A Bridge in Time

by A Bridge in Time (retail) (epub)

  The hired carriage took him to the railway junction, and on arrival at Newcastle, he went straight to his lawyer Mr Johnstone and stayed closeted with him for three hours. During that time a message was sent out to tell Haggerty to come to collect his master. From the lawyer’s office, Wylie called on Munro in the bank and finally, when it was almost dark, he climbed into his carriage, for the final leg of his journey to Wyvern Villa. He was dog-tired and could see from the look on Haggerty’s face that his exhaustion was obvious. ‘You want to take it a bit easier at your age, Chris,’ said the coachman solemnly.

  ‘Just one more job, Haggerty. One more job and then I’ll retire to a life of leisure. When all this is over I think I’ll go to the South of France. Arabella and Emma Jane would like that, wouldn’t they?’

  Haggerty said nothing but looked back over his shoulder with a sad expression on his face.

  Arabella was sitting with her daughter and granddaughter when he stepped into the drawing room. Amelia was not present. At the sight of them he made a conscious effort to stand up straight and smooth the haggard expression from his face, for he did not want to worry them.

  When she saw him, Arbelle dropped her toys and ran over to grasp him round the legs. ‘What have you brought for me, Grandpapa?’ she asked.

  He absently put a hand on her head and said, ‘Nothing, my dear. You shouldn’t ask for presents all the time, you know.’ It was the only time he had ever been so abrupt with her.

  Then he went over to kiss his wife and told her with undisguised relief, ‘You’re looking much better, darling.’

  She twinkled at him with something of her old appeal. ‘I do feel better, Christopher. Emma Jane’s been taking great care of me. I’ve even been out driving this week.’

  ‘Where’s Amelia?’ he asked, and his wife and daughter exchanged a glance over the child’s head.

  ‘She’s gone to Hexham to visit her sisters,’ said Emma Jane. ‘Mama and I are looking after Arbelle till she comes back tomorrow.’ He could tell from the tone of her voice that there was more to this than met the eye and that he’d hear it all later when Arbelle was in bed.

  ‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘I want to see her when she returns.’

  His wife looked at him curiously. ‘What about?’

  ‘Oh, just things,’ he said vaguely. ‘I was thinking the time had come when she might want a house of her own. When the bridge is finished I’d like us to go travelling, perhaps to France for six months or so. We could close up this house or even sell it and move elsewhere.’

  Arabella clasped her hands. ‘Oh Christopher, that would be wonderful! That’s something for us all to look forward to, isn’t it?’ He was delighted by her response, and the burden on him seemed to lighten a little.

  Later, when Emma Jane went off to put the child to bed, he and his wife were left alone together and he again said how much the improvement in her health and spirits pleased him.

  ‘I have something to look forward to now,’ she said with her old smile. ‘I’ve got France to think about. Where will we go? I know – let’s go to Menton. I’ve heard it’s beautiful there. Mimosa grows wild…’

  He took her hand and continued ‘… and lemon trees, and grapes on the vine… and the sun shines every day.’

  ‘Perhaps things are getting better for us,’ she whispered. ‘And there’s news about Amelia too. I think she’s planning to marry again.’

  His face changed. ‘Is she? Who to?’

  Arabella was surprised by his reaction. ‘I thought you’d be glad! She hasn’t said anything to us, but Arbelle’s let some things drop. There’s a man called Dan who’s been paying court to Amelia whenever she goes to Hexham, and she’s been there a lot recently. I’m half-expecting her to make an annouhcement when she comes back tomorrow.’

  Wylie stood up, frowning. ‘She can’t do that yet.’

  His wife said, ‘Oh Christopher, she’s not the sort to stay long without a man. You’ve only to look at her to see that.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s not that. It’s just that there are certain matters I have to arrange with her – about my estate and Arbelle’s future…’

  His wife nodded in understanding. ‘But you can do that even if she does get married, my dear. You can still make a settlement on Arbelle, surely? The only thing that worries me about Amelia getting married again is that we won’t see the poor little darling so often. I don’t think I can bear that. She’s such a joy to me.’

  ‘I’ll ask Amelia to make sure you see plenty of Arbelle,’ he reassured her. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged. You mustn’t worry, my love. You must keep on growing stronger – that’s the most important thing.’

  ‘Oh, but I am stronger. I was even able to go out calling three times last week with Emma Jane. She’s so shy and awkward, Christopher, that it made me realise how I must make a greater effort for her sake. She hardly ever opens her mouth when she’s with strangers and I’m sure my friends think she’s a mute or very stupid, when you and I know she isn’t. How could we have produced a daughter like that – you’re so handsome and I was the belle of Newcastle when I was young.’ Arabella had been the most sought-after girl in the city – a lovely young thing with a laughing face and high spirits when he married her, and Wylie sighed at the memory.

  ‘It can’t be easy being the daughter of the belle of Newcastle,’ he ventured, and she dimpled.

  ‘You old flatterer. But seriously, Christopher, I’m worried about that girl. If a young man speaks to her, she panics.’

  ‘Emma Jane’s just shy and she hasn’t met many young men,’ he said gently. ‘If you treat her tactfully she’ll grow more confident in time. She’s very young for her age. I still think of her as a child in a way, so perhaps it’s our fault that she’s so retiring. When she gets to the South of France, she’ll change, though…’

  Arabella laughed happily. ‘Of course, so she will! Oh, that’s going to be lovely. I’ll dream about it every night till we set out.’

  ‘Oh Arabella,’ he thought. ‘I wish I could really talk to you. I wish I could tell you how I felt after that madman tried to shoot me.’ But he did not broach the subject because he was afraid that hearing about it might throw her back into weakness and depression.

  After dinner, when he went into his library, he was surprised to see his daughter already there, bending intently over the papers spread out on his desk. For a moment he thought she was spying on him, finding out about his complicated financial affairs, but when she spun round he could see from her face that she was innocent of such duplicity. ‘I was looking at your plans, Papa. I think they’re splendid,’ she announced excitedly.

  ‘Yes, they are, aren’t they?’ he said proudly, walking over to stand beside her and spread the plans out flatter with his open palm. ‘This is going to be my swan song, Emma Jane, my best bridge ever.’

  She looked up with shining eyes. ‘Then it’ll be magnificent. You’ve built some lovely bridges.’ He was surprised because he was not aware that she knew of anything he’d done. He was about to roll the plans up when she stayed his hand. ‘Tell me about it, Father. How high is it going to be? How long will it take to build? What do all those lines of figures down the margin mean?’

  ‘It’s going to be over one hundred and fifty feet high in the middle, and it’ll take more than two years to build. I’ve agreed to have it finished by the beginning of August eighteen fifty-five. The figures in the margins are my calculations about stress resistance and weight-bearing, that sort of thing.’ He was flattered that she was interested but did not take her seriously. He thought she was only being tactful.

  Then she surprised him again by saying, ‘I think the design’s very elegant and I recognise it. I saw a bridge just like it in one of the books in your library. It said the Romans built it near Avignon. Is that where you got the idea?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Impressed by her perspicacity, he pointed to one of the plans and said, ‘Look, I’m going to build nineteen p
iers. Maquire thinks they’re too spindly, but they’re not – they’ll carry it.’

  She nodded as she leaned over the plans beside him. Then she said, ‘So you found your Mr Maquire, did you?’

  ‘Yes, and thank God I did. He’s recruiting a good squad of men for me now. He’ll have it all done by the time I get back.’

  ‘Oh Papa,’ she sighed, ‘I wish I could help you. The idea of building something like this thrills me.’

  ‘It’s not women’s work Emma Jane,’ he said amused. ‘And to prove it, I’ve something to tell you that you mustn’t repeat to your mother. Yesterday, a man tried to shoot me.’

  To do her credit she did not react hysterically. All she said was: ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m putting the bridge on a field which he uses to graze his animals.’

  ‘For that he tried to shoot you? It’s so trivial.’ Her tone was horrified and disbelieving.

  ‘It’s not trivial to him. The people in that part of the world are very territorial and stuck in their ways. There’s a village beside the bridge where people turn their heads away when railway-workers pass through it. They don’t like us spoiling their peace and tranquillity.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘That’s very sad, but I can understand how they feel in a way. A railway must be very frightening to people whose way of life hasn’t changed for centuries. But please take care – you’re very precious to us, Father.’

  He was gratified by her concern. ‘When the man tried to shoot me it had one good effect,’ he admitted. ‘It made me aware of how difficult it would be for you and your mother if I was to die suddenly. I came home to organise my affairs.’

  Her solemn amber eyes were fixed on his face as he went on: ‘I’ve told my lawyer to make arrangements for you.’

  ‘For me? But I’m all right.’

  ‘I’ve bought you an annuity so that you’ll always have an income. It’s not large, but if things work out the way I plan, I’ll buy you a bigger one later. In the meantime you’ll at least have something.’

  She didn’t ask for any details but he gave her them anyway. ‘I’ve bought a three per cent annuity that will give you one hundred and fifty pounds a year.’ As he spoke the words, he reflected that it cost him more than that for the annual upkeep of the gardens alone at Wyvern Villa.

  His daughter was making different calculations, however. ‘Five thousand pounds is a lot of money to spend on me, Papa,’ she protested.

  He stared at her in astonishment, for he had no idea she could do mathematical calculations. When she had attended a girls’ school in Newcastle, she had received an undistinguished record. Her reports always stressed her amenable nature, but said little about her academic abilities and achievements.

  ‘It’ll give you an independent income, my dear,’ he said, and she surprised him by suddenly throwing her arms round his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek.

  ‘Thank you so much, thank you,’ she cried, as if he’d given her five thousand a year.

  ‘Your first payment will fall due next week, and I want you to buy something pretty to wear with it,’ he told her.

  Her face fell. ‘But I don’t need any new clothes, Papa.’

  ‘Every young lady needs new clothes and your mother wants you to go out into society more,’ he said, but it was obvious that this idea depressed her. He persisted, however. ‘It helps Arabella to get out. You must go with her, Emma Jane, because she can’t go alone.’

  The shuttered look came down over her face again. ‘Of course I’ll go, Papa,’ she told him, but it was obvious that she would not enjoy herself.

  Next day, when he was poring over his papers in the library, his daughter-in-law Amelia arrived home. He had told Emma Jane that he wanted to see James’ wife as soon as possible, and within a short time of her arrival, she appeared beside him. Her look was cautious as she asked, ‘You wanted to see me?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes I do, my dear. Sit down. I’ve a proposition to put to you.’

  ‘A proposition?’ The word made her even more wary.

  ‘I want to buy you a house.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Her eyes were searching his face, trying to discern his motives.

  ‘There’s a pretty little cottage for sale along the road. You may have seen it. I would like to buy it for you.’

  Amelia bluntly asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘I want you to keep this to yourself, but I’ve had to pledge the deeds of Wyvern Villa to my bank as security for a loan and money I already owe to them. If anything happened to me before I could pay it all back, this house would belong to the bank. Emma Jane and my wife would have nowhere to live and no money – they’d lose everything. If you had a house, however, they could go there.’

  Amelia’s eye was sharp as she looked at him. ‘Would they want to live with me? Besides, I’ve a problem about this plan. I’m thinking of getting married again. I was going to tell you all soon—’

  ‘That won’t make any difference. I’ve told my wife that when the bridge is finished we might sell Wyvern Villa, and I’d like to set you and Arbelle up in a place of your own but close by. If you get married again, your husband would probably be quite happy to get a wife with a cottage as her dowry.’

  Amelia shook her head. ‘The man I’m marrying won’t care about any dowries. He lives in Hexham anyway and that’s where I’ll go when we wed. But we’re not rushing into it. I know I’ll have to wait till James has been dead for at least a year. That’s why I’ve been taking it slowly about telling you all. There’s no hurry.’

  Christopher’s face was worried but at this he cheered up a little. ‘In that case, I can still go ahead with this plan. It would put my mind at rest, Amelia. If things go well with the bridge, you’ll have your little house forever or be able to sell whenever you choose. In a way, I’m taking out an insurance policy by buying you a house.’

  It was difficult to explain to himself why he was talking so plainly to this girl when he could not do so to either his wife or his own daughter, but there was a level-headedness and shrewdness about Amelia that reminded him of his own mother, who had come from a similiar background as the girl James had married. Amelia might look like a doll and sound like a servant-girl, but she was far from stupid.

  She nodded and said, ‘You’re putting a house in my name so that if you crash, it won’t be taken by your creditors. Why don’t you buy it in Emma Jane’s name?’

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t buy the house for Emma Jane or Arbelle because if my estate was to be seized, that might be taken too. If the house is yours, though, that would be different. I’ll provide the money and you can buy it in your own name, but I have one request. Please don’t keep Arbelle away from her grandmother when you marry and go to Hexham. We all love the child so much.’

  Amelia smiled. ‘I know that. I wouldn’t be so cruel because she loves all of you too, but I wish you weren’t so soft with her. You’re all spoiling her. She’ll turn into a brat if she’s not watched.’

  He nodded in agreement. ‘I know that’s true, and we will try to be firmer with her. When you go to live in the cottage, let her see her grandmother every day as well.’

  ‘Oh I will,’ Amelia promised. ‘But I have something to ask in return. Please tell your wife not to call my daughter “poor Arbelle”. It really cuts me to the heart when she calls her that. I miss James and so does Arbelle, but I don’t want us to be pitied because he’s gone. It hurts my pride and I don’t want my daughter to be made to feel that way either.’

  ‘I promise you I’ll tell my wife she must stop calling her that. I’ll make sure she understands that it could be bad for the child,’ he told her.

  Amelia smiled her thanks but made no move to leave the room. Instead, she leaned forward in her chair and directed her most dazzling smile at him. ‘Now we’ve two secrets between us, haven’t we? My wedding to Dan and your worry about the house. I won’t let you down, Mr Wylie, and I hope you don’t mind me marrying again.’

 
‘You’ve a long life ahead of you. You should get married again. I don’t mind at all,’ he said sincerely, thinking that no one in their right mind could expect a young woman like Amelia to stay a grieving widow for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  When he returned to Rosewell after only one week away, Christopher Wylie was astonished by how things had advanced in his absence. In search of Tim Maquire, his carriage took him to the navvy camp which he saw had already quadrupled in size, nor was its growth yet finished, for approaching along the road from the north came a long line of heavily laden carts that looked like an army on the move. This influx of people had turned what was recently a pasture into a shanty village of narrow streets, running east to west along the face of the slope, with one broad alley bisecting it from north to south. Smoke rose from a forest of chimneys sticking out of the jumble of roofs, some made of tarpaulin, others of turf or wood. There was a constant background din of shrieking women, crying children and barking dogs. Somewhere in the distance, someone was playing a trumpet.

  Wylie was not the only person in the district to be impressed by the rapid growth of the navvy camp. It had obviously become a local landmark, for parties of smartly-dressed ladies and gentlemen had ridden out in gigs or phaetons to stare at it, loudly exclaiming among themselves over the ramshackle look of the huts, the villainous aspect of the women and the insolence of the dogs and children. They gawped with the same thrilled horror that people in cities experienced when they went to look at bedlams.

  On hearing that Mr Wylie was back, Tim, resplendent in a scarlet pillbox hat with a long golden streamer flowing from the top of it, came running down the broad middle path. As he reached the carriage Wylie asked him, ‘This is quite a change. How many men are here now?’

  A grin flashed across the dark face. ‘Over two hundred and fifty, but they’re not all mine – yours, I mean. Jopp sent down a squad from Maddiston two days ago to start building the station here, and there’s a line-laying gang moving in. They’re extending the track from the north; it’s past Maddiston now.’