A Bridge in Time

by A Bridge in Time (retail) (epub)

  When she finally went indoors and dressed, Tibbie was overcome with admiration for the purple costume. ‘Oh my goodness, don’t you look grand! The colour’s perfect for you. I’ve never seen you look so braw,’ cried the little woman, fussing around Emma Jane and plucking out her skirt to better effect.

  Emma Jane arrived early at the platform. The earthen embankment had been transformed by the men in aprons into a bank of vividly coloured flowers – geraniums, petunias, white daisies, marigolds and roses all set among ferns. On the dais floor stood a lectern like one from a church and a line of fragile-looking gilt chairs. On the seat of each chair was a card telling the name of its occupant. She found hers and sat down on it with her hands folded in her lap. The purple skirt fell in satisfying folds to her feet, the bodice fitted her snugly and the perky little hat made her feel cheeky and self-confident. She blessed Madame Rachelle. Then the unheralded thought came into her head, ‘Where’s Tim Maquire? I want to see Tim Maquire.’

  There was no sign of him or any of the other navvies, however, as one by one the guests started to arrive. Carriages began to roll up and disgorge their occupants. Chattering, jostling people climbed on to the groaning platform. The Raeburn family turned out en masse. Dr Stewart with the Provost and Chief Magistrate of Rosewell all marched on with their wives and sat down stiffly. Colonel Anstruther’s Bath chair was pushed on by his servant, and placed beside Emma Jane. The Colonel was alone because at the last moment his wife had decided she could not face the festivities. The chair’s occupant was beaming, however, and he turned to Emma Jane to say, ‘Well done, Miss Wylie. You must be a proud young woman today.’

  ‘I am,’ she told him, and he beamed even more broadly.

  ‘D’ye remember my daughter-in-law Bethya – “Begum” I called her. I’ve had a letter from her. She’s Lady Godolphin now, so it’s well done to her too. She didn’t even know this navvy feller was a lord when she went off with him. Did you know that?’

  ‘No I didn’t but I thought he was a strange navvy,’ she admitted.

  ‘There’s a lot of queer fish among them, isn’t there?’ the Colonel laughed. He didn’t seem to bear Bethya any resentment for being the unwitting cause of his house burning down and his son disappearing with it. In fact, Emma Jane got the feeling that he was relieved to be rid of Gus.

  Then the Wylies arrived. Aunt Louisa and Arabella Wylie were as smart as fashion plates in expensive gowns, paid for by Louisa, but Amelia was pregnant again and looked like an earth mother in loose sprigged muslin and a face-shading straw hat with ribbons on it. Dan was obviously hot and uncomfortable in a suit of brown corduroy but the children looked summery in starched white cotton with blue ribbons. Arbelle had grown into a sweet-faced little girl who did as she was bid without protest. A miracle, thought Emma Jane as she kissed the child.

  She had reserved seats for them all in the front row of the first enclosure behind the platform. These were very sought-after seats, but the fact that she was not in the platform party piqued Louisa and her lips tightened: however she accepted a seat with fairly good grace. ‘At least she’s sitting down,’ thought Emma Jane, watching her. The mass of the spectators were standing.

  The Wylies were surprised by the number of roughlooking people who were waving to Emma Jane as if they were proud to be her friends. ‘Do you know those people?’ Arabella asked her daughter, who smiled and said, ‘Oh yes, they’re all my friends. That’s Big Lily and Wee Lily, and Bob and Mamie and the Rutherfords… Oh, and there’s Tibbie and her brother and sister-in-law.’ She raised her hand high and waved enthusiastically to a group in the far corner.

  ‘Good heavens,’ sighed her mother.

  At that moment, Alex Robertson, very smart in a dark suit and crisp white neckerchief, walked on to the platform to greet Emma Jane. When she introduced him to her mother, who brightened at the mention of the title ‘doctor’, he took her hand very solemnly and said, ‘I’m very glad to meet you. Has your daughter told you I’ve asked her to be my wife?’

  An amazing range of expressions crossed Arabella Wylie’s face, but all she said was, ‘Really?’ for at that moment there was a scream of a train whistle, a puff of smoke from the far end of the bridge and a huge cheer from the crowd. The first train was about to roll on to the bridge.

  Emma Jane stared along its length and, to her astonishment, all she could think was, ‘Where’s Tim Maquire? I want Tim Maquire to see this.’ She frowned and forced herself to concentrate on what was happening but it was difficult. She felt he should have been with her at that moment.

  “Wheee!’ went the whistle as the train came lumbering slowly on to the line. The front of the engine was like a warrior’s shield with concentric golden circles painted round a large brass boss. The short engine was dark-green with straps of gold around the body like belts holding it together, and its tall smoke-stack, out of which a plume of white smoke spurted, was also golden-coloured. It was pulling two eight-wheeled carriages, green as well, with the Company’s shield and initials on the doors. Men and women waving handkerchiefs were leaning out of the windows in acknowledgement of the cheering of the crowd. As the train shuddered to a halt alongside the wooden platform, Rosewell Brass Band struck up and a choir of children from Camptounfoot School broke out in song. ‘Hail smiling morn, hail, hail, hail, hail…’ they trilled.

  ‘Where’s Tim Maquire?’ thought Emma Jane as Sir Geoffrey and Lady Miller, who looked like a gaudily dressed flagpole, stepped out of the first carriage followed by a crowd of other dignitaries from Edinburgh. They were shown to their seats by liveried railway servants and, when the music died away, Sir Geoffrey stood up with a folder covered in green leather in his hand to deliver the inauguration speech. He began with a pious statement of how he and the rest of the railway company directors had felt it was their duty to bring civilisation, industry and prosperity to rural parts of the country and by building their bridge and their railway they had managed to do it. Everyone clapped dutifully and sat back to listen as he launched into a long list of names of the people who deserved congratulation for what he called ‘this great achievement’.

  ‘Where’s Tim Maquire?’ thought Emma Jane again, distractedly searching the crowd with her eyes.

  Some old people dozed off when Sir Geoffrey began naming the railway company directors, their backers and bankers, their lawyers and advisers, the quarry owner, the brickmakers, Mr Jopp…

  ‘… And of course,’ he said finally, ‘the navvies, the masons and the bricklayers – without whom this bridge would never have been built.’

  ‘Where’s Tim Maquire?’ thought Emma Jane. She hardly noticed that her name did not appear in Sir Geoffrey’s list until Colonel Anstruther patted her hand and said, ‘That’s a bad show, a bad show. He should have thanked you.’ Then she forced herself to listen to the speaker’s smug, self-congratulatory voice and a tide of anger rose in her. At that same moment she remembered what Maquire had said about the celebratory dinner. She’d not been invited to that, either. She wanted to get to her feet and shout, ‘What about the Wylies?’ but of course she couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been lady-like.

  ‘Oh, where’s Tim Maquire?’ she inwardly groaned.

  At last Sir Geoffrey closed his folder, sat down and the band burst out with Hail The Conquering Hero Comes.

  All the directors were smiling and nodding to every side and preparing to re-board the train for the return to Maddiston by a circular route, when a tremendous outbreak of cheering was heard from the far end of the bridge. Everything stopped; everyone stared at what looked like an invading army charging towards the platform party over the gleaming new lines. Emma Jane’s heart rose when she saw that the crowd was made up of her navies in their colourful best, hats with tassles, waistcoats of purple, canary yellow or orange, cravats in brilliant hues and highly polished boots. And, most glorious of all, at their head ran Tim Maquire, magnificent in a grey tailcoat with gleaming buttons, grey trousers and a waistcoat striped in all th
e colours of the rainbow. His flowing bow tie was scarlet silk, a brave contrast with the black beard and glittering earrings and he was shouting as he ran, ‘Three cheers for Miss Wylie, three cheers for Miss Wylie. She’s the one that built this bridge. Three cheers for Miss Wylie!’

  The crowd on the dais scattered in confusion as the navvies rushed upon them but they need not have worried, for the men were in search of only one person – Emma Jane. She was lifted bodily from her chair and carried off like a Sabine woman. Hands closed around her waist, someone hoisted her high in the air and she heard Tim Maquire’s voice saying, ‘Don’t worry, hold on. I won’t let you fall.’

  She was perched on his shoulders with him holding her hand and the navvy army took her on a triumphal procession along the length of the bridge and back again. With one hand clamped on to her purple hat, for she was determined not to lose it, and the other around Maquire’s neck, she bobbed in the middle of them like a laughing doll. ‘Hooray for Miss Wylie! Hip, Hip, Hooray,’ yelled her escort and the spectators joined in. The brass band started playing again and this time they chose the Ode To Joy.

  She was breathless, laughing and tearful at the same time when they finally deposited her back on the platform. When her feet were safely on the ground again she called out, ‘Thank you very much! I couldn’t have done it without you.’ Over the top of the men’s heads she saw Tim Maquire watching her and she said again, directly to him, ‘Thank you, thank you!’

  He grinned and shouted back, ‘You didn’t think we were going to let that prick get away with it, did you?’ Sir Geoffrey and everybody else heard him but he didn’t care.

  People crowded round Emma Jane but her mother stood slightly to the back, wiping her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief, and when her daughter reached her, she whispered, ‘Oh my dear, I was so afraid they’d let you fall. You looked tiny up there on their shoulders.’

  Emma Jane laughed proudly. ‘Maquire wouldn’t let me fall, Mama.’

  ‘Maquire? Is he the one with the beard? My dear, he was the most terrifying of all. Such awful language.’

  ‘Language? What language?’ asked Emma Jane in genuine puzzlement.

  ‘That obscene word he used about Sir Geoffrey. I didn’t think such language at all proper in front of ladies, and your poor Aunt Louisa practically fainted. What the young doctor feels about this I hate to think. He must have a reputation to keep up round here. When you marry him you’ll have to be much more careful about who you associate with.’

  But Emma Jane was too taken up with the mention of obscenities to worry about Alex Robertson. ‘What obscene word?’ she repeated, bemused. She’d grown accustomed and inured to navvy language and couldn’t think of any really serious curses being bandied about.

  Mrs Wylie hissed, ‘Surely you heard what the man with the beard called Sir Geoffrey Miller? You laughed. I was so ashamed, I didn’t know where to put myself.’ Once more she wiped her eyes.

  ‘Oh, Mama. What Maquire called Miller is mild, I can assure you,’ grinned Emma Jane as she turned away to greet Amelia who was running towards her with arms held out and calling, ‘You did look splendid up there on those men’s shoulders! And what lovely men. Oooh, if I wasn’t married to Dan, I’d be making eyes at that big one with the beard myself.’

  Aunt Louisa stepped between them and said stiffly, ‘I think we’d better go back to our hotel, Emma Jane. All this might be too much for your mother. She’s only just regaining her health, you know. She ought to lie down.’

  Arabella, reminded by her sister of her fragile health, drooped like a lily and Emma Jane was overcome with remorse for having forgotten her mother’s delicacy. ‘Oh Mama, of course. I’ll take you back there now,’ she cried, grasping her mother’s elbow and guiding her through the dwindling crowd.

  Their carriage was still waiting on the road. The driver, who had known her father, grinned broadly when she appeared. ‘Well done, Miss! I saw your victory parade,’ he said. Her mother gasped and Louisa bristled but as they all climbed aboard, Amelia held back and whispered, ‘I hope you’re not going to settle back at home with your mother and Louisa. After what you’ve done, that would be a terrible comedown. Grasp fate, girl, do something outrageous!’

  ‘I love you ’Melia. I really do,’ Emma Jane said fondly. She wondered if Amelia would think marriage to Alex Robertson was sufficiently outrageous, but at least it was a way of escape.

  During the drive to Maddiston her mother held Emma Jane’s hand and said, ‘I did like that young doctor, Emma Jane. He’s not really a gentleman but he’s very respectable-looking and solid, isn’t he, Louisa?’

  Her sister nodded. ‘Quite. It’s a respected profession, at least. A doctor’s wife has a place in society… You’re very lucky, Emma Jane. Where did you meet him?’

  A sort of devil entered into her and she pretended to ponder. ‘I think the first time I met him was when one of my navvies was murdered… No, that was the second time. The first time was when young Robbie fell off a cart and broke his leg. He was doctor to the navvies, you see. He looked after them during the cholera epidemic and they always called him out in preference to Stewart in Rosewell. Stewart’s a dreadful snob.’ She saw her mother and aunt looking at each other is dismay.

  ‘Cholera? Murder?’ asked Arabella faintly.

  Emma Jane nodded. ‘Oh yes. There were several murders in fact.’ Christopher Wylie had always shielded his wife from the black side of his working life and this was a revelation to her.

  ‘Oh my dear,’ she gasped, leaning towards her daughter. ‘I’d no idea you were being exposed to such things. I wouldn’t have allowed you to do it if I had.’

  Then Amelia chipped in. ‘If she hadn’t done it, things would be bad for you all now. Emma Jane’s saved the family fortunes. Isn’t it time somebody thanked her for that?’

  ‘It’s a good thing she’s going to marry that doctor. He can look after her now but I hope he knows what he’s taking on,’ was Louisa’s contribution. It struck Emma Jane that everyone assumed she was sure to marry Alex, that she must be grateful to be offered the opportunity.

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind if I will marry him yet,’ she said and Louisa scoffed: ‘Of course you will! You’d be stupid if you didn’t.’

  They were all stiff and formal when they reached the hotel. Mrs Wylie and her sister went off to lie down because they were not returning to Newcastle till the following day, but Amelia and her family were leaving immediately and Emma Jane went with them to the station. Again she thanked her sister-in-law for the gift of the cottage and Amelia smiled as she said, ‘At least it gives your mother a place to live. You won’t have to worry about her any more. And don’t let your aunt annoy you. She wants to stay with your mother – it suits her – and that’s all right because it means you can get away. Don’t do anything hasty like rushing into marriage, Emma Jane. Take your time. You’re still so young and you’ve been working like a slave. It’s time you enjoyed yourself.’

  Emma Jane kissed her sister-in-law and said, ‘You’re so sensible, ’Melia. Father said you were and it’s true.’

  When Dan, Amelia and the children went away, however, she looked around the station as if she were at a loss. What to do first? Yes, of course, she’d have to go to see Alex. It was time to make up her mind. His house was on the outskirts of the town on the road to Camptounfoot, and she told the carriage-driver to wait for her at the gate while she hopped down and ran up his garden path. Alex was in his consulting room with his stethoscope pressed against the chest of a stout man in a striped working shirt. She looked in the window and watched him for a few moments before he noticed her. His face was concerned and caring as he bent towards his patient. His brown hair was slightly tousled and he looked boyish and young. What a nice, kind man he was, she thought. Any sensible woman would be glad to be his wife.

  Then he saw her face at the window and gestured for her to come in so she sat in his tiny waiting room until his patient left. Eventually he appea
red, pulling on his jacket, and told her, ‘I’m glad you came. I’ve been thinking about you ever since that business at the bridge.’

  ‘Were you ashamed of me too?’ she asked.

  ‘No, of course not, but I was afraid they might let you fall.’

  She laughed. ‘Oh dear me, Alex, of course they’d not let me fall. You’re as bad as my mother – that’s what she said.’

  He frowned. ‘I’m worried about something else. I shouldn’t have told your mother that I wanted to marry you. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said gently. ‘It was very good for my standing with my mother and aunt. They’re afraid that no one’ll ever want to marry me, so they’re very pleased.’

  His anxious look lifted. ‘Does that mean you’re going to say yes?’ he asked.

  She stood up from her chair and walked towards him. Gently she grasped his right hand in both of hers and said, ‘I like you very much indeed. I think you’re a splendid doctor and a superb man. The fact that you want to marry me is very flattering but, dear Alex, I’m sorry. I’ll have to say no.’

  He seemed to expect it. ‘You don’t love me,’ he said softly, ‘I know that. You’re in love with—’

  She put a finger on his lips and said, ‘Ssh, I don’t love anyone else. It’s just that I’m not ready to marry yet – perhaps I never will be. Building the bridge has shown me that the world’s full of possibilities, and I don’t want to settle down yet. I know everyone will think I’m very silly to turn you down but that’s my decision. There’s nothing wrong with you – it’s me that’s odd. Goodbye, Alex, I’m going away tomorrow. I wish you the very best of luck for the future.’