"Wait, wait, wait!" John said. "Before we are all too hasty. Let us think now. This bridge, is it one of Brunel's favourites? Cast iron inside, brick out?"
"Yes. He doesn't trust cast iron alone. There's an iron stanchion inside each column of brick."
"What does it bed into?"
"Into the masonry pier."
"But your brick arches don't spring off the masonry. There seem to be two concrete plates at the springing line."
"Four. Two the other side."
John smiled. "Now we're getting there. The stanchion, of course, doesn't rest on the plates?"
"No!" Walter started scornfully but his voice quickly faded to a near-whisper of doubt. "No!" he repeated in quite a different tone. "Dear God, no."
"It's easy to misread the drawings."
"But they show quite clearly that the concrete plates are to be trimmed to let the base of the stanchion rest directly on the masonry."
"The old firm of Miss Read and Cocky Up. Why don't you employ a good contractor?"
"If the stanchion is bearing down on the corners of the plates, it would lift the brickwork enough to make a crack like that."
"We could put these two arches right for you."
Walter smiled, not accepting the offer. "But all the others were correct. I saw them trim the plates myself." He turned to Whiting. "When was this done? By the way, Mr. Stevenson, this is Mr. John Whiting, one of our engineer-apprentices."
"I'm honoured to meet you, Mr. Stevenson."
They shook hands and Whiting checked back through his log. "It was Thursday the eighteenth of July."
"Thursday!" Walter clenched his fist in annoyance. He resigned himself. "Well, at least we know how to take the load off. Whiting: back up in the bosun's chair and tell them to manhandle each train off, two by two, keeping the weight equal about that cracked column."
Whiting ran off but returned a moment later. "Sir, Mr. Stevenson's little boy is fallen asleep in the chair," he said.
"Oh, come on," John said with glee. "We'll serve him a trick."
They went stealthily to the chair and gave the signal rope two well-spaced pulls, meaning haul up. At once the chair began to soar toward the parapet of the bridge. Young John took a second or so to come awake, and then his eyes opened wide in terror as he saw the ground, his father, and the other two men all falling away from him at a dizzying speed. His jaws fell but he did not cry out. At the top, he vanished into a forest of knotted, sun-bronzed, tattooed arms as the men hauled him to safety; they cheered him and patted him on the head and shoulders, pleased at his bravery. Then John rang for him to come down again. He was thrilled and laughing as he sped toward the ground, checking at just the right height to leap off onto his father's shoulders. There, he took off John's tall hat and waved it in triumph to the navvies above, provoking a rousing cheer in return.
"You see, my boy," John said proudly. "It's courage wins the hearts of men. Never flinch, in pain or danger, and there's nothing you may not venture with men."
"May I draw the crack in the bridge for the Maran Hill Times, Papa?" he asked.
They left him sitting on the bank while John and Walter went to look at the other arches.
"They told me at Bath you'd be here today," John said.
"I was expecting Flynn," Walter replied. "Of course, I'm much happier it's you. It'll be better for you to talk direct to Alderman Proctor, rather than through Flynn. You must stay with us. I'll send word now. The boys will be thrilled."
"That's very kind, Thornton. There's three of us actually. I've brought Mrs. Cornelius."
Walter paused and looked at him almost as if he did not believe it. But all he said was, "She's never been to Bristol."
"She wants to talk to Mrs. Thornton about setting up this Bristol branch of the Female Rescue Society."
"Oh, lord!" Walter put a hand dramatically to his brow, the picture of despair. "Mrs. Thornton has written to me about it."
"Written?"
"Yes. It is too indelicate, she maintains, to be a topic of conversation between us. But she feels most strongly and is so determined. I have always found her a gentle, obedient, almost complaisant woman. Her insistence—and it is not too strong a word—is quite astonishing. Ever since little Lionel died."
"It is not ignoble work."
"That makes the decision more, not less, difficult." And when John kept his counsel, Walter added, "Tell me what you think. You'll see her tonight."
"Look, if it's at all difficult putting the three of us up at such short notice, I've taken rooms at the Montague."
"Wouldn't hear of it, old fellow. Say no more. Cancel them. Is that where Mrs. Cornelius is now?"
"No. We came in our own coach all the way from Hertfordshire. Young John says he's tired of going everywhere by train. He said he wanted to go by coach as in the olden time! Before the railways kill all the horses. Our dreams are their yawns."
"And their children's nightmares. Is that your coach? I'll wave in case she can see us."
There were no other cracks in the brickwork. John did some rapid calculation before he said, "Give my firm three weeks, and for nine hundred pounds, I'll write you a guarantee on that column. I'll guarantee any of the others for five hundred. Each."
Walter looked stunned. "You can't possibly do it for that. It'll cost ten times as much, even reusing the same materials."
"The offer stands."
"Done!" Walter shook his hand hastily, in case he changed his mind. "How can you rebuild in three weeks?"
"Who said rebuild? I'm going to bring a hydraulic injector down here and force in a slurry of roman cement till every brick weeps gray. In my view that should be standard practise with every bridge."
Walter closed his eyes and laughed silently. "I would have thought of that myself, of course. Given time!" Moments later he said, "But then your price is outrageous."
They were back near the bank now where Young John was sketching. John stopped. He took Walter by both shoulders and said to him solemnly: "Take the contract yourself, Thornton. I'll lend you the hydraulics free. And I'll promise you this: Every pound you come out under my estimate I'll match with a pound from my own purse. There! Only remember: You'll be writing the guarantee at the end of it."
Walter was almost tempted, but prudence won in the end. "No. We'll each stick to our own trades. I'll just go and pay my respects and extend my invitation to Mrs. Carey."
"Mrs. Who?"
He laughed. "I mean Mrs. Cornelius. Oh—this bridge has upset me." He ran ahead of them to the coach up on the turnpike.
"Why did you make that suggestion to Mr. Thornton, Papa?" Young John asked.
"Because I knew he'd refuse. He's a salaried man, not a free man like me—and like you will be one day. They're a different breed. They don't take risks. All they take is decisions."
"Could I stay here with Mr. Thornton today and come home with him this evening, if we are going to stay with them?"
"We'll ask."
When they reached the coach, Walter said he'd be delighted to take care of Young John. He asked to look at the sketch. He passed no comment but went off with the boy's hand in his saying, "Perseverance and dedication are the two keys in life, young fellow. Apply them to any purpose and you cannot fail."
"He's a kindly, good-natured man," John said to Sarah when they were on the move once more.
"He is not being very kindly to poor Arabella at the moment. She is quite desperately determined to begin with the Refuge and he simply will not believe her to be serious."
"Oh, I think he does. He was talking about it only a moment ago."
"What did he say?" Sarah was very eager.
"He asked me to give him my opinion, after seeing Mrs. Thornton."
She was delighted. "So you will be able to tell him to let her."
"I will do no such thing. Never come between man and wife." He was watching Sarah closely. "He's in quite a state about it already in my view. He called you Mrs. Carey!"
She did not even twitch. "Well, Arabella is also in a state. As you will see. She has spent two years collecting money in every conceivable manner. She has the support of her church and of several prominent ladies in St. Paul's parish and the out-parish of St. James's—and you know what high tone their district has. She has done everything a reasonable man could ask of his wife to prove herself in earnest. If he denies her much longer, he will regret it."
"I may make a remark or two in that direction. An unfulfilled wife is—"
"Wife or woman—it has nothing to do with that. It's an unfulfilled
person.
You'd be the same."
"I know more than a little about lack of fulfilment, Sarah." He was smiling, not to seem to reprimand her.
She sighed and smiled back, reaching across the carriage and patting his arm. "I'm sorry, John. But Walter Thornton's particular brand of arrogance toward Arabella has always made me boil."
"You don't know what part she played in building it."
"Oh!" She parodied a sort of smiling anger at him. "You are so—
laissez-faire
about people."
"Fair, I would prefer."
"I'll give you an example of his arrogance. Despite all she's done to give proof of her seriousness—and she has worked herself to the bone since Corinna was born last year; she's collected nearly two thousand pounds—despite that, he tells her she's just bored with society out there in Kingsdown. He says she just wants to be like Nora. He has an obsession that Nora's way of life is a constant threat to his own domestic comforts."
John was intrigued now, even though he knew that had been Sarah's intention. "What 'way of life'?"
She shook her head, bemused, as if to ask where one could begin. "Well, it's hardly a natural way for a woman to live, is it?"
"It's not
un
natural."
"No, no. It's just—Nora. It's unique. Thornton can't begin to comprehend it. Nor, incidentally, can our neighbours at Maran Hill. I've only lately begun to realize it."
"Do go on."
"Well…" Now that the topic was no longer so directly concerned with Walter Thornton, she relaxed and spoke more calmly. "I came to share your home in such a strange way that I, as it were, grew into the situation, accepting it as normal. And I love Nora now dearer than if she were a sister. But your neighbours loathe her—because, of course, they cannot understand her."
"What can they not understand? They've cut her ever since we came there. Except when hunting. They don't mind our four hundred a year subscription, so they'll tolerate her there—just."
"They don't, you know, John. They cut her even there. I used to think she was a saint of forgiveness, or very brave. But actually, she just doesn't notice—or is even rather pleased. When she goes hunting, she is interested in only one thing: the sport. The rest of the field might just as well not exist. Of course, it infuriates them."
John started to laugh. "I can imagine."
"And it infuriates them even more when they fail to call on her and fail to invite her—and she doesn't notice that either. It's so hard to snub someone who ignores you. Hetty Beador once told me that to watch Nora at a social gathering was a real study. She says nothing, listens to four conversations at once, watches everybody in turn with those sharp eyes of hers—until they feel ghastly. And that's it. Thank you for a splendid evening. I don't think it has ever once occurred to Nora that there is a whole way of life, called Society, which is going on around her all the time."
"It would bore her stiff."
"Oh, John!" Sarah laughed. "I think you're as bad as she is. It bores
everyone
stiff. That isn't the point."
"What is the point? I've lost it."
"We've strayed rather. The original point is that Arabella, after ten years of childbearing and Bristol society, wants to do more. She wants to stop being bored."
"She wants to be like Nora. So Thornton's right."
Sarah was patiently exasperated. "Not like Nora. Nothing to do with business or money or anything. It's still woman's work. You could say it's the supreme work for a woman—to rescue one's fallen sisters. It's hardly fit work for a man."
John made a noncommittal noise.
"And don't be deceived by her hospitality when we get there. I promise you, John, she is in a very wrought state."
He nodded and looked steadily out of the window.
"When she does begin," Sarah added, "I would take a few thousand of my capital to help start the Refuge—with your agreement, of course."
Still looking out of the window, he said, "All this—regardless of Thornton's desires?"
She was silent, forcing him to turn from the window. And when his eyes dwelled in hers, and hers in his, she said, "I'm more interested in Arabella's needs, and my own, than any desires Mr. Thornton may have."
"I am glad," he said, smiling until he made her smile too.
Chapter 53
Arabella asked Young John if he had a special prayer he would like to say. He, in his husky treble, mangling the metre, said: "'Lord preserve us through this night. Keep our souls unsullied white. Keep us from the sinful mire. Take us safely through the fire. To Thy cold eternal light. Amen.'"
She said it was beautiful and they must all be sure to learn it by tomorrow. "Now our last prayer," she said. The bowed heads bowed lower still. "Make us ever-mindful, Lord, that ere long our souls must stand in aweful judgement. And as when this darkness is o'er Thou willt unfailingly restore to us the light of day, renew then also Thine abiding grace, for without it we must shrink in dread of Thy wrath and certain fear of eternal damnation. Amen."