His Mama was weeping and pleading with him. 'Cousin Ian and Rowena will be here tomorrow. Ray Chancellor's coming today. Please . .. darling ... Please ... !'
John Hammond raised his voice to be heard over the din. He could not stand this screeching. Exhibitions of temper ought to be kept for the nursery. It was intolerable in the drawing room. 'Catriona!' He was horrified to find that he too was shouting. 'Let Magnus go! He's old enough to know what he's doing. You are ruining the boy. You have spoilt the day for poor Lily.'
Catriona ignored him. She crouched, hat discarded, cradling Magnus, murmuring, 'Sh ... sh ... darling. There .. there!' rocking him and stroking the blond head. 'You want to go to school, don't you?'
'I want to be with Lily.'
John's annoyance was dissolving. Catriona was calming the child, crooning to him. 'You cannot go to school, my darling. Not until you are a much bigger boy.'
A wave of tenderness came over John, making him regret his outburst. His wife's long arms were wrapped protectively about Magnus, her head angled so that she could see her son's expression. She was a tigress when her baby was in danger. Her temper belied by her looks for she had the cool beauty of Greta Garbo, their favourite actress. He was so lucky that Catriona had come into and taken charge of his life. His wife was his treasured delight.
She calmed Magnus, saying, 'You will grow out of it, my darling. The least knock and you injure yourself.'
Magnus would never grow out of haemophilia; both he and Catriona knew that., And for all his forbearing, loving nature, John would speak firmly to Catriona later. He would not tolerate histrionics.
The nurse and Sylvia came into the drawing room and the nurse put her hand out for Magnus. 'Come along, Magnus. Rest time. After that you can go upstairs and visit your grandfather. You too, Sylvia.'
When they left John said, in a reasonable voice, 'That was a dreadful thing to say to little Lily, Catriona.'
She was dry-eyed. She only cried over Magnus, and surprised that her husband had made any criticism of her said, ‘I spoke the truth, John. The child will grow up to be exactly like her mother.'
'Catriona!'
'I know! You find it impossible to break the connection because your father and Elsie Stanway's were partners.'
Her eyes were sparking. She was magnificent, strong, outspoken - and utterly lacking in tact. The only person she bowed to was Sarah Chancellor. She merely conceded to her husband. But John would not let her have the last word. Nor would he allow Elsie or her child to be denigrated. So he said, very sternly, 'That's enough. I will not witness another display of temper in my presence. Not from you, or Magnus or anyone else.' He tried to keep displeasure on his face as he left.
‘John?' Her voice was soft. 'Where are you going? I apologise, dear.'
He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. She was irresistible. With her strong personality, she understood exactly when to appeal, when to ride roughshod over him, but their marriage was a delicate balancing act of power. He would not accept her apology. She could coax him into a better humour later. All the same, a smile softened the fine chiselled lines of his face. 'I'm going to see Dad. Afterwards, I will be in my study, if any matter arises.' he paused. 'And you, Catriona? What are your plans?'
'Sarah Chancellor,' she said. 'Sarah and Ray are coming to stay for it few days. Had you forgotten?'
He did not like to admit to her that he had indeed forgotten that Sarah was coming to stay - again. When he thought about the one time in his life that he had behaved like a cad, and remembered that it was Sarah with whom he had behaved so badly, it was to her credit that Sarah had any time for him. Yet hardly a week went by but Sarah visited them, acting as if she had a part to play in their lives, behaving like some kind of senior wife ... Quickly he dismissed such disloyal thoughts and said, 'Sarah? Good.' Then, 'I will see them at tea. Here or in the dining room?'
'Here, John. Half past four.'
He went slowly, thoughtfully up the fine oak'staircase of the house his father had built, ready to found a dynasty. Dad had expected to have more than one son. The corridors were carpeted in red Turkey pattern Axminster, as were the three wide staircases. The eight main bedrooms, painted and papered in different floral themes, had separate dressing rooms. Dad's suite of two rooms and a newly installed bathroom were at the front of the house, over the entrance hall, far from the room he and Catriona occupied.
He tapped and heard his father's assertive voice. 'Come in.'
Dad's sitting room was sparsely furnished to make easy the passage of the great wheeled bathchair which he was now seated in, by the window. He could walk only with the help of sticks but he was as shrewd in old age as he had been in his youth. He said in a quick, sharp voice. 'Not at work, John?'
'It's Saturday.'
'Can we afford to close on Saturdays?'
John gave the disarming look that would soothe ruffled feathers and remove the querulous expression that he saw upon Dad's clever face. 'All the mills close at twelve on Saturdays. It's overtime after that.'
'Overtime? Never heard of it!'
'Yes, you have.'
'We should have kept to hand-loom weaving on the putting-out system. Nobody told those old weavers when they could work. There was no talk of "overtime" in the old days.' He paused, frowned and shook his head slowly as he pretended a sigh of bafflement. 'When Charlie Stanway and I started, a hand-loom weaver, working in his own home could earn three pounds a week. That would be a fortune today. He paid and housed his apprentice out of it, mind.'
John was in for an hour at least of his father's reminiscing.
‘….We started employing hand-loom weavers, putting-out, Charlie and I. Went on to get our own premises. Variety of woven goods. That's why we were successful. Handkerchiefs, ties, silk twill, chenille and crepe de Chine. Never took out more money that we needed. Unstable and hazardous, is silk. We took a big chance when we went in for buying the raw silk, spinning and weaving.' Here the old man had to stop for breath. He coughed before wheezing on, 'We kept track of every penny. You must keep the weavers working to be a success.'
'We are a success. Hammond Silks is very much in business. Many of the old mills aren't.' John lied. The mill was barely ticking over. In 1889 Hammond Silks had had a turnover of forty thousand pounds and showed a profit of three thousand. This year, with twice the turnover, they would make a loss. It would improve. In the meantime he'd ride out the downturn, and dip into his own money rather than sack workers. He said, 'It's my birthday on Monday.'
'How old?'
'Thirty-five. Catriona is giving a little dinner for me. Her brother, Kenneth, and his children are arriving tomorrow.'
'The doctor? Will he have a look at Magnus?' Dad said.
'No. It's the usual family gathering. Magnus has been all right for months. He's looking forward to playing with his cousins.' Catriona's brother was an Edinburgh doctor who had brought up his two children alone since their mother died, and had made a spectacular job of it. Ian and Rowena were intelligent, outgoing children. It was always a treat for Sylvia and Magnus, having their cousins to stay.
Dad said, 'Where is Magnus?'
'Resting. He'll be along.' The old man liked to see Magnus every day.
'Is the doctor going to see to the lad's legs?'
John shook his head. 'There is nothing to be done, Dad. We hope that one day they will find a cure.' The great shadow hung over their lives, his and Catriona's. Magnus would never be a fit, healthy boy. They had asked a dozen medical opinions and the diagnosis was always haemophilia. And the outlook? 'No cure. Wait and see. He may get to adulthood without being crippled from bleeding into joints and body cavities. Nobody knows. Keep him safe. A scratch or minor injury could prove fatal.'
A black Singer motor car came rumbling up the gravel drive and both men leaned forward to watch. 'Who is it?' the old man asked.
'Sarah Chancellor and her son.'
'Used to be Pilkington? Drives her own motor?' Dad wa
s offended at the idea. 'How's the printworks doing then?'
John could barely keep his face straight. 'Very well, I believe.'
'You know the man she married?'
'Yes, of course I know Frank Chancellor,' John said. 'So do you. His father was a tenant farmer at Archerfield. The Chancellor brothers have their own holdings now.'
'I remember Frank Chancellor. Cocky fellow. Struck me as a feckless sort. Has he ever done a day's work?' Dad had a crafty look.
Dad was talking this way just to provoke. John said, 'He's exceptional. He practically runs the printworks. Must have saved them a fortune.'
Dad sighed. 'I once made an offer to Pilkington. Wanted to buy him out. Offered a partnership. Hammond and Pilkington! We would have been the biggest employer in Macclesfield. We could have done anything.’ He gave John a sharp, knowing look. 'She was after you, son. You could have married her. You could have had a printworks and half a dozen healthy sons.'
'Dad! You brought Catriona and me together. I was very lucky-she took me on,' John said.
Dad had been match-making when he invited Catriona and the Mackenzies to Archerfield just before John was called into the army. Catriona was a distant relative of his late mother. She had been invited to Archerfield only a week after Elsie turned him down.
'She wanted you badly enough.' Dad was reminiscing.
John listened fondly as the old man went on, 'She begged me to ask her to Archerfield, to all the parties and balls.'
John smiled and teased, 'Who? Catriona?'
‘No. Sarah Pilkington. The religious one. Mind, she always struck me as a fanatic - a desperate girl, capable of anything. Always asking to come here. I told you.'
'Your memory is going, Dad.'
He remembered the parties and balls - the evenings when he'd have given the earth to have Elsie at his side instead of the simpering girls Dad invited. Sarah was always there. They moved in the same circles and he saw Sarah everywhere he went; the tense, wet-eyed Sarah who was so plain and always ready to listen to his tales of woe. She used to say she would pray for him. Thinking this way, he shuddered again, remembering his behaviour when, tipsy and despairing, sleepless and at his lowest ebb, he had climbed into Sarah's bed and almost raped her. Thank God she'd behaved well. She could have accused him of rape. She could have found herself with child. She'd been engaged to Frank Chancellor all along.
He remembered, with a blush, how he had once, a few years ago, said to Sarah, 'Ray's a fine boy. I feel so drawn to him. You must be very proud ... ' She'd had that intense, strange look on her face and seeing it, all at once he had had a treacherous thought. He'd said, 'He's... he's not mine, is he, Sarah?'
Then he'd wished he could have cut out his tongue. for she'd flushed a deep, blood red and. almost exploding with outrage at the suggestion, replied in a fierce, hissing voice, 'No. How dare you ask me ...' and he'd known that she, too, wanted to forget that anything had ever happened between them.
Downstairs, Sarah and Ray were shown into the drawing room where Catriona waited. She kissed Sarah on the cheek and ignored Ray.
Sarah said to Ray, 'Run upstairs, darling. Sylvia and Magnus will be waiting for you.' She looked, enquiring, at Catriona. 'I take it they are in the nursery?'
'Yes. Off you go, Ray,' Catriona dismissed him.
Ray was a much more advanced child than either Sylvia or Magnus, and Sarah recognised the obstinate look. His bottom lip was jutting out. He said, 'I want to play at the pond. Not in the nursery.'
Sarah glanced from Ray to Catriona. 'Why not? Is that all right?'
'Unaccompanied children are forbidden to play by the pond,' Catriona said.
'Oh! Mother!' Ray's voice rose petulantly.
Sarah put a hand on his shoulder. 'He's perfectly safe.'
'Yes. I'm sure he is. But the fish won't be.' Catriona pointed imperiously towards the door. 'Off you go. Ray. Up to the nursery.'
To Sarah's relief, for her darling adventurous boy could be just the tiniest bit difficult, Ray obeyed. Catriona closed the door behind him and said, 'So glad to have you to confide in, Sarah. John and I have had words.'
'Oh, dear!' Sarah was happy to be Catriona's confidante. 'You have upset John. How?’
'I spoke the truth, Sarah.'
'You always do, dear. What did you say?' Sarah gave Catriona a look of encouragement. She was Catriona's indispensable friend.
'I said that Elsie Stanway's child will grow up to be a brazen hussy like her mother,' Catriona told her.
'Elsie Stanway?' Sarah really did not have any sympathy with Catriona on this. She said, 'What on earth made you say that?'
Catriona went to the window and looked out over the lawn for a few moments. Then, quietly, 'John wanted to marry her. He proposed to her, before he met me.'
Sarah tried to sound as if this were news to her. She walked over to the window and took Catriona's arm. 'But he changed his mind when he set eyes on you, Catriona. Don't'forget that I met John long before you. He took one look at you my dear - and proposed to you.'
Catriona did not at first reply, then, as if she were confessing, said, 'It was I who proposed.'
'You proposed? To a man you had only known for a week? I can’t believe my ears.'
Catriona said, 'I knew I'd been asked to Archerfiels so that John could look me over. The old man had given John an ultimatum. John wanted to volunteer for the army. An heir was wanted. John was told to marry or the mill would be sold.'
Sarah said, 'Did John tell you this?'
'No. He did nothing but talk about the girl who had turned him down. It was crass and impolite. I told him so.' Catriona was working herself up into high old dudgeon. 'John introduced me to Elsie Stanway. I saw how it was.'
This brought a quick laugh from Sarah. 'For shame, Catriona. I thought better of you. You're jealous.'
'I am! That woman has never lost her hold over John. He has feelings for her. I’ve tried to sever connections with the Stanways but John will not hear of it. Elsie Stanway need only crook her finger to get him back.'
'I never heard such nonsense!' Sarah replied. 'Mrs Stanway is quite blameless. John had a schoolboy pash on her. It was never serious. Not at all. You are talking like a Twopenny Blue heroine:'
'John married on the rebound,' said Catriona. 'I said, "John Hammond! Pull yourself together. Stop groaning like a lovesick calf over that cheap, brazen hussy! Unless you do I shall take the next train to Edinburgh." I said, "It's Elsie Stanway or me. Take your pick!'"
‘Cheap, brazen hussy?' Sarah said. 'You dared? I'm amazed.
'You'd have said it if you'd seen what I saw.'
'What was that?'
'You know that John is a keen photographer?'
'Yes.'
'He had a collection of disgusting photographs. Of Elsie Stanway. Naked. Well, half-naked. Disgusting.'
'Well, I never ...' Sarah could barely keep the smile off her face. 'What did you do with them?'
'I destroyed them, of course.'
So Catriona might not have married John. But…Elsie Stanway? Sarah saw Mrs Stanway as no threat at all. When John had told her he was in love with Elsie, almost nine years ago, she had dismissed the notion. The idea of John, her true spiritual love falling for, lusting after that skinny little farmer's daughter was ridiculous. As for Catriona's jealousy, Catriona only need ask herself, could a man like John respect or want to marry a girl who would pose for photographs in the nude?
Nothing Sarah had seen or heard since had altered her mind. John had never been in love with Elsie Stanway. He had clearly succumbed to a base desire when he'd taken the photographs. And so had Elsie. Love did not die just like that, with a snap of the fingers and a new pretty face to replace the old. What nonsense. Could Catriona not see for herself that John had fallen instantly in love with her?
Sarah could bear to think that Catriona had fulfilled John's animal needs - the base, disgusting part of marriage and left the loftier realms of human understanding to her, to Sa
rah. She said, 'You are exciting yourself unnecessarily, Catriona dear. I am certain you have nothing to fear from Elsie Stanway. Norever had. And she is the best dressmaker in Macclesfield.'
Doreen Grimshaw came to the shop with her mother on a Wednesday half-closing day in early September, and Lily was on her best behaviour, keen for Doreen to like her. Doreen was taller than Lily. She had round brown eyes, not green as Mam said they were. She had thick brown hair cut in a neat, pudding-basin style.
Mrs Grimshaw said, 'I'm killing two birds with one stone, Elsie. I'll have a fitting for the mauve two-piece you're making for the Harvest Festival.' Her husband was a sidesman at the church. Mrs Grimshaw was a proud member of the Mothers' Union.
Mam led the way upstairs and the children followed her into the workroom until Mrs Grimshaw said sharply, 'Doreen and Lily! Off you go while I get undressed.'
Lily took Doreen to her top-floor bedroom where Doreen threw herself on to the bed, leaned against the slatted wood headboard and said, 'What a horrible room.'
'What's the matter?' Lily asked.
'I've been told not to tell you anything.' Doreen gave a swift glance about the shabby room. 'I've got a dressing table and a silver hairbrush. I've been christened.'
Lily said, 'Do you want to play house?' Under the window overlooking Jordangate her doll and a doll's tea service were set out for Doreen on the deep windowsill. House was Lily's favourite game. She could pretend she was Mam, pretend that Dad would be home any minute and she was making tea in their big house in the hills.
'Babies play dolls.' Doreen came to stand by the window. 'Open the window and shout out.'
'I'm not allowed.'
'Don't tell anyone.' Doreen stared hard. 'I dare you.'
Lily hesitated. 'What do I shout?'
Doreen said, 'If it's a man, shout, "How's your belly for spots?" If it's a woman, "Pull yer knickers up!"
A shiver of fear ran through Lily. 'S'pose they tell Mam?'
'They won't know who said it. It makes me laugh when they look round.' Doreen gave a wild laugh.
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