The Iron Master (24 page)

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4th
day
,
2nd
month
,
18th
,
1795

My
dear
Dorcas
,

We
have
a
Black
Fast
this
morning
,
with
a
Cruel
Easterly
Wind
!
The
poor
Birds
lie
Dead
in
the
park
,
tho’
Zelah
path
them
Feeding
almost
from
her
Hand
and
Strives
to
keep
all
Alive
in
this
Wicked
Winter
Dear
Friend
,
I
cannot
let
my
Child
be
Joined
with
her
Husband
and
be
not
there
to
see
it
.
My
own
dear
Husband
thinks
that
if
we
do
not
Attend
the
Ceremony
but
come
to
the
Wedding
Dinner
this
will
be
accounted
sufficient
by
the
Society
of
Friends
.
Let
us
Pray
so
,
else
shall
I
break
my
Heart
!
We
shd
be
a
Great
Party
,
for
I
do
not
Doubt
that
Mary
and
her
Husband
will
Join us and if their
Younger
Children
are
Coming
then
there
will
be
the
Elder
Grandchildren
.
Dear
Friend
,
I
shall
not
Weary
thee
with
a
List
of
them
,
but
if
thou
wilt
Engage
the
Largest
and
most
Respectable
Inn
in
Millbridge
we
promise
to
Fill
it
for
the
Wedding
!
We
shall
be
travelling
in
our
own
Carriages
,
and
of
course
we
shall
be
very
Circumspect
—
not
thinking
to
Play
the
Host
or
otherwise
Disagree
in any
way
with
thine
own
Arrangements
.
Only
,
dear
Dorcas
,
may
we
Visit
with
thee
,
then
?
Thy
Friend
Catherine
.

‘Ned!’ cried Dorcas triumphantly from the parlour. ‘Please to call in at The Royal George and enquire as to the number of rooms. The ironmaster will attend the wedding!’

It was one of the sweetest moments in her life. But now they must consider the date. Usually a marriage took place within the month, but the winter was such a terrible one that even the Prince of Wales’s bride was forced to wait on the other side of the Channel, the navy being unable to put to sea on her account. The Scholes family inclined to a summer wedding, considering this a pleasanter season to travel the country.

… but, dearest Friend, [Dorcas wrote] we cannot consider it at the Farm, for in June we have the hay harvest — if Harvest there be, after so much Cold and Wet! — and the Sheep-shearing, and the Feeding on both Occasions. In July and August we are greatly Concerned with Crops and Stock, and the Grain harvest and Mel Supper and Lammastide. Indeed, Autumn would be the Best Time but William Chafes so at the delay that I dare not suggest it! Then, tho’ I do not bow to Superstition, there wd be an Outcry if the wedding was to fall in the month of May, and a Similar Chorus if it were to Take Place during Lent. Betwixt Christian and Pagan Niceties, we are come upon the last week in April when we shall Offend Nobody! But what of the Day? Monday will be Fair Day in Millbridge, and Saturday is Market Day, and both of them in an Uproar. Moreover, you will Wish to be within Reach of a Meeting-house for yr Sunday Worship, and the nearest I know of is at Rawtenstall, which is above Twenty Mile from here. Dear Friend, shall Our Children ever Wed? …

Lawyers drew up the marriage settlement. Seamstresses sat in hillocks of linen and lawn and cambric, of silk and satin and fine cotton, stitching the trunkfuls of fine clothes which the bride would take with her: a dozen of everything to dad her from morning to night, and the handkerchiefs embroidered with her new initials, and six pair of silk stockings. At Belbrook the farm was re-named Quincey Place, after the original Norman owner. In spite of the cold weather, Dorcas and Charlotte drove themselves on, and their workmen even hoped to finish the outside painting before Easter.

Nellie, housekeeper of Kit’s Hill, and her niece Sally in Millbridge were given the bill of fare for the banquet. With wheat at an exorbitant price because of the war, parsley at two shillings the ounce, and everything hard to come by, they worked out amounts and costs for the campaign ahead, called up a troop of minor assistants, and allotted tasks from master to the youngest lad who scared crows. Snares were set for rabbits and hares, geese and ducks and chickens had their necks wrung, hams were cured, an ox set up for roasting, sheep slaughtered. In the dairy, cheeses ripened, butter was stacked. Syllabub would be made fresh in the milking-pails, jellies were set in fanciful moulds, cheesecakes and fruit tarts and custards piled in tiers on the larder shelves. The new ice-house, which stood behind the farm like a giant beehive, was filled from floor to ceiling, and they thanked God for it.

The ironmaster graciously sent up two cases of fine foreign wines. From Kit’s Hill cellar came casks of home-brewed beer, strong and mellow. From Thornton House came bottles of home-made wine: damson, elderflower, cowslip and blackberry. But with the wedding list now reaching enormous proportions, and the Scholes’s party overflowing The Royal George, Ned arranged for The Woolpack in Garth to remain open from morning to evening of the day at his own expense, so that this giant thirst might be truly slaked.

For four days both households baked bread and stored it. For the whole of one day Sally Sidebottom hand-raised, baked and glazed a tableful of meat pies: each one a work of country art, crowned by a brown shining wreath of pastry fruit and leaves, and wine jelly poured into the centre-hole by means of a narrow-spouted jug, and left to set.

Garth, always pinched by poverty, now ground by starvation, looked to Kit’s Hill for invitations to fill their bellies with food and their mouths with loud rejoicing. Lord Kersall, condescending to wealth and industry, invited himself to a supper-party with the ironmaster at The Royal George the evening before the wedding, and brought with him a most handsome set of silver cutlery, but declined an invitation to the feast. While the ladies of Millbridge, who had been so difficult to please during William’s long and curious engagement, were now wholly devoid of criticism in their anxiety to attend the most interesting union Wyndendale had beheld in years.

On the last Wednesday in April 1795 both households were astir by five o’clock in the morning, though the bride stayed abed until seven. Tom the carter took his breakfast of ale and bread and cheese with him, drove the big wagon into Millbridge to collect the last of Sally’s contributions, and helped to unload. A host of voluntary servants was busy about the house and barn at Kit’s Hill, setting up tables and laying them. Cutlery and china had been borrowed from every farm on the fells. Linen cupboards stood empty. Garlands of flowers hung from ceilings and graced trestles. Wicker baskets stood at intervals by the walls, filled with bread and bottles of wine.

Here was Ned in his best blue suit, looking uncomfortably splendid; and Dorcas in gold brocade with blond lace on her silk hat; and Dick a young edition of his father and twice as uncomfortable, but the handsomest bachelor in Garth; and all the servants in new clothes. Caleb and William had not arrived back until the early hours, and were sleeping off the effects of a lavish drinking session. There had been some difficulty over the duty of giving away the bride, since the ironmaster was forbidden to do any such thing, and young Caleb was acting as groom’s man. But Dorcas suggested Ned, who offered no objection, so that was settled. Indeed, Dorcas thought, looking at their preparations with considerable satisfaction, anything could be settled if one used common sense. Though she had found that sense to be rarer than its name supposed.

‘Well, it’s no good standing round doing nowt,’ said Ned, tapping the long clock in the parlour. ‘Let’s broach one of them casks of beer and see how it’s kept!’

*

At Thornton House they were all in tears. Catherine had come over to dress her daughter for the wedding, which accounted for her state of emotion. Then William had sent a child’s basket of primroses to Zelah, with a lover’s note tucked in their heart, which set the bride weeping. Charlotte felt the contrast between this family festival and her own hurried and meagre nuptials, and Phoebe cried because she had never been married at all.

They were saved by the appearance of Ironmaster Scholes, gold time-piece in hand, to announce that the hour was well advanced and they would be late if they did not dry their eyes at once. So the stately progress from Millbridge began, with folk standing on the pavements and peeping from windows, waving handkerchiefs and calling good wishes, as the line of carriages rolled down the High Street-promptly on the stroke of nine. First came the great Caleb Scholes, with Catherine and their three youngest children, and the giant bride-cake baked at Somer Court having a seat to itself. Then their married children and elder grand-children, an aunt or two of liberal mind and persuasion, and a sprinkling of close cousins: all soberly but elegantly dressed, plain and expensive as became their state in life.

*

At Belbrook William and Caleb’s chief workmen climbed into Tom’s big wagon, while their lesser fellows marched two or three abreast down the road to Garth, to watch the ceremony and hang upon the outskirts of the feast, until plenty itself bade them join in.

Garth was garlanded from steeple to cow-shed, and as the first guests drove into the village they were cheered by a contingent of hopeful children. Gravely bowed the ironmaster, courteous to all, rich or poor. And Joe Eccles the blacksmith, who was to fire the anvil when bride and groom left the church, was so overcome by the grandeur of the occasion that he let fall his hammer too soon, and the discharge of gunpowder made the horses start. The Scholeses had been advised to leave their carriages below, since Garth Lane was never meant for fine transport. Fortunately the weather was holding, so the entire party mounted by foot to Kit’s Hill in the most splendid crowd imaginable, and all smiling and talking — as Jacob Burscough remarked — ‘Just like other folk do!’

A little flurry rose in Dorcas’s heart as they met, but in Catherine she recognised the friend of her long correspondence, and both ladies succumbed to the second weep of the day. While Ned, who treated everyone alike, whether king or commoner, offered the ironmaster a mug of beer, which was accepted.

An hour behind everyone else, so that the company might arrive at church together, came the bride’s carriage bringing Zelah, Charlotte, Phoebe and the two children. Agnes was too feeble to leave her bed, but Sally rode on the crupper of her father’s horse, and he set the gelding to a canter and overtook the bride’s party in no time. As Zelah approached Coldcote she heard the first peal of bells ring out from St John’s Church, and now the sun shone upon her as though Dorcas had ordered his presence at that precise moment. She lifted her face to the warmth and light, smiling.