A Bridge in Time

by A Bridge in Time (retail) (epub)

  Hannah pulled at her mother’s sleeve. ‘Come on, Mam. I’m due back at Bella Vista by six o’clock – what about that walk we promised ourselves? It’s a fine afternoon and it’ll take your mind off all this nonsense.’

  ‘It’s not nonsense, my girl,’ Tibbie objected sadly, but she went inside nonetheless, and a short while later she and Hannah were back on the street with heavy boots on their feet and shawls across their shoulders.

  ‘Which way will we go?’ asked Hannah, staring around at the peaceful landscape.

  ‘This way,’ said Tibbie, pulling her daughter in the direction of Craigie’s house. It was ominously quiet as they walked past it – not even the normally vicious dog came out to bark at them. Tibbie marched on purposefully towards a narrow lane that branched off the main road beyond the farmhouse. There, the lane was sunk between high hedges of holly, elder and ash, so deeply walked down by generations of feet that it seemed like a tunnel into the Underworld.

  ‘I know where you’re going – you’re as bad as Craigie,’ said her daughter accusingly, but Tibbie did not pause. She walked on with her head down and a set expression on her face.

  ‘It’s a long time since I’ve seen it,’ she declared.

  ‘But it always makes you greet,’ protested Hannah.

  ‘I like greetin’ sometimes,’ said Tibbie.

  The lane led as straight as an arrow to the eastern, where another hedge crossed it in a north-to-south direction. When they reached that, the village was left well behind them, and the only trace of it was the smoke from its chimneys spiralling up into the clear sky. They paused beneath a big ash-tree that reached its branches high and creaked mournfully as the wind blew through it. Tibbie gazed around. ‘This is where they’ll be running the railway line, I think. I hope they don’t spoil it,’ she said softly.

  Hannah took her mother’s hand and pointed into a little wooded glade through which a burn softly chattered. ‘It’s down there, isn’t it?’ she asked.

  Tibbie nodded. ‘You’re right, lass – that’s where it is. You’ve a good memory and I’ve only brought you here twice, I think.’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘Three times. I’ve never forgotten it. I thought it was so sad.’

  Tibbie hugged her. ‘Oh Hannah, it’s not sad really. It’s life – it’s history.’

  ‘All right, I’ll remember to tell you that when you start greeting,’ said the girl with a little smile. As they spoke, they were climbing a bank and pushing their way through the second hedge, ignoring the springing young bramble-bushes that grabbed at their shawls. Then they half-ran, half-slid down into the burn. Its banks were soft and spongy and Hannah made a face as her feet sank into the morass up to the ankles. ‘Oh, my new stockings!’ she protested, but her mother did not seem to hear her because she was already scrambling up the other bank towards a big elder-bush that sprouted out of a shelf of rock overhanging the burn.

  ‘It’s in there,’ she panted. ‘That bush has grown up around it since the last time I was here. Elders grow like weeds – three feet a year,’ she gasped as she struggled upwards.

  ‘Take your time, Mam,’ cautioned Hannah, but as she spoke her mother was snapping branches off the elder-bush and feeling around with her hands on the mossy ground.

  Then she cried in delight, ‘Oh, here it is, Hannah! It’s still here!’

  Hannah climbed the bank to join her and wrinkled her nose as she too bent down. ‘There’s a fox been here as well – I can smell it,’ she said.

  ‘Well, it’s safe enough for the summer. The Duke and his hunters won’t be back till the winter comes again,’ said Tibbie with satisfaction, also sniffing the air. She was piling broken branches on the bank and scraping with her hands at what looked like an outcrop of rock, ‘It’s all covered with ivy,’ she told her daughter. ‘We’ll have to clean it.’

  There were several broken fingernails as they scraped away at the clinging ivy and the lichen that covered the surface of the stone. ‘Why don’t we just leave it?’ asked Hannah, halfway through the task, but Tibbie demurred.

  ‘Oh no. I want to see it again.’

  ‘You just want a weep, that’s what’s wrong with you,’ teased Hannah, but she went on helping to clean the surface of the stone.

  At last her mother sat back on her heels and said in satisfaction, ‘There they are, the poor souls.’

  Hannah squatted down beside her. ‘Yes, there they are,’ she breathed with a sad note in her voice, for what their work had revealed were the carved outlines of a woman and a child. The woman was shown with her head bent as if she was talking to the child, and one hand was laid lovingly on its shoulder. Both of them were clad in long loose robes, and the woman’s cloak was pulled around her throat as if to protect her from the cold. ‘She’d feel awful chilly up here if she came from Rome,’ said Tibbie softly.

  ‘You don’t know she came from Rome,’ said Hannah.

  ‘I’m sure she did. When my father found this stone, he got the old schoolmaster from Rosewell to take a look at it and he read the writing on it. He said her name was Flavia and the wee girl was her daughter Corellia. They died at the same time and the schoolmaster said the stone was put up by Flavia’s husband, Titus. He must have been broken-hearted when they died.’

  There was a catch in her voice as she spoke and her daughter patted her shoulder. ‘I knew you’d greet. It always does that to you.’

  ‘I’m not greetin,’ sniffed Tibbie, but her eyes were wet. The slab had sunk into the ground; one side was lower than the other, so that the mother’s fond leaning towards her child was accentuated. Large crude letters were inscribed along the top, and Hannah traced them with her finger. ‘I wish I could read what it says,’ she told her mother, who replied, ‘I don’t know anybody with the Latin any more. I don’t think even Tommy Anderson would be able to read it. Anyway, it’s best if we keep it a secret.’

  Hannah sighed. In spite of her determination to stop her mother from becoming emotional, she also found the stone very affecting and had to force herself to sound brisk when she said, ‘That’s the trouble with Camptounfoot – everything’s always got to be kept secret.’

  Her mother looked up in surprise. ‘But it’s aye been like that,’ she protested. ‘When my father found this stone, he showed it to me and William, and to the scholar from Rosewell, but he didn’t tell anybody else. We’ve respected it.’

  Hannah gave a little frown. ‘How do you know there’s not other people in the village keeping things like this secret? Maybe even keeping this to themselves!’

  Tibbie sniffed. ‘I’m sure there’s lots of secrets in Camptounfoot. Like I told you, that is what’s bothering Craigie, but I’m not greedy like him. I don’t want to dig this up and sell it to some museum. I just want it to stay where Titus put it to mark the grave of his wife and bairn. Like I said, it’s a matter of respect. Come on, help me clean it up a wee bit. Poor souls, we cannae leave them all dirty like this. I wish I’d brought a brush to give them a scrub, but I didn’t think it would be so overgrown.’

  She began rubbing at the surface of the stone with the corner of her apron and Hannah helped as well. After they had been at work for a while, the figures on the stone emerged more clearly and they could see that the woman had some sort of ornament in her hair and a sweet smile on her face. The child looked angelic. Tibbie paused at last and said softly, ‘Well, that’s the best we can do. I hope they go on lying in peace here for a long, long time. My father said this stone was put up about the same time as Jesus was alive. Imagine that! It fair breaks my heart to think of them lying hidden here for so long. Poor Titus. I wonder what happened to him after he buried them.’

  The poignancy of the little glade affected Hannah too and there were tears in her eyes as she laid an arm over her mother’s shoulders and hugged her close. ‘It’s sad, that’s true, but it all happened a long time ago. Don’t upset yourself, Mam. I’m sure nobody’s going to move it. Come on, let’s cover it up again and go home.
I’ve got to be back at Bella Vista soon because there’s a big dinner tonight and young Mrs Anstruther’s maid says that her mistress is going to look a perfect picture in a new gown she’s had sent up from London.’

  They pulled the undergrowth back over the partially cleaned stone and when it was once again well hidden, retraced their footsteps through the fields and down the lane. Hannah’s ploy to divert her mother worked, for Bethya was always a great distraction. Tibbie said in a disapproving tone, ‘That young Mrs Anstruther seems to spend an awful lot of money. She’s aye getting things sent up from London, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, practically every week, but I don’t blame her. It can’t be much fun being married to Mr Gus. He’s never sober, not even in the morning. He reels about the house with a glazed look on his face and then falls into a chair and snores so loud that you’d think he was trying to bring the roof down.’

  ‘Does nobody stop him?’ asked Tibbie in amazement.

  Hannah laughed wryly. ‘Stop him? Quite the opposite. His father has washed his hands of him – the Colonel hardly ever looks at him. His mother doesn’t see anything wrong with him – she thinks he’s perfect – and Mrs Bethya passes him a drink any time he asks for it. She just smiles and hands him the bottle. The butler says she’s trying to make her husband drink himself to death so’s she can marry again.’

  ‘Just imagine!’ gasped Tibbie with round eyes. She was being entranced by Hannah’s descriptions of Bethya’s new costumes, when two figures emerged from a field-gate ahead of them and stepped into the lane. One of them raised an arm and called, ‘Hey, Tibbie!’

  ‘It’s Big Lily,’ said Tibbie, grasping Hannah’s arm. ‘She’ll be wanting to talk about what happened to Craigie.’

  Hannah nodded. ‘Then don’t let it go on too long, Mam. Remember I’ve got to be back at work soon.’

  With Big Lily, the bondager, was her daughter Wee Lily. Both of them were dressed in the uniform of women farm-labourers – an ankle-length striped skirt, men’s boots and a flat black straw hat that was tied on to the head by a triangle of sprigged cotton. They stood side by side, nodding like automata as the other mother and daughter approached. Big Lily was obviously bursting with gossip and could hardly wait for them to get into earshot before she started talking. ‘My, wasn’t that a terrible thing that happened to Craigie? He’s got a black and blue patch in the middle of his back as big as a kailpot. That’s where the navvy butted him wi’ his heid.’

  Hannah said, ‘He shouldn’t have been trying to shoot people.’

  Big Lily shot her a baleful glance. ‘You’re getting awful grand-sounding, Hannah. Is working in the big house turning you into a lady?’

  Tibbie leapt to her daughter’s defence. ‘She has to talk proper or they wouldn’t ken what she was saying up there in Bella Vista, would they?’

  Wee Lily, who was slightly simple-minded, was standing grinning vacuously beside her mother and she said happily, ‘They’d never understan’ me nor my mither then, wid they?’

  Big Lily snorted. ‘I wouldna want to work in a hoose. Penned up a’ day at their beck and call, never able to get out into the open air.’

  ‘Hannah gets oot. She’s oot now, isn’t she?’ protested Tibbie.

  ‘But she’s no’ her ain boss, is she? You should have got her a job on the land, Tibbie, it’s far healthier.’

  Hannah had heard this discussion many times before and was determined to put a stop to it. ‘I wouldn’t want to work outside,’ she stated firmly. ‘I don’t like getting wet. I’d hate to go out in bad weather.’

  Wee Lily looked shocked. ‘Och, weather’s guid for ye, Hannah. But I think you’re too bonny to be a bondager. Maybe in a big hoose you’ll meet a fancy gentleman and get merrit to him.’

  Hannah giggled. ‘Maybe I will, Lily. If I do I’ll ask you to the wedding.’

  At that she felt her mother pulling at her sleeve and heard her saying, ‘We’ll have to be off. Hannah’s got to go back to Bella Vista now.’ Tibbie practically hauled her daughter away, leaving the two Lilies with their red-hot gossip about Craigie still burning their lips, and when they were out of earshot she hissed, ‘What did you mean by saying you’d invite them to your wedding? I’d not have them there at any price.’

  Hannah was amused. ‘I knew that would annoy you. They’re all right, Mam, they’re innocent enough.’

  By this time they were at the cottage door and Tibbie flounced inside, saying over her shoulder, ‘If that’s what you call innocent, you and I have different meanings for the word.’

  Hannah was surprised at her mother’s vehemence. ‘I know they’re bondagers, and bondagers get a bad name but there’s never been any scandal about the Lilies except for when Wee Lily was born.’

  Tibbie was thrusting the blackened kettle into the middle of fire. ‘Exactly,’ she snapped.

  ‘Oh Mam,’ said Hannah. ‘Lots of lassies have a bairn before they’re married. There’s at least ten in this village alone.’ Tibbie sniffed and her daughter went on, ‘Anyway, nobody knows who Wee Lily’s father is. If it was Jo like people say, you can’t blame Big Lily. Jo’s queer as queer can be.’

  ‘It wasnae Jo that fathered Wee Lily,’ said Tibbie shortly.

  ‘Then was it Daft Andie the loonie at the mill-house?’ asked Hannah curiously.

  Tibbie shook her head. ‘Not him either.’

  ‘How do you know who it is?’ asked her daughter suspiciously.

  ‘I know because I helped Big Lily when she was in labour. She came in from the field one afternoon and I heard her groaning in the hay-shed when I was passing. She told me who the father was then.’

  ‘In that case, having led me on so much, you’ve got to tell me too. Who was it?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘It’s Craigie Scott,’ threw out Tibbie, pouring boiling water from the kettle into her teapot.

  There was a silence behind her as Hannah stared at her with horrified eyes. ‘But Mam, everybody says that Craigie and Big Lily are half-brother and sister. Big Lily’s father was Craigie’s father, too. Her mother was his bondager.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Tibbie.

  ‘And Craigie fathered Wee Lily?’ asked Hannah in disbelief.

  ‘He did – and that’s why she’s the way she is. Bairns born like that are often short of a shillin’.’

  Hannah’s face flushed. ‘Oh, poor things. That’s a terrible story and I don’t think it’s Big Lily’s fault. What could she do? She’s only a bondager. You know how they’re treated.’

  Tibbie nodded. ‘There’s something in that, but Big Lily didnae seem to think there was anything wrong with it. She told me she’d never need go to a hiring fair if she’s got Craigie’s bairn.’

  Hannah was genuinely shocked. ‘That’s awful. He treated her like an animal and she’s grateful!’

  Tibbie furrowed her brow. ‘Well, Big Lily’s an idle besom really and so was her mother. She’d not find it easy to get another good place.’

  Hannah thumped the table. ‘Do you think being at Craigie’s is a good place? Those two women live in a shed that’s worse than anything he’d use for his cattle. It’s Craigie I blame, not Big Lily. That he’ll never send her away isn’t any excuse for him. I’ve never liked him and I like him a lot less now. I’m glad that navvy butted him. I wish he’d broken his ribs!’

  Chapter Six

  When the Abbey bell struck midnight, Christopher Wylie woke in a cold sweat and lay trembling in bed for a few minutes before he realised what was wrong with him. He had wakened up to the full knowledge of how close he’d come to being killed that day. The narrowness of his brush with death made beads of sweat stand out on his forehead and waves of nausea sweep over him. When he had stared down the barrel of Craigie Scott’s gun he had been calm and controlled, for he had not let himself think about what was happening. It was only now in the silence of the night that terror gripped him. Shaking, he rose from the lumpy, creaking bed and padded over to the window to breathe fresh air. There
was a huge moon floating like a full-sailed ship across the sky, and its rays illuminated the stark Abbey ruins in an eerie way so that they looked as if they were brushed with silver and made the shadows they cast as black as coal. Christopher was not normally a fanciful man, but tonight he imagined he saw dark figures flitting to and fro between the broken columns.

  He passed a shaking hand over his face. Part of his anxiety was that he knew if he had died that afternoon, he would have left too many things undone. If he had been shot, his dependants in Newcastle would have found themselves penniless and embroiled in a contract which would be impossible for them to fulfil. All his available cash was committed to the bridge. His wife and his daughter would have been left paupers. He felt that he had been given a warning that it was irresponsible to ignore. ‘I must do something about them. I must make them safe,’ he said to himself. The time had come for him to go back to Newcastle and put his domestic affairs on a firm footing.

  Next morning he felt too ill to eat breakfast and called for the carriage early. Before he could get into it, however, Tim Maquire appeared in the hotel. There was an anxious glint in his eye as he looked at his employer. ‘I came to tell you to take things easy today, Mr Wylie,’ he advised. ‘You had a bad shock yesterday. It was a close call. I couldn’t sleep all night myself for thinking about it.’

  Wylie nodded. ‘I didn’t sleep either, but I’ve decided to go back to Newcastle today because there are things I ought to organise.’

  Tim’s look of concern deepened. ‘You shouldn’t travel today. You’re very pale – go tomorrow.’

  ‘No, I’ve made up my mind,’ Wylie told him. ‘It must be done now. When I’m away, try and find me a decent lodging, Tim. This place is bug-ridden and noisy and I won’t be able to stand it for two weeks, far less two years. I’ll be back before the end of the week and when I return we’ll start on the first piers of the bridge. I’ll leave it to you to get a good gang of labourers together.’