The Old House at Railes: A heartwarming rags to riches Victorian family saga

by Mary E. Pearce

  ‘Miss Ginny was in humorous mood today. I’m not sure whether I was its chief object or you. Certainly her tour of the mill was something of a disappointment to her, and it was a very fortunate thing that you were on hand so conveniently, to keep her more happily entertained. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to my desk.’

  Some six or seven weeks later, on a sunny day in September, Katharine Tarrant and Charles Yuart were married in the church at Newton Childe. Nan wanted Martin to go with her, to watch the bride and groom leave the church, but Martin had business in Sharveston, so Nan went alone.

  ‘Oh, it was such a lovely wedding! They made the most perfect couple together, the groom so tall and distinguished-looking, the bride so serene and beautiful. She wore a white satin gown, very simple and plain, and carried a white prayer-book with a spray of white rosebuds. Miss Ginny and the other bridesmaids wore dresses of the palest green and carried posies of mixed flowers. I saw Mr Tarrant and Master Hugh … And old Mr Yuart in his wheelchair … Poor man, to be so reduced! His face is twisted, you know, from his stroke. But he looked quietly pleased all the same, sitting there, wrapped in his rugs, and Miss Katharine, before she got into the carriage, ‒ Mrs Yuart, I should say ‒ leant over him and kissed his cheek and was plainly very much concerned that he should not feel left out of things. Then his manservant lifted him up and put him into one of the carriages, to go to Railes for the wedding breakfast. It was sad to see him like that, having to be lifted up, but it was all done so naturally that it didn’t spoil the day at all. It was a very happy wedding and I wish you’d been there to see it for yourself.’

  ‘I see it better from your description than I would have done with my own eyes, for I should never have noticed one half of the things you did.’

  ‘I wonder how long it will be before Miss Ginny follows suit.’

  ‘Yes, I wonder,’ Martin said.

  ‘She has a great many beaux, I hear, but seems in no hurry to choose one of them.’

  ‘She is hoping to do better, that’s why. And as she is only the same age as I am, she has plenty of time before her yet.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nan said, reflectively, and looked at him for a little while. ‘I’m apt to forget you’re only seventeen. You’ve always been older than your years and nowadays, what with running the quarry and becoming such a man of business, you’re really very mature already.’

  ‘I also have the responsibility of being the head of this family.’

  ‘Surely that’s no great worry to you?’

  ‘Indeed, I hope it may not prove so,’ Martin said, in a grave tone, ‘but just lately, whenever Edward Clayton’s been here, I have found myself thinking ‒’

  ‘Oh!’ Nan exclaimed, pink to the ears. ‘And what have you been thinking, pray?’

  ‘That I may soon be called upon to assert my position in a rather particular way ‒’

  ‘Is it so obvious, then?’

  ‘It was perfectly obvious from the moment Edward set foot in this house,’ Martin said, enjoying himself. ‘It was your sugar-topped cake that did it. He saw that on the dresser there and immediately he was a lost man.’

  ‘Was he indeed?’

  ‘Without a doubt.’

  ‘So, if Edward should propose to me, I’ll know it’s only because of my cakes?’

  ‘If Edward intends proposing to you, he will, of course, have to ask my permission.’

  ‘Oh, how absurd! The very idea! He’s older than you by a good six years.’

  ‘Nevertheless, the fact is that I am the head of this family, and as such I have certain rights ‒’

  ‘Rights! Poof!’ she said scornfully. ‘I’ve half a mind to box your ears!’ Then, her face still flushed with happiness, her voice still bubbling with laughter, she said: ‘And what if Edward does ask your permission? How shall you answer him?’

  ‘I’m afraid I shall have to tell him the truth.’

  ‘The truth? What truth, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘That I cannot think of anyone I’d sooner have as a brother-in-law.’

  ‘Oh, Martin! You are a dear!’ She came to him and hugged him tight. ‘You’re always so very good to me!’

  Charles Yuart and his bride, after a honeymoon in Wales, returned to live at Saye House, the large square mansion in William Street, which had been the Yuart family home for ninety years. Old Mr Yuart still lived there and every day, weather permitting, his manservant would take him out for an hour or so and wheel him about the streets of the town. Martin had seen them oftentimes, the old man slumped in his chair, his hat pulled down over his eyes, being pushed along at a rattling pace by the tall young man dressed in dark green who carried himself with a military air and never spoke to passers-by. One day soon after Christmas, however, on leaving the bookshop in Powder Street, Martin saw the old man in his wheelchair coming along on the opposite side, but this time, instead of the manservant, it was Katharine Yuart who pushed the chair. Martin, crossing the narrow street, raised his hat and spoke to her.

  ‘Martin! What a pleasant surprise!’ And, as always with this young woman, the pleasure she expressed seemed genuine. ‘Do you know my father-in-law?’

  ‘Only by sight,’ Martin said.

  ‘Then let me introduce you. Father, this is Martin Cox. He’s a friend and former pupil of mine.’

  ‘Cox?’ the old man repeated, and looked up at Martin squintingly. ‘Any relation to Rufus Cox?’

  ‘Yes. I’m his son.’

  ‘Knew your father. Long ago. Before you were born, that would be. He supplied the stone for my second dam.’

  The old man’s mouth was badly twisted and his speech slurred, but Martin, meeting him thus for the first time, was surprised by his lucidity. Surprised, too, by the touch of humour with which he went on to speak of his son.

  ‘How’s Hainault Palace coming along?’

  ‘Very well. It’s up to its fourth storey now.’

  ‘How many storeys will there be altogether? Eighteen?’

  ‘Not quite so many as that. Five in fact.’

  ‘Five? Is that all? I thought my son had it in mind to rebuild the Tower of Babylon.’ The old man gave a hollow laugh. ‘But you won’t object to that, eh? Not in your trade? And no doubt, being young yourself, you approve of all these new ideas?’

  ‘Well, I think there has to be progress, sir.’

  ‘With what end in view?’

  ‘Greater efficiency, increased production, and, it is hoped, greater prosperity for the community at large.’

  ‘All due to the new looms?’ The old man grimaced. ‘Personally, I have my doubts. Increased production is all very well but how do you sell the extra goods? My son talks of progress, the same as you. He’s very keen to lead the way. Myself, I prefer a middle course, the same as my father before me, and he always used to say this:

  “… Be not the first by whom the new are tried,

  Nor yet the last to lay the old aside”.’

  ‘That’s good advice, Mr Cox. But the young men these days … They want to be racing ahead all the time … And my son Charles the fastest of all.’ Awkwardly, the old man turned, looking up into Katharine’s face. ‘Isn’t that so, my dear? But there! You’re his wife. And much too loyal to say a word against him.’

  He raised his one good hand to her and she clasped it firmly between her own.

  ‘These are fast-moving times, Father, and you know what Charles says ‒ if we don’t move with the times, we may get left behind altogether.’

  ‘Yes. Well. Perhaps he’s right. I’m an old man. Set in my ways. No good trying to stop the clock. The new age belongs to chaps like Charles. And your young friend, Mr Cox, here.’

  The old man’s voice was growing tired; he spoke as though with a thickened tongue; but still he persisted, stubbornly, reluctant to let Martin go.

  ‘Never get a chance to chat as a rule cos Wiskens … Wickens … whass the man’s name? … pushes me at such a rate … everyone gets out of the way. But we’v
e given him the slip today … and oh, what a difference it makes … to be pushed along … slowly … by my lovely Katharine here.’ Again the old man looked up at her. ‘But I’m worried about you all the same … pushing me back up that hill … If Charles knew, he would not approve.’

  Katharine laughed, and a faint tinge of colour came into her face. But her look was perfectly tranquil, and there was no prudishness in her.

  ‘I am expecting a child, Martin, and although it will not be born till July, my husband and my father-in-law are already fussing over me.’

  ‘Mrs Yuart, that is happy news. Please accept my congratulations. But may I say, without offence, that I’m inclined to share their concern. With Mr Yuart’s permission, therefore, I will push him the rest of the way, and promise to do it slowly. No, it’s no trouble at all. It will give me great pleasure, I assure you.’

  So Martin now wheeled the chair and together they proceeded, in a leisurely way, up through the quieter part of the town, into the residential area, and so to the door of Saye House, a great square block of a place, standing a little way back from the road, behind tall railings and wrought-iron gates.

  Katharine had always been so very much a part of the old manor house at Railes that Martin had found it difficult to picture her living anywhere else. And there could have been no greater change, he thought, than to come to this sombre-looking house in the town, so closely surrounded by fir-trees and laurels that its tall sash-windows, viewed from outside, had always a sea-green tint to them. Inside, however, the house was all comfort and luxury, and Katharine’s influence was as strong here as it had been at Railes, creating a circle of homeliness where everyone, on crossing the threshold, was made welcome as a matter of course. And Martin, sitting with her and her father-in-law in the richly furnished drawing-room, drinking tea from pale blue Rockingham china, eating hot toasted muffins thickly spread with butter and jam, saw with what tact and consideration she waited on the afflicted man, and with what pleasure and affection his gaze so often dwelt on her.

  ‘My son is a lucky young man, Mr Cox, to have married such a wife as this, and I am very lucky, too, having gained such a daughter-in-law. I could scarcely speak two words … after my stroke … but Katharine came and … she took me in hand, teaching me and encouraging me. My voice gets tired. You’ll have noticed that. But I rest it a while and … it comes back. That’s all due to her. Oh, yes! She gave me back my speech again. This house is a much better place because of Katharine being here. And my disabilities are easier to bear … now I have her to cheer my days.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure that is so,’ Martin said, ‘and I’m glad of it, sir, for your sake.’ Then, turning to Katharine, he said: ‘Sadly, however, what this house has gained, another has lost, and I wonder what Newton Railes is like now, since losing its mistress.’

  Katharine smiled. ‘Ginny is mistress of Railes now and rather enjoying it, I think. But why don’t you go and see for yourself how matters are there? It’s a good fifteen months since you left the Railes schoolroom and still you have not yet been back. Of course, I realize you are a busy man these days ‒’

  ‘That’s not my reason for keeping away.’

  ‘Keeping away? It’s deliberate, then? And you do have a reason for it?’ she said.

  ‘Yes. You were all very kind and generous to me and I will not presume on that kindness.’

  ‘Neither my father nor the twins would regard it as presumption. Not for one moment.’

  ‘Other people would call it that.’

  ‘And do you put other people’s opinion before ours?’

  ‘No, but I can’t be indifferent to it. And I do have another reason of sorts, though it’s rather difficult to explain.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘Well, Railes being the place it is, anyone who knew it would find it hard to keep away … And I wanted to prove to myself that I could.’

  ‘An act of self-denial, then?’

  ‘Yes. In a way.’

  ‘And how long must you persevere in it before you are satisfied with your strength of mind?’

  ‘I doubt if the question will arise. People’s lives change all the time. They take different paths.’

  ‘Not such different paths, surely, since we live in the same small town, you and I, and Railes is only two miles away. However, I will not tease you any more, nor subject you to further reproaches. It is enough that you are here and in a while you must tell me your news. But I am neglecting my duties as hostess and have let the tea get cold. Martin, will you ring that bell? I’ll have a fresh pot brought in.’

  Early in the new year, Nan was married to Edward Clayton, and they set up house together in Morgan Street. The prediction Edward’s father had made, that there would be a good deal of work for them in the Chardwell area, was coming true, and Edward was a busy man. Other clothiers were following Yuart’s example and, the Hainault extension being much admired, the firm of Clayton and Son was in demand. Other builders were busy, too, and soon the orders for stone were such that operations at Scurr Quarry were being expanded further still.

  The building fever was not confined to the Chardwell area: it was spreading along the Cullen Valley; and in February 1847 Martin took the lease of a disused quarry at Clinton Hill, near Wimpleton, intending to re-open it. The freestone there, though not so good as Scurr stone, shared two of its great advantages: it was impervious to frost and did not require long seasoning. Martin had begun taking on the men he would need and had ordered plant from Wattle and Son, resolved that when the far end of the valley began to follow Chardwell’s example, New Start Quarry would be ready to supply it with the stone it required.

  Because of his activities, not to mention his growing prosperity, Martin was the subject of much interest in Chardwell, and although there were a few who sneered, remembering the shabby boy driving his father’s ramshackle cart about the district, with a half-starved nag between the shafts, the majority of Chardwell’s citizens were pleased to receive him into their midst. There was excitement in the air at this time; a spirit of progress and enterprise; and Martin, because of his trade, had a place at the very heart of it. He was a young man with a future, likely to do well for himself; he was also Sampson Godwin’s ward, made welcome in the Godwin household; and his sister was married to Edward Clayton, son of the well-to-do building contractor. Altogether, then, Martin’s credentials were favourable, to say the least of it. Even the more prominent townsmen would speak to him in the street these days, and the mothers of marriageable daughters made a point of getting to know him.

  ‘You are becoming quite important, although you are only eighteen,’ Nan said, and Edward told him he’d better watch out or some young miss would snap him up. ‘Be warned, my dear chap, by what’s happened to me.’

  ‘The warning is dire,’ Martin said, ‘for marriage has already made you fat.’

  ‘You are just piqued, that’s all, because I’ve taken your housekeeper from you. But if what I hear is true, you could replace her soon enough if you chose, and take your pick from a clutch of nice girls, including little Amy Godwin.’

  ‘Oh, don’t tell him that,’ Nan said, ‘or he will be so puffed up with himself that there will be no bearing him.’

  But Nan, though she teased, was proud of her brother; proud of his looks, and the way he talked; proud of his growing business ability; and, perhaps most of all, proud of the way he got on with all manner of people. He had always been a good-looking boy, with his fine-drawn features, and sensitive mouth, which yet had a look of strength about it; and now, freed from the heavier work of the quarry and from the squalor of the quarry cottage, he was able to make the best of himself. He wore clothes of the finest quality, with a change of linen every day, and his straight dark hair was neatly trimmed. He carried himself with his shoulders well back and, walking through the streets of the town, looked like a young man of consequence.

  ‘People may say what they like, but money does play a part in shaping people’s lives,�
�� Nan said, ‘and it’s made you into a gentleman.’

  Martin, smiling, shook his head.

  ‘It takes more than one generation to produce a gentleman. And money alone cannot accomplish it.’

  ‘Well, it’s done something for you, there’s no doubt of that.’

  ‘Yes, it’s enabled me to be myself.’

  This conversation, inevitably, had made him think of Newton Railes; of his first day in the schoolroom there, now almost three years ago; and of how, in a fit of righteous anger, he had defined a gentleman as ‘a man who can afford not to pay his bills.’ The thought of Railes caused him a pang and perhaps because it was springtime, a season when the human heart is most susceptible to the pain of nostalgia, he had a great longing to go there: to walk in the garden, the shrubberies, the park; to see the family, the servants, the dogs; to experience again, however briefly, the delicate atmosphere of the place, with all its many felicities.

  It was a lure he was determined to resist. ‘An act of self denial’, Katharine Yuart had called it, and she, being the person she was, knew that pride lay at the root of it. ‘How long must you keep it up before you are satisfied with your own strength of mind?’ she had asked. It was three months since that meeting with her. Longer still since his meeting with Ginny. And whatever Katharine might say, it was only a question of time, he thought, before the family at Railes had forgotten him altogether.

  In this he was mistaken because one day later that spring Ginny and her brother Hugh called on him in Church Row. It was a warm evening in May, and Martin, in waistcoat and shirtsleeves, was working in the front garden, hoeing the border beside the path, when he heard the sound of hooves and wheels and turned to see the governess-cart drawing up at the edge of the green. Leaving his hoe against the wall, he went to meet them, and was in the act of opening the gate when Ginny, helped by her twin, sprang lightly to the ground in a little billow of pale pink organdie skirts.