for the – um – position.’

The surprise of it was so extreme that Jane didn’t know what to say. I can’t possibly agree to this, she thought. ’Twould be downright wrong. Horrible. She’d be nursemaid to her brother. But she could hardly say so without appearing rude and ungrateful.

Outside the window, the world was carrying on in its usual way. A fine carriage was being driven towards Monkgate and three young women in
very pretty bonnets were chattering past, arm in arm in the sunshine. She drank her lemonade to give herself a pause in which she could think, while Lizzie went babbling on.

‘She’s such a very good girl,’ she said. ‘So willing. I saw it at once. And so good with my Richard. He took to her on that first day – do ’ee remember? – what a day that was! He fell over and grazed his poor little knee – do ’ee remember? – I felt so sorry for him, falling over in all that muddle. He set up such a roar, ’twas a wonder I didn’t fall over myself, there was so much going on – anyroad she picked him up and rubbed it better and stopped him crying, what I was so grateful for you couldn’t begin to imagine. I’ll never forget it. I was at my wits’ end, what with the move and worrying about the shop and coming into all that money, what I never expected for a minute – not for one blessed minute – and Mr Hudson so excited an’ all, and then for him to fall over, poor little soul. ’Twas the last straw.’ Then she realized that Jane hadn’t answered her and she stopped and looked at her hopefully. ‘Tha’lt say yes, won’t ’ee, Jane?’ she said, leaning forward. ‘’Twould mean a great deal to me to have it settled.’

In her artless way, she had babbled Jane into a corner and somehow or other an acceptable answer had to be found. To refuse wasn’t possible. How could she explain it? Even to say nothing would look ill-mannered. ‘I shall have to talk to Milly about it,’ she temporized.

‘Oh yes, pray pray do,’ Lizzie said eagerly. ‘Such a good girl. I couldn’t want for a better. Shall we order more lemonade? I’ve a parlous thirst.’

Jane offered to fetch more lemonade herself and made her escape before any more pressure could be put on her. But her thoughts were spinning. How could she possibly let her daughter act as nursemaid to her brother? It was a ridiculous, impossible situation to be in but she was in it now and she would have to ride it out as best she could. With luck Milly would say she didn’t want the job and the problem would be solved.

But Milly thought it would be a very good idea. ‘I’m just the one for it,’ she said. ‘She’s got no idea how to handle a baby, poor lady, and I know all about it. Anyroad, I’m tired of being a housemaid an’ being bossed around all day an’ traipsing up and down stairs emptying stinking chamber pots an’ all. I’d make a first-rate nursemaid.’

‘How can ’ee possibly know that?’ her mother asked, laughing at her earnestness, despite her misgivings.

‘On account of I been watching you all these years,’ Milly said, ‘and what I’ve not learnt at your knee, Ma, isn’t worth knowing.’

It was a flattering answer but it didn’t help Jane to come to terms with what was being proposed. ‘Wouldn’t ’ee rather I found ’ee some other job?’ she said. ‘I can see tha’d not like being a housemaid. No one does. ’Tis
mortal hard work. But I could ask at the next hiring if tha wanted a change.’

‘This’ll be change enough for me,’ Milly told her. ‘Tell her yes, Ma. I’d love to do it. When do I start?’

She began her new job the next morning, to Jane’s continuing misgiving and Lizzie’s relief, and she settled into her new position without a qualm. Within a week Richard was eating out of her hand, Lizzie was declaring that she couldn’t imagine how she’d ever managed without her and Jane had come to accept the arrangement, partly because she’d seen that her daughter was confident enough to handle anything and partly because she’d had another – and this time a very pleasant surprise.

At the end of July, George Hudson informed her that he was leaving for Filey to inspect his properties there and would be away for some time. ‘You’ll hold the fort for me, I don’t doubt, Mrs Smith,’ he said. And she agreed almost carelessly that she would.

The weather was warm and soporific. York dozed under a hazy sky, Lizzie dozed in a hammock in the garden, Mrs Cadwallader dozed in the open doorway of her kitchen. Even the birds were asleep. And it was the day of the hirings.

‘I think I might stroll into town and tek a look round the market,’ Jane said to Lizzie when she brought out her lemonade. ‘If there’s nowt tha needs for the moment.’ And as Lizzie opened her eyes and nodded sleepily, which was permission of a sort, she put on her new straw bonnet and left the house.

There was a strange man standing on the doorstep with his hand outstretched towards the door knocker, an unfamiliar, stocky man dressed almost entirely in brown, breeches, jacket, hat, boots and all, except for an expensive blue cravat.

‘Ah!’ he said. ‘I give ’ee good day, ma’am. I was just about to knock. Name of Cartwright. Come to see Mr Hudson.’

‘He’s not here at the moment, sir,’ she told him, looking up at him. He had a very strong face and the most extraordinary blue eyes. They were almost the same colour as the sky over their heads, and that was a most peculiar shade that morning, having been softened by the incessant heat to a smoky mixture of blue and grey. And his eyelashes were as long and dark as Milly’s.

‘Happen I might come in and wait for him,’ Mr Cartwright said. ‘He was most particular that I should see him.’

That made her smile. ‘You’ll have a long wait,’ she said. ‘He’s gone to Filey.’

‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’

‘It could be any time,’ she told him. ‘He doesn’t tell us his plans. He just ups and goes.’

‘Then I’d better find myself some lodgings until he returns,’ he said, ‘being as he was so particular I should see him. Happen you could
recommend
me a place. Somewhere clean and comfortable.’

‘I could show you where the best inns are,’ she offered. ‘I’m heading into town myself, but as to how comfortable they’ll be, that I couldn’t say, never having been inside a one of ’em.’

He smiled straight into her eyes and she was surprised and confused to realize that the smile made her feel as though he was lifting her off her feet. ‘That’s uncommon kindly,’ he said. ‘I’m most grateful.’

How direct he is, she thought, as they set off towards Monk Bar together, and how honestly he speaks. There’s no deceit or false charm about
him
at all.

‘Have you come far?’ she asked.

‘From Darlington,’ he said. ‘I’ve been working on the Stockton and Darlington Railway. You may have heard of it. ’Twas in all the papers. I’m a railway engineer. Which is why Mr Hudson wants to see me.’

She noticed the pride in him and was touched by it. A worker, she thought, and good at his trade. ‘I’ll take you to Mrs Tomlinson’s first,’ she said. ‘It’s nobbut a step and it might suit.’

‘I’m beholden to you,’ he said and gave her that smile again, ‘but I mustn’t put you out of your way.’

‘It’s my afternoon off,’ she told him, ‘and I meant to take a walk in town anyroad.’

‘Well, then, if that’s the case,’ he said, ‘and always providing you will take a cup of coffee with me when the job is done, I will accept your kind offer.’ And he offered her his arm.

She took him to five different inns, where he read the menus and inspected the dining rooms and went upstairs to see the bedrooms while she waited in the entry halls. And when they’d finished their tour, he decided that the Star and Garter would suit him very well and they went back to book a room there.

‘Now for our coffee, I think,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.

It was a real pleasure to sit in the coffee house with his pleasant voice filling her ears and the scent of coffee filling her nose and the taste of it rich on her tongue. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever felt so happy.

‘I will call again tomorrow,’ he said, when he’d escorted her back to Monkgate. ‘Perhaps Mr Hudson will be returned by then.’

That made her smile, knowing Mr Hudson. ‘What if he’s not here?’ she asked.

‘Then we will take another cup of coffee together and I will call again the next day.’

And the next, and the next for five happy sun-filled days, until their daily walk around the town had almost become a habit and her staff were
beginning
to wonder why she was always out at the market. 

I
T WAS A MAGICAL
summer. The long easy days floated past like
thistledown
, the city drowsed, the River Ouse sunned itself silky, church bells sang like birds, sunsets were evening enchantments. It was the best possible season for falling in love.

Jane and Mr Cartwright took a walk in one direction or another every afternoon as soon as she was free to take a pause from the work of the day. Lizzie didn’t seem to mind and there was no George Hudson to chivvy her about. Sometimes they strolled through the city along the banks of the Ouse, when it wasn’t too evil-smelling, but more often they followed the little River Fosse through the fields beyond the city walls, where the sky was china blue above their heads, ripe corn breathed out a wholesome scent of baked bread and skylarks rose from the fields around them to trill and bubble in their spiralling upward flight. And they talked about themselves, for what is sweeter in a young summer time than the mutual revelation of hopes and dreams.

On their fifth afternoon, she told him about her life in Scrayingham with her mother and father and how happy they’d been, ‘although to tell ’ee true, most of the time we were that poor we didn’t have two happence to rub together.’ And he told her he’d been born and bred in Leeds, ‘which was a rough sort of place, or at least some of it was, though I never saw it that way when I was living there’ and that he had been an only child, with a widowed mother.

‘My father was a jeweller,’ he said with obvious affection. ‘A very patient man and very skilled. I can remember him sitting at his bench, turning a diamond round and round until he could understand how to cut it. We used to live in the flat over the shop in those days and I would tiptoe into the workshop sometimes and watch him. I had to be very quiet and not
interrupt
him, because if he made one false move the stone would be ruined, but
that was no hardship. It was wonderful to see him working. He made some beautiful rings.’ And he sighed, his face full of sadness.

‘You miss him,’ Jane said, understanding completely. For wouldn’t she miss her own parents if they were to die.

‘I do,’ he said. ‘He was a good man. If it hadn’t been for him I wouldn’t have gone to school and if I hadn’t gone to school I wouldn’t have been an engineer and worked on the railway. I’ve a lot to thank him for.’

Fancy going to school, Jane thought, and she had a sudden sharp memory of her little Felix as he turned to say goodbye to her and wondered how he was. ‘Did you go away to school?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m very glad to say. I would have found it hard if I’d had to leave home. No, I went to the old grammar school. They’ve built a new one now but I went to the old one.’

So she told him about Felix and how sad he’d been when he’d had to leave home and go to Eton. ‘Poor little thing. He was no age and he
did
cry.’

‘’Tis a mortal hard thing for a child to leave home,’ he said.

The sympathy in his answer raised another sudden memory and this one was even sharper than the first. She was fifteen again and anguished, begging to be allowed to stay just one more night, with her unborn baby kicking at her ribs and the carter waiting at the door. Tears welled into her eyes before she could prevent them and she had to duck her head and try to hide under the brim of her bonnet before he could see them.

But he was a much keener observer than she knew and was touched by the sight of her remembered distress. Until that moment she’d seemed so sure of herself, neat and assured and capable in her grey gown, like most of the housekeepers he’d met – only prettier with those thick dark curls escaping from under her cap and those dark eyes watching him as he spoke. Now her vulnerability pulled at his heart and that was something that had never happened to him before.

‘Time for our coffee, I think,’ he said. ‘This heat is a rare thing for provoking a thirst.’

By the time they reached the coffee house she had recovered her poise but he decided to change the subject of their conversation so as to be quite sure he didn’t provoke her tears again and spent a little while telling her about some of the towns and villages he’d passed through when he was working on the railway. And she listened and admired, thinking how wonderful it must have been to have travelled so far and seen so much. That’s why he’s got such a strong face, she thought, and such a smile.

Her admiration was so open he could hardly avoid noticing it and after a while he knew he was basking in it. Being admired wasn’t something he
was used to but every moment he spent with this delectable woman was opening him up to unfamiliar emotions. He’d never been one to brag or to think particularly well of himself. He did his work, to the best of his ability, enjoyed the company of the work-gangs, ate well, drank deep, took his pay and thought no more about it. Now he was bragging and he knew it. He wanted her admiration, that was the truth of it.

It was a sad moment to both of them when their afternoon together had to come to an end. As usual he escorted her back to Monkgate and, as usual, stood on the river bank with his hand resting on the garden gate, admiring her pretty face in the sunshine.

‘’Tis Sunday tomorrow,’ he observed.

‘Aye. So ’tis.’

‘Happen I shall see you at church,’ he said, trying to make the suggestion sound casual and failing. ‘’Tis Holy Trinity, is it not?’

‘Aye,’ she said and wondered if he would be able to find her in that little crowded place.

He not only found her, he squeezed into the pew beside her, so that they sat thigh touching thigh, which was a delicious private pleasure, and shared the same hymn sheet and said the same prayers and then when they were saying ‘
Peace be with you
’ he took both her hands in his and held them for a wonderfully long time. And while the sermon droned on, he turned his head and winked at her as if they were conspirators, which was another pleasure, for it was a secret moment between them and it gave her the now familiar sensation of being lifted off her feet. It really was amazing how he could do that simply by looking at her.

After the service he walked her back to Monkgate and asked, as usual, if she would walk with him again the next day, always providing Mr Hudson wasn’t returned. But they both knew the answer now. It had become a routine.

That afternoon she asked him what it was like to build the railway.

‘’Twas laborious,’ he said, which wasn’t bragging for it was nothing more than the truth. ‘We were out in the open country in all weathers, you see, which was easy enough when ’twas warm and dry as it is today but not so pleasant when ’twas wet or cold, for we slept in tents and there’s not much comfort in a tent when it’s cold. But if you’re cutting your way through a hillside, there’s no stopping for the weather. We work come rain or shine.’

‘Did you really cut through a hillside?’ she asked. It sounded too amazing to be true.

‘We cut through several hillsides,’ he told her. ‘We had to. The one thing a steam train can’t do is climb a steep hill – they can manage a gradual
incline but not a hill – so we either have to cut out an embankment to make way for them or tunnel through it. ’Tis a rare old job.’

She was impressed. ‘It sounds it,’ she said.

‘Mr Stephenson says we’re driving an iron road into the future,’ he told her, ‘and that’s my opinion of it too. Nothing will ever be quite the same once the railways are built. There’ll be no toiling away in some old
stagecoach
or riding horseback in the rain. We shall ride in carriages and we shall ride at speed. Give us a year or two, and I tell you the world and his wife will be riding rails from one end of the kingdom to the other.’ His face was flushed by the thought of it. ‘They’ll get up in the morning and leave their homes and ride off for a day beside the sea or out in the nearest market town. Think of that. Working men and women who’ve never travelled more than a few miles in the whole of their lives, riding down to London to see the sights.’

‘All that way!’ she said, wondering at it.

‘All that way.’

‘I’ve never been further than York,’ she told him rather wistfully. ‘And I’d not have come here had it not been for work.’

He beamed at her, too full of the importance of what he’d been saying to be properly cautious. ‘When the tracks are down, I will take you to London,’ he promised. And when she raised her eyebrows in disbelief, he thought he’d better add, ‘If you will permit me and you would like to go there.’

‘I would love to,’ she said, and then blushed, realizing how forward that sounded. It was one thing to walk out with him of an afternoon but quite another to suggest that she would like to travel all the way to London with him. She must find some way to put this right. ‘Howsomever,’ she said, attempting a jest, ‘I can’t imagine it ever coming about.’

He wasn’t deterred in the slightest. ‘Oh, ’twill come about,’ he told her. ‘As sure as sunlight. I’ll lay money on it.’

Neither of them slept very well that night. The heat was oppressive and the smell of the night soil being gathered was so nauseating that they had to keep the windows shut until the work was done. But it wasn’t the heat or the stink that kept them wakeful, bad though they were. In Jane’s case it was delighted disbelief, in Nathaniel Cartwright’s it was the resurgence of a dream.

While he’d been working on the railway he’d sustained himself through the long cold nights and the back-breaking days by indulging in a daydream. One day, when the railway was built, he would take his pay and find a house of his own and settle down there with a good woman. The details were usually vague because he really didn’t have very much idea
what sort of house he would like and as to the woman he would marry, she was nothing but a shadow for he was too shy to go courting and found that most of the marriageable women he’d met, in church or at the playhouse or in various coffee houses, were either sharp and witty and decidedly offputting or as shy and tongue-tied as he was. But the dream had gone on notwithstanding its lack of detail and it had been a steadying comfort to him. Now, when he wasn’t expecting it at all, he knew he had met the woman he wanted to marry. And just at the right time, for he had sufficient pay to buy a house and he’d met his delectable Mrs Smith. She was the very flesh of his dreams: pretty, gentle, quick-witted without being offputting in the least, a good housekeeper, practical – look at the way she’d found him an inn – and yet with that touching vulnerability about her that made him want to protect her and look after her. He’d never felt that way for anybody except his mother, which was different, and yet here he was dreaming of throwing his cloak at her feet. He could barely believe his good fortune.

I mustn’t rush this, he told himself. I came close to it this afternoon when I told her I’d take her to London. He remembered how she’d blushed. Was that pleasure or confusion? Thinking back on it, he couldn’t tell. But now that he knew what he wanted, his senses were roaring for speed. If only he knew a bit more about how a courtship should progress. He knew so little. For instance, how long do you have to walk out together before you can speak? It had been six days since they met. Was that long enough? How will I know when it’s the right time? And what should I say? It was all very strange and puzzling but undeniably exciting.

He could hear the sound of brooms being used very vigorously,
somewhere
near at hand, and realized that the street cleaners had arrived which meant that the night soil men must have finished their work and gone, so he walked across to the window and flung it wide. The moon was full and the roofs of the town were silvered with its light. This is a beautiful world, he thought, I have money in my pocket and work a-plenty and I’ve found the woman I’m going to marry. Everything is possible.

Jane Jerdon was standing at her window too, leaning on the sill and enjoying the moonlight. Her attic bedroom was a lonely place now that Milly slept in the nursery but, for once, she was glad of her solitude. Her emotions were in such turmoil she needed time and peace to make sense of them. A week ago, she was diligently getting on with her work, glad of Milly’s company about the house, sorry for poor Lizzie because the baby was making her so uncomfortable, accepting that this was all her life had to offer but more or less happy with her lot, sustained by good food, good ale and her private dream of revenge, now she dreamed of walking through
the warm fields with Mr Cartwright and woke in the morning in a rush of happiness because she was going to see him again. They might even go to London together and that was something she would never have imagined a few short days ago – nor agreed to so easily. It was as if she’d become a different person, as if her life had been turned inside out, as if she was walking in her sleep. It couldn’t be love, could it? And yet, if she was honest, she knew she would like it to be. No, it was stronger than that. She wanted it to be. He was the kindest man she’d ever met and the most
interesting
and as unlike George Hudson as it was possible for him to be. I don’t know where you are, Mr horrible Hudson, she thought, but I hope you stay there for a very long time.

It was a decided disappointment to her when the horrible Mr Hudson returned a mere two days later. He arrived full of bustling importance and hadn’t been in the house more than five seconds before he was ordering
everybody
about, giving orders to Jane and Mrs Cadwallader about a grand supper party he intended to host, and as soon as he heard that Mr Cartwright had arrived in town, sending the boot boy to ‘tell the gentleman to call this
afternoon
’. That turned out to be another disappointment, because although Mr Cartwright arrived very promptly, she didn’t get a chance to see him because the horrible Mr Hudson took him over at once and completely.

‘Must apologize for not being here to greet you, Mr Cartwright,’ he said, holding out his hand to his guest as he was ushered into the parlour. ‘A deal too much needing my attention, that’s the trouble. But all in the line of
business
, d’ye see, so all to t’good. Property and so forth. Where are you staying?’ And when he was told it was the Star and Garter, he approved at once. ‘Capital place. Get ’em to send the bill here to me. Have you dined?’