A Time Like No Other (39 page)

‘Susan and I intend to do that. Harry, who is not yet able to get out much, will advise us.’

Roly began to laugh, not a laugh of amusement but of derision. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as though at the woeful lunacy of women, especially these two, turning to face them both, the presence of Adam Elliott of no consequence. Suddenly his face showed nothing but cool hostility, his jaw muscles clenched tight, a hard shell that hid the true Roly Sinclair who, now that his chance had come, was about to snatch the prize and the authority he had always coveted. From the yard came the familiar clatter of men working, horses whinnying. A wind was rising and the sky above the roofline opposite was sketched in winter charcoal and Lally thought idly that it might snow again. As she watched Roly she wondered why it was she had never before seen this side of her brother-in-law, who had been her and Chris’s companion for so many years. He had always been, or seemed to have been, good-natured, easy-going, likeable, fun-loving, careless of the proprieties as they had been. When he left the school he and Chris attended, he had worked in the mill and had learned all the intricacies of worsted manufacturing but being the charming fellow he was his talents had lain in selling the cloth which he had done with great success. But it seemed he had always been ambitious and with no one to restrain him now he had involved himself in the management of the mills with what appeared to be an appetite for expansion and to become the man who commanded attention at the Piece Hall in Halifax. Harry had been known as a hard master, autocratic and shrewd, but fair. To ensure punctuality Harry had locked his gates at five thirty every morning, obliging latecomers to stand outside for an hour, considering the loss of earnings to be punishment enough. Lally had heard that Roly not only locked them out but fined them as well to make up for loss of profit. Harry had been approachable but it seemed Roly was not. He was concerned only with efficiency and profit. The only aspect of his business with which he was no longer familiar was running the machines which was why he had employed Adam Elliott.

She and Susan meant to keep the mills running as Harry had done and to that end Adam Elliott would be a godsend.

Roly turned on the engineer as though only just aware of his presence. ‘Right, Elliott, you and I will ride over to West Heath where I believe a carding machine is giving trouble. When I return I shall expect you two . . . ladies to have vacated my office and returned to your homes. I shall not—’

Lally’s voice was as sharp as the slivers of ice that had hung from the gutters of the mill. ‘Take your time, Roly. While you’re away Susan and I intend to study the account books, the order books, records, delivery dates, etc., indeed everything connected to the Sinclair mills. My housekeeper is being driven over from the Priory with our luncheon so we will be here all day, at least until four o’clock. I am to interview a governess for my children, since Susan, who has been helping in the schoolroom, will accompany me here each day. Now then, on your way out ask – what’s his name? – Hawkins, thank you, Mr Elliott, to fetch in the records.’

Adam fully expected her to say, ‘That will be all,’ to the slack-jawed Roly Sinclair but with an affectionate smile she turned to her companion who sat down and reached for some letters that lay on the desk and proceeded to open them. Adam noticed her hand was trembling.

When the door crashed to behind Roly both Susan and Lally slumped down in their chairs, their heads bowed, letting out long breaths they were scarcely aware they had been holding.

‘Oh, God, Susan . . . Oh, Jesus God . . . Oh, God in heaven . . .’

‘I never thought we’d get through it . . .’

‘I was convinced he was going to hit us and I believe he might if Mr Elliott had not been present.’

‘What will he do next, d’you think? He’ll not take this lying down. What will he do?’

‘Try to go and see Harry, I should think, since he’ll have no truck with women. He doesn’t know how Harry is . . . the state he’s in . . . that he’s not himself.’ Lally was near to tears.

‘Lass, lass, don’t upset thissen. There’s nothing he can do as things stand now. The mills belong to him and Mr Harry and until Mr Harry sells them to him or gets them legally split between the two of them, he can’t move on. Mr Roly, I mean. As long as he never finds out that Mr Harry’s . . . well, as he is, everything that happens will seem to come from him, Mr Harry, I mean. Now then, let’s get that old fool in the office to fetch in all the books, records of transactions, details of prices, lists of customers. The whole history of the mills since old Mr Sinclair’s time. And how about a cup of tea?’

It took them a moment or two to realise that Adam Elliott was still with them!

She sent Martin away and ordered her and Harry’s evening meal to be brought up to the bedroom where Jenny set it out on a table before the fire. She knew Martin was in the habit of encouraging Harry to feed himself, teaching him to use his fork, knife and spoon as one might teach a small child. Biddy had made soup a’ la julienne which contained carrots, turnips, onions, leeks, celery, lettuce, sorrel and chervil, butter and stock, a good heartening soup, for Biddy was of the opinion that what Mr Harry needed for a full recovery was building up with nourishing food. The kind Biddy prepared! The soup was followed by a rich steak, kidney and mushroom pie, the crust so flaky it melted on the tongue, the gravy made from the stock of shin of beef, another ‘building up’ dish. It was accompanied by mixed vegetables, home grown, of course, and potatoes mashed with butter. Then came charlotte russe made from ‘ladies fingers’ of sponge, whipped cream, sugar and wine and if that didn’t set him up nothing would, Biddy declared grimly.

He sat opposite Lally and obediently spooned the soup into his mouth. He ate delicately, carefully, prompted by Lally, then, when the soup was finished and the main dish was put in front of him by a watchful Jenny, and encouraged by his wife, he cleared his plate and to Lally’s surprise wiped his lips with the damask napkin Jenny had placed across his knee. It was as though the habit of good table manners bred in him as a boy still remained. He placed his knife and fork correctly in the centre of his plate and sat back.

To both the women’s amazement he smiled.

‘That was delicious. My compliments to the chef,’ just as though he were dining in a smart restaurant.

‘Oh sir, Mrs Stevens’ll be that pleased,’ Jenny twittered, while something lurched inside Lally’s breast. It was the first time he had spoken, at least in her presence and she was sure Martin would have told her if it had happened while he was in charge.

‘Wilta ’ave a taste of charlotte russe, sir?’ Jenny went on. ‘Mrs Stevens made it specially fer yer.’

She stood with the dessert ready to serve, her face in a huge beam for they were that fond of the master.

Immediately Harry looked confused. ‘I’m . . . not sure . . . Charlotte . . .’

‘Charlotte russe, sir. Try a bit. The bairns love it. Fer a treat, like.’

Lally held her breath.

‘The . . . the bairns?’

‘Aye, sir.’ But even Jenny could see that Mr Harry had slipped back from that crack in the door to his mind, closing it behind him. She looked enquiringly at Lally.

‘Serve it, Jenny, and then leave us, thank you.’

Jenny did as she was told then left the room to gallop down to the kitchen to tell them all that at last Mr Harry had spoken.

‘What did ’e say?’

‘Eeh, never . . .’

‘Thank the good Lord.’

‘I bet it were my soup. Put hairs on his chest that.’ And Froglet, who was in the kitchen on an errand for Barty delivering vegetables, ran excitedly to spread the word outside.

Lally finished her meal, drinking the coffee Jenny brought up, watching Harry sip his, before speaking.

‘Susan and I have been to High Clough today, Harry,’ she remarked casually as though it were no big event, leaning forward to stir the fire with the brass poker. She looked lovely, the fire’s glow enhancing the flush to her cheeks and the sapphire gleam to her eyes. ‘We were not made welcome by . . .’ Should she say his brother’s name? she agonised, then decided to plunge in, for might it not bring about some reaction which surely was better than this total breakdown of not only communication but Harry’s functioning. The wound to his head where a Weaver boot had kicked him must be well on the way to healing and though she didn’t know why some instinct was whispering to her that a direct confrontation might be worth chancing. It was a risk but to her it appeared that a shock, a sudden shock, might restore some of his mental reasoning.

He turned his head to look at her but his eyes were blank, clouded almost as though a mist were swirling in his head.

‘Roly was there and he was furious when I told him you were not prepared to sell him your share of the mills. I really think he might have laid hands on us if Mr Elliott had not been there. Oh, you don’t know of Mr Elliott, do you? He is an engineer employed by Roly to keep the machines running. He seems a decent fellow and with him and Susan to help me – she is pretty good with figures, you know, sharp and quick, and, of course, she is an experienced operative – we’ll manage until you are back on your feet and can tell Roly yourself to go to the devil.’

She waited patiently, hopefully, hopelessly as it turned out for him to respond, to speak again but he looked away indifferently, his eyes on the leaping red and orange and yellow of the flames which the poker had flared up. The clock ticked, a pretty boudoir clock of gilt and pale blue enamel flanked by a pair of matching candlesticks.

Lally sighed. ‘Well, I suppose I had better get to my bed if I’m to be up by five tomorrow morning. Susan and I intend to be at the gates each morning when the operatives arrive. I hate to call them ‘hands’ as Roly does. It sounds so demeaning. I shall work just as you did and if it’s all right with you, Harry, I shan’t close the gates to female latecomers. They have children to see to and I believe a little leeway must be given. Oh, and I intend to reopen the school and baby-minding scheme which Roly closed. I shall employ some suitable young woman to superintend both. I have engaged a Miss Phyllis Atkinson – I saw her earlier – as governess for Jamie and Alec and to help Dora in the nursery. She starts the day after tomorrow so Jenny and Clara can prepare a room for her. She is only twenty years old but seems sensible and cheerful and if she only teaches them the rudiments of reading and writing and their numbers, which Susan started, it will do until they go to the grammar school. Susan was with me when I interviewed her and agrees she will do nicely. We shall need her when we have five children in the nursery.’

She paused for a moment, staring pensively into the fire. ‘D’you know, Harry, it was a blessed day when you brought Susan into my life. I don’t know how I should manage without her. Oh, by the way, this weekend I intend riding over to Foxwell to see how Denny and Kate McGinley are getting on and their babies, of course. Cameron tells me we wouldn’t know the place. Denny and Sean are slowly rebuilding that ramshackle shed the Weavers called home. I often wonder what became of them all, especially those two thugs who . . . who attacked you.’

She shook herself as though throwing off old memories that were not pleasing to her, then stood up and, bending over, kissed him softly on the lips, surprised and pleased when his parted a little in response. ‘I’ll just slip up to the nursery and see the children and have a word with Susan. We’re to make a proper start in the morning on the sales records of the three mills. I won’t be long but, Harry, let me help you to undress tonight. I would like to if . . . if you don’t mind.’

She moved gracefully towards the bedroom door, her back to her husband and was not aware that as she opened it and went out his head turned and his eyes followed her.

25

They had known from the start that Roly would be difficult but neither of them could possibly have imagined that the description of ‘difficult’ should have been what Harry called ‘bloody-minded’. If there was a way to undermine what they tried to do he found it. He had declared his intention of buying Harry out. Both brothers had what was called ‘brass’ in Yorkshire, made over the years since they had run the business and, of course, what they had inherited from their father. Roly intended to divide the mills, in fact to conduct the business of manufacturing worsted yarn on his own terms, but when it came to the actual work of it somehow he was always elsewhere. He had been accustomed to the relatively glamorous task of selling the cloth, travelling in great luxury from city to city, country to country and doing so in style. Staying at the very best hotels, eating the best of the country’s cuisine, drinking the most expensive wines as he entertained the customers. He had never performed what anyone would consider a hard day’s work in his life. He had an office at South Royd, a desk, a portrait of his father on the wall, but what he actually did there when he was not travelling, no one could say. He was restless. The workers considered him too fine a gentleman to dirty his hands in the weaving sheds, unlike his brother. He rode to hounds, shot grouse and pheasant in season, drank brandy and claret in low company, associated with loose women and Lally and Susan hoped he would continue to do so, keeping out of their way.

He now had the prospect of unlimited cash at his disposal from his marriage to Anne Bracken, to which ceremony his family were not invited since the bride’s family did not wish to associate with a woman whose morals were, to say the least, lax. The rumour of her association with the bridegroom, who was not, of course, blamed, had soon got about as he had threatened, and he had begun to renew his efforts to enter the Priory to confront Harry. To
force
his way in if possible, for he was well aware – informed of the fact by his lawyer – that without his brother’s signature he could neither split the business into two parts nor buy Harry’s share, but Lally had warned Jenny that she was to summon Carly and Martin, who was a big strong chap, the moment Mr Roly showed himself at the front door. He was not on any account to be allowed into the master’s bedroom where Harry sat staring blankly out of the window. If Roly found out his brother’s true condition he would immediately take steps to have him declared incompetent, of that there was no doubt.