He waited, and then her voice a whisper she began, ‘The missis, she wants me to go with them to France for a holiday. Of course, it’s only to keep the bairns out of the way, I know, but she keeps tellin’ me that I won’t get the chance again . . .’
‘Who says you won’t get the chance again? They’re not the only ones who can go to France. You’re not goin’. You told her you’re not going? All right, all right, I’m not going to get me neb up about it, but you did tell her you weren’t goin’?’
‘I said I didn’t think you would hear of it.’
‘That’s right I won’t. And you can also tell her when you’re on, that you’re putting your notice in . . . Well now, the other thing?’ He waited.
‘I went the night to take a message to . . . to John George’s lass. She’s . . . she’s married.’
‘Married!’
‘Yes, to an old man, a widower with a grown-up family.’
It’s . . . it’s the best thing.’ She could hardly hear his voice but she was relieved that he had kept his promise and hadn’t gone for her for mentioning John George or his affairs. And now, a minute later, he was mumbling into her neck, ‘When he comes out I’ll set him up. I’ve . . . I’ve always meant to do something for him but now I can, I’ll set him up properly in something.’
‘Oh, Rory, Rory. Aw, that’s . . . that’s my Rory. I knew you would. Aw ta, thanks, lad, thanks. I’ll tell the missis the morrow straight out, I’ll tell her me husband’s put his foot down and said no France and that I’ll have to be givin’ in me notice shortly. Oh, Rory, Rory . . .’
In the middle of the night she was wakened by him crying out. His arms were flaying about and when she put her hand on his head it came away wet with sweat and she cried at him, ‘Rory! Rory! wake up,’ but he continued to thrash about in the bed, gabbling out words from which she could distinguish bits of the conversation that they’d had last night. ‘I’ll make it up to John George, I will, I will. I always meant to.’ Then he began to shout, ‘’Twas being shut in, ’twas being shut in.’
When she finally managed to wake him he spluttered, ‘What’s it? What’s-the-matter?’ Then putting his hand to his head, he added, I was dreamin’ . . . Was I talking?’
‘Just jabbering. It was all the excitement.’
‘Aye, yes,’ he said, ’all the excitement. By! I’m wringing.’
‘Yes, you are. Lie down, right down under the clothes here.’ She drew him towards her and held him closely, soothing him as if he were a child, until he went to sleep again.
5
On three afternoons and three evenings of each of the next three weeks Rory visited Mr Dryden, to be coached in the matter of accountancy and business management.
Mr Dryden had in his early years been in accountancy, and later had become a solicitors clerk, and the reports he gave to Miss Kean on the progress of his pupil were most encouraging. ‘He shows great acumen,’ he told her. ‘I think you have made a wise choice,’ he told her. But he also told his friends with a smirk that old Kean’s daughter had taken on a protege. ‘Ha! Ha! they said. Well, she wasn’t likely to get a husband, so she had to resort to a pastime. Yet, as some of them remarked, she ought to have known her place and picked her pastime from a grade higher than that of rent collectors, and this one by all accounts wasn’t a skin away from a common labouring man. If it wasn’t that the fellow was already married you could put another version to it, for as had already been demonstrated in one or two instances she was a strong-headed young woman who took little heed of people’s opinions. Look what she was like on committees. She had got herself talked about more than once for openly defying the male opinion. Of course, this was due to the type of education she’d been given. She had been sent away, hadn’t she? To the south somewhere, hadn’t she? That was her mother’s doing. So . . . well, what could you expect?
Rory was not unaware of Mr Dryden’s personal opinion of him. He gauged it in the condescending tone the old man used when speaking to him. But what did it matter, he could put up with that.
He was now receiving the handsome sum of twenty-five shillings a week, with the promise of it being raised when he should finally take over his duties. He’d had glimpses into what these would be during the past few days when he had seen the number of properties in Hexham and Gateshead, and the haberdashery and hatters shops that had been left by Grandfather Kean. All this besides the business old Kean himself had had on the side.
He became more and more amazed when he thought of what his late employer must have been worth. Yet never a night had he missed, winter or summer, coming to the office to pick up the takings, except when he was called away to visit his father. He had never, not to his knowledge, taken a holiday all the time he had been there, and yet he was rolling in money.
He wondered what she would be worth altogether. If she ever married, some man would come in for a packet. But apart from her not being the kind to take a man’s fancy he thought she was too independent to think that way. No one, he considered, could be as business-like as her without having the abilities of a man in her make-up . . .
It was Saturday morning and he had brought the takings from his two men—he thought of them as his now. She had allowed him to choose the-second man himself. This fellow was young and hadn’t done any rent collecting before but he had been to school continuously up till he was fourteen, and that was something to start on. Moreover, he was bright and eager and in need of work. He felt he had made a good choice. And he told her so. ‘Patterson’s doing well,’ he said. ‘Gettin’ round quickly. And so far he’s allowed nobody to take advantage of him, you know, soft-soap him.’
‘Good.’ She smiled at him from across the desk; then she said, ‘I would like you to accompany me to Hexham on Monday.’
‘Hexham?’ He moved his head downwards while keeping his eyes on her. ‘Very well.’ He sometimes omitted to say miss, but she had never pulled him up for it.
‘I think it’s time you saw the places you’re going to be responsible for.’
‘Aye, yes, of course.’ He’d have to stop himself saying aye.
‘By the way—’ she was still smiling at him—’I should like to come and see your boatyard. I’m very interested in it. I may be of some assistance in supplying freight—in a small way. Would this afternoon be convenient?’
He thought quickly. What was the place like, was it tidy? Was there any washing hanging about? No, Janie had cleared the ironing up last night and scrubbed out last thing.
He nodded at her, saying, ‘Yes, that’ll be all right with me. Me wife won’t be in because she works until four on a Saturday, she’s nursemaid at the Buckhams in Westoe, but you’ll be welcome to see . . .’
‘Your ! . . wife?’ The words came from deep within her chest and were separate as if they were strange and she had never spoken them before.
‘Yes. Yes, miss, me wife . . .’ His voice trailed off for he was amazed to see the colour flooding up over her face like a great blush.
‘I . . . I wasn’t aware that you were married, Mr Connor ! . . Since when?’
‘Well, well—’ he moved uneasily in the chair— ‘just recently, miss. I didn’t like to mention it to you at the time because the date was fixed for shortly after your father’s funeral. I couldn’t change it, but it didn’t seem proper to . . .’
Her eyes were shaded now as she looked down towards the desk and on to her hands which were lying flat on the blotter, one on each side of the ledger that he had placed before her. Her back was straight, her body looked rigid. She said coolly, ‘You should have informed me of your change of situation, Mr Connor.’
‘I . . . I didn’t think it was of any importance.’
‘No importance!’ She did not look at him, but now her eyes flicked over the table as if searching for some paper or other. ‘A married man cannot give the attention to business that the single man can, for instance, he hasn’t the time.’
‘Oh, I have all the time . . .’
‘Or the interest.’ She had raised her eyes to his now. The colour had seeped from her face leaving it moist and grey. This alters matters, Mr Connor.’
He stared at her, his voice gruff now as he said, ‘I don’t understand, I can’t see why.’
‘You can’t? Well then, if you can’t then I am mistaken in the intelligence I credited you with.’
His back was as straight as hers now, his face grim.
