Off the Rails (10 page)

‘No, sir.’

‘Then you must dine wi’ me. No, no, I’ll not tek no for an answer and anyroad you’ll be doing me a kindness for otherwise I shall dine on my own, what I can’t abide. Mrs Hudson needs a deal of rest nowadays, d’ye see, being in the family way. We can talk railways over the roast.’

Which they did, at considerable length and to the accompaniment of large quantities of red wine, followed by a bottle of excellent brandy. Mr Cartwright felt as if his head was slipping sideways off his shoulders by the time the meal was over and he staggered as he rose from the table.

George was delighted. It always pleased him when he found someone who couldn’t hold his liquor as well as he could himself. It made him feel superior. He slapped his guest between the shoulder blades and roared with laughter at him. ‘We’ll take a turn in t’garden,’ he said. ‘Clear our heads. You can meet the wife. She’s allus in t’garden.’

She was lying in the hammock embedded in a mound of cushions, red in
the face, hugely fat and taking lemonade with her dear Jane who had carried it out into the garden not two minutes since. As George walked towards her along the path, she was squealing and flapping her hands at a swarm of wasps that were climbing up the side of her glass and buzzing round her head.

‘’Tis the plums!’ she cried as the two men drew near. ‘’Tis allus the same this time of year. They won’t leave me alone, dratted things.’ And she flapped her hands again as the wasps darted towards her. ‘Oh, go away do, for pity’s sake.’

George ignored her plight. ‘My love,’ he said, giving her his stern look and flicking a wasp away from his shirt front, ‘allow me to present Mr Cartwright, who has come to be my railway engineer and work on my railway.’ And when she’d recovered herself sufficiently to say that she was pleased to meet him, he then introduced Jane to Mr Cartwright, adding as an afterthought, ‘And this is my housekeeper, Mrs Smith.’

Mr Cartwright turned his head and gave Jane a decidedly conspiratorial smile as she looked up from the lemonade jug. And again that
extraordinary
sensation of being lifted off her feet. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘We’ve met.’

Lizzie caught the intonation and saw the smile and understood that something significant was going on between this new acquaintance and her Jane. She looked up at her husband to see whether he’d seen it too but he was much too full of himself to notice anything if it didn’t immediately concern him and had already turned away from her.

‘We’ll tek a turn through town, when you’ve cleared your head,’ he said, leading his guest towards the river at the end of the garden, ‘and I’ll show you the parcel of land I’ve bought for my railway. I’ll be glad of your opinion on’t.’

So they walked across the city, keeping up a brisk pace despite being jostled by the crowds, past the looming towers of the Minster and the higgledy-piggledy shops in Goodramgate, through Thursday market where the stalls stood empty, across the river and finally out through Micklegate Bar into the fields beyond the wall.

‘There ’tis,’ George Hudson said. ‘What do ’ee think?’

It was a large patch of scrubland that stretched west from the grass banks below the city wall and north to the towpath alongside the river and they had it almost entirely to themselves apart from a pair of black and white goats who were grazing the rough grasses and lifted their heads briefly to glare at them.

‘’Tis a good site,’ Mr Cartwright said. ‘Room for manoeuvre. Where do you intend your first railway to run to?’

‘South Milford for starters,’ George told him. ‘To give ’em a taste for it. And when that’s up and running profitable, Leeds and Selby.’

‘South by south-west to start with then.’

‘Aye. I’ll need a survey done and maps drawn up and such.’

‘When would you want me to start?’

The goats, sensing trouble, were walking away from them, dropping pellets of dung from under their flicking tails.

‘Next week. Would that suit ’ee?’

Mr Cartwright wanted to shout his delight at the question but he managed to answer it sensibly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That sounds reasonable. ’Twill take time though. It’s not a job to be rushed.’

‘Tek all t’time you need,’ George said expansively. ‘I’ve to find myself some shareholders afore we can start laying track.’

‘And then there’s the matter of my remuneration,’ Mr Cartwright said.

‘Double what the Stockton and Darlington Company paid ’ee,’ George said easily. ‘Would that suit?’ If his reputation was true, this man knew what he was about and was worth paying well.

It would suit admirably. ‘With a good wage I might rent myself a house of some kind,’ Mr Cartwright ventured, ‘while I’m at work hereabouts.’

‘Ask my housekeeper if that’s what you want,’ George advised. ‘She knows t’town like the back of her hand and she’s a sensible woman. Got a good head on her shoulders.’

‘Yes,’ Mr Cartwright said, finding it even more difficult to control his feelings, thinking of that good head and those sturdy shoulders. ‘I might do that.’

‘Or there’s my brother-in-law, a’ course,’ George said. ‘Not the brightest of young men, if truth be told, but he’s obliging and he’s grown up in the town since he wor a lad. Works at t’drapers in Goodramgate. Hudson and Nicholson. Tha can’t miss it.’ He pulled his fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and squinted at it in the sunlight. ‘Time to have us some tea, I think.’ And he looked up from his watch to grin at his new engineer. ‘Unless tha’d like summat stronger.’  

J
ANE
J
ERDON WAS
floating above the river in the sunshine, her feet barely touching the ground, her body as light as thistledown, as if she were flying, and Mr Cartwright was floating beside her, holding her hands,
smiling into her eyes – oh so tenderly – and telling her how much he loved her. ‘Yes,’ she was saying to him. ‘Yes, oh yes!’ It was a perfect, joyous moment, to love and be loved in return, but just as she was enjoying it, feeling full of wonder and happiness, never wanting it to stop, she became aware that there was somebody pulling at her arm. She twisted away,
irritated
by the intrusion. ‘No. Not now,’ she said. ‘Later.’ But the tugging went on and on. She couldn’t shake it off and the sun was right in her eyes, dazzling her, and Mr Cartwright was beginning to melt as though he was made of ice. ‘No. Not now. Please.’

‘Ma!’ Milly said, urgently. ‘Wake up. ’Tis the baby.’

Baby, Jane thought. What baby? There’s no baby here. Nor like to be. ’Twould fall in the river, poor little thing, and be drowned. But the river was disappearing and so was the sky and the grass was sliding from under her feet and swirling the last drifting shadow of her dear Mr Cartwright away and away and away. And she knew she was in bed and that there was a lighted candle on her bedside table shining into her eyes and that her daughter was shaking her arm.

‘She’s frightened to death, Ma,’ Milly said. ‘She’s been asking for ’ee this last half hour.’

Common sense returned. There was work to be done. She got up, put on her dressing gown and her slippers, lit her candle. ‘Have ’ee sent for Mrs Hardcastle?’ she asked.

‘Long since.’

‘Then go and wake Mrs Cadwallader and tell her we need a dish of gruel and a pot of good strong tea. There’s the key to the caddy. Plenty of sugar, tell her. She’ll need sustenance, poor woman.’

As they reached the second floor she could hear Lizzie sobbing. ‘I’m coming,’ she called. ‘Hold on! I’m coming.’ And she strode into the master bedroom on a breeze of urgency and compassion.

The bedclothes were tossed all over the floor, there was no sign of Mr Hudson, and Lizzie was rolling about on the bed, her face streaked with tears. ‘’Twill die,’ she wept. ‘I know it. As sure as fate. ’Twill die. I shall lose it.’

‘Die?’ Jane said trenchantly. ‘What sort of nonsense is that, wi’ me here to look out for ’ee and Mother Hardcastle on her way? ’Twill be a fine strong baby. You heard what she said. A fine strong baby. Now let me get ’ee comfy afore we have her here.’

‘Coming along lovely,’ the midwife said when she arrived. ‘Get this nice gruel inside you and build up your strength, for we shall have this one here in no time at all.’

In fact it was born a long two hours later when the sun had risen and the
room was washed with light, and it was another boy, small and extremely pale, but full of life, with a cap of very fair hair and a comically pained expression.

‘Where’s his father?’ Mrs Hardcastle wanted to know.

‘He went to the blue room,’ Lizzie said, not looking up from her new son’s now contented face. ‘He needs his sleep, do y’see, on account of all the important work he does.’

‘Does he so?’ Mrs Hardcastle said grimly. ‘Well, he can wake up betimes this morning, on account of we got summat even more important to tell him. Mrs Smith’ll rouse him, I’m certain sure. Won’t ’ee, Jane?’

‘’Twill be a pleasure,’ Jane said equally grimly. Why should he slug-abed when his poor wife’s been labouring all night? ‘I’ll do it now.’

She could hear her master snoring as she stood outside the blue room door. The sound irritated her, so she gave the door a sharp rap and walked in. He was lying on his back with his belly mounded before him and his mouth fallen open. Not a pretty sight, she thought, and spoke to it loudly.

‘Mr Hudson, wake up.’ And when he didn’t stir, she shouted her message again. ‘Wake up. You have a son. Which is the third you’ve fathered besides a daughter you don’t give a fig about.’

He turned on his side, grunting. ‘Whassat?’

‘A son,’ she told him firmly. ‘Just born, what I’ve no doubt you want to come and see.’

He groaned. ‘Is that all?’ he said. ‘Tell her I’ll be along presently – oh, and tell Cook to bring me up a pot of tea. Well, don’t just stand there. That’ll be all.’ Then he turned on his back again and closed his eyes.

Heartless pig, Jane thought, glaring at him. You don’t care about that poor little baby nor about my poor Lizzie. It’s just you, you, you all the time. Your sleep. Your money. Your railway. Your tea. And her long-held need to be revenged on him roared up in her as strong as it had ever been.

Nathaniel Cartwright arrived on Mr Hudson’s imposing doorstep at a little after ten o’clock that morning. He was clean shaven, dressed in his best clothes with a new cream-coloured cravat to set off the russet brown of his jacket and full of cheerful determination. As always, now that he’d made up his mind to do something, he couldn’t wait to get on with it. And what he was going to do was buy a house and propose to his delectable Mrs Smith. The sun was warm on the nape of his neck, there was a blackbird singing in the may tree in a garden across the street and no doubt in his mind at all.

‘Mr Cartwright,’ he said happily to the housemaid when she opened the door, ‘come to see your housekeeper.’

‘If you’ll just step inside and wait, sir,’ the housemaid said, opening the parlour door, ‘I’ll go up and tell her.’

He waited as patiently as he could, but it seemed an age before she arrived and then he was disappointed to see that she was hard at work for she wore a Holland apron and long Holland sleeves over her grey gown.

‘I’ve only got a minute,’ she said rather breathlessly. ‘I promised to be straight back.’

‘I’ve come at a bad time,’ he said, his heart sinking a little, and he gave her a slight bow by way of apology.

‘No, no,’ she said, reassuring him. ‘Quite the reverse. ’Tis the best of times. Mrs Hudson has just had her baby and what could be better than that? I would spend more time with you if I could, but I promised to stay with her.’

‘Naturally,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘That is quite understood. In that case I will call again this afternoon, if I may.’

‘I shall look forward to it,’ she said, which was nothing less than the truth.

And so will I, he thought, as he walked out of the house. It was a
disappointment
but only a temporary one. If she couldn’t advise him, there was always Mr Hudson’s brother-in-law.

He found the draper’s shop with no difficulty, for he vaguely
remembered
seeing it on his way to Monkgate, and there was the name helpfully printed above the window. Hudson and Nicholson. The door was open so he ducked his head under the lintel and went in.

There were two people in the shop, a fair-haired young man in a very
well-cut
blue jacket and an apprentice boy in poor-quality breeches and a crumpled waistcoat who was staggering towards the nearest counter carrying three fat rolls of cloth and grimacing as if the weight was too much for him.

‘How can I help you, sir?’ the young man said, ignoring the grimace.

‘Mr Nicholson?’

The young man gave a slight bow. ‘The same, sir.’

Nathaniel explained what he wanted.

‘I say,’ Richard Nicholson said. ‘What sport! And what luck! You’ve come at just the right time. I know just the place. Old Mr Melly’s got it. Been on his books for ages. It’s right by Bootham Bar. Lovely house. Spanking new. Just the style. Come and see it.’ And he turned to his
apprentice
, saying, ‘You can keep the shop, can’t you, Sam?’ and without waiting for an answer, disappeared into the office to collect his hat and cane. ‘That’s more like it,’ he said as he stepped through the door into the sunshine. ‘To tell ’ee true, a shop can be too much of a good thing when the sun’s shining. There are days when I can’t be doing with it.’

They strode off together along Goodramgate towards Low Petergate, scattering passers-by with their onrush, visited Mr Melly’s little office above the corn chandlers and were given the key. And then they were off again, this time heading for Bootham Bar, where the stones of the city wall were honeyed with sunshine and the Bar stood before them, humping its elderly shoulders as if it was disgruntled. Then through the archway and out into a grassy field and a quiet road, where there were three new houses, two in occupation and one plainly empty.

Nathaniel was taken with Shelton House as soon as he saw it. It was so modern and upright, with its fine door and its well-balanced windows. This new style is so elegant, he thought, as he approached it, and he was prepared to like it even before he’d set foot in the place. They explored it from the kitchen to the attic, telling one another what a fine place it was, admiring the dining room with its marble mantelpiece and its beautifully moulded ceiling – as good as Mr Hudson’s any day of the week – and climbing the easy rise of the stairs to the upper rooms, where the master bedroom was just right for his delectable Mrs Smith and then up again to the three small attic rooms that were the servants’ quarters. And they were just right too, for he was a gentleman now and his wife should have servants in a house this size.

‘I shall take it,’ he said as the two of them stepped out into the sunshine.

Richard Nicholson was locking the door. ‘What sport!’ he said, beaming at his new friend. ‘I say! Never thought I’d sell a house when I got up this morning an’ that’s a fact. This beats drudgery any day. Take my tip though. Don’t give him the asking price. You could beat him down by several pounds, if I’m any judge of it. Fifty at least.’

‘I shall bear that in mind,’ Nathaniel said, admiring the elegant frontage again.

‘You’ll be needing a solicitor,’ Richard told him. ‘I know just the man. Name of Leeman. George Leeman. Fine feller. He’ll see you right.’

Nathaniel knew his new friend was talking sense. He would certainly have to find a solicitor, but he couldn’t think about it at that moment. He was too busy trying to imagine how the face of his lady love would look when she heard what he’d done.

When Lizzie Hudson had fed her baby for the second time and had
satisfied
herself and Mrs Hardcastle that he really was taking enough milk to sustain him, she settled into her pillows and fell asleep, her plump arms lying heavily on the counterpane and her face smoothed with content. Jane stayed on in the room for a quarter of an hour just in case she woke again but by then it was plain that this was going to be a long sleep and that she
could leave the midwife on watch while she went back to the kitchen to attend to her own affairs. There was plenty to attend to, the soiled bed linen waiting in the copper for the laundry maid, fresh food to buy at the market, the usual evening meal to be cooked. And as if that weren’t enough, there was also the possibility that Mr Cartwright would come to see her again. While she’d been busy with the mistress and the baby she hadn’t given his morning visit much thought; now it pricked her mind with curiosity. He’d arrived because of something important. That much was obvious. The subdued excitement in him had been proof of that. Now she was itching to know what it was.

As she walked towards the larder to check supplies, her peculiar
early-morning
dream inched back into her mind and she was reminded that she’d been extremely foolish while she was asleep, thinking she could fly and that Mr Cartwright was telling her he loved her, and she told herself quite sharply that she really ought to take her thoughts in hand and try to check her stupidity. For that’s what it was. Just plain stupidity and it was folly to give in to it. But scolding herself didn’t help her at all, because it set her thinking. What if that odd excitement she’d noticed meant that he
was
thinking of proposing? It wasn’t at all likely when they’d only known each other for such a short time but what would she say if he did? It had been the oddest sort of day, so odd that anything seemed possible, and her dream certainly seemed to be pointing in that direction, so what if…? I
must
be sensible, she scolded herself, lifting the lid of the flour bin. I’m not a child. I’m a woman grown and a mother, what’s more, not a silly girl full of silly dreams but twenty-seven with a daughter who’s twelve and old enough to work. I ought to have more sense than to give in to fantasies. But the dream flew in and out of her head as she worked and she couldn’t get rid of it. She was so preoccupied that when young Sally appeared at her elbow to tell her that she had a visitor, she jumped as if she’d been bitten by a wasp.

‘Who is it?’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it, and failing.

‘’Tis that Mr Cartwright, Mrs Smith ma’am,’ Sally told her. ‘Him what come a-calling this morning, dratted man. D’you remember? We wor all that busy we wor fair wore out and why he should’ve come to plague us at a time like that I can’t for the life of me imagine. I’ve put him in the parlour.’ She was still ruffled by the unsuitability of that visit.

It was necessary to be calm and businesslike. Jane took off her apron and smoothed the skirt of her grey gown. ‘Go upstairs,’ she said, ‘and see whether Mrs Hudson is still sleeping. Tiptoe in, mind, and don’t go knocking on t’door. She needs her sleep. But if she’s awake and she wants to see me, come straight to the parlour and tell me.’

Then she went up the back staircase to see the man of her dream.

There was no doubt about his excitement now. He seemed to be twice the size he’d been in the morning, like a turkey-cock with his feathers fluffed out, and he was smiling like sunshine. He strode across the room towards her as soon as she set foot inside the door and took both her hands in his and held them and gave them a little shake. While he’d been waiting for her he’d convinced himself that he was going to break this news to her gradually and calmly, like a man of sense; now he couldn’t wait to tell her. ‘I’ve bought a house,’ he said. ‘What do you think of that?’

‘My dear heart alive,’ she said, gazing up at him. He really was
exceedingly
handsome