Off the Rails (15 page)

Jane snorted.

‘He means to build railways from one end of the kingdom to the other,’ Nathaniel went on, ‘and when ’tis done, ’twill change the entire country. There’s no doubt on it. As I told you, he’s a great man.’

Being opposed made Jane dogged. ‘Aye, I daresay,’ she said, pulling her nightgown over her head, ‘but that don’t give him leave to be cruel to his wife.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Jane,’ Nathaniel said and now his voice was stern. ‘’Tis unbecoming. He wasn’t cruel, he just didn’t have time to stay with her.
That’s all it was and that’s business, I’m afraid. The merger with the Leeds and Derby project is an important matter. If he’s to make it work he has to act quickly. She’ll have understood that.’

We’re quarrelling, Jane thought, and the thought made her shrink for they’d never quarrelled, not once in all the time they’d been married. But she couldn’t back down, not now, and especially as she knew she was right. ‘She shouldn’t have been asked to understand it,’ she said, standing her ground, her heart pounding. ‘He should have stayed with her and given her a bit of comfort. But no, he had to go rushing off the minute the service was done, when she was still weeping at the graveside. He couldn’t spare her five miserable minutes. You’d not leave me standing at a graveside, now would ’ee?’

‘That,’ he said crossly, ‘would be an entirely different matter. I am not Mr Hudson.’

‘That,’ she told him hotly, ‘would be exactly the same matter.’

‘Now look ’ee here,’ he said and now there was no doubt that he was angry with her for his face and his voice were hard. ‘This is a nonsense and it’s got to stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I know Mr Hudson every bit as well as you do,’ she said, fighting hard. ‘You seem to forget I was his housekeeper.’ And she was thinking, Besides being the mother of his child, although of course she couldn’t tell him that.

‘Housekeepers have most of their dealings with the mistress, not the master,’ he told her far too coldly. ‘I hardly need to tell you that. In any case I can’t have you going about saying detrimental things about Mr Hudson.’

‘I don’t go about …’ she tried. But he was pressing on, his anger growing as he spoke.

‘Even if you can’t accept that he’s a great man and above mere
domesticity
– although why that should be beyond you I can’t imagine and it does you no credit – you must remember that he is my employer. He pays me my wages – generously as you well know. He keeps this roof over our heads. You will oblige me by keeping a civil tongue in your head when you speak of him.’

‘But you don’t work for him now, do you?’ Jane said, trying to fight back, for really it was hideous to be scolded. ‘You work for the Leeds and Derby.’ But the words brought her up short and shamed. If Mr Hudson bought the Leeds and Derby, he
would
be their employer again. She put her hands over her mouth, acknowledging her mistake and not knowing what to say.

‘
Now
do you understand?’ he said.

She was crushed, defeated by her own lack of thought as much as his anger, lost in a sudden terrible misery because they were quarrelling and she
didn’t know how to put things right. There was nothing she could do but creep into bed and lie with her back towards him and pretend to go to sleep. But her thoughts were seething with the injustice of it and sleep was
impossible
, although she noticed that Nathaniel was asleep and breathing deeply and easily within minutes of getting into bed. In the end, she got up, put on her dressing gown and slippers and tiptoed out of the room, using the light of the moon to guide her as she didn’t think it would be sensible to light the gas in case she woke him up. Then she felt her way down the dark stairs until she reached the parlour, where she lit the gas, turned it down low and settled to think and brood in her own armchair before the empty hearth. It was all so unfair. She knew George Hudson a great deal better than Nathaniel, a great deal better than Lizzie, come to that, knew him better and understood him better and couldn’t say so, because that would mean explaining how and why and she’d lost the right to do that on the day she agreed to her cock-and-bull story about a husband lost at sea.

There was a soft shuffling noise outside the door and for a second she thought Nathaniel had woken and come down to find her and wondered what on earth they were going to say to one another. But the door opened, very gently, and the person who was standing in the doorway was Milly, bearing a candlestick, her face full of sympathy.

‘Couldn’t you sleep either?’ she said, walking to the fireside. ‘I been
a-tossing
and a-turning for hours thinking of him, poor little man.’

‘What time is it?’ Jane asked.

‘Half past three. Would ’ee like me to light the kitchen fire and make a pot of tea?’

Tea suddenly seemed a most agreeable, normal idea. So they went down to the kitchen warmly arm in arm, and Milly lit a taper from her candle and set fire to the kindling and they sat side by side waiting for the coal to take and the kettle to boil.

‘I’ve had a letter,’ Milly said, just a little too casually.

Jane was alerted by her daughter’s careful tone but she stayed calm. ‘Have ’ee?’

‘From Sarah,’ Milly said. ‘Lady Livingston as now is. I wrote to tell her about our Dickie and how sad we all were and she wrote back that very day. Wasn’t that kindly? I know you said she was catty about Mrs Hudson but she’s got a loving heart. Anyroad, I got her letter this morning only what with the funeral and everything I couldn’t tell ’ee about it. We had no time to talk, did we? ’Twere all weeping.’

‘Aye,’ Jane agreed sadly.

‘Howsomever,’ Milly said, ‘the letter brought me some good news. Leastways
I
think it’s good news and I hope you’ll think so too. We need
some good news, don’t ’ee think?’ She paused and looked at her mother for confirmation, her pretty face earnest in the firelight. ‘The long and the short of it is she’s offered me a job as governess to her two little girls. The boys are at Eton but she thinks the girls should have some schooling too. She says she thought of me as soon as she and Sir James started to discuss it, and he’s agreeable to it. What do ’ee think to that?’

Jane’s heart felt as if it was being crushed but she was careful to say the right thing because it was obvious that Milly liked the idea and wanted to accept. After all, she was eighteen now and a woman grown. She had a right to live her life in her own way. ‘I think you’d make a first-rate governess,’ she said, ‘if you’re sure that’s what you want to do. When would she want you to start?’

‘As soon as I can, so she said. She said she’d send the dog cart for me. They’re at Longfield Hall for the summer and ’tis no distance.’

The kettle began to whistle so Jane was rescued from having to say anything more and could busy herself mashing the tea. And by the time the tea had drawn and they’d poured that first sweet cup, she was in full control of herself and told Milly she thought it was a splendid idea and promised that they would go into town that afternoon, as ever was, and buy the material for a couple of new gowns. ‘You’ll need better clothes in Longfield Hall.’

Their shopping kept them happily busy – and out of Nathaniel’s way – all the next day. By dinner time the cloth had been bought, the patterns chosen and the seamstress instructed
and
they’d bought a reticule and ordered a fine pair of button boots.

‘Now,’ Jane said as they walked happily home in the sunshine, ‘we can tell Mr Cartwright your good news, what I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear.’

As he was, and not only because it was a step upwards for this
stepdaughter
of his but also because it gave them all something neutral to talk about over the mutton and made it possible for him to be kindly towards his poor Jane. Although he wouldn’t have admitted it, their row had upset him very much and he’d been worrying about it off and on all day while he worked at his plans and maps, trying to think of a way to put things right, for truly it was terrible to think how bitterly they’d spoken to one another. Now they could smile and agree, which was a first step, wasn’t it?

In fact it took them two days before they could recover from the blows they’d dealt one another and then their reconciliation came about more by instinct and accident than judgement. They were late to bed that night because they’d been hosting a supper party for four of Nathaniel’s
workmates
and the talk went on until well after midnight. By the time they
finally reached their bedroom, Jane was so tired she was drooping and yawning. Her weariness touched Nathaniel to gentleness and when she started to struggle with the buttons on the back of her dress he walked across the room and almost automatically began to undo them for her as he often did when she was tired. It was the first time he’d touched her since their quarrel and his touch made her feel as if she was melting. She turned in his arms and laid her head on his chest, like a child coming home. And then, of course, he could kiss her and tell her he loved her and she could kiss him back and weep a little.

But it was their first quarrel nevertheless and it left a shard of ice in her heart. From that moment on, she knew she couldn’t talk to him about George Hudson, no matter what unpleasant and selfish things that hideous gentleman might get up to – as, given his character, he undoubtedly would.

But for the moment Mr Hudson’s star was in the ascendant. He’d come home from his meetings with the chairman of the Leeds and Derby Railway cock-a-hoop because the merger was accomplished and all it now required was ratification by the shareholders. It was given at the end of May on the day after Lizzie’s sixth and last child had been born. On his father’s
instructions
he was called William and even though Lizzie had declared that she
knew
she would never love another baby, he was loved instantly and with her usual total passion.

So they went their separate ways, George to greater wealth, Milly to adventure in a great house, Lizzie to the renewed pleasures of motherhood and Jane to the private yearning of being parted from her firstborn.

M
ISS
M
ILLICENT
S
MITH
was given such a loving welcome at Longfield Hall that she felt instantly at home there, for the moment she was ushered into the parlour Lady Sarah sprang to her slippered feet and skimmed across the room to greet her.

‘Dumma-dumma!’ she said, catching Milly’s hands and holding them. ‘How good it is to see you.’ And she turned to the maid, who was watching open-mouthed. ‘We will take tea now, Robinson,’ she said, and led Milly
to the nearest armchair. ‘You would like tea, would you not, me dear? Mr Williams will see to your luggage.’

They took tea together almost as if they were equals and were soon talking of old times and exchanging family news.

‘The gels are visitin’ with their cousins,’ Lady Sarah said. ‘They’ll be here this evening for dinner, they and their cousins and Emma and Felix. It will be quite a family party, all of us together again after all these years. Sir Percival is in London so we can be as silly as we like. While the cat’s away the little mice play, don’t ye know.’

Milly thought of her mother and Mr Cartwright and how happy and easy they were with one another and wondered what sort of marriage it was that led her beautiful Sarah to say such a thing but she kept her counsel and asked no questions for that wouldn’t have been her place.

The family party arrived – in a grand carriage – as she was unpacking her clothes in her own bedroom alongside the schoolroom. She heard the crunch of the carriage wheels on the gravel and ran to the window at once to see them. There seemed to be a lot of children, five as far as she could make out, although it was difficult to count them because they were all running about and darting in and out of the house. Emma was as
recognizable
as Sarah had been with her pretty fair curls and her beautiful gown and there was a plump lady who looked as though she was a nursemaid and three others who were carrying cases into the house and were obviously servants. And while they were all running about and laughing and teasing, a fine young man rode up on a splendid bay horse. A footman and a groom appeared at once to greet him and take charge of the horse and the children all rushed at him as soon as his feet touched the gravel path, to cling about his legs and be tossed into the air. Felix, she thought, gazing down at him. It has to be. And how very handsome he is in his fine clothes.

The dinner party was as lively and confused as the arrival had been because it seemed to be totally disorganized. Emma rushed up to Milly at once to kiss her and tell her how glad she was to see her again, but there were no formal introductions and no order of entry. The family simply walked into the dining room together, and once they were settled at the table they all began to talk at once. After a while Milly worked out that the two little girls with the dark ringlets were her pupils and that they were called Arabella and Maria and that the other one with the fair curls like her mother was their cousin, as were the two little boys, who were a great deal less boisterous than the girls, which was rather a surprise. Felix sat in the midst of them and teased them and encouraged them to say outrageous things but otherwise said very little until they were waiting for the sweet to be served. Then he leant across the table to Milly and spoke to her directly for the first time.

‘My sisters are remiss not to have introduced us,’ he said. ‘My name is Felix. I am, as you have doubtless observed, related to these impossible
children
, whom I shall spank presently.’

His sisters shrieked with laughter at him. ‘Oh Felix!’ Sarah said. ‘My dear boy! You don’t know who you’re talking to, do you? It’s
Dumma-dumma
. Our dear Dumma-dumma.’

He was startled. ‘Well, I’ll be blowed!’ he said. ‘You might’ve told me. How was I to know?’

At which they laughed even more.

‘Is your name really Dumma-dumma?’ Arabella wanted to know.

Milly sent a quick eye-message to Sarah, who rescued her smoothly. ‘This lady is your new governess,’ she said. ‘I told you about her before you went a-visiting. And don’t tell me you don’t you remember. Her name is Miss Smith and that is what you will call her. Is that understood? We three are the only ones who are permitted to call her by her nickname. Ah! Here comes the pudding. Now sit up straight and I might let you have a mouthful.’

Arabella pouted and gave her mother a saucy look. She obviously knew she didn’t have to sit up straight or make any kind of effort to be fed to capacity and that she could do and say whatever she liked. ’Twill be a hard thing to make her mind, Milly thought. I wonder if she can read. I must consider my first move very carefully or she’s like to outwit me.

She thought about it for most of the night but when she went up to the schoolroom after breakfast the next morning she still hadn’t formed a sensible plan. It was a well-furnished room, with a round table and four wooden chairs where the children could work, a shelf full of books, a globe, slates and slate pencils, an abacus, even a pile of sketchbooks and box full of charcoal but the two little girls were sitting on the window seat staring down at the empty drive as if nothing in the room had anything to do with them. They barely turned their heads when she said good morning to them and the expression on their pretty faces was decidedly supercilious.

‘Well now,’ Milly said, sitting in one of the chairs and trying a smile, which they both sneered away from. ‘What do you usually do first thing in the morning?’

‘We don’t do anything,’ Arabella told her, speaking languidly.

‘That must be dull!’ Milly said, taking a sheet of paper from the pile and choosing a large stick of charcoal. She studied them carefully for a few seconds, while they went on staring out of the window, then she started to sketch them. It was completely silent in the room except for the tick of the clock and the scratch of the charcoal. Eventually Arabella was driven to speak.

‘We shan’t learn, you know,’ she said, looking defiantly at her new governess. ‘You’ll not be able to teach us. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink.’

She spoke so glibly that Milly knew she was quoting and that this was something she’d said to rather a lot of people. All her other governesses, like as not. ‘You’re learning already,’ she said calmly, ‘so that’s a nonsense.’

Arabella was rather taken aback by such an answer but she recovered quickly. ‘No, we’re not,’ she said stoutly. ‘You can’t make us.’

‘I don’t have to,’ Milly said, drawing a swirl of ringlets. ‘You’re learning all the same whether you will or no.’

That was such a puzzling answer that Arabella had to think about it. ‘No, we’re not,’ she said. And then after a pause. ‘What are we learning then? Show me that.’

Milly sketched for a few seconds before she looked up. Then she gave her answer straight into the child’s puzzled eyes. ‘You’re learning what I do when you’re rude to me,’ she said.

‘We’re ain’t rude.’

‘Oh, indeed you are,’ Milly said calmly, keeping her eyes on the sketch, ‘which is foolish, on account of I got things for you to do what you’d enjoy no end.’

Maria got down from the window seat and wandered towards the table, casually. ‘What sort of things?’ she said, trailing her fingers along the tabletop and looking sideways at the sketch.

‘Well, for a start,’ Milly said, pushing the pad towards her, equally
casually
, so that she could see the drawing more clearly, ‘I should like to go for a walk in your park, being as the sun’s a-shining.’

That was such an extraordinary suggestion that Maria’s mouth fell open. ‘A walk?’ she said. ‘Out in the park?’

‘Aye. Why not?’

‘We don’t go for walks in lesson time. Miss Fennimore never went for walks.’

‘I’m not Miss Fennimore,’ Milly told her, continuing with her sketch. ‘If you’d like to go for a walk that’s what we’ll do. All you’ve got to do is put your bonnets on.’

Surprised eye signals between the two girls and then Arabella took her sister by the hand and led her through the connecting door into their nursery. They were back in no time at all with bonnets on their heads.

‘Splendid,’ Milly said. ‘Now I’ll go and get my bonnet too and we’ll be off.’ And she slipped through into her own room, where she took her bonnet from its peg and, as an inspired afterthought, found her book of fairy stories and slipped that into her pocket.

Two minutes later they were running down the back stairs towards the kitchen garden and the sunshine.

Milly was very impressed by the Great Park and the girls enjoyed
themselves
showing her round. It was three times as big as the park at Foster Manor, with a huge kitchen garden and an ornamental garden that was full of bright flowers and fountains, and stables and a dairy with its own herd of milking cows and fields full of sheep and a lake so big it had a wooded island in the middle of it and a wonderful wilderness where wild flowers grew in abundance. There were also several grassy knolls which would be the ideal places for listening to stories.

‘I tell ’ee what,’ she said. ‘Let’s go up there and sit under that great tree and I’ll tell you a story. How would that be?’

‘We won’t have to read it, will we?’ Maria asked and her face was anxious.

‘No,’ Milly told her, gently.
‘I’m
going to read it. All you’ve got to do is sit alongside of me and listen. ’Tis a fine old story.’ And she took her
muchthumbed
book of fairy tales from her pocket and opened it at ‘Sleeping Beauty’.

‘Once upon a time,’
she read,
‘there lived a king and a queen who lacked but one thing to make them entirely happy. The king was young, handsome and wealthy; the queen had a nature as good and gentle as her face was beautiful.’

‘Like Mamma,’ Maria said.

‘And they adored one another, having married for love – which among kings and queens is not always the rule. Moreover they reigned over a kingdom at peace, and their people were devoted to them. What more, then, could they possibly want?’

They were caught, hooked in by the old easy magic of the tale, their eyes wide.

‘Go on,’ Maria urged and then, remembering her manners, she added, ‘if you please.’

So they sat in the shade and absorbed the story and were happy. And when it was finished and Milly had closed the book and put it back in her pocket, they stayed where they were.

‘You ain’t a bit like our other governesses,’ Arabella said at last.

‘Course not,’ Milly said. ‘On account of we’re all different. And I’m more different than most.’

‘They used to hit us with the ruler,’ Maria confided. ‘When we couldn’t read.’

Which accounts for a lot, Milly understood. ‘I don’t hit anyone,’ she said, smiling at the child, ‘ever, and certainly not a little girl. The idea!’

‘Not ever?’ Maria wanted to know.

‘Not ever.’

‘They never read us stories,’ Arabella told her.

‘Like as not, ‘Milly said. ‘I wager they didn’t play Bears either.’

Her pupils were so surprised they spoke with one voice, their blue eyes wide. ‘Bears?’

‘I’ll show you this afternoon,’ Milly said, ‘when you’ve shown me how to use that abacus. How’s that for a bargain?’ Much cheerful nodding. ‘But now we must be getting back to the house or we shall be late for your lunch.’

They scampered happily back to the house and after a little while, to Milly’s delight, Maria held her hand.

That afternoon she coaxed them to demonstrate how it was possible to add up using their abacus and then she played Bears with them for over an hour ‘because you’ve been such good girls’.

‘Shall we take another walk tomorrow?’ Arabella asked when their schoolday was over.

‘Oh, I think so, don’t you?’ Milly said.

‘And read another story?’

‘That too.’

‘Thanks to Mr Perrault’s fairy stories, I think I can be said to have won them over,’
she wrote to her mother after dinner that night. She was trying to be modest about it but, really, it was a triumph.

As the weeks passed by, Jane Cartwright read all her daughter’s lovely long letters twice and greedily. She was still miserable with the loss of her and seeing her writing so firm and clear on the page brought her close and made the pain of being apart less acute. When she’d read them through a second time, she passed them across the dinner table to Nathaniel, who read them attentively too, and said he was glad she was doing so well. But after he’d read the fifth letter, he set it to one side and looked at her seriously across the table.

‘I think you should read
my
letter now,’ he said and held it out to her.

It was from George Hudson with instructions that Mr Cartwright was to travel to Leeds at his earliest convenience where he was to meet up with the chairman of the old Leeds and Derby Railway, ‘which we have now taken over’, and receive instructions for the continuance of the new line.

Jane tried not to show how disappointed she was. ‘How long are you like to be away?’ she asked.

‘That I couldn’t say,’ he told her, ‘but how would it be if you were to accompany me?’

‘To Leeds?’

‘Aye.’

‘All that way?’

‘’Tis nowhere near as far as Whitby,’ he laughed. ‘Not by a long chalk and you managed that safely enough as I recall.’

‘But what about the children?’

‘Audrey will look after them,’ he said, and when she still hesitated, he decided to urge her a little. ‘Come with me, my dearest. I cannot promise you sea and sand but Leeds is a fair place. ’Tis my home town when all’s said and done. I should like to show you round for I know you would like it and here’s the chance come for us.’

So she agreed, feeling greatly daring, and they travelled by stagecoach two days later on a misty autumn morning, while Milly was walking her two pupils in Longfield Great Park, with a basket full of breadcrumbs to tempt the ducks on the lake and her book of fairy stories in her pocket.

Their walks had now become an established part of their day and one they all enjoyed – almost as much as playing Bears, which they did every afternoon, after they’d done their sums and their sketching. That afternoon was going to be particularly special because Uncle Felix was coming to ride with the hunt and he always came early enough to play Bears too – when he wasn’t talking to Miss Smith, which he did far too much, in Miss Arabella’s opinion. But when they got back to the house it was obvious that some great change had occurred for there were servants rushing about everywhere in a state of obvious agitation.