Off the Rails

by Beryl Kingston

  He took both her hands and held them, grieved to see how much this was distressing her. ‘Of course, my darling, of course. And he’s given me some excellent advice. He thinks we should marry as soon as we can and not tell my father. If you are agreeable, I will go back to London this afternoon and find us a cottage where we can live and when that’s done I will come back and we will plan our wedding.’

  She burst into tears of relief and fell forward into his arms. ‘Oh!’ she sobbed. ‘I thought it was over.’

  ‘Dearest girl,’ he said. ‘I love you much too much to ever, ever let you go.’

  So the cottage was found and rented, dresses were made and flowers ordered and Millicent Smith ‘of this parish’ and Felix Algernon Fitzwilliam ‘of Foster Manor’ were married three weeks later in the church of St Michael, both of them encouraged by the solemn words, ‘Whom God has joined together let no man put asunder.’

  ‘God damn it all!’ George Hudson said, scowling horribly. ‘What’s up wi’ t’man? Don’t he see what an opportunity we’re offering?’

  ‘Apparently not,’ George Stephenson said. The two men were in the library at Monkgate, drinking brandy and discussing their plans for the proposed York to Scarborough line. And the plans had hit a snag. ‘According to his solicitor’s letter, Sir Mortimer Fitzwilliam does not wish – what is it? – “to have the peace of his country seat disturbed by locomotives”.’

  George Hudson eased his bandaged foot into a better position on the footstool. This gout was no joke. His big toe was throbbing with the most exquisite pain. ‘The man’s a fool,’ he growled and gulped his brandy.

  ‘Quite possibly but he seems to be adamant. Not a single acre of Foster Park is up for sale. His solicitor made that abundantly clear.’

  ‘We could skirt round it, I suppose,’ George Hudson said, scowling at the map. ‘But it’ll be deuced awkward. Who owns that farm to the north?’

  Mr Stephenson gave a wry smile. ‘He does,’ he said.

  ‘God damn it all!’ George Hudson said again. ‘Are we to be blocked at every turn? We’ll have to find some way round this. I can’t have this line gainsaid by some self-important landowner. We must see if we can sweeten him. I’ll think of some inducements. Meantime we must think about a railway bridge over the Ouse. I’ll get Cartwright on to it. He’s got some wedding or other, today. I’ll send him a billet about it tomorrow.’

  21

  THE SOUTH BANK of the Thames was lined by long warehouses, massive yards for brick and timber and innumerable wharves for the sea coal that the city burned by the ton day in and day out. It was always busy, for as well as black coal barges, tar-stained coasters and cargo ships from Norway, Italy, France and Germany, there were ferrymen plying an incessant trade from one bank to the other. The tracks behind the yards were usually choked with carts either being loaded or lumbering heavily away, but a hundred yards beyond the river all trade stopped and it was open countryside, where cows grazed in the water meadows and fruit and vegetables were grown for sale in the markets of the Convent Garden, and there were long tenter grounds where cloth was stretched to dry whenever there was sufficient sunshine.

  Mr and Mrs Fitzwilliam’s newly rented house was a small, sparsely furnished cottage fronted by bargeboards, painted white. It stood quietly beside a country road called Green Walk, facing north and a few yards away from the local church. It had a dining room, a small parlour and an even smaller kitchen downstairs, a dark staircase that rose extremely steeply through the centre of the house and two rooms upstairs. There was a very small garden in front of it, where their carter had deposited their trunk and their hamper, and a rather bigger vegetable patch behind it, where there was a shed for coal and another for garden forks, spades, trowels and plant pots. It was called Rose Cottage, even though there were no flowers anywhere in its vicinity. Milly was entirely enamoured of it.

  ‘Our first home,’ she said, when Felix had opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter first. ‘Oh Felix, our very first home.’ She walked from room to room, noticing everything. ‘I must sew us some curtains,’ she said. ‘Those empty windows won’t do at all. We’ll have the world and his wife looking in on us otherwise. And we shall need candles for those stairs or one of us’ll come a-tumble. Is there a market hereabouts?’

  Felix had to admit he had no idea. The niceties of housekeeping were entirely beyond him, never having had to attend to such things in his life.

  He was saved by somebody knocking on the door. It turned out to be a solid-looking young man followed by a plump young woman, in a blue gown, a mob cap and a rather grubby apron, who said her name was Polly and told him Mr Muffin had sent her to be their cook-housekeeper, ‘what I daresay he’s told you, if you recall, Mr Fitzwilliam’.

  Mr Fitzwilliam was beginning to feel light-headed and couldn’t remember anything much at all. ‘Um, yes, well …’ he said.

  His baffled expression puzzled the young woman. ‘Ain’t this the day you ’ad in mind then?’ she said.

  ‘Oh yes, yes,’ he hastened to reassure her. ‘Indeed it is. We’re very glad to see you. It’s just that I can’t recall a gentleman called Mr Muffin.’

  ‘Lord love yer,’ Polly said. ‘Everybody knows Mr Muffin. He’s the man what lets the ’ouses. Now you’ll want this trunk a-bringin’ in an’ unpackin’, fer a start. Harry’ll see to it, won’tcher, my duck. I’ll bring the ’amper.’

  It was fun unpacking, as if it was Christmas and they’d been given a huge bran tub full of presents. The hamper had been packed by her mother and Mrs Cadwallader and it was full of good things – a sugar loaf and tongs, a large jar of sugar plums, a twist of tea, a good half pound of butter in a covered dish, a quartern loaf wrapped in a cloth to keep it moist, even a large ham swathed in butter muslin. And the trunk was a revelation for there weren’t just clothes and linens in it, which she expected, but saucepans and wooden spoons, a good stout frying pan, a cloth full of cutlery, and even two candlesticks and a bundle of wax candles.

  ‘Dear Ma!’ Milly said, when the trunk was finally emptied and had been carried out into the back garden and put in the shed. ‘She’s thought of everything. I must write and thank her.’

  ‘But not tonight,’ Felix hoped. They’d stayed virginal and sensible all last night in that uncomfortable inn. Now he wanted to take her into their own bed and love her.

  ‘I’m starving hungry,’ she said. ‘What do you say we have supper?’

  The disappointment on his face was so intense that even Polly noticed it.

  ‘I’ll be off then,’ she said. ‘You’ve got all you need, ain’tcher? I’ll be in termorrer to light the stove and get yer breakfast. Don’t you worry about nofink, ma’am. I’ll get in through the back an’ it’ll all be done afore you wakes up.’ She bobbed them a little curtsey and Harry touched his forelock and they were gone.

  Now and at last the newlyweds were alone together in the privacy of their own home.

  ‘Come to bed?’ he hoped. And was answered by a kiss so long and rapturous that within seconds there was nothing in their enclosed world except the tempest of their love for each other.

  It was very quiet in Shelton House when the wedding was over, even with young Nat and Mary to fill it with their chirruping voices, and Jane was pale-faced and fidgeting.

  ‘She’ll write to you soon,’ Nathaniel said, trying to comfort her.

  ‘London’s such a long way away,’ she said. ‘Anything could happen to her there and I’d never know.’

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen to her,’ Nathaniel said reasonably.

  That made her tetchy. ‘You don’t know.’

  He decided to change his approach. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said.

  She wasn’t very interested in what he was thinking but she said ‘Yes’ as he seemed to expect it.

  ‘How would it be if we gave a dinner party?’ he said. ‘It’s high time we did. We’ve lived here long enough.’

  She looked surprised. ‘We d
on’t give dinner parties.’

  ‘We haven’t done until now,’ he allowed, ‘but that’s no reason why we shouldn’t.’ His face was all concern and urging.

  She noticed the concern and was touched by it but she tried to be practical. ‘Who would we invite? We don’t know enough people.’

  ‘I tell ’ee what,’ he said, sensing victory, ‘I will write the invitations and you provide the meal. How would that be?’

  He’s doing this to cheer me up, she thought, understanding him, and although she had niggling doubts about her ability to host such an event, she decided to agree with him. ‘When would you want it to be?’ she said.

  They held their party ten days later and by that time she’d had three letters from Milly and was much cheered by how well she and Felix seemed to be getting along in their faraway city. And despite her initial doubts, the party was a success. They sat eight to table and Mrs Cadwallader and her newly enlisted helpers cooked an excellent meal and served it with aplomb. But it was the conversation that made the evening, for their guests talked about so many things and were so unexpectedly entertaining and knowledgeable it was a revelation to Jane just to sit at the table and listen to them.

  Old Mr Greer, who was the manager of the York Union Bank and looked so dry and crumpled that Jane thought he would have nothing to say, started the conversation off by talking about what York had been like when he was a child living in Coppergate and reminding them all what a small place it had been.

  ‘All of us contained within the walls,’ he said. ‘There were no buildings in the fields in those days. ’Twere more like a village than a town. Mrs Patterson will tell you.’

  Their next-door neighbours, the Pattersons, were a jolly pair, he with a set of fine mutton-chop whiskers adorning his pale face and a gold watch chain hung across his red waistcoat, she round and rosy and dressed in the latest style with ringlets bobbing on either side of her cheeks. She beamed at Mr Greer and told him he was right in every particular, adding that she remembered what it had been like before they built the pavements in the Thursday market.

  ‘’Twere ruination to boots,’ she said, ‘even if you wore pattens, if you tek my meaning. On account of the mud. You never saw so much mud as there were in that old market.’

  That set the entire table off and Jane was glad to see that even her mother joined in. The mud was remembered and the crush in the markets and the rush lights.

  ‘And now we have gas light,’ Mrs Leeman said, ‘which to my way of thinking is an absolute blessing. No more creeping about with candles that blow out as soon as look at you. My night candle always blew out when I was halfway up the stairs. Now all you need is a tinder box and one little taper and you have a nice dependable light for as long as you need it.’

  Jane was pleased that Nathaniel had invited the Leemans, for she knew from what Nathaniel said of him that Mr Leeman had been extremely helpful when he was buying the house and, even though he looked rather stern, he was plainly a gentleman and she’d liked Mrs Leeman as soon as she saw her.

  The talk streamed on as the second course was served. They discussed the daily newspapers and that took them on to books.

  Mrs Anderson and her husband were great admirers of a new young writer called Charles Dickens and she set the table laughing with tales of the exploits of his hero Mr Pickwick, who seemed to be a bumbling, well-meaning, rather pompous man who got into extraordinary scrapes.

  ‘You must read it,’ she said to Jane and appealed to the others round the table. ‘Must she not? I never was so agreeably entertained in all my life. I tell ’ee I just couldn’t wait for the next edition.’

  ‘They say he is writing another story, Mrs Anderson,’ Mr Greer put in. ‘Do you happen to know if that is so?’

  She did and she knew what it was. ‘’Tis called Nicholas Nickleby and ’tis published in monthly parts the same as the Pickwick Papers and I’m a-reading of it now.’

  ‘And when ’tis published in book form, she’ll have me buy that for her too,’ Mr Anderson said, making a grimace.

  ‘Quite right,’ his wife said, laughing at him, ‘because he’ll read afore I do, which he knows very well.’ And that made everybody else laugh.

  How good natured they all are, Jane thought, smiling round at them, and how well they chose their topics. She was relaxing more with every minute that passed. But when Mrs Cadwallader’s fruit jellies had been served and admired, she was suddenly confronted with a difficult moment. The Andersons had been talking about what an unconscionable time lawyers seemed to take to get anything settled. And Mr Leeman rose to their defence.

  ‘You are quite right, of course,’ he said, inclining his serious face towards the two Andersons. ‘The law is a cumbersome beast, there is no denying it, but it is the only beast we have for these transactions and if it is to be seen to be just it must, sometimes unfortunately, be allowed to take its time. Like you, I would it were not so, for solicitors can be caught in its toils just as easily as everyone else.’

  Mr Anderson found that hard to believe and said so. ‘Surely not.’

  ‘I fear so,’ Mr Leeman said. ‘I will give you a local example of it. George Hudson has been Lord Mayor of York for the last two years. Quite so. However, what most of you will not know is that his election for a second year was unconstitutional.’ And when they’d expressed surprise, he went on, ‘According to the rules of the corporation’s constitution only an alderman can be elected Lord Mayor and Mr Hudson’s term as an alderman ceased at the same time as his first term of office as Mayor. He was therefore legally obliged to step aside and make way for another man but he refused to do it and persuaded his friends in the Tory Party to put him up for the second time. All of which would appear to be a straightforward case against him. However, I can tell you that certain members of the corporation, some of whom are in the legal profession, have been trying to test it in the courts since last November and are still no nearer to having the matter decided today than they were then. In fact, I fear the Lord Mayor’s second term of office will be over before any decision will be made.’

  They were all agreed that it was a most surprising story although Jane noticed that Nathaniel looked uncomfortable to have heard it and the Andersons were puzzled. But then her mother spoke up and put all other thought out of her head.

  ‘Nowt’ud surprise me when it comes to Mr Hudson,’ she said. ‘I knew him when he were nobbut a child and he were a reet spoilt brat if ever I saw one. Allus had to have his own way. Which he were given, I might tell ’ee, on account of he had such a terrible temper on him.’

  Mr Leeman smiled at her. ‘I can well believe it,’ he said.

  ‘I mind the time,’ Mary Jerdon said, ‘when …’

  Jane heart gave a leap of panic. No, she thought, don’t, Ma, please. Keep things secret. And as there was no other way she could warn her, she kicked out towards her feet, made contact, and watched as her mother gave a little jump of surprise and stopped in mid sentence. Then she knew she had to say something to turn their attention elsewhere. But what? Her thoughts seemed to be stuck in treacle.

  She was rescued by old Mr Greer. ‘The one thing we can say with certainty about Mr Hudson,’ he said, smiling at them all, ‘is that he does build railways. They say we shall be able to travel all the way to London on one of his trains in a year or two.’

  The wonder of that was discussed around the table and Nathaniel, having recovered his balance, asked his guests what places they would most like to visit ‘if you had perfect freedom of choice’. And that kept them very happily occupied until Jane’s heart had resumed its normal rhythm. But it had been a nasty moment.

  Later that night as they were preparing for bed, she and Nathaniel discussed the evening, almost word for word.

  ‘Mr Leeman seems to share your opinion of Mr Hudson,’ Nathaniel said, when they were warmly underneath the blankets.

  ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘He don’t like him much, that’s certain sure.’

  �
��Does that please you?’ he asked, and there was more curiosity in his voice than reproof so she gave him an honest answer.

  ‘Aye, it does,’ she said. ‘I don’t like him much either. And Ma’s right. He does have to have things his own way all the time and that temper is downright ugly.’

  ‘Well, he won’t have things all his own way over the Scarborough line,’ he said and told her how adamantly Sir Mortimer was opposing him.

  She lay beside him in the moonlit quiet of their comfortable bed and wondered. It was gratifying to think that the two men she most disliked were now opposed to one another. ‘I must write to Milly about all this tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Particularly about the party.’

  ‘When they come up to visit us,’ Nathaniel promised, ‘we will throw another one even bigger and they shall be the guests of honour. How would that be?’

  ‘I wonder how they are,’ Jane said, yearning for them again.

  ‘They’re as right as ninepence,’ he said. ‘I’ll lay you any money.’

  In fact, they were both suffering from indigestion and too uncomfortable to sleep. For the third evening in a row their supper had been so badly cooked it had been barely edible and now they were cross and hungry. Felix said he had half a mind to get up and get dressed again and take a boat across the river and buy them a hot pie.

  ‘You’d be better to speak to Polly and tell her it won’t do,’ Milly told him tetchily. ‘I keep a-telling ’ee. If you don’t speak to her, she’ll go on feeding us cinders night after night.’

  Felix wasn’t at all sure he could scold a servant. Mr Glendinning had always seen to that. Not for the first time he knew he was yearning to be back in the comfort of his old home, where life was ordered and predictable and the food was always well cooked. There were altogether too many things that were his responsibility in this new life of his and it was jolly hard work. ‘Couldn’t you tell her?’ he said, rubbing his chest.