Authors: Jean Stubbs
‘Well,’ she said, attempting lightness again, ‘we have had a deal to do this evening, without fetching ourselves into the midst of it. Let it be, Jack. Good-night, and though you do not believe in God — God bless you.’
‘It is like dragging oneself naked across sharp stones,’ he said bitterly. ‘I should have stayed where I was with you.’
‘Believe me,’ said Charlotte, with difficulty, ‘you have not so much choice in the matter as you seem to imagine. Go now, Jack.’
At two in the morning, having tried in vain to sleep, the headmaster wrapped himself in an old and shabby mantle that he might not be recognised, and stole across the High Street to look at his lady’s window. It gleamed out upon the night, and he cursed himself for a stumbling fool to have upset her so. Why had he not said that he knew of the French practice, and that it was not faultless? That he feared to hazard her life and reputation and destroy her peace of mind? That it put yet more responsibility upon her who had more than enough already? But, he must burst out with some sarcastic remark calculated to keep her at a distance from him. Only, she had come closer than any, just the same. She was a part of him whether he liked it or not.
Ashamed of himself, then and now, he picked up a pebble and threw it as accurately as any of his schoolboys could against the window-pane.
Charlotte looked up, looked out. Then, shading the candlestick with her hand, she crept down the stairs of the sleeping house, and let him in.
Spring
1798
As the century drew to its turbulent close, William’s reputation still exceeded his capital while his profits continued to span the gulf. Gradually the bond between him and his partner had loosened: on William’s part with deliberation, on Caleb’s with regret. William retained his share of Belbrook, and his interest in the first foundry, while Caleb directed it and was backed by Quaker shareholders. The change had been peaceable, business went on as usual, the Scholeses’ network absorbed this traitor within their midst, but William had been registered as unreliable and could therefore expect no special favours.
At the far end of the valley the Snape ironworks devoured ore and coal, poured forth its liquid metal, belched smoke and flame, and roared by night and day for more fuel, while the sky was lit for miles around and the ears assaulted by noise. And as Snape expanded it grew nearer to Belbrook, for William continued to buy up or lease land and build upon it houses for officials, cottages for his workmen, another blast-furnace, another rolling-mill. He was mortgaged beyond reason, and yet, given money to clear one debt, would extend his business further and so contract another. He had survived the bank crisis of the previous year by sheer impudence, and an implicit belief in himself and his destiny. So far, neither had failed him.
Recently he had chosen and bought a new site for his house. Higher Cunshurst, midway between Belbrook and Snape, commanded a view of both foundries and the valleys on either side. Typically he said nothing of this until he could bring the architect and his plans to supper. Quincey House had palled on him long since, and his apologies were impatient as he cleared a space on the parlour table.
‘For we are all a-top of one another here!’ he cried. ‘And my good brother-in-law will be glad to see the back of us! Mollie! Lettie! Take these things away!’
‘Here, let me help thee, William,’ said Caleb, even-tempered. ‘Do not put the maids in a fluster. Zelah will be down again shortly, and Mr Field will not mind waiting over another glass of claret, I dare say.’
The architect was only a young man. He coloured up as though he had been at fault, and stammered an apology for nothing, clutching the plans to his best waistcoat.
‘The new baby demands a great deal of my wife’s attention,’ said William unnecessarily.
‘A very p-p-pleasant family,’ said Mr Field nervously, for he had met two-year-old Tabitha on her way to bed. ‘Did you say the new b-b-baby was a b-b-boy?’
‘A second daughter, sir. Mollie, you can leave the fruit. We need something to hold down the corners. Now, sir, spread out your plans and pin them with oranges!’
And his face smoothed as the latest vision unfolded.
‘There, what do you think of that, old friend?’ William cried, and put his arm round Caleb’s shoulders and drew him to the table.
‘Shall we not wait for Zelah?’ Caleb asked.
‘Oh, I do not mind going over the plans twice. She will be a while yet. Pray continue, Mr Field.’
Ellis Field was one of the many gifted young men whom William collected about him, and who rose with him: the new ironmaster being an excellent judge of character. This latest protegé looked more unlikely than most. His movements were jerky, his slight frame angular, his eyes protuberant, his speech halting. But as he expatiated over their joint dream his stammer disappeared and he used the plural ‘we’ in a confident manner. Caleb could not decide whether the architect meant himself and William, or whether he reverted to royal status when his work transcended the man.
‘At first,’ Ellis Field began, ‘we thought to crown the site with an Italianate mansion. See how commanding, how magnificent, would be this place upon the hill! Then, as we worked, the site imposed itself upon the house, and we saw that it must grow from the land, be a part of the place. We considered local stone, rejecting sandstone because of its coarse texture, its poor weathering quality and above all else its attraction to soot! For industry, my dear sirs, means smoke and grime. You would not thank us if she needed cleaning every few years! So we came to limestone, and one of them in particular which comes from the Ulverston neighbourhood, and when polished resembles marble — a superb stone. The roof to be made of Rossendale flags for harmony and strength. They do not care enough about appearances in this part of the country. Provided a building will keep out the rain they do not mind using ugly materials. How posterity will throw up its hands, my dear sirs! These harsh red bricks, these sombre slates and dreary stones … I digress. Ah, Mrs Howarth, you have missed my sermon and thus come at the right moment.’
He was so overjoyed at his project that he could even joke about it.
‘Zelah, see what we have to show you,’ said William eagerly, pulling her close to him and kissing her cheek.
He forgot that her baby had disturbed their meal and conversation, and made him irritable in consequence. And she, responding to his changed mood, became her honeyed self again, and forgave him for springing both guest and surprise upon her when she had but lately risen from childbed.
‘So, dear madam,’ Ellis Field continued, ‘we have our house of five bays and two and a half storeys. The porch with Ionic columns — unfluted, naturally. A pavilion at either side. You see how she commands the hill? Let us go indoors! We are ahead of our time in domestic appointments. There is a watercloset on each floor, fitted with the new trap so that one is not troubled by unpleasant odours. A room designed solely for bathing purposes … ’
‘Good heaven!’ said William, amazed, delighted.
‘ … The cesspool is set well away from the house, so that again one is not troubled,
et
cetera
. The kitchen is fitted with the latest and largest range — courtesy of Belbrook ironworks, my dear sirs — and we have running water throughout the house, heated by means of a boiler in the cellar — again by courtesy,
et
cetera
. Very modern. But!’ Here he held up his hand. ‘I pay tribute to both beauty and practicality, lady and gentlemen. Observe the beauty now. The golden mean is used throughout — the length just one and a half times the breadth. The height of the ceilings gives a sense of space and serenity. Matchless proportions! (Pardon me, if I put this sheet to the other end of the table. Ah, thank you, Mr Howarth.) Now we come to detail. Simple, elegant decoration. The baroque is quite charming. We do not quarrel with it. But it is a little too much. Observe our ceilings, our doorways, our fireplaces. Consummate grace! And here, Mrs Howarth, a touch, a hint, a mere nothing, but rather nice — the door at this end is curved to round the corner, which would otherwise be abrupt. You shall study these at your leisure, of course. I do but give a cursory survey.
‘And now the final suggestion. There she stands. An austere elegance without, a gracious elegance within. The marriage of strength and beauty. I cannot think that “The Grange” should be her name, though Mr Howarth mentioned this in passing. A grange is a country house or farming establishment. No, let her take her name from the place, as she has taken her form. Cunshurst means “The King’s Wood”. Shall we say — Kingswood Hall?’
They stood astonished at his eloquence, for he had found even the weather a laborious topic at supper. They stood silent before the vision.
Imagining the worst, the architect tumbled down to earth again, and cracked his knuckles one by one to comfort himself
‘Of c-c-course,’ he said feebly, ‘this is but the f-f-first draft … ’
‘It is the final draft!’ cried William, elated. ‘Marvellously conceived, Mr Field. And finer than I dreamed, sir!’
Even Caleb and Zelah, inclined to a Quakerish reticence, were warm with praise.
‘But how much will thee pay for such a mansion, William?’ Caleb asked, smoothing his long chin as his father did when confronted by a proposition.
‘Oh, what matter? If the war … ’ He had been about to say
if
the
war
goes
on
I
can
pay
for
anything
but altered this out of. consideration for their feelings. ‘If the war do not prevent me, I can start building at once. The site is already cleared.’
Zelah and Caleb exchanged glances. Neither of them had heard of the site before this evening.
‘The cost,’ murmured Mr Field, passing a scribbled note to William, ‘is, of course, subject to any price rise due to the war, but you hinted that I should not cheese-pare, Mr Howarth.’
‘It is not cheap,’ William agreed, looking sideways at a small fortune, ‘but only the best is good enough. Now, Zelah, are you satisfied?’
‘If thee can afford it, William,’ said Zelah cautiously, ‘but remember that after building it we must appoint it, and live in it.’
‘Aye, and think of heating this great place, William!’ said Caleb.
‘Servants both indoors and out,’ Zelah continued. ‘I see that the garden is left blank … ’
‘We plan to design that later,’ said William.
‘And unless these fine stables are for show … ’
Ellis Field had shrunk into himself, but William seemed to grow taller and more imposing. He spoke tenderly to Zelah now as though only the two of them were in the parlour.
‘Love, dost thee want the house?’ And as she hesitated, ‘I hurry thee on and give thee no time to think. Say what thee wants, Zelah. Thee shall have what thee wants, love. Mr Field can come again, another evening.’
‘Oh, c-c-certainly, M-m-m … ’
Zelah smiled on her husband, who had not courted her for a long time.
‘Mr Field,’ she asked gracefully, ‘would thee take me through the house and make me see it?’
Then the place grew round her, and she walked from room to room.
‘Oh, it is full of light,’ she cried suddenly, and laughed. ‘Here is my private parlour. And a room by the kitchen where I can do the flowers. And your dressing-mom, William. And nursery and schoolroom and children’s bedrooms all in one wing. Willie, we shall need twenty servants!’ She clasped his arm with both her hands, and gave her hurried little laugh again. ‘Willie, we cannot live here! We shall never afford it!’
‘But wouldst thee
like
to live in it, love?’ he insisted.
‘Oh, yes, Willie. I should like it more than anything.’
‘Then it is thine, Zelah, even as I promised thee,’ he said fondly, grandly. And in a different tone, incisively, ‘Mr Field, we begin building as soon as possible. I do not want the new century to be far advanced before we move into Kingswood Hall. Indeed, I should like to celebrate its turn with all my family about me, in that very place!’
‘But the t-t-time factor, my d-d-dear sir!’ stammered the architect, aghast.
‘My dear Mr Field,’ said William. ‘Money can buy time. Did you not know that?’
*
Autumn
1799
‘A bad harvest gone, and another hard winter to come, from what I can see,’ said Ned Howarth, standing at his parlour window. He thrust his hands deep into his breeches pockets. ‘Look at them rowan berries, Dorcas — aye, and look quick afore the birds nip them all off! We’st be snowed in again by Christmas, my lass. You’d best get old
Robinson
Cruses
out. You’ll be reading him to us when the nights draw in.’
Dorcas was casting up the farm accounts, which showed no great profit, and did not answer
him
directly.
Eventually she said, ‘We seem to stay much in the same place, Ned, financially. Some crops do well one year, and badly the next. A good season sets us up. A bad one pulls us down again. I had thought by this time we should have progressed.’
‘Nay, farming’s not like ironmastering,’ he answered. ‘Our work lasts one year at a time, and then starts all over again. But Kit’s Hill is better off by far than it were when we first wed, Dorcas. Thanks to thee for much of it. And we’ve never gone cold nor hungry, and we’ve got a roof over us head.’
‘Well, it is easier to think of ideas in a warm parlour than to carry them out in a cold field,’ she said fairly. ‘You do that harder part, Ned. And that reminds me. I wish you would leave the heavy work to Dick and the men. At four-and-seventy you should take life more comfortably than you do.’
‘Dorcas! If I’ve towd thee once I’ve towd thee a hundred times. Let me be, my
lass
. I know what I’m doing.’
‘But you should rest more,’ she persisted.
‘Rest?’ he cried scornfully. ‘How can I rest, my lass? I’m not like thee, able to pick up a book and wittle away the time. I’m all hands and no head, lass. I were brought up to work from morning to night, and that’s the way I’ll work ‘til I drop. So say nowt!’
She did say nothing more, but the line of her mouth showed disapproval, and she was obstinate enough to return to the argument another time. They were as intent upon each other now, in old age, as they had been in their youth and prime. Each strove to shield the other. She left her accounts and came over to the window, to slip her arm through his and watch the rooks tumbling in the wind above their ragged nests.