A Bridge in Time

by A Bridge in Time (retail) (epub)

  He didn’t reply to that, however, for he was holding her hand and saying in his soft Irish voice, ‘Aw come on, one kiss isn’t a lot to ask for saving your life, now is it?’

  She pretended to ponder the question, putting a finger to her cheek and frowning. ‘Now should I give this man a kiss or not?’ she teased aloud. ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m not in the habit of kissing strange men I meet on the road.’

  ‘Ah, you know me. I’ve been chasing you for months. I’m not a stranger,’ he coaxed even more softly. Then he put out a hand and lifted her chin so that she was staring directly into his eyes. His grim look was back as he said, ‘I’m your fate, I think. Give me a kiss and find out.’ Surprised, she did not draw away but stood still staring at him while he gently rearranged the wet hood around her neck and wiped fronds of hair out of her eyes. His touch was very gentle. She didn’t breathe while he took her chin between his finger and thumb and held her face very still as he bent towards her. She liked the smell of him – soap, wet cloth and tobacco – and it seemed to take a very long time until she felt his lips on hers. Both of them closed their eyes when their mouths met and stood very still, not daring to breathe. His lips were cold and dry; hers warm, sweet and moist. They only brushed each other at first but when she did not draw away, he became bolder and put an arm round her shoulder, pulling her closer as he kissed her with growing urgency. There was magic between them now and behind their closed eyes they were both seeing flashing lights, shooting stars, huge glowing circles of blazing fire amid velvet blackness… When they could no longer breathe they stood apart and looked shakily at each other.

  Hannah was the first to speak. ‘Have I paid my fare to your satisfaction now?’ she asked.

  When he nodded and spoke, his voice sounded very distant. ‘Indeed you have,’ he told her. The snow had made his curly hair fall down over his forehead into his eyes and he blinked as if he was having difficulty seeing.

  Without thinking, she put up a hand to wipe it away. ‘You’re very wet. It’ll be you that’s catching your death, not me,’ she whispered softly.

  He caught her hand between both of his and said fiercely, ‘I love you. Come with me.’

  Hannah stared at him, for a moment frightened at the thought that she had sparked something into life that she might not be able to control. ‘I can’t come with you,’ she told him.

  ‘You can. Come with me – I’ve got my own house. The key’s here in my pocket. I promise on my mother’s honour that I won’t harm you. Just come and see my house. I’ve not been in it myself yet. I was waiting… Come and see my house. I’ll bring you back here, as safe as an infant in its mother’s arms: that I promise you. Come with me, please.’

  As he said ‘please’ his voice was very soft and he gently dropped her hand so that it hung by her side. Then he stroked the soft skin on the back of it with one finger as if he was stroking a kitten. ‘Please,’ he whispered again.

  She could not understand what had got into her but she heard herself saying, ‘All right. I’ll come.’ It felt as if she were two people, one standing back and warning while the other went rushing headlong into trouble. ‘You’ll have to bring me back though,’ she told him and he nodded.

  ‘Of course. And I’ll speak to the housekeeper and tell her that I captured you. I’ll say it wasn’t your fault.’ He was joyous as he took her arm and, oblivious to the blizzard that was blowing around them, they ran down the road in the direction of Rosewell.

  Hannah had only seen the navvy camp from the distance though she had heard a lot about it; little of what she’d heard was good but when she found herself in its broad middle road, she was surprised that it was not all a huddle of pigsties as she’d been led to believe. Under the snow most of the huts looked trim and weatherproof, with chimneys smoking and windows shuttered against the storm. Some of them had names painted above the doors, or pictures adorning the whitewashed walls. The only signs of life were a few dogs which skulked about in the spaces between the buildings.

  When Tim Maquire slackened his pace and reached into his pocket for his key, she saw that they were standing in front of a neat little wooden house with a steeply pitched roof. It was painted dark-green, with broad white strips round the window and door. In these strips were painted multi-coloured flowers – buttercups, rosebuds, cornflowers and scarlet poppies, with green leaves twisting about them. ‘Oh, what a bonny wee place! Is it really yours?’ she exclaimed in delight.

  He was having difficulty in getting the key into the lock because his hands were frozen, but at last he succeeded and threw the door open so that she could enter. She stepped inside and gazed about with shining eyes. It was like being in a doll’s house, for it was small and compact and Mariotta had left it immaculate.

  The floor consisted of scrubbed white planks and in the middle of it stood a pot-bellied iron stove that glittered like jet with blackleading. Beside it was a bucket full of dry twigs for kindling. There was a wooden table, two upright chairs, a run of empty shelving along one wall and in the far corner, a built-in bed with a blue and white ticking mattress. The frame of the bed was painted with the same flowers as the outside window and door. Throwing back her hood, the red-haired girl stood in the middle of the floor and gazed around. It seemed to the watching Tim Maquire that light radiated from her and lit up the dark corners.

  On the table stood a battered metal candle-holder with a stub of candle in it. He struck a light from his watch-chain tinderbox and lit it. The faint light it cast flickered and danced on their faces as they looked at each other. Very slowly they moved across the room, drawn together by a force they could not resist. He put his arms around her and held her close with her head resting on his chest.

  They stood like that for a while until she whispered, ‘Who was Benjy? I saw the name on the door.’

  His face was against her hair, breathing in its wonderful, spicy smell. With an effort he told her, ‘Benjy built this house. He died a little while ago and his widow sold it to me.’

  Hannah sighed, still not lifting her face. ‘That’s sad. Did Benjy paint on the flowers?’

  Tim shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I think his wife did that.’ He could hardly speak and his voice sounded strange and croaking in his own ears.

  ‘Poor soul, she must have loved this little house. It feels as if someone loved it,’ whispered Hannah.

  ‘I love you,’ said Tim. His heart felt as if it was bursting as he held her and the words could no longer be contained.

  She did not reply but stood away from him and became very brisk. ‘If you’re going to sleep here tonight, you should light the stove. It’s cold outside and those walls are only wood, you know.’

  Without speaking, he lifted the candle and held it to the scraps of paper that were stuffed into the bottom of the stove. Then he lifted its lid and threw in several handfuls of twigs and a big log that he found in the bottom of the bucket. There was a whoosh and a comforting crackle, and soon a few red embers dropped on to the stone slab that formed the stove base. They stood side by side looking at it with their hands held out to the heat and their faces gilded by the glow. Without switching his gaze, Tim asked, ‘Did you hear what I said then?’

  ‘Yes, I heard you. I’m thinking about it,’ was her reply.

  ‘Oh God, don’t think. It doesn’t need thinking about. It’s just happened. I don’t know how… but it’s happened.’ He turned and put out his arms towards her as if he was asking for comfort. She shook off her wet cloak and stepped into his embrace.

  ‘Don’t think, don’t think,’ her inward self was saying as she was swept along on this dangerous and exciting voyage into a world that she had never visited before.

  As the twigs in the stove burned down, the lovers sank to the floor in front of it, using Hannah’s cloak as their carpet. Lying side by side they kissed and clung together as if their whole survival depended on being together. Both of them felt the urgency of their bodies beneath the strictures of their
clothes. They longed for the silken touch of skin on skin but just when Tim was tearing off his shirt and pulling it over his head, Hannah stopped him. ‘No, no! I’ve got to go back to Bella Vista. I can’t stay here like this… no, no.’ Her protests dwindled and disappeared, however, as he began to kiss her again. She rubbed her hands down the smooth slope of his back, feeling the long pads of muscles down each side of the spine and the bony projections of his shoulder blades. ‘Ah,’ she sighed and relaxed beneath him with her mouth against his shoulder.

  When he unbuttoned her blouse, she made no protest but lay like an odalisque while he sat up and admired her. ‘Oh, you’re lovely, you’re so lovely,’ he sighed in adoration but then, as if consciousness had suddenly returned, the rapt look in his eyes disappeared and it was his turn to become brisk. ‘Aw, Hannah, I can’t do this. You’re too good a girl. You’ll have to get up and get dressed. Don’t lie there like that, it’s more than I can bear.’

  She didn’t move, only went on lying very still with her face turned to the fire and her fingers trailing down his forearms. He was sitting up and saying fiercely, ‘Hannah, did you hear me? I’m not the marrying kind: I’m a travelling man. Life with me wouldn’t be right for you. Oh God, get up and put your clothes on, Hannah.’

  He jumped up and walked towards the window. Through the glass he could see that the snowflakes were still swirling around like mad dancers. The ground outside was thickly covered. ‘I’ll take you back now. Soon you won’t get through,’ he said harshly as he stared out. He did not dare turn round and look at her.

  Then behind him he heard her saying, ‘Come here, Tim Maquire. Come here and lie down beside me again. I don’t want to go back – I want to stay here with you. Don’t you want me to stay?’

  He tried to resist but her calling was like a siren song. Eventually he went over and knelt beside her on the spread-out cloak. ‘Hannah, I don’t want to get married,’ he said.

  She shook her red-gold head. ‘I don’t care. I love you too, Tim Maquire. I want you too. I can’t get up and leave you now.’ Then she raised her long white arms and pulled him down beside her, turning so that her face was against his, her lips moving on his cheek as she spoke. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t blame you. I want it as much as you do,’ she whispered.

  Early in the morning he was the first to waken and for a few seconds found it hard to remember why he should be lying in a tumble of abandoned clothing in front of the still-burning stove. Then steely light coming through the window showed a naked Hannah asleep in the crook of his arm, curled up like a baby with her face against his shoulder. He lifted a tendril of her curling hair and with a look of adoring wonder on his face wound it around his forefinger. Gently he touched her shoulder and said, ‘Wake up, wake up, my flower. It’s half-past six.’ He possessed a strange and useful facility for being able to tell the time accurately without consulting a watch.

  She rolled on to her back and stretched out like a big golden cat, her long toes all pointing out like fingers as she tensed her muscles. Then she opened her eyes and stared into his face. The first look that came into her eyes was tenderness, and she stroked his stubbled cheek with a soft hand. Then more mundane considerations came to her mind and she sat up, saying, ‘Oh my God, half-past six! I’ve lost my job, that’s for sure. What’s my Mam going to say? Oh my God, you must have bewitched me.’

  He lay proud in his nakedness and watched her as she ran around crying out, ‘Where’s my boots, where’s my cloak? Oh dear, I’ve lost my place as sure as I’m alive and it was a good place – I’ll never get another as good. What’ll I say to my Mam?’

  ‘I’ll tell your Mam it was my fault. I’ll tell her last night was the most wonderful night of my life. Don’t spoil it by having second thoughts now, Hannah.’

  She was hauling at the clothes under his back, saying crossly, ‘Get off my petticoat, you big thing you. Oh, I should have been up and working in Bella Vista half an hour ago.’ Her concern was genuine and he could see that there were tears in her eyes as she scrabbled around looking for her clothes. Her naked skin shone like silver in the early-morning light and her hair tumbled around her shoulders like a golden waterfall. He could have looked at her like that forever. When he rose and went over to comfort her, she stopped her fretting to stare at him. He was broad-chested, narrow-hipped and magnificently muscled, with a strip of curly black hair starting just beneath his breastbone and spreading out till it became his pubic bush. He made no attempt to cover his maleness and she gazed at him with admiration. ‘Oh my word but you’re a bonny man, aren’t you?’ she sighed as she stepped into his embrace once more. Without premeditation they were back on the cloak on the floor, all cares and responsibilities forgotten. It no longer mattered a fig to Hannah Mather that there would be no maid to serve the food in Bella Vista’s breakfast room that morning.

  * * *

  They stayed in their snug little hideaway till afternoon, before they realised that it was Christmas Eve. Outside, the snow still drifted from the sky though not with the same fury as it had done the previous day, but the paths and roads were packed with drifts. Travelling any distance would be very difficult, which made Hannah glad because she knew her mother would not expect her in such weather. She and Tim lay cosily in bed with their clothes piled up on them as coverings. There they stayed in each other’s arms, laughing, talking and making love until hunger hit them. Not an apple core, not a rusk of bread could be found to eat in the hut so Tim pulled on his clothes and said, ‘I’ll go down into Rosewell and buy us some food.’

  Hannah popped up and cried, ‘I’ll come with you,’ so they dressed with many kisses, and arm in arm waded out into the snow giggling like children. First they called at the coalyard and bought a bag of best coal which Tim shouldered while Hannah went into the shops around the square and bought bread and cheese, bacon and apples, a twist of paper full of tea and a pat of golden butter. When she came out they put their heads together and talked about her purchases before she went back in again and bought a tin of black treacle, a stone bottle of beer, a paper bag full of potatoes and a bundle of mistletoe tied with a red ribbon. Their last call was at the butcher’s shop, where they purchased a leg of lamb at considerable expense. Then, laden with their provisions they went back to their hut.

  As Tim unlocked the door, Hannah looked at the word Benjy’s and said, ‘You’ll have to change that now, won’t you? You’ll have to put Tim’s on it.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I think I’ll put Hannah’s,’ he said. With a tender look she reached out a hand and touched his as they went into the warm darkness of the interior. Their stove was still burning as a welcome for them.

  If Hannah had paused to think, she would have immediately realised that the news that she had been seen buying provisions in Rosewell, in company with a big, black-haired navvy, would reach Camptounfoot almost as quickly as she and Tim were safely back at Benjy’s.

  Tibbie was washing clothes in the little wash-house at the back of her cottage, happily humming away to herself as the fire crackled up beneath the big metal boiler while sheets rolled and bubbled away inside it in a sea of frothing soapsuds. ‘Hey Tib,’ came a voice from the door and she turned to see Big Lily standing in the trodden-down snow.

  ‘Hello Lily,’ she said. ‘Give me a hand with this sheet, will you?’ She stuck a long pole into the middle of the water and attempted to fish a wet sheet out with it.

  ‘Can Hannah no’ help you wi’ that?’ asked Lily.

  ‘Hannah’s not here. If she was she’d help me of course,’ snapped Tibbie.

  ‘If she’s no’ here, why’s there a man from Bella Vista chapping at your front door and wanting to know why she’s not been at her work since yesterday?’ asked Lily.

  Tibbie froze. ‘She left here yesterday afternoon to go back to Bella Vista,’ she said wonderingly. Then she put a hand on her heart and gasped, ‘Oh God, she went out in that storm. I hope she’s all right. Oh, I hope she’s not been murdered. M
aybe one of those navvies has got his hands on her.’

  ‘Aye, that’s what I heard,’ came another voice, and Tibbie’s sister-in-law Effie appeared in the wash-house door with a very disapproving expression on her face. Tibbie and Lily stared at her in amazement and she nodded grimly. ‘I cannae imagine what she thinks she’s doing, buying legs of lamb in Rosewell with a navvy.’

  Tibbie was near tears. ‘Legs of lamb? What’s this about legs of lamb? Hannah’s gone missing. She’s not been at her work.’

  ‘She’s not been that far either,’ Effie informed her, ‘because I’ve just been told she’s prancing around Rosewell spending money like it’s gone out of fashion and she’s got a navvy with her.’ This time it was Tibbie’s turn to faint.

  When she came to, she was half-lying in a chair in her own sitting room with several village women around her. They were all talking at once and the subject that engrossed them was Hannah: ‘Shopping in the square with a big black-haired navvy, the same one that comes here to see Mr Wylie at the Jessups’. Buying all sorts of things – even a tin of treacle and mistletoe if what they say is true.’

  Another woman spoke up from the back. ‘The housekeeper in Bella Vista’s hopping mad. She won’t have her back, she says. Where did she go last night, that’s what I’d like to know, and her poor mother that respectable!’

  Wee Lily, who was listening to all that was being said with a very solemn expression, chipped in: ‘Hannah’s a nice lassie. Dinna say anything against Hannah.’

  Her mother, Big Lily, descended on her and bustled her out into the road. ‘Away you go and feed the hens,’ she ordered. When she came back she was shaking her head and saying, ‘She picks up everything. Aw, dinna tak’ on like that, Tibbie. At least she’s no’ been murdered.’ For Tibbie was sobbing and weeping as if her heart would break.