“Dinna be sae cynical, Lassie,” he replied with a smile, in his usually hidden Newcastle brogue. “You would have been pleased to see half of these when you arrived in the country.”
She returned his smile. “Perhaps, but I think you must write post haste to Aunt Nelly to come and rescue us or the ships will never be launched.”
Luckily, Roberta had elected to wear some of her Antwerp finery―without the jewelled hair pieces that would have been out of place in kirk―and so was able to notice all the eyes upon her throughout the service. She felt quite sure that everyone in the country who could thread a needle would be busy for weeks to come―it was not every day that the folk from Glasgow could see the very latest of the fabled French fashions. She also wore her diamond brooch from her husband that she intended would serve as an innocent conversation piece.
After the service, she came out of the kirk on her father’s arm and found quite a throng gathered around the path through the cemetery. The sermon must have had a profound effect with its message of good neighbourliness for everyone seemed to be renewing acquaintances fallen into abeyance for many years as they awaited her passing for an opportunity to offer their heartiest congratulations upon her recent marriage.
Everyone insisted upon her and her father calling upon them at their earliest opportunity―and her husband, of course, when he was able to return to Scotland―to which they could hardly not offer an equally warm invitation for their new friends to call likewise.
The richest and most prominent person of the community, Lady Catherine Colquhoun, widow of a noted diplomat, claimed precedence for her conversation with them at the gate and deigned to admire her dress and the beautiful brooch she wore. “What a brilliant diamond, My Dear. How it sparkles like a fire. It must surely be a family heirloom.”
“Actually, My Lady, Lord Bond was able to buy it from one of the most notable diamond cutters in Antwerp.”
“Indeed? He must be remarkably prescient to have selected a stone that only you could wear so well. It must be years since we have been able to grace the Hebrews of Antwerp and Amsterdam with our custom.”
After her Ladyship moved on, they were greeted in turn by the Wallaces, the sisters Livingstone, Dr. and Mrs Cunningham, Laird Ranald McDonald, Miss Kitty Scott, and several more whose names she failed to grasp. Luckily, Clara Brad joined them on the way out of church and she hoped Clara had been listening well. Only one of her well-wishers had another purpose in mind besides congratulating her―Mr. Andrew Erskine had asked after Miss Grandin and expressed surprise when told that she was still at Chatham tending the machinery of the Spiteful.
“Ah hope she weel soon return to Scotland, My Lady. Please tell her I enquired after her.”
“I certainly will, Mr. Erskine,” Roberta said with great pleasure. She would have some excellent piece of news with which to regale Elizabeth when next she wrote.
Roberta never did finish a letter to her husband that weekend, with all the traffic of new neighbours in and out of the house. Which was just as well, because she received a much more timely and informative letter from Mr. Holmes on Monday.
Her first thought was that of surprise that someone other than her husband―or even his father―should be addressing her. She did not need to read very far to learn that Mr. Holmes accepted the duty of correspondent in the guise of a neutral party to the family discussions. Yes, Mr. Holmes had diplomatically called the disagreements a “discussion” but she soon understood that the father and son were far beyond mere discussion.
The father is consulting his lawyers to produce a new will, designating the second son, James, a lad still at Cambridge, as the heir to the Tiverton title and fortune.
Mr. Holmes then explained that this was only a tactic, since the title could not be alienated. But Lord Bond had immediately departed for London to petition for an Act of Parliament declaring that the order of succession of the Tiverton title, being a gift of peerage from the Crown, was only the Crown’s to bestow and not a matter of the preference of the present Marquess.
Mr. Holmes had penned, as his interpretation:
This is true, but that does not, itself, invalidate the will. Your Husband has many friends in Parliament and the Cabinet, including Lord Liverpool the Prime Minister himself, but in law the will cannot be challenged until it comes into effect, that is, the Marquess dies. So I feel his measure may not achieve the result he aims for; the document will continue to exist as an albatross around Julian’s neck for years.
A little further down the pages he reported on another development, if it was not too premature to call it that:
The Marquess has been writing letters and calling in favours from all his allies among the senior clergy of the Church of England. I do not see his objective as yet. Many years ago it was necessary to obtain what is known as a writ of mensa et thoro before entering into any legal procedure deciding the fate of a marriage, but that has quite gone out of practise as the premier measure. What it does is state that the husband has banished his wife from his ‘bed and board’ and that they no longer cohabit nor communicate in any way. Do not fear, my dear Sister-in-Law. It is in no way a divorce, neither does it give either party the freedom to enter into any other lawful marriage.
If the mensa et thoro comes into effect, I must ask you whether you will receive me as your neutral correspondent in these matters as your Husband suggests. If there are any further developments that impinge upon the marriage or yourself in person I will take the train to Glasgow and discuss everything in greater detail than one might attain from a letter.
Roberta read the whole letter twice before she handed it for her father to read. As soon as the letter left her hand, she felt the enormity of the likely trials before her and hurried to her room before the welling of anger and emotions betrayed her.
Chapter Seven
Shareholders and Sisters
The following Monday started well with the first iron for the Antiochus laid in the completed slipway. The sections of the keel were soon at the centre of a crowd of workmen aligning, supporting, and eventually riveting the separate pieces together. She stood watching and sometimes assisting in the activity with a great deal of pleasure―the work was well started and almost three weeks ahead of the estimate she had planned. The patented hydraulic cement had been a good decision of her father’s.
Later in the afternoon he came to her with a letter. “I think you should read this right away, my Dear. It is from the directors and major shareholders of the Stephenson Engine Works.”
Roberta regarded his troubled expression as she took it from him. She read quickly: yes, it was trouble.
“Why do they make such an issue of my marriage, Father? I have not yet inherited the business, and you are certainly not in poor health.”
“They feel their authority and ownership would be in forfeit when your husband becomes the owner of the works,” he answered. “These men are all commoners, as we are, or were, and they do not wish to be edged out by someone with the power of the House of Lords behind them.”
Roberta shook her head. “There is no way that they might. When Lord Bond and I spoke of the matter―not that we said more than a few words―he seemed pleased that he would have the advantage of bringing some of the country’s new industrialist brains into the ramshackle methods of the landowning aristocracy.”
“He did? Well, it still seems a valid concern to me . . . when he takes control of your inheritance.”
“I can sense an incipient quarrel between Tories and Northern Whigs brewing here, Father, but it need not be so. I see no reason why my husband will seek to exert any control over our business―he is wise enough not to meddle in something beyond his experience.” But a thought from the back of her mind came to her. On the day she left for Glasgow he had said something about his father wanting to know what pecuniary arrangements they had made for their marriage. There were none, but was this one they had missed? “Oh dear, we did marry in haste.”
H
er father stared. “What do you mean?”
“We needed to secure a legal agreement about these business arrangements―and it was not done. The spy mission and the fate of our friends filled my mind.”
“Precisely. That is what my partners are saying. Will Lord Bond be easy to deal with? He is a generous man, is he not?”
“Too generous at times.” But she did not dare mention that it had been his father who had wanted to know their financial agreement. “When I see him next, I will ask him to sign an agreement with us that will satisfy both our partners and the Marquess.”
“That may not be as easy as you suppose. Financial agreements have parted many friends in the past if one should feel he has lost the bargain.”
“Then I will do all in my power to put him in a loving and generous frame of mind when next I see him. We can surely agree on some issue so far in the future.”
Her father looked at her doubtfully. “I will have to reply to this letter. I dare not tell them that there is no agreement at the moment.”
Roberta saw the quandary he was in. “Then I suggest you alter your will to place my inheritance into the hands of a trustee. We can then stipulate who the trustee or trustees must be.”
“A good idea, but his lawyers will soon see that the will was changed after the marriage.”
“Oh, Good Heavens, Father, what lawyers? Let us take what measures we may now and worry about dispute when it happens.” She threw her arms about him and kissed him, but knew she would not win this issue through innocence. Was Lord Bond able to sway his father enough that the Marquess would accept the existence of a marriage agreement younger than the marriage? Would the Marquess change his mind and decide to accept her marriage if it should prove profitable enough for his family? Did she want to barter the business for her happiness?
She had no solid knowledge what the shipyard might be worth once all this war construction was done; and would not until the Admiralty had seen her accounts and charges for the ships and accepted her extra expenses for the hurried construction. They were not known to be generous with the Crown’s money.
The following day saw the arrival of a much pleasanter letter, from Elizabeth, still with the Spiteful at Chatham. She took the letter to the library to read and sat at the writing desk.
Roberta looked first for any mention of the good wishes from Mr. Andrew Erskine she had sent on in her last but did not find it before she came to a postscript squeezed in diagonal lines at the bottom of the last page. Elizabeth was pleased but still of a mind not to offer any encouragement to the gentleman.
My dear Lady Bond, her letter had begun. She had obviously not followed the instructions Roberta had issued in the works about overdoing the formalities. After that Elizabeth asked when she might return to Scotland.
I must admit that I am beginning to feel like a cranky old schoolmarm among all these fresh faced lads. They all treat me as if I were their mother, and I am concerned that my years are multiplying more as the days go past. When they first arrive, they receive my words of instruction as they might a sermon issuing from the mouth of a donkey, but by the second voyage they are fearful of making a mistake if they should carry out a task with the slightest deviation from my instructions.
I have remonstrated with Commander Worthington that he should advance one of our ‘old timers’ with two months experience beneath his belt to take my responsibilities afloat while I remain ashore with our little schoolroom in a corner of the docks with the lads just arrived . . . but he just laughs. He exhibits little favour for classroom learning over experience, which I must own to being his strongest quality as a commander, but I am becoming suspicious that he keeps me around only that we may sometimes speak of the Stephenson Shipyard and of you, who are always in the forefront of his mind.
His sense of humour and equanimity are his most endearing traits, and I would be your most dangerous rival for his approbation if you were not already married. Unfortunately he sees no delight in other female company―with his eyes so focussed upon the one he has lost.
Roberta stopped reading in favour of staring out of the nearest window at a shower of rain.
Elizabeth’s letter seemed to extend through another page at least of her praise of Commander Worthington―and with what intent? It should not matter in the least now she was a married woman that her friend found the gentleman so interesting. Perhaps she should encourage her to set her cap at him.
But did Elizabeth mean by these praises a pertinent pursuit of the womanly interest and sympathetic consideration of the marital discussions she had hinted at when they had exchanged the few words in the Great Cabin of the Medusa after the escape from Antwerp? Did she, Roberta, still see a need for a trusted woman friend with whom to share secrets and opinions? Not if they all were cast around their common agreement of the qualities of a man not her husband.
Would she be pleased to see the two marry? What of poor Erskine?
There was one issue that she needed to put to rest, but she shied away from stating the substance of it. Were she not already married she might have enjoyed discussing their male acquaintances, and indeed found such conversations profitable in substance and humour, but she almost found herself now in a marked disfavour of continuing the topic―even in a letter. Did she want to share Lord Bond’s indiscretions with anyone? She was perfectly capable of settling her own decisions on the manner of her marriage and the way it should develop.
But she should not cast her feelings to Elizabeth as in any way a censure of her welcome correspondence. She still looked forward to having Elizabeth return to Clydebank, when they might resume the close and loving relationship they had always shared. And she must certainly not give Elizabeth any intimation of a wish not to hear more about her relationship with Mr. Worthington. She had to admit that she did have a care for his future happiness.
Chapter Eight
The Engineman’s Daughter
As the days passed and the working problems in the shipyard, with material shortages and mechanical defects, occupying her attention, there were times when Roberta almost forgot she was ever married. There had been no letter from Lord Bond, and Mr. Holmes’ next letter explained that both father and son were desperate not to anger the Lords of the Church or the Lords of the Government.
Julian is acting as if the mensa et thoro were an established fact in order to demonstrate his respect for the cloth. The Marquess has not yet signed a new Last Will and Testament. The issue is not that they are both inactive, but that each move by the one is immediately cancelled by the defence of the other.
Mr. Holmes suggested that he should come to Clydebank for a council of war, and put some suggestions before her. One of his lines of action, that he did not describe in detail, was that she should show her face to some gentlemen who would have important interests at stake. She supposed she should hear his arguments but did not see herself free to leave the works and travel the country.
The only bright spot had been the arrival of Aunt Nelly from Newcastle―now she was at least free from planning all the appropriate elements of her newly imposed social life. They decided to plan some of the functions around the work, such as formal invitations to the launching of the warships. Roberta expected that these would not be acceptable to everyone, but it would do her better service to emphasize the Stephenson activities than draw attention to her, so far, invisible husband.
The plan for Mr. Holmes’ visit was affirmed but choosing the time was not straightforward as he was in demand both in the Admiralty and with the Tiverton crisis. As a consequence, it was into November before Roberta had to send the carriage to Glasgow’s main station to meet him. The delay had one other result that she had to consider an advantage―her father was away on a working visit to the Newcastle locomotive works, and so would not be able to participate in their discussions. It was, after all, her marriage, even though any father would no doubt expect the right to have his say.
Their first opportunity to talk came at din
ner time with just themselves and Aunt Nelly present. Mr. Holmes waited until the meat course. “I suppose I had better set the scene, as it were, first. Rumours of the dispute over the marriage have begun to fly in London.”
“Ach, I feared as much,” Aunt Nelly exclaimed. “Wi’ all these ways o’ sendin’ letters an’ newspapers abroad it was only tae be expected. I durst not see how tae keep it a secret from ower neighbours.”
“We cannot,” Roberta said. “And I for one am not sorry. If some of our social climbing friends are scared away then so be it. How should we present this news?”
“It will have to be about the prospect of the mensa et thoro, I fear,” Mr. Holmes said. “The Church has been pleased to see the old method revived―at least, some of the old curmudgeons are pleased. I suggest you announce the Marquess’ opposition yourself, and point out that your husband’s representative—me—has brought the news. That will assure everyone that problems between the husband and wife are not at fault here.”
“An’ what do this menthoro thing do, Mr. Holmes?” Aunt Nelly said.
Roberta set down her fork. “I think we should leave the details until we have more time to concentrate, Aunty. For now we just need to remember that it keeps my husband from coming to Scotland.”
“Ye must nae meet?”
“That’s right. But is this a permanent thing, Mr. Holmes?”
“I am afraid it could last a lifetime―or at least until the death of one of the parties. But I take it as no more than a token―the Marquess cannot want it to prevent the succession.”
Scandal and Secrets Page 4
