During the lay-off, Jopp had gone among the workforce spreading rumours about Emma Jane. He told them that she was about to run out of money and wouldn’t be able to go on paying wages past the spring. He also said that the railway company had asked him to take over the contract when she gave up, and that it would be in every man’s interest to throw in his luck with him at once and not wait till the end came, when all his vacancies might be full.
As a result, on the day she began recruiting again, Emma Jane was surprised to see how few navvies turned up to apply. By contrast, Jopp, high on his embankment, had a crowd of applicants around him. Standing beside Emma Jane was her helper Robbie, who was proving invaluable because of his ability to pick up stories and rumours. He soon discovered the reason for the defection of the men from Emma Jane, and told her what Jopp had been saying.
‘But that’s nonense!’ she protested. ‘I’m not going to run out of money. I sold my house in Newcastle to satisfy the bank and they’re not going to pressure me for any more money until the bridge is finished. I’ve Munro’s promise on that.’
No matter what she said, however, the seeds of doubt had been sown. When work began again in the spring, she only had thirty navvies to work with her bricklayers and masons, who were all men from Camptounfoot who had thrown in their lot with her. This force was not sufficient to finish the bridge in the time left, so she was forced to go to Jopp to ask him to hire twenty of his men to her. He agreed with suspicious alacrity but made the stipulation, ‘They’re my men, and they’re on my pay roll. You pay me and I’ll pay them.’
She knew what was happening. She paid Jopp five shillings a day for each man and he passed on four of them to the navvies, but part of that was in truck-tickets.
She was not in a position to argue, for she needed to concentrate on the work in hand. To do them justice, the men all worked hard at first and the piers were quickly erected to the height where it was necessary to start building the brick arches. Emma Jane stood beneath them and stared at their dizzying height. Up there, the masons were laying the last stones. On the day the final pier reached its maximum height, she said to Robbie, ‘Now we’ll have to put up the linking scaffolds. We’ll build them along the top of the piers like a walkway as you suggested, and the bricklayers can work from them.’
Twenty loads of long timber planks had been delivered to the site the previous day and more were expected. They had to be put up as soon as possible, so the most intrepid men were detailed to go up the pillars with ropes tied round their waists and set them in place. This job was going to take at least two weeks, but Emma Jane gave instructions for the scaffolders to start at the southern, lowest end of the bridge and as they moved along, the bricklayers could come in behind them. The planning, the working out, the mathematical minutiae of the task pleased her, and she discovered she had a talent for it. She really began to feel that success was within her reach on the day that the first arch rose between the southernmost pair of piers in a pale salmon-coloured semi-circle. She could not look at it enough, for it filled her with optimism.
It was a mistake to tempt fate, however, as she soon found out.
When she was in her hut that afternoon she heard shouting, and went out to see a crowd of men standing around a body on the ground. She hurried over and to her horror saw Robbie lying in a crumpled position, his face contorted with pain. ‘I’ve broken my leg, miss,’ he groaned from between clenched teeth. He’d been helping to pass bricks up to the men on the scaffold, had jumped on a waggon to load more bricks on to the flat trays that were used to hoist them overhead, had missed his footing and fallen over backwards.
Sydney knelt beside him and ran his hands down the twisted leg. ‘It’s a bad break, I think,’ he said, looking up at Emma Jane. ‘I’ll ride over to Maddiston for Doctor Robertson. He’s the one who helped at the time of the cholera.’
The other men agreed. ‘Yes, get Robertson. He’s a good man…’ they chorused.
Distraught for her young friend, Emma Jane knelt on the grass and held Robbie’s hand. ‘Yes, do go and get the doctor,’ she urged. ‘Tell him to come at once. In the meantime we’ll carry Robbie into my hut.’
They didn’t realise that it was dangerous to move him, and his agony and groans were terrible as they lifted him up and carried him into Emma Jane’s hut, where he was laid on the floor and covered with her shawl. When one of the men gave him a generous swig of brandy – the first he had ever tasted, for the Rutherfords were abstainers – his groans grew less so they kept administering alcohol till Robertson and Sydney arrived back.
As soon as the doctor stepped into the hut, Emma Jane was struck by the sympathy and humanity that emanated from him. This was a very different physician from any she’d previously encountered. She stepped back from Robbie and watched as Robertson examined the leg and then set it straight, using spars of wood brought down from the bridge. ‘I think it’s broken in two places,’ he said when he stood up. ‘There’s a break in the ankle and also in the femur, but fortunately both in the same leg. He must have taken a bad tumble.’
Robbie, only semi-conscious because of the brandy, slurred, ‘How long till I walk again, Doctor?’
A strained look, which did not go unnoticed by Emma Jane, passed over Robertson’s face. ‘I should think about two months,’ was all he said, and then he added quickly, ‘But first we’ll have to get you home to your mother, my lad. It’s going to be a bit of a shock for her. I’ll need to borrow a cart and some strong men… can that be arranged?’
Emma Jane nodded, put a hand on his arm and gestured to him to step outside the hut with her. ‘I’m the contractor on this bridge,’ she told him, ‘and Robbie, the lad with the broken leg, is my friend and one of my most valuable assistants. Why did you look so odd when you told him how long it would take to walk again?’
Robertson’s eyes searched her face as if he was making up his mind whether he could talk freely to her or not, and the verdict must have been in her favour for he said, ‘The ankle break’s a very bad one – the bone’s smashed. It might mean that he will never walk again.’
Emma Jane stared back at him in consternation before she said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t tell that to Robbie. He’s got to think he’s going to be all right. He’s only a boy, and if he was told he was going to be crippled, he might give up.’
Robertson’s eyes showed interest in her. He’d heard a girl had taken over the bridge and had been intrigued by the idea. This little scrap of a thing didn’t look anything like he’d imagined a female contractor to be, however. All he said was, ‘I won’t tell him, and anyway I may be wrong. I often am.’
The accident to Robbie was the first in a catalogue of troubles that beset Emma Jane during the dark days of early spring. Worries and irritations, both major and minor, besieged her so that she was too distracted to notice the world around her. All she was concerned with was keeping warm, keeping dry, making sure the work went on and defusing disputes among the men – the greatest of her most recent troubles. Since work had begun again, the force was riven with an undercurrent of resentment, and she had no Robbie to bring her information about what was causing it.
One blowy morning as she was walking to work with her head down against the wind, she suddenly sniffed something in the air that made her look up and stare around. She’d caught the smell of spring – a fresh, clear scent that made her blood rise. Then she saw the signs that she had been missing – red buds beginning to swell on the black branches of the trees; grass looking green again and losing its dead, sere look and, most wonderful of all, snowdrops spreading like rippling sheets of white silk over the banks beneath the trees. As she gazed at them she felt optimism rising. They gave her hope.
At the bridge, however, that hope was driven away very quickly because work had stopped and a huddle of navvies stood under the middle pier. This was not the first time that work had been held up by arguments and protracted discussions so, with anger rising in her, she walked up to the me
n and said shortly, ‘Why aren’t you working? There’s a lot to do and I can’t afford to pay slackers.’
They were all men she’d hired from Jopp, and one turned to her to say, ‘And we ain’t going to work today unless we get the same money as the other men.’
‘I pay all my labour at the same rate,’ she told him.
‘We’re doing the same job but your men have five bob a day and we’re lucky if we end up with three.’
She faced up to him. ‘I pay Jopp five shillings a day for each one of you. If you leave him and come to me, you can get that money direct.’
The malcontents looked at each other. One or two muttered behind their hands and then their spokesman stepped forward to ask, ‘Have you the money to finish this job, Miss?’
She looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘I swear to you I have.’
Then another man stepped up and said, ‘All right, Miss, we’ll join your gang. We should have known Jopp was a liar.’
She knew it would not be long before word got back to Jopp that she’d poached his men, and she was right. Half an hour later he came storming into her hut and demanded, ‘What do you think you’re doing, taking away my workers?’
She gave him her most quelling glare and said,‘They were working for me and giving a lot of trouble because you’re cheating them out of their wages. My concern is to get this bridge finished on time, and so I’m going to pay them direct in order that they work with a will. If you’ve any complaints about that, take it up with the railway company. What you’ve been doing to those men is a kind of robbery.’
Jopp’s face went pale but he kept his temper. ‘It’s not robbery, Miss Wylie, it’s what’s called sub-contracting. You needed men, I provided them and I took my payment for doing it.’
Standing up behind her table, she put her fists on the wood and leaned forward at him. ‘Jopp, you’re a rogue!’ she shouted. ‘And you’re a villain, too. I don’t trust you an inch. I’m watching you, I’m watching every move you make. Now get out – and make those men of yours work or I’ll tell them so much about you that they’ll want to lynch you.’ Her tone was ferocious.
He stepped back with a shocked look and exclaimed, ‘Miss Wylie, when you first came here you were a nice, polite young lady. What’s happened to you? You sound like a fishwife.’
‘Good, good,’ yelled Emma Jane, pointing at the door. ‘Now get out and do what I say or I’ll make sure the railway directors hear what’s going on. I’ll tell them you’ve been deliberately trying to hold up the work, and I’ll force them to move you away from here.’
Secretly she knew she had no such power, but she sounded as if she had and Jopp backed away. She had hit him on a raw spot because he was deeply in awe of Miller and the other directors, and although they knew he peculated a little, they did not know by how much. Her biggest strength, however, for the moment at least, was the fact that she was the only one who knew exactly what was still to be done – and even more importantly, how it was to be done – to finish the bridge. The railway company needed her until the project was past a certain stage. After that, thought Jopp viciously as he hurried away, after that she’d have her come-uppance. He’d enjoy witnessing that…
Before Emma Jane went back to Tibbie’s that night she rolled up all her plans and hurried to the Rutherfords’ house. Robbie lay in the downstairs room beside his father’s constantly clattering loom, and his bed was surrounded by mounds of books because Emma Jane had written to the Haggertys with instructions that her father’s engineering library be packed up and sent to the boy to help pass the time of his convalescence. He read the books avidly and every day she looked in on him, he had something new to tell her that was relevant to the bridge. His recovery was slow and, as Robertson had predicted, the leg was not healing well but he did not complain and was always glad to see Emma Jane because she brought news of the work. He wanted to hear about every brick and stone that was laid. When she told him about her row with Jopp, he said, ‘He’s a cunning little rat.’
She nodded in agreement and laid the plans on his bed. ‘I think he’s not to be trusted, so I’ve brought you the plans. I want you to keep them, and no matter who asks to see them, pretend you don’t have them. You and I will go over them alone when I need to check on anything.’
The precious plans were stacked under Robbie’s bed and then Emma Jane asked, ‘Did the doctor come to see you today?’
Robbie’s face darkened. ‘Yes, he did. I think he’s worried about my leg. I should have been able to stand on it by now but I can’t. It’s still all swollen and sore. I hope I’m not going to have to lie here for the rest of my life.’
Emma Jane sat down beside him and took his hand. ‘You won’t. You’ll get better – I know you will. You’ve got to make up your mind. I didn’t really think that I had much of a mind to make up before I started this bridge, but I’m working on it every day and I want you to do the same. We’ll both make up our minds, Robbie.’
He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll take your prescription because I don’t think Doctor Robertson’s is doing much good,’ he said.
When she left the Rutherfords’ noisy cottage where the loom never stopped until darkness fell – for Robbie’s father worked even while he ate – Emma Jane crossed the road to peace and tranquillity, where a good meal and a warm bed awaited her. Tibbie was still subdued and sad because every turn of the year, every change of the weather, every dish in her kitchen or ornament on her shelves made her think of Hannah, but she was glad to have the distraction of Emma Jane. When the girl came home, tired and mud-stained, she bustled about, eager to take care of her. It stopped her thinking about her grief. Before they went to bed she and Emma Jane liked to talk and sometimes sat up till late discussing things that Tibbie had never heard of before. It struck her as strange that she had become so involved with the building of the railway which had caused her such anxiety and fear when it started. Now she knew how many tons of stone Emma Jane needed to finish her bridge; how many sleepers and how many yards of metal line would have to be laid before a train could pass across. Emma Jane’s enthusiasm infected even Tibbie, and she began to look forward to the completion of the project as she and the eager girl gazed into the heart of the fire and saw in imagination the arches of the bridge glowing there like a wonderful vision. Tibbie’s secret dread was that her companion would go away and she’d be lonely again, but she resolved not to think about that till it happened. The summer was a long time away.
When Emma Jane returned to the site next day she was not surprised to find that her hut had been broken into and the contents strewn about the floor. Nothing was missing, and she smiled wryly as she sorted out the chaos because she knew what the intruder had been looking for and was glad that she’d had the sense to spirit the plans away. She was in excellent spirits and even smiled at Jopp as she walked out to begin her round of inspection.
Gentleman Sydney, working with the gang that was loading bricks on to hoists, watched her as she walked around and reflected on the change that had come over her. Miss Wylie had been a plain little thing when she first arrived, but as the months passed she was gaining in confidence and even, it seemed, in stature for she stood straighter, walked more freely and held her head up as she moved from group to group. Even in her working clothes she had a striking air of dignity and competence. She was not a girl whom you would take lightly or overlook any more.
As he turned to go back to loading again, his eye went up to the roadway, to the spot where the old Colonel and his daugher-in-law usually sat on their horses in the mornings watching what was going on. Today they had not come and he wondered where they were. The sight of Bethya in one of her many smart riding outfits brightened his day, and as he knew it annoyed her greatly if he acknowledged her presence, he always made a point of doffing his hat and bowing in a most exaggerated manner whenever he encountered her. She glared furiously back, eyes flashing and mouth tightening. Then he would laugh and she’d tu
rn her horse to ride away, often making it rear or kick out in her haste. He always made sure there was a good distance between them before he started his teasing because he wouldn’t put it past her to try to ride him down. He knew why she was so furious. The Duke had written a stiff letter to Colonel Anstruther pointing out that while he had no objection to the young Mrs Anstruther exercising her horse on the hill, he did not want her participating in his private hunts in future. For her own safety of course, he added.
Now every time this impudent navvy removed his hat and bowed to her, Bethya felt murderous, for she was sure he knew about the Duke’s letter and was jeering at her. What was he doing in a navvy gang anyway – a man like that? She remembered how confidently he rode, and how he looked like a gentleman but acted like a villain. ‘How he annoys me,’ she said to herself. Yet, every time she went to the bridge with Bap, she found her eye searching the working parties for him. If he wasn’t there, she wondered why, and was not really at ease until she saw him again.
Sydney was distracted from searching the road for a sight of Bethya by a sudden yell behind him. He whipped round quickly and saw two men swaying to and fro, grappling with each other ferociously, and swearing while the other navvies, who always enjoyed a fight, laid down their spades and cheered them on. The combatants were Jimmy-The-New-Man and Bullhead. Both of their faces were contorted with rage and they were staggering and slithering around on the slope where neither was able to find a sure foothold. After a few moments Bullhead got free of Jimmy and put both hands round the younger man’s neck with the obvious intention of strangling him. This was more than just an ordinary fight, this was about to become murder, so the men standing nearest jumped in to separate the fighters. Even the most bloodthirsty of them couldn’t stand aside and watch the pathetic Jimmy being slaughtered. They pulled Bullhead off him and pinioned the big man’s arms behind his back while Jimmy got up off the ground with his hands round his own throat and a look of terror on his face. Bullhead’s eyes were burning red like coals and he was shouting, ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, you bastard…’
A Bridge in Time Page 50
