by Anne Doughty
Nevertheless, accidents there were, for all his awareness of danger and his efforts to protect his workers. Hardly a week passed without some report in the Banbridge Chronicle of a serious injury or death.
Rose looked up at the clock. After the excitements of the morning and the need to study the new drawings, it would probably be another hour before John appeared for a bite of lunch. She carried her small sewing table over to the window, fetched the bodice of Sarah’s dress from the cupboard and spread it out on her knee. The machining had been done on Elizabeth’s new Singer, the delicate shirring and decorating of the bodice was left for her own practised hand.
She ran her eye over the pretty patterned fabric and threaded her needle. She so hoped Sarah would like it. The trouble was, she was often so unpredictable. It was one of the many contradictions in her character that, though she loved colour and texture, she paid not the slightest attention to fashion and was usually totally indifferent to what she was wearing. The only dress she’d ever said she liked was Rose’s best silk. She’d insisted that one day she would have one just like it.
Shopping together in Robinson Cleaver’s new store in Belfast for material to make the birthday dress, it was Elizabeth who put her hand out to the fine lawn fabric draped on a display stand.
‘Do you think she might like this one, Rose?’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘It’s not exactly silk,’ she went on, ‘but the feel of it is so soft and the little flowers are so pretty.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right. It is soft, isn’t it? Let’s go and look at patterns and see how many yards I’ll need?’
She smiled to herself, recalling the moment. Elizabeth was kind to all the children, but Rose had always known that Sarah was her favourite. Whenever she heard of her latest enthusiasm and the difficulties into which it had inevitably led her, the warmth of the response, the hint of a smile in the voice, so regularly gave her away.
Though Sarah was not given to expressing her feelings very obviously towards those closest to her, Rose knew the feeling was mutual. She’d accepted Elizabeth and Hugh from their very first meeting, making up her mind in an instant, whereas Hannah had taken her time to make up her mind. Polite and responsive as Hannah always was, it was weeks before Rose could be sure she was completely at ease with them.
For herself, it had been a pleasure getting to know Elizabeth. She was one of those women who spoke her mind readily enough, but seldom said anything sharp, or unpleasant. They had slipped easily into what had rapidly become a very close intimacy, each openly grateful for the presence of a like-minded woman friend so close by. While Elizabeth had aunts and cousins a-plenty, they were widely dispersed around the countryside and she seldom visited away from home, for although she had a competent and trusted housekeeper who would see to her brother’s needs, she knew how often Hugh could be overcome with loneliness or discouragement. Despite his firm convictions that he must always do his best for his fellow creatures, he didn’t apply his convictions to himself. He took little thought for his own comfort or peace of mind and allowed himself little leisure or pleasure.
Sitting side by side in the conservatory of Rathdrum House, one pleasant October morning, a pile of quilting pieces between them, some months after they’d become close friends, Elizabeth had put down her work and looked thoughtfully at her friend.
‘I’ve never really told you about that evening you arrived, have I?’ she said, peering at her over the top of her spectacles.
‘How do you mean?’ Rose asked, as she finished off the square she was working on. ‘Do you mean the shock you got when we all arrived, and you found out who you’d have for neighbours?’ she asked, teasing her, simply for the pleasure of seeing her smile.
‘No, I wasn’t too concerned about that,’ Elizabeth replied laughing. ‘Your dear John talked about you and the children the day James brought him to meet Hugh. I had a fairly good idea from the man himself that you and I would be friends. What didn’t occur to me was what a happy thing your coming would be for Hugh. Having you and the family has made such a difference to him.’
‘Has it?’ asked Rose, genuinely puzzled.
Hugh had always been a kind neighbour, thoughtful and helpful, somewhat hasty at times and occasionally rather short-tempered but Rose had certainly not observed any difference in his behaviour over the months since their first meeting.
‘That evening you arrived I kept supper late, so he could go down and see you,’ Elizabeth began. ‘When he came back he was in such good spirits I couldn’t quite believe it. Usually in the evening he’s so tired and his knee aches so persistently I can hardly get a word out of him, but that night I could see he was full of something he couldn’t wait to tell me. To tell you the truth, Rose,’ she went on, with a slight, wry laugh, ‘I was expecting to hear about a piston, or a drive shaft, or something I hadn’t even heard of before. But no. He dropped into a chair and said, “I’ve found the daughter I might have had. She has beauty like Florence had, but she has my own mother’s candour. It’s a rare quality.”’
Elizabeth smiled sadly before she went on.
‘Hugh was about to be married when he had his accident. Florence was a very attractive girl, well-educated and from a Quaker family like ourselves. Our local meeting had been only too delighted to grant them permission to marry. But after the accident, she visited Hugh just once. Within months, while he was still struggling to be able to walk again, she married out of unity.’
‘Out of unity?’ Rose repeated quietly.
‘She married a man who wasn’t a Quaker,’ Elizabeth explained. ‘It was an awful blow to her family. They were fond of Hugh and very strict about such matters, but she showed no more feeling for her family than compassion for Hugh.’
Rose was overcome by a sudden sadness. She liked Hugh, enjoyed his company, appreciated his easy relationship with John and his pleasure in the activities of the children. Despite his disability, at twenty-four he was a lively and attractive man. She wondered often enough why he hadn’t married and why he appeared to have no thoughts of doing so.
‘To be honest, Rose, though I’ve not said this to anyone,’ Elizabeth confided, her work lying idle in her lap, ‘I’ve often thought what she did hurt Hugh far more than the edge of metal lying on the cobbles.’
Rose nodded. ‘Being let down would be hard at any time,’ she began, ‘but when he was lying there wondering if he would walk again …’ Her voice trailed away into silence, as she shook her head. ‘If you really love a man, you don’t let a misfortune like Hugh’s get in the way, do you?’
‘No, you don’t. You wouldn’t and I wouldn’t,’ agreed Elizabeth quickly. ‘Hugh was alive and would have mended. All the quicker, had he had her wishing him well and encouraging him to be better. I love Hugh dearly, but the love of a half-sister doesn’t compare with the love of a sweetheart. I often think he would have willingly died, but he thought it a sin not to struggle for life when he had so many responsibilities.’
‘Responsibilities?’ Rose asked, surprised.
Surely Hugh didn’t think of Elizabeth as a responsibility when she was so capable of running her own life as well as his. From her very first meeting with them, she’d seen how much Hugh admired his older sister. He always treated her as an equal and regularly asked for her opinion.
‘My father married twice, Rose. My own mother, Hester Pearson, died shortly after I was born, when James was only five. Father didn’t want us brought up by nannies, so he married Agnes Barbour. It wasn’t a love match, but she and Father seemed happy enough together and she was good to James and me. There was nothing of the wicked step-mother about Agnes, but when Hugh was born, she absolutely adored him. She wanted another child to be closer to him in age than we were, but for many years she didn’t conceive. Hugh was twelve when she became pregnant again. She was in her forties then and a rather delicate woman. Her little girl was born dead and a week later Agnes died too.’
Rose put down her work and looked at Elizabeth’
s sad face. Now in her mid-thirties, some three years younger than herself, she had the smooth skin of a young woman, but her fair hair was already threaded with grey. Only when she smiled was Rose aware of a young woman with sparkling grey eyes who must certainly have seemed beautiful to some young man, but that was not the story Elizabeth wanted to tell. Not yet.
‘Agnes had just inherited the Banbridge mills from her father and uncle,’ Elizabeth went on. ‘Of course, when her will was read, she’d left everything she possessed to Hugh. Poor boy, he’d been taught from childhood that those who have been given privileges, like wealth or intellect, have the greatest responsibility. So as a boy of twelve, he faced up to the responsibilities of being a mill owner.’
Elizabeth paused, smiling.
‘When he left school, he went into the manager’s office at Seapatrick to learn the business. He hated it.’ She shook her head. ‘He had a perfectly good grasp of mathematics, but he had no feel for buying and selling. He loathed being shut up indoors. He couldn’t bear the noise of the machines, but he couldn’t admit it, could he? He was the boss. Poor Hugh, if he could have given it all away he would, but as he and the family saw it, it was God’s will he do his best for the people who depended on him. James and I knew he was unhappy. We tried to get him to talk to Father, but Hugh felt that wouldn’t be right. It was his burden. He had to learn how best to carry it.’
‘So what happened? How did he get out of the office?’
‘Well, it was Father who found the way in the end. He knew as well as we did Hugh wasn’t happy. He was sorry for it, but to begin with he could see no way to help him. Then, one Sunday morning in the silence of the Meeting House he asked for guidance. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, but as he said afterwards, his faith had not been strong enough.’
She paused and glanced at her friend over her spectacles.
‘You remember, Rose, that Quakers don’t sing or pray aloud?’
‘Yes, I remember. You explained about the Inner Light and trying to find it for yourself.’
‘Well, as father sat in the deep silence, he became aware of the tick of his own fob watch. It seemed to get louder and louder. He tried to ignore it, because it was distracting him from opening his mind to God. As the minutes passed, he became convinced the ticking was so loud it was surely disturbing the other worshippers. “Something must be wrong with it, I’ll have to give it to Hugh to fix,” he said to himself. And the moment he thought of Hugh, the ticking faded to a murmur.’
Elizabeth beamed at her. ‘Father told the story against himself, time and time again, to make the point that we’re so busy asking for answers, we don’t hear them when they come. But that was the turning point for Hugh. You see, Father knew Hugh could never bear to see things left broken. First, he’d do his best to mend them, then while he was about it, he’d see if he could get them to work better.’
‘So what happened after that?’
‘Well, usually after a sign, the person involved has to consult their conscience to see how the answer fits with the situation. Father admitted it all fell into place by the time they’d eaten the midday meal, but he waited a few days to see if further enlightenment might be given. Then he sent for Hugh and made some suggestions. He told Hugh that, as he was not well fitted to the office, he should develop his talent for repairing and improving machinery. Then it would be proper to leave the buying and selling and the running of the mills to men who had the talent and the experience to do it much better than he could.
‘Father said that when God lays a burden on one of his servants he also gives them the strength and the wisdom to carry it,’ Elizabeth explained, taking up her work again. ‘If a burden seems too heavy, that’s because there’s something to be learnt to help you carry it. You need to ask for insight. From your friends, from your conscience, from God.’
‘And so Hugh was able to use his talent and not feel guilty about running the mills.’
‘Well, not quite,’ said Elizabeth quietly. ‘Hugh is hard on himself, too hard. But I know he gives thanks every day when he steps out into the workshop with John for company.’
She paused thoughtfully for a few moments before she went on.
‘When Father died, he left his drapery business to James, with the provision of an income for me. Hugh already owned the Banbridge mills. Four hundred workers, Rose, nearer five with the new bleach works. And no wife to support him,’ she ended sadly. ‘Perhaps now you see why I’m so grateful for you and for your dear John,’ she added, smiling warmly. ‘Hugh’s been so much happier since we’ve had Hamiltons at Ballydown.’
It was well after one o’clock before Rose heard the click of the garden gate and the tramp of John’s boots on the flagged path.
‘Did ye think I’d fell and forgot?’ he said cheerfully.
‘No, I guessed you’d be late,’ she said, putting her sewing into its linen wrapper. ‘Hugh had a look about him. He wasn’t going to leave off till he’d made a start on those drawings.’
‘Aye, ye’re right there. If Elizabeth hadn’t come out to him, he’d have clean forgot about a bite of lunch.’
‘Are you starving?’ she asked, smiling at him, as she took away the cloth she’d draped over the bread and the cheese. ‘Buttermilk or tea?’
‘A mug of tea would go down well. It’s got very warm,’ he replied, wiping his forehead with a bare arm, his shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows. ‘The workshop’s cool enough, but it fairly hits you when you come out from under the trees.’
‘There was a wee breeze earlier, but it’s gone very still now. Not the sound of a bird,’ she said softly. ‘I think they’re all hiding from the heat.’
‘Was your bread all right?’ he asked, as he cut himself a slice of cheese and added it to his plate.
‘Well, you’re about to eat it,’ she replied, bringing the teapot to the table and pouring for them both. ‘You might need a bit more butter. But we have plenty.’
There was something in the tone of her voice made him look up from his plate. She’d laughed when she’d told him he was about to eat the morning’s bread, but now, as she sat down opposite him, her face looked sad, her eyes downcast.
‘Did ye fright yerself over Sam this mornin’?’ he asked cautiously.
She nodded and said nothing.
‘Sure it’s only a week now,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t you always think the worst about things this time o’year?’
‘Not just this time of year, John,’ she replied quickly. ‘I could understand it if it was just this week, or even this month. I’ll never forget how hot it was up on that railway bank and walking back across the fields. But I can worry now any month of the year. I thought something awful had happened to Sam when that wee lad came running up the hill.’
John looked down at the crumbs on his plate and reached for another slice of wheaten. He had an idea women worried more than men and it wasn’t a good thing. But what could you do about it? What did you say?
‘Ach, I’m sorry ye were upset. Were ye not pleased at the cut of him?’
‘Yes, I was,’ she said warmly. ‘It was just great. I’m more annoyed with myself. I have a kind of feeling we’ve been too lucky, too blessed, that maybe we’ve hard times ahead of us.’
‘And why shou’d that be?’
‘It’s just a feeling, John. I wish I could put it away from me.’
She smiled across at him, knowing in her heart he couldn’t help her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, but on the few occasions she’d seen him depressed he’d been unable to do anything for himself, so she could hardly expect him to help her now.
‘Maybe you’re right about it being June,’ she said with an effort. ‘I try every year not to go over it all in my mind, but what might have happened if our carriage door had been locked still haunts me, or if James hadn’t spoken up and told me there were no brakes to stop us.’
She got up abruptly and went to the stove for the teapot.
‘Aye,
ye might all be dead like poor Mary Wylie an’ the boys,’ he said baldly. ‘An’ sure what kind of a way wou’d I be alive if ye were? But ye’re not lyin’ there in the churchyard wi’ the children and the rest of them. You’re alive an’ well with one son just finished his apprenticeship an’ another one well on his way at Harland’s. Would any o’ that have come about but for what happened that day? Wou’d we be sittin’ here with plenty o’ butter on your good bread, an’ money in the bank?’
He paused and gathered himself for several minutes before he went on in an unexpectedly solemn voice.
‘Rose, the workin’ o’ these things is beyond me. Aye, an’ I think they’re beyond James, an’ Elizabeth, an’ Hugh, for all they’re educated people and think about suchlike things. None of us knows what’s roun’ the corner. We just have to enjoy what we have an’ be strong to face the future when it comes.’
He paused, surprised at himself and sat looking rather sheepish.
‘You’re right, love,’ Rose said, getting to her feet and bending down to kiss him. ‘You’ve got it worked out as well as any of our educated friends might have. I know you’re right. Develop strength of spirit to shield you in adversity. Wasn’t that one of the lines in that copy book we used to talk about? And you can’t strengthen your spirit if you don’t make use of all the good things. And we have so many.’
CHAPTER THREE
The summer that followed Sam’s first day as leading driver for the Tullyconnaught Haulage Company turned out to be a long and happy one with Rose and Sarah’s joint birthday the overture to a season full of new and unexpected pleasures.
Back in the spring of 1890 James Sinton himself had suggested to Rose that the two families should join together on the nearest Saturday to their special day in happy remembrance of their miraculous escape. Seven meetings had come and gone, the annual event was now looked forward to as much as Christmas. Even Jamie Hamilton, who preferred to spend most weekends in Belfast, made the effort to catch the first train to Armagh at the end of his Saturday morning’s work to be present at the celebration lunch.
