A Woman of Substance

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Some of the men grinned, others touched their foreheads with brief little salutes, yet others nodded. All murmured their thanks. One of the men stepped forward and said, ‘There weren’t owt else we could do, Squire, now was there? It being our mill as well, so ter speak like. And yer didn’t do so bad yerself, Squire, if yer don’t mind me saying so. I thinks I speak for all t’lads when I say yer were a right trooper, sir.’

  A half smile flickered in Adam’s eyes. ‘Thank you, Alfie.’ He nodded cordially and left. Adam found Clive Malcolm in his office attending to Jack Harte. Eddie was standing near the window, talking quietly to Edwin.

  ‘How is he?’ Adam asked from the doorway. Clive looked around and frowned. ‘Not good. But I think he’s going to be all right, Adam. He’s suffering from shock, of course, and bad burns on his back, shoulders, and thighs. Third-degree burns. I’m trying to make him as comfortable as possible, and then I must move him down to the valley hospital as quickly as possible. I shall need your big carriage, Adam, so I can keep him flat. I thought Edwin could ride up to the Hall and send Tom Hardy back with it right away. This is a real emergency with Harte. I just don’t have the equipment and the medicines I need to treat him efficiently. I’ve got to get him into that hospital.’

  ‘I’ll send Edwin at once.’ Adam inclined his head towards his son. ‘Off you go, my boy, and make it fast. We have no time to lose apparently.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Edwin said, and left.

  ‘Where are the other men, Clive? And how are they?’

  ‘Violet’s patching them up in Wilson’s office. They’re not too badly hurt. First-degree burns, that’s all. They will all be fine in a day or so.’

  ‘Will Jack Harte live?’ asked Adam, sitting down behind his desk wearily, a serious expression clouding his face.

  ‘Yes, I think so. But to be honest with you, Adam, it’s hard to tell. I don’t know if there are any internal injuries yet. Edwin told me that one of the large bales fell on Harte. He also inhaled a lot of smoke and the heat from that scorches the lungs. I think one lung has possibly already collapsed.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Adam exclaimed, and passed his hand over his eyes. ‘You don’t sound too hopeful.’

  ‘He’s a strong man, Adam. I’m hoping we can pull him through.’ Clive gave Adam a sympathetic smile. ‘Try not to worry, old chap. After all, it wasn’t your fault. You’re lucky the casualties are so few.’

  Adam sighed. ‘I know. But that could easily have been Edwin lying there in that condition, Clive. He did save Edwin’s life, you know. And at the risk of his own. Jack Harte performed an act of such dauntless courage I’ll never forget it. He was fearless and unselfish.’ Adam’s grey-blue eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. ‘You don’t find many men like Jack Harte in this world.’

  Clive straightened up and his gaze rested on Adam, quietly intense. ‘I know. He was always a bit different, wasn’t he? But we’ll fight for him, Adam. I promise you that.’

  ‘All medical bills to me, Clive, for Harte and the other men. And instruct the hospital he has to have the very best of care. Spare no expense and don’t put him in a general ward. I want a private room for him, and whatever else he needs he’s to have.’

  There was a light tapping on the door. ‘Come in,’ Adam called. The door opened and one of the bobbin liggers, covered in grime and dirt, stood in the entrance nervously. Adam looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Yes, son, what is it?’

  The boy hesitated. ‘It’s about me dad,’ he said, looking over at Jack, his lips trembling. ‘Is he—is he?’ he began tremulously, tears brimming into his eyes.

  Adam leapt up and strode across the floor. He brought the boy into the room gently, putting his arm around his shoulders.

  ‘It’s Frank, Jack’s son, sir,’ Eddie volunteered from his stance at the window.

  ‘Come along, Frank,’ Adam said softly, his arm still encircling the boy’s shoulders. Tears rolled down Frank’s face as he stood staring at his father. ‘Is he dead?’ he finally managed to say in a choked voice.

  ‘Of course he isn’t, Frank,’ Adam reassured him with the utmost gentleness. ‘He has been badly injured, I won’t lie to you about that. But Dr Mac has made him comfortable and as soon as my carriage arrives we are going to transport him to the hospital in the valley. He will get the very best of medical care there.’

  Adam pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the tears from Frank’s face. ‘Now, you must be a brave boy, and you mustn’t worry. Your father will be better in no time at all.’

  Frank looked up at Adam anxiously. ‘Are yer sure, Squire? Yer wouldn’t fib ter me, would yer?’

  Adam smiled kindly. ‘No, I wouldn’t, Frank. I am telling you the truth, son.’

  ‘Your father is resting comfortably,’ Clive interjected, ‘and as soon as I get him to the hospital we’ll be able to treat him properly.’

  Frank looked from Adam to Clive doubtfully, sniffing and suppressing his tears. He was silent and thoughtful for a moment and then he addressed Eddie. ‘He will get better, Eddie, won’t he?’ he whispered.

  Eddie stepped forward, forcing a cheerful smile on to his drawn face. ‘Aye, lad, he will that! Yer father’s a strong ‘un. Now, don’t yer fret yerself, lad. Come on, I’ll take yer ter yer Aunt Lily’s.’ Eddie threw a swift glance at Adam, who nodded acquiescently. Adam patted Frank’s shoulder. ‘Run along with Eddie, Frank. And the doctor will stop by to see you later.’ Adam’s eyes examined Frank, sudden concern in them. ‘Are you all right, son? You weren’t hurt, were you?’

  ‘No, Squire,’ said Frank, still sniffling.

  ‘All right, then, off you go. And thank you, Eddie, for all your help. I appreciate it.’

  ‘I just did me best, sir,’ said Eddie, smiling briefly. ‘I’ll be taking the lad ter his aunt’s. She’ll look after him.’ Eddie grasped Frank’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and the two of them left, Eddie murmuring consoling words to Frank.

  ‘I think I had better go into Wilson’s office and see the other men, Clive. I want to thank them and make sure they are comfortable,’ Adam remarked.

  ‘Let Violet take a look at those hands of yours, Adam,’ Clive ordered firmly. ‘They look a little raw to me.’

  Later that afternoon Adam strode up and down the library at Fairley Hall, a brandy and soda in his bandaged hand, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wilson, who had just arrived, sat on the Chesterfield, watching him closely, quietly nursing his whisky.

  Adam finally stopped his incessant pacing and sat down in the chair opposite. He lit a cigarette, drew on it, and said, ‘How do you think the fire started in the warehouse, Wilson? It went up very suddenly and burned rather rapidly for my liking. I questioned Edwin earlier, and he said the wooden skips were blazing furiously when he opened the door, and that the first stack of bales were already flaring. I suppose the flying embers could have ignited the wool, and the draught from the door obviously fanned the flames, but it’s still a mystery to me. Any ideas?’

  Wilson was silent, his mouth tight and drawn, his face a picture of gravity. He sighed and looked directly at Adam. ‘I could hazard a guess, Squire, but it’s not a very palatable one.’

  Adam leaned forward and stared at Wilson, fixing him intently. ‘Speak up, Wilson. You’ve obviously given this some thought, just as I have myself all afternoon.’

  Wilson scowled. ‘Arson maybe.’

  ‘Arson!’ Adam was so flabbergasted he sat up with a start and banged his drink down on the table with a crash. ‘Oh, come, come, Wilson, that’s not possible. Surely it isn’t!’

  ‘Well, sir, raw wool doesn’t burn that easily. But wood does. I also spoke ter Master Edwin and he told me the same thing—them there skips were going like wildfire. A bit of paraffin on one of the bales, soaking through the sacking inter the wool—’ Wilson stopped and looked down into his drink, sighing. ‘Yer knows, Squire, that could have been a bloody holocaust down there this morning, but for the wind changing and
the rain starting when it did. We only had the fire in the warehouse partially under control, yer knows.’

  ‘But why?’ Adam demanded, still stunned and aghast at Wilson’s words.

  Wilson hesitated and sipped his whisky. Then he looked Adam squarely in the eye. ‘Retaliation.’

  ‘Retaliation! Retaliation for what? Against whom? I’ve been more than decent with the men in the last few years, for God’s sake. You can’t be serious, man.’

  Wilson, who had been pondering on the cause of the fire for several hours, picked his words with care. He knew what had to be said, but he felt he must couch his opinions in the most diplomatic terms possible. He cleared his throat. ‘Yer haven’t been at yon mill much in the past year, sir, what with yer travelling an’ all. The men are a bit out of touch with yer, so ter speak. And when yer have been ’ere, yer visits have been brief—’

  ‘Get to the point, Wilson. You said retaliation. I want to know what you mean by that,’ Adam snapped.

  Wilson drew in his breath. ‘I thinks the fire might have been started on purpose like, because of Master Gerald.’

  Adam stiffened, his eyes widening. ‘Master Gerald! What’s he been up to in my absence? By God, Wilson, I’ll have his hide if he’s responsible for this. I’ll skin him alive!’

  Wilson cleared his throat nervously. ‘Look, Squire, Master Gerald’s a hard worker. I’m the first ter say that. And he luvs the mill, like yer father did. But Master Gerald—well, sir, he just doesn’t know how ter handle the men. Most of ’em just grin and turn away like, pay no attention ter him and get on with their work. But there’s a little extremist group down at yon mill. Troublemakers ter some extent, yer might say. Labourites, yer knows, Squire. Well, they have come ter resent Master Gerald’s way of dealing with ’em.’

  ‘Out with it all, Wilson,’ Adam said sternly, his anger most apparent.

  ‘It’s his manner, like I said,’ Wilson replied, lighting a Woodbine. ‘He’s allus pushing the lads around, goading ’em on, cracking t’whip like. And when they come ter him for a few simple concessions, like a longer tea break for one thing, he just wafts ’em away—’

  ‘You can’t be serious! You don’t expect me to believe a fire was started simply because Master Gerald refused to give the men a longer tea break. That’s preposterous and damned ridiculous, Wilson!’ Adam exploded, his usual self-control slipping momentarily.

  ‘No, Squire, not for that one thing only, but for lots of things that have mounted up like, over these last months. Small things admittedly, but I knows some of the lads have been boiling lately at Master Gerald’s harshness, his bullying, his temper an’ all—’ Wilson’s voice trailed off.

  Adam sighed heavily and leaned back in the chair, his eyes resting on Wilson contemplatively. ‘And so you think some of them started a fire to get even.’ Adam now moved forward, his gaze more penetrating than ever. ‘But that’s a futile gesture, Wilson, since the mill itself could have gone up, and they would have been laid off for weeks on half pay.’

  ‘Aye, I knows. I’ve considered that fact meself,’ Wilson conceded wearily. ‘But I thinks a small fire was started ter make a point like. I don’t think them as might have started it expected it ter get out of hand the way it did. I don’t, really. Yer knows what I’m getting at, sir. Start a little blaze, destroy a few bales of wool. As I said, make a point. Slow down production, cause a bit of trouble. Make us sit up and take notice.’

  ‘The culprits?’ Adam demanded, glaring at Wilson.

  ‘That’s it, Squire, I can’t be pointing any fingers. That group of men I mentioned were all at t’mill this morning, and they all pitched in like hell, that they did.’ Wilson refrained from adding that three of the most violent agitators against Gerald Fairley were, in fact, noticeably and fortuitously absent that day. He himself would deal with them later. For he did believe arson was involved and he was fairly certain the absentees were the arsonists. He would put the fear of God into them. He prayed Adam Fairley would do the same with his son.

  Adam was thoughtful, reflecting on Wilson’s words, and then he said, ‘What you’re saying doesn’t really make any sense. Why would they start a fire and then expose themselves to it? That would be most foolhardy.’

  ‘I told yer, sir, I thinks them as started it intended it as a bit of a scare, that’s all, never expecting it ter blaze the way it did, ter get out of control.’

  Now Adam was silent, his wrath with Gerald fulminating inside him. He attempted to calm himself, to think clearly. What Wilson said did make sense—to a degree. Raw wool, because it was oily, smouldered rather than blazed at first. Conceivably, paraffin might well have been poured over one of the bales. Whoever had started the fire probably thought only a portion of the warehouse and a few bales would be damaged. Fools, he thought angrily. The stupid bloody fools. The warehouse was highly inflammable because it was built of wood. They had not considered that aspect or the ultimate consequences of their irresponsible actions. They had not realized the danger to all the mill buildings and the village.

  ‘Very well, Wilson, I accept your explanation. You could be correct in your assumptions,’ Adam said at last, his face tensely set. ‘And, since the members of that radical group you mentioned were working this morning, we cannot make any accusations, I suppose, can we?’

  ‘No, sir!’ responded Wilson vehemently. ‘We can’t. We daren’t. We’ve no evidence for one thing, and the way the men worked ter help extinguish the fire—by God, sir, they’d take right exception ter it, they would that. Also, the men’d stick together. We’d have a strike on our hands, I guarantee that, if we start talking about arson.’ Wilson nodded gravely and cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps yer could have a word with Master Gerald when he gets back from Shipley tomorrow, sir, if yer don’t mind me suggesting it. Caution him ter temper his manner, his rough ways with the lads.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to, Wilson. In fact, he’ll get a dressing down the likes of which he’s never had. Believe me, he will!’ Adam declared, his fury rising to the surface again. ‘I never dreamt he would so wilfully defy my instructions about treating the men decently.’ After a short pause he softened his tone. ‘In the meantime, we have a vital problem to contend with—supplies. All the bales in the warehouse were totally destroyed, as you know. How much raw wool do we have in the other warehouse?’

  ‘Enough ter carry us through this month, I’d say, sir,’ Wilson responded, his mind working rapidly, evaluating their supplies and their orders. He puffed on his Woodbine. ‘We’ve got a shipment due in from McGill, from Australia, in two or three weeks, thank God. I thinks we’ll be able to manage till then.’

  ‘Do your best, Wilson. Get on to it first thing on Monday morning. I will come in early myself and we can make our assessments. And you had better build a new warehouse immediately. Use bricks, not wood. And also order another small fire engine. I don’t anticipate a repetition of this disaster, but it’s always wise to be prepared for any contingencies. As you said, we were lucky this time because of the change in the weather.’

  ‘No, I don’t expect it will happen again, Squire,’ Wilson said, so sharply and with such conviction Adam glanced at him swiftly but made no comment. Wilson did not miss Adam’s reaction and went on in a more even voice, ‘But yer right, it’s allus best ter have plenty of fire-fighting apparatus on ‘and, just in case. I was thinking, sir, if yer likes I’ll go down ter yon mill termorrow and start taking stock. It’ll save time.’

  ‘That’s an excellent thought, Wilson, if you don’t mind working on Sunday. I shall be there myself and we can do it together.’

  ‘Right ho, sir.’ Wilson paused, his eyes glinting shrewdly behind his steel spectacles. ‘And yer will have a talk ter Master Gerald, won’t yer?’ he pressed.

  ‘Rest assured I will, and in no uncertain terms.’ Adam stood up. ‘Let me freshen your drink, Wilson.’

  ‘Thank yer, Squire. I wouldn’t say no ter one for t’road.’

  As Adam poured the whis
ky a sudden thought struck him most cogently: Wilson knew who the guilty parties were, but he was obviously not prepared to reveal their identities, for his own reasons, undoubtedly very sound reasons. So be it, Adam said to himself. He trusted Wilson to deal with them appropriately. He would deal with Gerald. His mouth tightened as he considered his elder son. The young idiot, he’s undone all the good I strove so hard to achieve. Antagonizing the men was not only a rank display of poor judgement, it was an act of sheer folly. But it’s also my fault, he admitted. I’ve given him far too much rope and my continuing absences have not helped. I shall have to spend more time in Fairley, he decided. But there was Olivia. He found it intolerable to be apart from her. She had become the whole reason for his existence. The rock on which his life was built. It was with sadness that he then acknowledged he had to pay more attention to the mill. That was, without question, an imperative taking precedence over everything else. Perhaps he could persuade Olivia to come to Fairley. She would understand. Damn that boy! A look of utter distaste crossed his face as he contemplated Gerald and the measures he would have to take with him. Gerald was a bully and therefore a coward. He would toe the line. By God, he will, Adam muttered under his breath.

  He composed himself and carried the drinks back to Wilson. ‘I wish Dr Mac would get here. I am extremely worried about Jack Harte,’ Adam said, handing Wilson the glass of whisky.

  ‘Aye, Squire, so am I. But Harte’s a fighter. He’ll pull through. He’s got them bairns ter think about, yer knows.’

  Adam sighed. ‘I hope you’re right, Wilson. I sincerely do. I can never repay the debt I owe him for saving Edwin’s life.’

  PART THREE

  THE SLOPE

  1905—10

  ’Tis a common proof,

  That lowliness is young ambition’s ladder,

  Whereto the climber-upward turns

  his face…

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Julius Caesar