‘Yes,’ he said. He wondered why she had come to see the bridge. If she was going to give up the contract, she could have done that by letter. He was determined to keep her tour of inspection as short as possible.
When their carriage went over the crown of the last hill and the valley opened out before them, she surprised him by standing up in her seat and shading her eyes with her hand. Her bonnet slipped off her head and hung down at the back of her neck by its broad black ribbon, but she ignored it. She was staring down at the line of the half-built bridge. ‘It looks wonderful,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Won’t it be marvellous when it’s finished?’
‘It’ll add to the view,’ he said grudgingly, and jumped out of the carriage to the ground with his hand extended to help her out. She took it without comment. The men working on the site knew she was coming and stopped working so that they could take a look at her. Like him, they thought she’d come for a last sight of her father’s project – a sort of sentimental journey.
She lifted her skirt with one hand and walked quickly down over the grass to the site hut. As she went, over her shoulder she asked him, ‘Where’s Jopp?’
His face went dark. ‘Him! On the embankment. He came down from Maddiston to meet you.’ Jopp had been throwing his weight about for days, boasting that he was going to take over the contract and interfering with what Tim was doing, questioning everything, countermanding orders and annoying the navvies with whom he was far from popular because of the truck business. They were afraid that if he was put in charge, truck would be imposed on them all.
Sure enough, Jopp had been watching, and now he came running down from the high embankment with his hand stuck out to shake Emma Jane’s. She took it gingerly as he said effusively, ‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Wylie. Sir Geoffrey came down to see me at Maddiston yesterday and told me what’s what.’ He cocked an eye in Tim’s direction as if there was a secret between himself and Emma Jane.
She frowned and replied, ‘I understand that Sir Geoffrey wants you to share in the work on the bridge, Mr Jopp.’
He grinned. ‘Yes, you and I will get along very well. Our aims are the same, aren’t they? We want this bridge finished. Have you brought your father’s plans with you?’
She didn’t trust this man, not an inch, but she didn’t show how she felt. ‘I have his plans in a safe place,’ she said coolly. ‘Now tell me what’s happening. I want to know exactly what stage has been reached.’
Jopp couldn’t help her there, so Tim stepped forward and swiftly led her from place to place, indicating where there were or might soon be problems. She listened attentively, asked surprisingly sensible questions and when at last the tour was finished, she paused and looked at him as she said, ‘You’ll continue to work for me, Mr Maquire, won’t you?’
‘For you? Are you taking over the contract?’ he asked in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that she intended such a thing, in spite of all her interest and questions.
She bridled. ‘Of course I am. I’ve got to finish it.’
‘And where does Jopp come in, then?’ he asked.
‘The railway company has stipulated that I take him on as a sort of manager.’
‘Jopp won’t help you. He’ll be more of a spy if you ask me. He’ll only cause trouble,’ said Tim.
She stiffened. ‘I don’t want him – the railway people do. He’s a safeguard for them, and I’m afraid he can’t be dispensed with. He’s part of the deal.’
‘That’s a pity,’ replied Tim grimly.
‘What I want to know is, are you still prepared to work for me in the same capacity as you did for my father? I know how highly he valued you. If you don’t want to, please say so now because I’ll have to find someone else,’ she told him. She knew it sounded bald but he didn’t appear to be making much of an effort to be polite to her either.
He glared. ‘I’m still involved because I liked your father very much and I’ve been in on this bridge since the moment the first spade went into the ground. I take pride in my work. I’m as anxious as you are to see it finished.’
At last she smiled. ‘That’s good. Now perhaps you’ll show me where Mrs Mather lives,’ she said, turning back to the carriage, but the ice between them remained unbroken because there was something about Maquire that rubbed her up the wrong way. He seemed anxious to get her off the site and she felt sure he disapproved of her – that he disapproved of the whole idea of a woman giving him orders. Because of that she was all the more determined to appear matter of fact, and not show any weakness.
The cottage where he’d found her lodgings was smaller than the Jessups’ house but she was pleased to see that it looked snug and cosy beneath its thick, green-covered thatch. Its walls were built of multi-coloured, misshapen stones, culled from the bed of the river long ago, neatly fitted together and piled one upon the other. The front door opened directly on to the cobbled road and beside it was a tiny window with eight little bottle-glass panes.
Tim knocked on the door before turning the handle and stepping inside. ‘Tibbie,’ he called. ‘I’ve brought Miss Wylie.’
A stout little woman with scraped-back grey hair and a sweet face stepped into the tiny entrance hall, wiping her hands on a white apron. She looked nervous, as if she was unsure that taking a lodger was the right thing to be doing. ‘Oh Miss Wylie, I hope you’ll be all right here. It’s nothing fancy, you know. Not nearly as grand as Mr Jessup’s. Maybe you should look some place else.’
Emma Jane smiled and her stiff little face was suddenly transformed. ‘I think your cottage is lovely. It looks so old. And what a pretty garden!’ she exclaimed, catching sight of the last of the summer flowers through the back window.
Tibbie’s garden was her pride and joy and Emma Jane could not have said anything that pleased her more. ‘Oh, it’s old all right. My Alex’s family have lived here for over a hundred years, maybe longer… nobody knows really. Do you like gardens, Miss Wylie?’
‘I don’t know much about them but I love to see them,’ said Emma Jane in reply and then added, ‘It’s kind of you to take me in, Mrs Mather. It’s so close to the bridge, so convenient. I hope it won’t put you to too much trouble, though.’
Tibbie glanced at Tim but his look gave her no indication of how long Miss Wylie might be planning to stay. ‘It’s no trouble really,’ she said, but she was still unable to hide the note of doubt in her voice. Then she rallied. ‘Now come up the stairs and I’ll show you the room. You’ll be able to come and go as you like because I’ll often be up at the camp with my daughter Hannah and her wee baby, Kate.’
Emma Jane looked quickly at Tim. ‘Oh, I forgot to ask about the baby. She’s thriving, I hope.’
His face darkened and he shuffled his feet but it was to Tibbie that he spoke. ‘Don’t go up to the camp today, Tibbie. There’s been a couple of cases of fever there.’
Tibbie’s hand flew to her face. ‘Fever! How’s Hannah? She had a bad headache yesterday when she left here.’
Tim hastened to reassure her. ‘Hannah’s all right and so’s Kate. They were still in bed when I left this morning. I’ve told Hannah to stay inside and not go out. When I get back I’m going to move them to a cottage well away from the infection.’ He didn’t say that on the site he’d heard of the deaths of Naughten and Major Bob. As a result he was in agony, aching to get back to the camp as soon as possible, and his anxiety made him short-tempered.
‘I’ll leave you then,’ he said brusquely to Emma Jane, who nodded.
‘Yes, I’ll be at the bridge early tomorrow. I’ll bring the plans and we can talk more then.’
Tibbie put out a hand to clutch at his sleeve. ‘Just a minute, Tim. Wait till I show Miss Wylie upstairs and then I’ll come with you.’
‘You’ve not to go into the camp, Tibbie,’ he said sternly.
She kept hold of his sleeve, for she sensed something was badly wrong. ‘Then I’ll give you some medicine for Hannah – something that’ll keep
the fever away from her and Kate. You’ve got to take it, Tim. It works.’
‘I’m in a hurry,’ he pleaded, but she bent towards him and whispered, ‘Then bring them here. We never have fever in this village.’
He patted her hand consolingly. ‘No, I told you – I’ve got everything arranged. We’re going to a cottage on top of the hill over the other side of the river. Don’t worry. I’ll come back and tell you when everything’s been done.’
She could see that he was desperate to get away and she dropped her detaining hand but her eyes were terrified. Embarrassed, Emma Jane stood at the top of the stairs and wondered what she ought to do. When Tim left she came down and asked Tibbie, ‘Would it be better if I went somewhere else, Mrs Mather? Then your daughter and granddaughter could come here.’
Tibbie shook her head. ‘Oh, no. Tim’s made his arrangements and I mustn’t interfere. I hope they don’t get the fever, that’s all. It’s been funny weather, real fever weather, and that camp’s so crowded these days, but Hannah wouldn’t hear tell of leaving her wee house, not even when the baby was coming, would she leave…’
She was talking to herself as much as to Emma Jane, and the girl realised that the best thing she could do was to go upstairs and keep out of the way. In a little while Tibbie called up to her to come down and have some tea, and was pulling on her shawl as she indicated the tea-things on the table. ‘Please help yourself, Miss Wylie. I’m going to walk to the camp. I can’t wait any longer.’ Her voice was distracted and it was obvious that she was racked with worry.
‘But he said…’ Emma Jane was going to say that Tim had advised against going there, but Tibbie’s face was set.
‘I know what he said but I can’t wait here wondering any longer. I’d rather see for myself. You can look after yourself till I get back, can’t you?’
‘Oh yes, of course I can.’
‘Good,’ said Tibbie. ‘I’ll not be long.’
The village carter’s dray was rumbling down the street taking a load of woven cloth from the Rutherfords across the road to Rosewell and he offered Tibbie a ride. ‘Are you going to see Hannah?’ he asked, and before she could reply, he went on, ‘You should stay away from there, Tib. They say there’s fever in the camp.’
She had to fight to stop her teeth from chattering. ‘Oh no, it’s only got as far as Maddiston,’ she protested, but the carter shook his head.
‘There’s a rumour that twae folk died in Rosewell camp today.’
Tibbie could not stop herself from snapping, ‘How do you know they died from fever? There’s folk dying all the time from all sorts of things.’
The carter would have said more but he saw she was set on denying the possibility of fever so he shook his head and contented himself with, ‘Well, you’ll not get me going into that camp, that’s one thing sure. See and not bring the fever back to the village.’
He dropped her a hundred yards from the gate, for he seemed to think that infection was hanging around it like a curtain. As she walked towards the camp, Tibbie was struck by the strange stillness that hung over it. Normally at that time of day the place was a hustle and bustle of activity, with tradesmen’s carts going in and out, and busy women and fighting children milling about, but today there was not a cart or a human being to be seen and every door was closed. It looked like a place that was waiting for an onslaught of some sort – a place that was mortally afraid.
The sky was leaden above her head as Tibbie walked up the main path, and the unnatural silence made her notice things that she had not really taken in before. It was obvious that there were now far too many people living in the field for comfort or hygiene. Piles of rotting rubbish lay at some of the hut doors, and from the latrines dug at the back of the huts she caught stomach-churning stenches. Clouds of enormous bluebottles buzzed around the foulest lean-to sheds. In the central section of the camp there was no longer a blade of grass to be seen, for the most recent arrivals had pitched their tents across the paths that interlinked the original buildings. Tibbie was glad that the little house where Tim and Hannah lived was on the fringe of the camp, well away from the squalid inner section.
At last she could see the bonny painted door of Benjy’s, with Hannah’s tubs of bright geraniums on each side. That door was also closed, and the window curtains drawn. There were three men inside when Tibbie entered, and as her eyes became accustomed to the curtained gloom she saw that one was Tim, the second was his fancy-spoken navvy friend whom she’d often seen before, but the third was a stranger. He was also a young man and he stood with his shirt-sleeves rolled up and a worried expression on his face. They were all huddled together in the middle of the room arguing about something. Hannah and the baby lay in bed.
When Tibbie entered Tim turned towards her and said, ‘You shouldn’t come in here. The doctor thinks Hannah’s got fever.’ His eyes were blazing as if he was furiously angry.
She pushed past him to reach the bed. ‘Aw bairn, you’ll be all right. You’re a big strong girl,’ she consoled.
Hannah’s face was shining with sweat but she managed to reach out a hand and touch her mother’s. ‘I know, Mam, don’t worry. I just hope the bairn doesn’t get it.’
Baby Kate was lying in the crook of her arm and Tibbie reached out to pick the child up, but Hannah tightened her grip on the little bundle. The chubby infant face was very pale and from the laboured way Kate was breathing Tibbie could tell that she was also ill, perhaps even more ill than her mother. ‘You lie there and keep quiet,’ she whispered, and turned back to the men with an unspoken question in her eyes.
It was the stranger who answered her. ‘I’m Alex Robertson, the new doctor from Maddiston. There’s an outbreak of fever in the camp but as you said to your daughter, she’s young and strong and well nourished.’
Tibbie’s lips were dry and parched as she whispered, ‘Fever?’
He nodded firmly and said very loud so Hannah could hear, ‘Enteric fever.’ But his eyes looking into Tibbie’s said something else, something far more terrible. ‘I’ll look after your daughter,’ he said next. ‘Perhaps you should go home.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she told him. ‘I’m not leaving her – she needs me. Who’ll nurse her if I don’t?’
The doctor lowered his voice. ‘You’re not a young woman. Fever is more dangerous when the patient is older.’
‘I don’t give a damn,’ snapped Tibbie, who never swore in normal circumstances. ‘I’m not leaving Hannah.’
Tim was walking like a caged animal from one side of the room to the other, but now he whipped round and said roughly to the doctor, ‘Let me take her away from here. I’ve got a place for her to go. It’s up on the hill, well away from everybody else and from infection. She’ll get better there.’
Robertson looked at him with pity. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve told you already. I’d be breaking the law if I allowed you to move an infectious case of fever out of here. But apart from that there’s another reason why she must stay. She’s too ill to be moved, man. If you want her to survive this, you’ve got to leave her here and let us look after her as best we can. It’s the only chance she’s got!’
Tim stood in the middle of the floor like a statue and Tibbie’s heart went out to him, for she could see that he was suddenly overcome by a sense of powerlessness. He had been sure he could snatch his wife and child away from danger, protect them by his own strength and ingenuity but now he had come up against this sinister enemy that he did not know how to fight. She ran over to him and put a hand on his. ‘She’s going to be all right. I’ll stay here and nurse her. You go back to the cottage and bring me some things. I’ll write down a list.’
In Camptounfoot, Emma Jane was still upstairs when she heard terrible crashing noises coming from the room below. She hurried down the ladder stair and saw Tim Maquire standing at an open wall-cupboard throwing bottles and jars on to the floor like a man gone berserk. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
He did not turn his head but wen
t on searching among the close-packed jars on the middle shelf. Then he said, ‘Help me, I’m trying to find all those things she wants. She said they were in here.’
Emma Jane entered the room and picked up a piece of paper that lay on the seat of a chair by his side. ‘Is this the list?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I can’t find them.’ He was in too great a state of agitation to look properly, but it was not difficult for her to decipher the spidery writing on faded labels and quickly find each item on the list. She did not ask why he wanted all those things but guessed they were for his sick wife, for they were all either medicines or food like calf’s foot jelly that would be suitable for invalids. When everything was gathered together she piled the bottles into a big wicker basket and covered them with a white cloth. He was by this time rummaging in a box beneath Tibbie’s bed and hauling out folded white sheets. ‘We’ll need these too,’ he said, shoving them under his arm, picking up the basket and leaving the house. He said nothing about going back to work and neither did she.
What she did call after him was, ‘I hope everything’s all right. I hope she gets better soon,’ but she was not sure that he even heard her. Then she set about cleaning up the mess he’d left behind, for she guessed that it would be some time before she saw Tibbie again.
When Tim got back to Benjy’s, the doctor and Sydney had left, summoned away to another sufferer, for the illness was manifesting itself all over the camp in a terrifying way. In almost every house or hut someone was affected – a child, a baby or an older person in most early cases during the first day. Tibbie silently put her finger to her lips to indicate that Hannah was asleep and started to lift the bottles and jars out of the basket, nodding with approval at everything he’d brought. ‘Isn’t there something you can go and do?’ she whispered to him. ‘She’s sleeping now and it’ll only worry you hanging about here. I’ll look after her and if there’s any change I’ll fetch you. I’m sure she’s going to be all right. She’s never had a day’s illness in her life, has my Hannah.’
A Bridge in Time Page 39
