Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

‘I’ll send Edwin at once.’ Adam inclined his head towards his son. ‘Off you go, my boy, and make it fast. We have no time to lose apparently.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Edwin said, and left.

‘Where are the other men, Clive? And how are they?’

‘Violet’s patching them up in Wilson’s office. They’re not too badly hurt. First-degree burns, that’s all. They will all be fine in a day or so.’

‘Will Jack Harte live?’ asked Adam, sitting down behind his desk wearily, a serious expression clouding his face.

‘Yes, I think so. But to be honest with you, Adam, it’s hard to tell. I don’t know if there are any internal injuries yet. Edwin told me that one of the large bales fell on Harte. He also inhaled a lot of smoke and the heat from that scorches the lungs. I think one lung has possibly already collapsed.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Adam exclaimed, and passed his hand over his eyes. ‘You don’t sound too hopeful.’

‘He’s a strong man, Adam. I’m hoping we can pull him through.’ Clive gave Adam a sympathetic smile. ‘Try not to worry, old chap. After all, it wasn’t your fault. You’re lucky the casualties are so few.’

Adam sighed. ‘I know. But that could easily have been Edwin lying there in that condition, Clive. He did save Edwin’s life, you know. And at the risk of his own. Jack Harte performed an act of such dauntless courage I’ll never forget it. He was fearless and unselfish.’ Adam’s grey-blue eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. ‘You don’t find many men like Jack Harte in this world.’

Clive straightened up and his gaze rested on Adam, quietly intense. ‘I know. He was always a bit different, wasn’t he? But we’ll fight for him, Adam. I promise you that.’

‘All medical bills to me, Clive, for Harte and the other men. And instruct the hospital he has to have the very best of care. Spare no expense and don’t put him in a general ward. I want a private room for him, and whatever else he needs he’s to have.’

There was a light tapping on the door. ‘Come in,’ Adam called. The door opened and one of the bobbin liggers, covered in grime and dirt, stood in the entrance nervously. Adam looked at him in surprise.

‘Yes, son, what is it?’

The boy hesitated. ‘It’s about me dad,’ he said, looking over at Jack, his lips trembling. ‘Is he-is he?’ he began tremulously, tears brimming into his eyes.

Adam leapt up and strode across the floor. He brought the boy into the room gently, putting his arm around his shoulders.

‘It’s Frank, Jack’s son, sir,’ Eddie volunteered from his stance at the window.

‘Come along, Frank,’ Adam said softly, his arm still encircling the boy’s shoulders. Tears rolled down Frank’s face as he stood staring at his father. ‘Is he dead?’ he finally managed to say in a choked voice.

‘Of course he isn’t, Frank,’ Adam reassured him with the utmost gentleness. ‘He has been badly injured, I won’t lie to you about that. But Dr Mac has made him comfortable and as soon as my carriage arrives we are going to transport him to the hospital in the valley. He will get the very best of medical care there.’

Adam pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the tears from Frank’s face. ‘Now, you must be a brave boy, and you mustn’t worry. Your father will be better in no time at all.’

Frank looked up at Adam anxiously. ‘Are yer sure, Squire? Yer wouldn’t fib ter me, would yer?’

Adam smiled kindly. ‘No, I wouldn’t, Frank. I am telling you the truth, son.’

‘Your father is resting comfortably,’ Clive interjected, ‘and as soon as I get him to the hospital we’ll be able to treat him properly.’

Frank looked from Adam to Clive doubtfully, sniffing and suppressing his tears. He was silent and thoughtful for a moment and then he addressed Eddie. ‘He will get better, Eddie, won’t he?’ he whispered.

Eddie stepped forward, forcing a cheerful smile on to his drawn face. ‘Aye, lad, he will that! Yer father’s a strong ‘un. Now, don’t yer fret yerself, lad. Come on, I’ll take yer ter yer Aunt Lily’s.’ Eddie threw a swift glance at Adam, who nodded acquiescently. Adam patted Frank’s shoulder. ‘Run along with Eddie, Frank. And the doctor will stop by to see you later.’ Adam’s eyes examined Frank, sudden concern in them. ‘Are you all right, son? You weren’t hurt, were you?’

‘No, Squire,’ said Frank, still sniffling.

‘All right, then, off you go. And thank you, Eddie, for all your help. I appreciate it.’

‘I just did me best, sir,’ said Eddie, smiling briefly. ‘I’ll be taking the lad ter his aunt’s. She’ll look after him.’ Eddie grasped Frank’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and the two of them left, Eddie murmuring consoling words to Frank.

‘I think I had better go into Wilson’s office and see the other men, Clive. I want to thank them and make sure they are comfortable,’ Adam remarked.

‘Let Violet take a look at those hands of yours, Adam,’ Clive ordered firmly. ‘They look a little raw to me.’

Later that afternoon Adam strode up and down the library at Fairley Hall, a brandy and soda in his bandaged hand, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wilson, who had just arrived, sat on the Chesterfield, watching him closely, quietly nursing his whisky.

Adam finally stopped his incessant pacing and sat down in the chair opposite. He lit a cigarette, drew on it, and said, ‘How do you think the fire started in the warehouse, Wilson? It went up very suddenly and burned rather rapidly for my liking. I questioned Edwin earlier, and he said the wooden skips were blazing furiously when he opened the door, and that the first stack of bales were already flaring. I suppose the flying embers could have ignited the wool, and the draught from the door obviously fanned the flames, but it’s still a mystery to me. Any ideas?’

Wilson was silent, his mouth tight and drawn, his face a picture of gravity. He sighed and looked directly at Adam. ‘I could hazard a guess, Squire, but it’s not a very palatable one.’

Adam leaned forward and stared at Wilson, fixing him intently. ‘Speak up, Wilson. You’ve obviously given this some thought, just as I have myself all afternoon.’

Wilson scowled. ‘Arson maybe.’

‘Arson!’ Adam was so flabbergasted he sat up with a start and banged his drink down on the table with a crash. ‘Oh, come, come, Wilson, that’s not possible. Surely it isn’t!’

‘Well, sir, raw wool doesn’t burn that easily. But wood does. I also spoke ter Master Edwin and he told me the same thing-them there skips were going like wildfire. A bit of paraffin on one of the bales, soaking through the sacking inter the wool-’ Wilson stopped and looked down into his drink, sighing. ‘Yer knows, Squire, that could have been a bloody holocaust down there this morning, but for the wind changing and the rain starting when it did. We only had the fire in the warehouse partially under control, yer knows.’

‘But why?’ Adam demanded, still stunned and aghast at Wilson’s words.

Wilson hesitated and sipped his whisky. Then he looked Adam squarely in the eye. ‘Retaliation.’

‘Retaliation! Retaliation for what? Against whom? I’ve been more than decent with the men in the last few years, for God’s sake. You can’t be serious, man.’

Wilson, who had been pondering on the cause of the fire for several hours, picked his words with care. He knew what had to be said, but he felt he must couch his opinions in the most diplomatic terms possible. He cleared his throat. ‘Yer haven’t been at yon mill much in the past year, sir, what with yer travelling an’ all. The men are a bit out of touch with yer, so ter speak. And when yer have been ’ere, yer visits have been brief-’