The surly expressions were gone. Most of them were looking decidedly attentive, some almost seemed enthusiastic. ‘No!’ some shouted. ‘No!’ And one man took up another cry. ‘Vote for Mr Hudson! He’s the man for us!’
He spoke to them for nearly ten minutes, outlining his plans for the Durham and Sunderland Railway, which he knew they wanted, and speaking about the value of the Wearmouth Docks and how he would rejuvenate them. When he stopped, they cheered and clapped and threw their hats in the air. ‘Vote for Hudson! He’s the man for us!’
‘You’re so clever George,’ Lizzie said, when they left the balcony.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I know.’
The election took place three weeks later and, just as he expected, Mr George Hudson was elected Member of Parliament for Sunderland, having defeated his opponent by 627 votes to 497.
Nathaniel Cartwright was away in Scarborough that week and didn’t come home until several days after the election was over but he brought back the relevant copy of The Times and passed it across the table to Jane at dinner that evening.
‘The fisherman’s wife is now an MP, you see,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ she said, rather sourly. ‘Lizzie wrote and told me. Much good may it do him.’
‘Good may well come of it,’ he said, giving her his wry smile. ‘He’ll be able to push through any railway bill he wants instead of waiting for someone else to condescend to do it. It could speed up the process considerably, which would be no bad thing, you must agree.’
‘Aye,’ she said, setting aside the paper she’d been reading. ‘Happen. But read that.’
It was a copy of their local paper, The Yorkshireman, and the article she’d been reading was outspoken in its criticism of the great Mr Hudson, which had given her a rush of satisfaction, as it always did when someone else understood how appalling he was.
‘It is quite clear to us,’ it said, ‘that Mr Hudson’s return to Parliament is quite the worst thing that could have happened to that gentleman. Out of Parliament he was a great man, and wielding immense influence. In Parliament he will be nobody, and destitute of all influence. He will discover this himself, by and by. It is quite a different thing to address a meeting of railway speculators panting for 10% and to face the congregated intellect, learning and gentlemanly accomplishments such as the British Parliament contains. Men find their level in the House of Commons and Mr Hudson will find his. Perhaps, too, it may do him some good.’
‘Um,’ Nathaniel said thoughtfully. ‘It could be true. He does tend to ride roughshod and he’ll not be able to do it there. I wonder how he’ll make out.’
‘He’ll get his own way,’ Mary Jerdon predicted dourly. ‘On account of he allus does.’
Jane ignored the prediction because she had something more pleasant to talk about. ‘And now,’ she said, smiling at Nat, ‘we’ve got some really good news for you. Wouldn’t ’ee say so, Nat?’
‘I hope you will consider it so, Papa,’ Nat said. At seventeen he had grown into a very personable young man with his father’s height and colouring and his mother’s fine brown eyes. ‘I have been awarded a scholarship to Corpus Christi,’ he said. ‘To read Philosophy and Theology.’
‘That,’ his father told him, smiling fit to split his face, ‘is the best news I have heard in a long time. The very best. But no more than you deserve, young man, for we all know how diligently you’ve worked for it, do we not, Jane? We must have a special celebration. A dinner in your honour at the Star and Garter. How would that be?’
Nat was blushing. ‘It would be …’ he began and then he was lost for the right word to say.
His sister finished for him. ‘Just what you deserve,’ she said, hugging his arm. ‘He’s such a clever old stick, ain’t he, Pa?’
And at that they all told him how clever he was and how much they admired him and how well deserved this scholarship was so that he blushed even more deeply and held up his hands as if he was warding them off. When the uproar had subsided into laughter, he looked at his parents one after the other, and spoke again, rather hesitantly.
‘Could I ask you a favour?’ he said, looking at his father.
‘Ask away!’ Nathaniel said. ‘You can have the top brick off the chimney today.’
‘It’s my friend Toby,’ he told them. ‘Toby Henderson. He’s won a scholarship to Corpus Christi too and he’s every bit as deserving as I am, probably more so, only he has no family to praise him – only a grandmother and by all accounts she’s so deaf I don’t think she hears what he’s saying half the time – so what I’m wondering is whether we could include him in the dinner too. He’s my very best friend.’ Then he paused and waited.
‘No sooner asked than granted,’ Nathaniel said. ‘It’s a splendid idea. Now we’ll have two scholars to praise.’
Jane didn’t know which of her menfolk she admired the most, Nathaniel for his instant generosity – wasn’t that just typical of him – or Nat for thinking of his friend and wanting to include him in his celebration – which was typical of him too. They are both such good men, she thought, and Nathaniel has the right of it. This is a splendid idea. What a time we shall have.
Which they did, although not quite in the way she expected. The trouble was that ‘my friend Toby’ was impossibly shy and extremely gauche. He was shorter than Nat and rather more stocky and that made him look the clumsier of the two, especially as he had large hands and very large feet, and to make matters worse for himself, he blushed and stammered when anyone spoke to him and spent a great deal of the meal earnestly contemplating his plate and clearing his throat. And then, when the family raised their glasses to drink to his success and Nat’s, he was so overcome he knocked his own glass of wine all over the tablecloth and was then miserably embarrassed by the stain he’d caused. Nathaniel assured him that it could have happened to anybody, but he wasn’t comforted and blushed so deeply and for such a long time that they all had to look away from him to give him time to recover. But when the meal was over, he surprised them by taking his leave with an unexpected grace, thanking them all for their kindness and telling them he would never forget it.
They were so impressed by his little speech that it wasn’t until he’d left them that they realized he was on foot and would probably be walking all the way to Haxby. Jane was concerned and wondered whether they should get the carriage and go after him but Nat said a walk would do him good and in any case by the time they’d got the carriage ready he’d be halfway home, which was true enough.
‘He’d not want to inconvenience you,’ he told his mother. ‘That’s the sort of chap he is. Salt of the earth.’
They didn’t disabuse him of his opinion, which Jane allowed afterwards was like to have a grain of truth in it, but she and Nathaniel told one another privately that the young man had been extremely hard work. Mary was even more outspoken.
‘He’s an oaf,’ she said to her mother the next day. ‘Staring at his plate all the time and doing that silly coughing and forever pulling at his sleeves. That coat was much too small for him. He looked an absolute freak. He should get a new one and make sure it fits.’
‘Happen he can’t afford a new one,’ Jane tried to point out. ‘He’s no family to speak of.’
But Mary wasn’t having any of it. ‘He’s going to Oxford, Mama,’ she said, ‘and poor boys don’t go to Oxford. He could afford it if he wanted to. Or he could have worn summat wi’ a bit more style. There was no call for him to come to dinner looking like a tramp. He should have made an effort. We did. No, it’s like I told you. He’s an oaf. And I don’t know what he thought he was doing with that wine. The cloth was awash. I can’t think why you invited him. I hope you won’t do it again.’
‘He did thank us,’ Jane said, trying to stick up for him.
But Mary snorted. ‘And so I should think,’ she said.
Later that night when she and Nathaniel were in bed and discussing the events of the day, Jane recounted the conversation. ‘She’s taken ag
ainst him, poor boy,’ she said.
‘Aye,’ Nathaniel said easily. ‘So ’twould seem.’
‘I’ve never known her be so fierce. She said she hoped we wouldn’t invite him again.’
‘Then she’s summat to learn,’ her father said. ‘If we want to invite him again, and I see no reason why we should not, we will and she will have to accept it.’
‘She’ll not like it.’
‘Doubtless. But that’s the size of it. The young have to learn their place, like we did. We do them no favours to let them to think they may run the world. The lad is shy. That’s all. He’ll improve as he gets to know us.’
The matter seemed to have been decided so Jane let it drop. But she was still puzzled by the strength of Mary’s opposition to this poor shy boy and fell asleep thinking about it.
George Hudson was caught up in thought that night too, only in his case his thoughts were furious. He’d been at a civic dinner in York that evening and had been driven home to Newby Park in the early hours of the morning, cheerful with brandy and bonhomie and feeling wonderfully full of himself. As he staggered through the hall he saw the latest copy of The Yorkshireman waiting on the silver salver for his attention. He picked it up drunkenly and carried it upstairs with him, thinking he’d glance through it before he settled for the night. Happen they had some news of his latest triumph and praise was always welcome. The article was like a shock of cold water. He charged into the bedroom where Lizzie was peacefully snoring and yelled at her to wake up.
‘Have ’ee seen this?’ he demanded.
She opened her eyes, still drugged with sleep. ‘What?’
‘What? What?’ he roared, shaking the paper at her. ‘This, woman. It’s infamous, monstrous, insupportable. How dare they write about me like this? Don’t they know who I am?’
Lizzie was trying to pull herself back to wakefulness and finding it difficult. ‘What time is it?’ she trembled.
‘Time!’ he roared. ‘Time! Time I taught them all a lesson. That’s what time it is. They need teaching a lesson, dammit. Jumped up scribblers writing about me. How dare they! Very well then, I’ll show ’em. I’ll be the biggest success London has ever seen. That’s what I’ll be. I’ll buy the biggest house in London, you see if I don’t, and I’ll give the grandest parties. I’ll have all the big-wigs standing in line begging for an invitation, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be the most successful MP they’ve ever seen. It’ll be a different story then. God damn it! How dare they treat me like this? I’ll get on to it directly.’
‘Yes, George,’ Lizzie said dutifully. ‘Happen it could wait till morning though?’
‘We will go to London on the first train,’ he told her. ‘I’ll not stand for this. Move over. You’re taking up all the bed.’
And he lumbered into the bed and fell asleep at once.
They caught the second train, because he’d overslept, but he set about finding a suitable house as soon as they’d booked in at their hotel. The one he chose was called Albert Gate East and was absolutely enormous. It stood on the north side of Knightsbridge, beside Hyde Park, and was one of a pair newly built by Mr Cubitt who was the most renowned builder in the capital. They had stood empty for rather a long time, so long, in fact, that the locals had nicknamed them the two Gibraltars because ‘nobody would ever take them’ and they were extremely expensive. Not that George worried about a thing like that. The more expensive his new house was known to be, the better. Albert Gate East would suit his purposes to perfection and he made up his mind to buy it as soon as he saw it.
Lizzie was overwhelmed by it, although naturally she didn’t say so. But really she had never seen anything so grand. It was built in the Italianate style and was five storeys high, with a splendid staircase that rose from the entrance hall to the third floor and was topped by a dome made of wrought iron and glass. There were marble fireplaces in all the principal rooms and more bedrooms than she could count and the moulded ceilings were a wonder to behold. It was built for entertainment on the grand scale.
‘As soon as it is legally mine, I will have it decorated in the very latest style,’ George said as they walked back to their hotel.
‘We shan’t have to live in it straightaway, shall we?’ Lizzie asked. She’d only just got accustomed to living in Newby Park and she really couldn’t face another move.
‘We’ll tek up residence in January when I tek my seat in t’House,’ he told her. ‘And we’ll hold our first ball the week before. I shall see to it. Then we’ll stay here until the end of t’Season and set our Ann on t’road to a handsome husband. And then we’ll go back to Newby Park and stay there till t’next Season. I’ve got it all planned.’
It made poor Lizzie feel exhausted simply to hear it being talked about but she said ‘Yes, George’ and accepted that she would have to put up with it. Oh, if only they could go back to the old days in Monkgate. She’d been so happy there with Jane and Richard just a walk away. I’ll write to them as soon as I get a minute, she decided, and tell them what’s been happening.
Richard Nicholson was very impressed by his brother-in-law’s latest acquisition and spent the next three or four days bragging to his acquaintances about how wonderful it was. Jane sniffed at it.
‘High time the magic flounder put him back in his hovel,’ she said to her mother.
‘He’ll do it come the finish,’ Mary Jerdon said. ‘Pride allus comes afore a fall. Isn’t it today we’re going to collect our Nat’s new jacket?’
New jacket, new trousers, new shirts, new boots, a whole wardrobe full of clothes, hats, socks, chemises, under breeches, pocket handkerchiefs, silk cravats – nothing had been left out for Jane had made her mind to have everything done to perfection, even though Nathaniel teased her for making such a fuss. Now that her son was leaving home, he was going to do it in style.
He left at the beginning of October, wearing his new brown frock coat, his new cream-coloured trousers and his new scarlet cravat and looking so handsome and so very like his father that she was near to tears just at the sight of him.
‘Write to me as soon as you can,’ she urged, as he and Toby were climbing aboard the Rugby train.
He stood in the doorway and looked down at her, grimacing and rolling his eyes to show her she was fussing. But Toby understood her anxiety and tried to reassure her.
‘I’ll look after him, Mrs Cartwright,’ he said. ‘He won’t come to any harm, I promise you, an’ he’ll write to you the minute he’s arrived or I’ll pull his ears for him.’
He may be aw’kard, Jane thought, and nowt to look at, but he has a good heart. I’ll say that for him. And he’s uncommon fond of our Nat.
He was also as good as his word. Nat’s first letter arrived the very next day to say that he and Toby had had an easy journey and were quite settled in. Their rooms were very grand, he said, they’d explored the college, met up with lots of others scholars and were looking forward to their new life. ‘Oxford,’ he wrote, ‘is a truly beautiful place. It’s old and settled and full of colleges, yet all contained within a single square mile. I’ve never seen anything to equal it. You and Pa must come and visit me and see it too. I know you will like it as much as I do. I will write again at the end of my first week and then I will have more to tell you.’
It was very reassuring. And although he didn’t write to her every week – she could hardly expect that – he wrote at regular intervals to tell her about his lecturers and his first tutorial and how he’d joined the debating society and the natural history society and had taken up rowing.
‘Now,’ Nathaniel said, ‘you can stop worrying. He’s settled in, he’s enjoying life, all’s well with the world.’
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘So it is.’
‘Which is just as well,’ her husband told her, ‘on account of I’ve to be in Sunderland and thereabouts for the next three weeks – or even four. Now I can leave with a stout heart and a clear conscience.’
That autumn was damp, dark and mise
rable. There were too many fogs to clog their lungs and reduce them to coughing, too many early morning mists to chill the day and their spirits, too many fires that wouldn’t take in the damp or smoked when the wind finally blew, too many runny noses, too many cold hands, too many feet stinging with chilblains.
‘We shall all be ill if this goes on,’ Mary Jerdon predicted. She’d taken a cold on her chest during the first thick fog and was finding it hard to shift. ‘I been hacking and coughing for three weeks now an’ I tell ’ee I’m sick to death of it.’
Jane tried to comfort her. ‘Better weather’s coming, Ma,’ she said. ‘Bound to be. It can’t keep on like this for ever. November’s allus foggy. We all know that.’
‘But not like this,’ her mother said. ‘Not on and on and on.’
Jane was glad that Mary had left school and was at home to help her, for when everyone else was coughing and spluttering she was blessedly healthy and even more blessedly cheerful. ‘Not to worry about Nanna,’ she said. ‘I’ll make a bread poultice for her. That’ll do the trick.’
But even she was worried when Toby Henderson’s letter came, particularly as her father was away working on some distant railway line out in the countryside and they couldn’t get in touch with him.
Toby had written extremely carefully so as not to alarm them but the message was too bad to be disguised. Nat was ill. He’d had a cold for several days but although Toby had nursed him ‘to the very best of my ability, I do assure you’, he had got steadily worse and was now, ‘so the doctor says’, suffering from congestion of the lungs. ‘I felt you should know,’ Toby wrote. ‘I am so sorry to be the bearer of such tidings.’
‘We must go there at once,’ Jane said, putting the letter beside her plate. ‘On the first train. Congestion of the lungs is serious. We must bring him home.’
Off the Rails Page 30
