The Hamiltons of Ballydown (28 page)

‘How thoughtful,’ she said. ‘He’ll run you back to the station for the last train far quicker than Dolly. It’ll give you longer.’

‘Sarah,’ said Hugh, coming into the kitchen behind her father. ‘I hear you know what’s happened.’

‘Mmm,’ she said, smiling at him, her mouth full. ‘I
hope
I’ve got good news. Let me go and wipe my fingers.’

As Rose lit the gas lamp Sarah spread out the pictures on the table. Hugh and John stared at them unblinking.

‘They’re very clear, Sarah, but I’m afraid I can’t see how they help,’ said Hugh steadily. ‘Especially the two of the burnt out engine house with the mill still burning.’

Sarah nodded and drank gratefully from her mug of tea.

‘Those aren’t the useful ones. These are,’ she declared, moving to one end of the kitchen table
where she’d lined up the pictures in the order in which she’d taken them.

‘This is the west end of the mill, before either of you got there, when the fire was just getting going and the first hose had failed.’

‘Look,’ she said, pointing to a fuzzy object in the foreground. ‘That’s the little decorative bit on the gable of the engine house. I just didn’t notice it in the picture I was so busy making sure I didn’t fall off the roof. If the fire
had
started in the engine house, I couldn’t have taken these pictures standing on its roof, could I?’

The two men looked at each other and then at Sarah.

‘I can’t see any two ways about that, Hugh. Can you? said her father, a slow smile spreading across his face.

‘I’ve had another thought,’ said Hugh quickly. ‘If the engine house
had
been on fire, the men would never have let Sarah anywhere near that end of the mill. How then could she have seen the wee lassie she brought out, if she hadn’t been able to look up at those end windows?’

‘Aye, now yer talking,’ said John gleefully. ‘We’ll away in an’ see yer man again in the mornin’.’

Rose and Sarah exchanged looks as Hugh sat down at the table and peered at the photographs again, his face slowly shedding its anxiety.

‘Well done, Sarah,’ he said quietly, looking up
at her. ‘I know your mother’s been praying for a miracle, but I wasn’t expecting it so soon,’ he said, finally managing to smile.

It was almost dark as he drove her back to the station, the untried headlights of the motor creating a strange tunnel effect on the familiar road. She knew he was exhausted and finding the road difficult in the dusk, but she suddenly felt shy of offering words of comfort and encouragement.

‘Shall I see you on Saturday?’ he asked calmly, as they stood on the platform, the train already approaching.

‘Yes, I’ll be home as usual.’

‘Can I pick you up?’

‘It’s too uncertain, Hugh. I may have to work all afternoon. Could we go and see the swans?’ she asked quickly, as the train stopped beside them and doors flung open around them.

‘Any time you want,’ he said, as she stepped in and he shut the door behind her.

She watched him standing under the yellowish light of the station lamps, a tall, composed figure, solitary now the platform had cleared of the new arrivals. She sat back in her seat when she could no longer wave to him and felt tears trickle down her face. In the empty carriage she didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

The only good thing about the days that followed Sarah’s hasty visit to Ballydown was the smile on Harry Carroll’s face when she told him that his enlargements might well resolve the insurance claim.

Harry wanted to hear the whole story, nodded his head vigorously when she told him about the pictures taken from the engine house roof. He added to the argument by reminding her that, if anyone tried to argue about the sequence in which she’d taken her pictures, she had the evidence of the negatives. She was not to let them out of her sight, he insisted, but she could show them the tiny numbers at the edge of the film that could in no way be interfered with.

The days were wearying, the effort of keeping her mind on her work a strain, the evenings were too short now to walk far and she was sleeping badly. All the time, she felt she was trying to resolve something that refused to shape itself. If only she knew what the problem was, she might have some chance of solving it.

Since the moment she’d emerged from the burning mill, she’d been sure Hugh loved her. Now she was equally sure she loved him. She loved him. Wanted to be with him. Wanted to share his life and whatever it might bring. As her mother had said, she felt
most herself
when she was with him. She was sure he would never own up to his feelings for her unless she made her feelings clear. But that seemed so difficult.

The only person who might be able to help her was her mother, but there was nothing to be done about that, until she went home again. She would simply have to be patient. To make matters worse she found out that Mrs Cheesman was attending a gala on Saturday afternoon and she would have to take charge of the bookings for portraits in her place.

‘Miss Hamilton, a moment, if you please.’

Sarah looked up from inserting a fresh plate into the main studio camera and found Mr Abernethy beaming down at her.

‘Ah, I see you are getting ready in good time,’ he said approvingly. ‘Miss Slater is not due till two o’clock, but it is always good to be well prepared. You are aware who Miss Slater is I am sure?’ he said, with that tone which made Sarah wish she never had to see the awful man again.

‘Miss Slater?’ she repeated calmly.

‘Yes, indeed. Her father is one of our best customers.
Alderman
Slater,’ he went on, clear now that further instruction was necessary. ‘A very flourishing provisions business. Opening new branches all the time. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he was to be our next Lord Mayor,’ he added gleefully, the pictures on the studio walls already rearranged in his head to accommodate this new and very prestigious portrait.

Sarah nodded and looked attentive. She
wondered why he didn’t go away now he’d made it clear this young woman was to be treated with special attention. No mistakes with spotlights to turn her into a witch, as Harry Carroll would say.

‘You appreciate, of course, by now the significance of the double booking,’ he continued, his eyes narrowing just a little.

‘Personal portrait, plus engagement portrait,’ she replied promptly.

The smile broadened.

‘Good. I shall bring Miss Slater up myself,’ he went on. ‘Then, at half past two, I shall send one of the young men up with her fiancé.’

To Sarah’s great relief he left, and she was able to go on making her preparations at her own speed, a part of her mind already counting the hours till she could get on that train and feel the miles begin to diminish between her and home.

‘Miss Slater, let me introduce Miss Hamilton,’ said Abernethy, with a bow to the skinny, but elegantly dressed, young woman he was escorting. ‘You may be a little surprised that I am not allowing myself the great privilege of taking your portrait myself, but, alas, times move on,’ he said, laughing jovially. ‘I have had to admit this young lady is more up-to-date than I. You may see for yourself what splendid portraits she produces. Like this one of Lady Cleeve. Charming isn’t it?’ he said, sweeping a hand towards one of Harry Carroll’s splendid
enlargements, double mounted and hung in an ornate gold frame.

Miss Slater nodded, mollified. Abernethy retreated and Sarah began work. Once she got behind a camera it wasn’t so bad. This was the part of the job she enjoyed, attempting to catch something of the person beyond the lens. Miss Slater did as she was asked and knew what she wanted when Sarah consulted her about angles and backgrounds. Beyond a habit of looking down her rather unfortunate nose, she behaved quite correctly. She saved her smiles for the camera, but did manage a ‘thank you’, when Sarah excused herself to take the plates to the darkroom and return with a fresh supply.

When she came back into the studio, Miss Slater’s fiancé had arrived. With his back to her, he was looking down at his intended who still sat on the carved wooden chair on which she’d chosen to be photographed.

The young man turned as he heard the rustle of her skirt.

‘Jamie,’ she cried, her heart leaping to her mouth.

‘Sarah.’

He stared at her in amazement while Miss Slater, her smile vanished, looked from one to the other.

‘James, you know this young woman?’ she asked sharply.

‘She’s my sister,’ he said, as he looked around
desperately for some way out of the situation.

‘But you told me your sister was married to someone in England, some Lord or other,’ she exclaimed, a horrified look on her face.

‘That’s quite true, Miss Slater,’ said Sarah quickly. ‘Lady Cleeve is James’s sister and mine. He hasn’t misinformed you. But it’s sometime since James and I have seen each other,’ she said soothingly. ‘All families have their upsets,’ she went on, amazed at her own calmness. ‘I’m afraid I badly upset James when I was
much
younger and he hasn’t been to see us since. I hoped he’d forgive me one day, but I never dreamt of meeting like this. I do apologise, it must be so upsetting for you,’ Sarah ended, smiling at them both.

Jamie managed a frosty smile and looked enormously relieved.

‘I must congratulate you, James,’ she said, beaming at him. ‘Now, I insist that you help me produce my best ever engagement portraits.’

Without waiting for further agreement, Sarah started work. She took her time with the settings, consulted them jointly about the backgrounds, took great pains to arrange Miss Slater’s hands to reveal becomingly the ring which James had brought with him. But under cover of her activity, she was thinking what she would do. By the time she’d finished she’d made up her mind.

‘There now, I think we have some good pictures,’
she said easily. ‘You do make a very nice couple,’ she added, as warmly as she could manage. ‘Miss Slater, could I beg a small favour? I should like to apologise to my brother for all the upset I’ve caused, but I’m somewhat embarrassed. Would you be so kind as to allow us a few minutes together?’

Put so graciously, Miss Slater could hardly refuse. She picked up her skirts, moved cautiously between the lamps and cables, paused at the door and said, ‘I shall wait in the Ladies Reception room. Five minutes only James, we
do
have another engagement,’ she said, as she shut the door behind her.

Now that she’d achieved her objective, Sarah hadn’t the slightest idea what she was going to say. The thought that she had a mere five minutes to try to resolve a situation that had existed for four years almost overwhelmed her.

‘When are you getting married, Jamie?’

‘James,’ he said, automatically.

‘I always did prefer James. Ma will be pleased. She’s always been so sorry they gave you a name you didn’t like.’

‘October,’ he said, ignoring her remark.

‘Goodness, so soon. Sam’s getting married in October as well. Two Hamiltons in one month,’ she went on, not knowing where she was going.

‘Are Ma and Da well?’ he asked, looking uncomfortable.

‘Yes, they’re well. Da’s a partner now and there was a big fire at Millbrook last week. It was a great anxiety, but it’s been sorted out now,’ she went on, studying his face.

He had looked pale and uneasy most of the time, except when he managed a determined smile for the camera, but behind the unease, there was a rigidness she’d not seen in him before.

‘Perhaps you could come and see them, James,’ she said quietly. ‘It was my fault you were so upset, but it’s they who have suffered. You’d be so welcome. And Miss Slater too.’

He shook his head.

‘No, Sarah, it wasn’t your fault,’ he said coolly. ‘If it was anyone’s fault that day it was Hannah. She wouldn’t stop rubbing it in about our Catholic relatives. Da was bad enough but she was worse. It’s not Da and Ma in themselves. There’s no way up the ladder for a man with handfuls of Catholic relatives, Land Leaguers and Redmondites. I made up my mind when I got my managership there’d be no going back.’

He took out his fob watch and looked at it meaningfully.

‘What about Ma?’ Sarah asked. ‘She loved you so.’

‘Long ago, Sarah, long ago. The world moves on. You’ll understand better when you’re older,’ he said, his tone unsufferably condescending as he moved towards the door.

‘Would you like me to say thank you for the shirts?’

‘What shirts?’

‘The ones she made for you and sent every Christmas until you moved and she had no address,’ she explained, her voice rising with her distress.

‘I’d forgotten,’ he said, his hand on the doorknob. ‘Yes, do that for me, Sarah. And good luck with the photography,’ he added, as he slipped through and closed it firmly behind him.

The evening train was crowded. There were many people like Sarah herself, going home to farmhouses in the countryside after a long working week in the city. There were others too, already free from their week’s work, heading for Hillsborough, or Dromore, or Banbridge, for some Saturday night entertainment. Couples sat together close enough to hold hands without being observed. Young men in stiff collars, like Peter Jackson, put down their newspapers and thought about a home cooked supper, a Sunday lie in, a walk in the lanes, listening to news of animals and fields, weather and prices, in the different world to which they were returning.

Sitting by a window, she stared unseeing at the passing landscape and saw no one in the crowded carriage. Her thoughts were all of Jamie. She turned over and over in her mind the brief conversation Miss Slater had granted. It didn’t give much hope. In fact, the more she considered it, the more sure she was it didn’t give any hope at all. Jamie had shut the
door of the studio behind him, just as he had shut the door on the Hamiltons of Ballydown, when he got his long-awaited managership.

‘He’d forgotten Ma’s lovely shirts,’ she said to herself, torn between sadness her mother’s loving gesture could be so rejected and her own anger that he’d become a person who could do such a thing.

She recalled the way he had stood behind Miss Slater’s chair, his carefully assumed posture both protective and possessive. The picture she’d composed for the camera lens was a picture of what he wanted. His every word, his every move, made it clear he had indeed made up his mind long ago and he had not the slightest intention of changing it. His final words to her, ‘Good luck with the photography,’ were said with a particular dismissiveness that told her he never wished, or expected, to lay eyes on her ever again.

She pulled out her bag from under her seat and took out a bright yellow envelope. Another bright yellow envelope. Only four days ago, she’d journeyed home on this same early evening train with just such an envelope but that one had held a cluster of pictures that brought hope and promised an end to anxiety.

She slid out the single print of the happy couple Harry had made for her. It was a good picture. Neither Mrs Cheesman nor Mr Abernethy would be able to find fault with it. Miss Slater seated, Jamie standing erect, the sharp figures nicely offset against
the drapes they’d chosen. She studied it carefully, pretending she herself had not taken it. What did it tell her about this couple and about this young man in particular? What could she guess at from Jamie’s poised, immaculate dress, his confident smile, his hand placed casually, but proprietorially, on the back of the carved chair.

She gazed at it for a long time in the golden light reflecting through the dust-streaked windows of the train. It confirmed all she’d read when she was face-to-face with her brother. She pushed it back into the black lined envelope and into her bag. The question now was what she did about it.

The station was crowded, but the moment she emerged from the booking hall, she spotted Hugh’s motor. Her father and Hugh himself were sitting watching the crowds that spilt out from the Belfast train. Hugh was the first to spot her and waved.

‘Hallo, Hugh, Hallo, Da. I wasn’t expecting to see either of you,’ she said smiling up at them.

‘Hop up there beside Hugh,’ said her father, getting down and taking her bag from her. ‘We were out at Millbrook and Hugh remembered the time. When you weren’t home by three, we knew you’d had to work on. We thought we’d save you a walk,’ he explained, as he settled himself in the back seat.

She sat back gratefully. The walk would have been pleasant on such a fine evening, but suddenly she felt very tired and very grateful to be riding
home. Hugh smiled at her, then gave his attention to weaving his way through the usual Saturday evening throng of carts and traps parked at random between the station and the Crozier monument.

‘Well,’ she said, as they cleared the town and the road opened before them. ‘What news? It can’t be bad, for Ma promised to write if it was.’

‘No, it’s not bad, Sarah. It’s as good as it can be,’ Hugh began. ‘They’re paying up. We’ve employed all our own men to clear the debris and the builders are starting on Monday. It’ll take Mackays six weeks to build and install the engines, but we’re going to hire portable ones for the east end and work half the mill on a double shift system,’ he said smiling broadly and looking pleased with himself. ‘Not my idea,’ he added, ‘but I do listen to my friends.’

‘So most families will have wages coming in,’ she replied, breathing a great sigh of relief.

‘All families,’ he declared, nodding, without taking his eyes from the road. ‘When the men finish clearing the debris, those still not needed in the mill are starting work on a small reservoir on the brook so we’ll never be short of water again. We might even attract a pair of swans, like Corbet Lough,’ he added, a strange, wistful note in his voice offsetting her pleasure in what he was saying.

‘Are ye sure ye won’t come in for a bite of supper, Hugh?’ John asked, as they stopped outside Ballydown.

She smiled encouragingly. After this long, hard week, it would be so good to share the whole story of the claim and the plans they’d made as soon as it was clear the worst was over, but she saw a look pass across Hugh’s face which meant he would not come. She felt sad, disappointed. Once more, after a short and happy meeting, she was to be deprived of his company.

‘Thank you, John, that would be very pleasant, but I’ve some contracts to go through, so they can be delivered by hand first thing on Monday.’

Suddenly, she remembered she had a job of her own to do this evening. With luck, when she and Hugh went down to look for the swans tomorrow, her mind would be clearer.

‘Well, well, so that’s the way of it, is it,’ John stated flatly.

Sarah looked from her father to her mother and wondered yet again if she’d done the right thing.

‘He didn’t ask for Sam or for Hannah, did he?’ said Rose, already turning over her careful account of the brief conversation in the studio.

Sarah shook her head.

‘And he’s James now again, is he?’ John asked, an edge of irritation in his voice.

‘Yes. Miss Slater didn’t seem to like Jamie at all from the look on her face, so I called him James. But when we were alone I called him Jamie and he corrected me.’

‘Did you not find out her first name, Sarah?’ her mother asked in turn. ‘Surely he didn’t call her Miss Slater?’

‘He didn’t call her anything. Not in front of me. I’ve a feeling he didn’t want me to know, now I come to think of it. He really didn’t want to give away anything. I’m sure if I’d had longer and asked more questions, he’d just have put me off.’

They sat in silence in front of the stove, the big kitchen filling with shadow though the light was still golden across the road in the field the Jacksons had rented for their cattle.

She searched her mind for any word or detail she might have missed, but there was nothing really to add to the simple account she’d given.

‘I do have one of the pictures I took of them. Harry did an extra one by mistake and I asked him for it. I’m not sure now whether it makes matters better or worse. I can’t throw it away till I’ve asked you.’

John said nothing and Rose studied his downcast face for many minutes before she replied.

‘Oh, I think we should see it, Sarah,’ she said quietly, giving her a reassuring glance which he failed to see.

She fetched the envelope from her bag, drew out the picture and handed it to her mother. She studied it coolly for a long minute and then passed it across to John without comment.

‘A well set up young man,’ he said, sharply. ‘If you diden know you’d never guess his Granda laboured tossing sheaves on a Galloway farm and went to Mass on Sunday,’ he went on bitterly. ‘Indeed, you’d hardly think his mother sewed wee babies’ dresses till her eyes ran red to keep him fed, and his wicked oul’ Uncle Sam that helped keep poor, evicted people from starvin’, spent a week’s wage to buy him an’ his brother the first books they iver had about steam engines.’

He handed the photograph back to Rose.

‘Aye, maybe he’ll end up a big man,’ he said nodding. ‘He has the brains for it. An’ he’s picked a girl to get him inta the right places. Sure he might end up on the Board of Harlands and be Sir James.’

He paused, a strange, grim expression on his face, so unlike him.

‘Wasn’t he lucky he had a good Ulster name like Hamilton?’ he continued at last. ‘Sure can’t he pretend he’s one of the Hamiltons of Clandeboye or Dufferin. He need never let on he’s only one of the Hamiltons of Ballydown.’

He got up and marched across the floor.

‘I’ll just away out an’ see to Dolly. I can’t mind if I left her any oats earlier,’ he announced, as he picked up his cap and disappeared round the side of the house.

‘Da’s very upset,’ said Sarah sadly.

‘Yes, he is. But he’ll be all right given a bit of time,’ her mother replied calmly.

‘Do you think I should just have torn up the photograph?’ she asked, still utterly distressed by the bleak look on her father’s face.

‘No, I think you did right,’ she replied firmly. ‘The only thing to do with a hurt is to face it. I faced my loss some time back when there was no word after the second Christmas. But your father has no way of coming to terms with something unless he can see it and touch it. It has to be there in front of him. It’s often that way with men. The photograph was a gift. It helped him do what I’ve already done,’ she ended, with a great sigh.

‘So you’ve really accepted it, Ma?’ she asked gently.

‘Yes, love. There’s never any use wasting time on regrets. There’s so much else more worth doing. But perhaps it’s easy for me. Remember Sarah, I might not have been here to see Jamie turn his back on us. Death would have spared me the hurt. But I’d rather have life. I’m so grateful for all I’ve got.’

Sarah got up and moved restlessly to look out the open door.

‘Will Da really be all right?’

‘Yes, he will. He’s hurt, but he knows he’s loved. Once the sharp sting passes, he’ll remember that and he’ll be fine again. Don’t worry, Sarah, he’s got over worse than this.’

Sarah glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was only just after eight o’clock.

‘Ma, there’s something I need to say to Hugh,’ she said quickly. ‘I know I’ll see him tomorrow, but I’m afraid of losing hold of it. Do you mind if I leave you for half an hour or so?’

To her great surprise, her mother smiled, her dark eyes springing back to life.

‘No time like the present, Sarah. I’ll see you later,’ she said encouragingly, as she caught up her cape from the hooks by the door.

At the bottom of the hill, Peter Jackson and his father were driving the cows back up to their pasture. She waved, but called no greeting, the quiet in her head was so fragile she felt she dare not risk disturbing it.

She walked quickly up the hill and down the avenue to Rathdrum, more aware of the scatter of yellowed leaves at her feet than of the clear sky now paling as the sun went west. There was no sign of Mrs Lappin in the kitchen or in her sitting room nearby, so she went down the hall to the dining room where the long, polished table was usually three-quarters covered with paper. She knocked gently.

‘Come in.’

Hugh was bent over his documents. He glanced up and looked startled, but reassured by her smile, he stood up and came towards her.

‘Sarah, what a nice surprise,’ he managed, recovering himself.

‘There was something I needed to ask you Hugh.’

He brought her a chair and placed it near to his own. She sat down without taking her eyes from his face.

‘I wanted to ask you if you ever feel lonely,’ she said, matter-of-factly.

‘Well, yes. Yes, of course I do.’

‘I’ve been wondering why you haven’t done anything about it.’

‘Should I have?’

‘No. There’s no requirement. But it’s a pity to be lonely if it’s not necessary.’

He looked around him awkwardly, surveying the piled up pieces of paper as if one of them might just contain the answer. They had always been direct with each other. Candour had come to Hugh from his Quaker upbringing. It had been a characteristic of Sarah ever since he had known her.

‘If I were twenty-six and not thirty-six, there might be a possibility of a solution,’ he said with an effort, the struggle to choose his words drawing out the lines of weariness the last anxious week had brought.

‘You’d marry?’

‘I’d risk a proposal.’

‘So why would it be a risk?’

‘Because I feel old and tired and the woman in question is young and energetic and has infinite possibilities in front of her. Besides, were I to propose
and be rejected, I would lose what is precious to me. It’s not worth that risk,’ he said, dropping his face in his hands.

‘Oh dear, you have had a bad week, haven’t you?’

He looked up and saw her smiling, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

He managed a feeble smile in response but said nothing.

‘I’ve had a rotten week too,’ she said softly. ‘I missed you. I wanted to be with you. I longed to be here helping you. I’ve been just as lonely. So what are we going to do about it?’

‘Sarah, are you saying you’d be willing to marry me?’

‘Yes, I think that’s the general drift of my thinking,’ she replied, in a light teasing tone. ‘It might be a good idea if you forgot about age, yours or mine, and just concentrated on friendship and love.’

‘And cherishing whatever time we have?’ he said, reaching for her hand.

His eyes wide with surprise, he found at last the words he needed.

‘Sarah, my dear love, will you marry me?’

‘Yes.’

‘As soon as possible?’

‘I have a half day next Friday,’ she said, her face straight for a few moments before she dissolved into laughter.

He stood up, gathered her into his arms and kissed her.

‘I really ought to ask your father’s permission,’ he said, hesitantly.

‘We could go and do that now, couldn’t we?’ she said, releasing him. ‘No time like the present, as the saying is,’ she added, thinking of her mother, who had finally shown her what she needed to do.