Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

Jim said quickly, ‘No, I haven’t, Mrs Harte. I felt it was up to you to do so.’

‘What extraordinary story?’ Paula asked curiously.

‘I’ll let Jim recount it to you. He’ll tell you later. This is not the time.’ Now Emma uncurled her right hand. ‘I found this locket amongst my mother’s things after she died. It is engraved “A to E 1885”. I know that it was given to my mother, your great-grandmother, by Adam Fairley, Jim’s greatgrandfather. I want you to have it, Paula.’

Intrigued, Paula took the locket and examined it. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I will keep it always.’ She looked at Jim. ‘You must tell me the story when we go downstairs. It sounds fascinating.’

Emma now turned to Jim. ‘I also found this gentleman’s gold tie-pin with the locket. Could it have belonged to your great-grandfather?’

‘Why, I believe it did!’ Jim exclaimed, turning it over in his hand. ‘There was a photograph of Great-grandfather in Grandfather Edwin’s desk which I found when I was going through his possessions. Adam was a very young man when it was taken and he was dressed in riding clothes. I’m quite positive he was wearing this in his stock.’

‘Please keep it, Jim,’ Emma said softly.

‘Why, thank you, Mrs Harte. I’m very touched. And thank you for the contract, and the promotion. For everything. I didn’t expect-’

‘It was the least I could do,’ Emma interrupted. ‘Now run along, you two, and enjoy yourselves. I want to talk to Blackie for a while. We’ve hardly exchanged a word all night. We’ve a lot of gossip to catch up on.’

Jim stood up. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You are indeed a great lady, Mrs Harte.’

Emma smiled. Paula hugged her grandmother and whispered in her ear, ‘I knew you were a foxy old thing, and that you were up to something. But even I was flabbergasted. You’re still full of surprises, Grandy. And I do love you.’

Emma watched them leave the parlour together, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. They’ll be all right, she said to herself.

Blackie regarded her carefully, puffing away on his cigar, his black eyes filled with tenderness. He had loved her for sixty-four years, his wild young colleen of the moors. They had come a long way together, shared so much sorrow and joy, and she never failed to amaze him. Eventually he said, ‘So the vendetta has finally ended. You have united the two families at last. Paula will become a Fairley.’ He smiled at her gently. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re a sentimental old woman, after all, Emma Harte.’

‘Yes, perhaps I am.’ Emma settled back against the sofa and smoothed her gown. ‘You know, Blackie, if I live long enough I will have Fairley great-grandchildren to bounce on my lap. Who would ever have believed that!’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I’m so glad I relented about Jim and Paula. It’s their happiness that counts now. They are the future.’

Blackie said, ‘Aye, indeed they are.’ He rose and strode across to the Georgian table. ‘Would you like a drink, Emma?’ he asked, pouring himself a cognac.

‘I’ll have a Bonnie Prince Charlie, please.’

Blackie returned and sat next to her on the sofa. They clinked glasses. ‘Here’s to those we’ve loved and lost, to those we’ve loved and kept, and to those of ours who are yet to be born, Emma.’

‘Yes, to the next generation, Blackie.’

They sat in silence for a while, ruminating, and as at ease with each other as they had always been since the first day they had met on the moors above Fairley village. Suddenly Blackie took her hand in his. He said, ‘It’s an extraordinary road you’ve travelled, Emma, in your quest for power and wealth, and I’m curious. Tell me, did you discover anything special along the way that you would like to impart to your old friend?’

‘Yes, Blackie, I did. I believe I learned the secret of life.’

Blackie looked at her intently. ‘And what is that, mavourneen?’

Emma gazed back at him for a prolonged moment. And then she smiled that incomparable smile which illuminated her face with radiance.

‘It is to endure,’ she said.

Many people gave assistance to me during the writing of this book, but it is to Miss Carolyn Blakemore, senior editor of Doubleday & Company, New York, that I am most deeply indebted and whom I must thank first. For three years she gave unstintingly of her valuable advice and time, and her encouragement and belief sustained me at all times. But apart from her moral support, I am grateful to her for her technical skills as an editor, her good taste and sense of style.

I would also like gratefully to acknowledge invaluable help from the staff of the Reading Room of the British Museum, as well as the staffs of the following: Leeds Public Library; Bradford Public Library; Armley Public Library; the Newspaper Microfilm Division of Leeds Public Library; Bankfield Museum, Halifax; Kirkstall Abbey House Museum, Leeds; Fountains Hall, Studley Royal, Yorkshire; Temple Newsam House, Leeds; the Imperial War Museum, London; the New York Public Library. In particular I must thank Mr Ernest Hall of Leigh Mills, Stanningley Bottom, Leeds, for devoting hours to showing me around old portions of the mills and supplying pertinent information regarding conditions in the Yorkshire woollen mills at the turn of the century; my thanks also to Mr Ronald Jacobson, Export Liaison Manager of Marks and Spencer, Ltd, London, for providing old photographs of the original Marks and Spencer’s Penny Bazaars in Leeds, and for information regarding the founding and development of that company.

I owe special thanks to Mrs Susan Watt, formerly London editor of Doubleday & Company, whose research was always meticulous and efficiently and promptly supplied, often on very short notice. I would also like to thank all of those friends who helped in a variety of ways: Mr Ronald M. Sumrie, chairman of Sumrie Clothes of Leeds, for introductions to woollen mills in Yorkshire; Mrs Frances Lyons Barish of New York, for giving me access to her father’s World War I diaries, for generously typing and duplicating relevant parts; Miss Pauline V. Delli Carpini of New York, for general assistance with the preparation of the final manuscript which saved me untold hours; Mr Eugene H. Winick of Ernst, Cane, Berner & Gitlin, New York, for legal advice regarding wills, trusts, and estates; Mr Morton J. Mitosky of New York, for advice about the same; Mr and Mrs Eric Clarke of Ripon, who drove me across Yorkshire on numerous occasions and reacquainted me with old childhood haunts; Mr and Mrs Eric Fielding, my gracious hosts on my various research trips to London; Mr Peter W. McGill, chairman of AP Publishing, Sydney, who supplied me with detailed maps and vital research material about Australia; Mrs Joan Feeley of New York, for typing a long manuscript most meticulously; Mrs Charlotte Wendel, who helped to keep me physically fit; Mrs Janet Schiff of Chicago, who diligently proofread major portions of the finished manuscript. I would like to express my gratitude to Mrs Joy Klein of New York, not only for her friendship but also for her extraordinary understanding of my obsession with this book, which was expressed in countless ways. Also, my most sincere thanks to Mr Paul Gitlin of Ernst, Cane, Berner & Gitlin, New York, and to Mr George Greenfield of John Farquharson Ltd, London, my literary representatives for many years and both dear friends whose confidence and support I deeply appreciate.

Finally, I owe a special debt to my parents, Mr and Mrs Winston Taylor of Leeds, for their encouragement and dedication to my project. They also spent many months seeking out old books and newspapers, and their vivid recollections of Yorkshire in the early 1900s provide much of the background for this novel. And my gratitude to my husband for his understanding and belief.