Tales of the West Riding (16 page)

“May I fetch you some tea, Miss Hardaker? I believe they are serving tea now.”

Elizabeth turned; the speaker was Edward Oates. She did not in the least require tea, but her mother's opposition to the Oates family had thrown her so strongly on their side that she could not refuse.

“That would be very kind of you.”

He returned with two cups and seated himself beside her.

“As we are related now, I think you should address me less formally,” said Elizabeth with a smile.

“I should enjoy that. As we had met only once before today, I felt a certain diffidence—Elizabeth,” said Edward, also smiling.

There was a pause. Elizabeth wondered, as she had often wondered before, what one said to a man on these occasions.

“It suits you,” said Edward in a musing tone. Elizabeth, uncertain of his meaning, started. “The name, I mean. It has much dignity.”

“My brother calls me Liz,” said Elizabeth, laughing.

Edward made a
moue.
“Brothers have many privileges.”

“Are you and Carol very close?”

“No, not very,” said Edward in his thoughtful, considering tone. “But I have a great respect for Carol. She's thoroughly loyal and honest. Sincere, you know.”

“That has been my impression,” said Elizabeth earnestly. “I think Lucius and Carol have every chance of being very happy.”

“Yes, indeed. You're going to think me very rude, I'm afraid,
Elizabeth,” said Edward, “but I simply must tell you that I don't think that dress suits you.”

Elizabeth coloured painfully.

“But that of course isn't your fault,” said Edward, “since Carol chose the style and colour. I am a designer, you know,” he continued, naming the great firm for which he worked, “so I am susceptible in these matters. This bright colour is quite suitable for the other bridesmaids.” He paused, but receiving no assent from Elizabeth, who thought the colour too ugly to be suitable for any girl, skilfully modified his statement. “Or at least they probably think so. But for you, one would prescribe something paler and simpler. A classic line. Please do forgive me.”

“No forgiveness is required,” said Elizabeth, “since my opinion agrees with your own.”

She tried to speak lightly, but in reality she was profoundly moved. It was the first time in her twenty-two years, yes, literally the first time, that any man had commented at all on her appearance. Edward's approach was exactly the one she would have chosen; impartial, sincere (she thought), subtle, offering a compliment only by implication.

“I wish you would tell me something about your work—about modern textile design,” she corrected herself, fearing to be too personal. “Lucius may have told you I am keenly interested in textile history. I have done one or two papers for the Hudley Antiquarians.”

“Really! But this is delightful,” said Edward, drawing the chair closer to their table. He had a genuine gift for his craft and now talked about it in an interesting manner, with vivid and authentic details, for several minutes, concluding: “Is one obliged to write papers in order to join the Antiquarians? Or would a keen interest suffice?”

“A keen interest would suffice,” said Elizabeth, smiling. “If you would care to attend a meeting or an excursion, I should be happy to introduce you as my guest.”

“That would indeed be kind of you,” said Edward gravely. He wondered whether to ask for further details now, or whether to do so would be pressing the matter too urgently. Should he leave it, and allow her interest to mount by unfulfilment? Yes, he thought so. At this moment Lucius and Carol returned to the
room; everyone rose and the ceremonies of farewell began. Edward glancing swiftly at Elizabeth saw that his instinct had been sound and the interruption useful, for she looked slightly disappointed. He rejoiced. The bait was taken.

* * *

Edward drew his piece glass from his waistcoat pocket, opened it and examined the cloth, which lay displayed in the traditional manner on the long, highly polished Ramsgill Mills warehouse table.

“Full of colour,” he remarked with genuine admiration. “You've got a lucky one here, Mr. Hardaker.”

“More than luck went to make that design, Mr. Oates,” said the head Ramsgill designer, slightly huffed.

Edward paused, a fraction of time longer perhaps than was natural—and indeed his pause was entirely artificial, calculated.

“I only meant that it would bring luck to your sales department,” he said then, pleasantly laughing.

The remark nipped the designer's nascent hostility in the bud, while Lucius and Mr. Hardaker received from the pause the message Edward intended: that the white-haired designer was growing old, that his designs recently had not been invariably winners, and that Ramsgill Mills had no separate sales organisation in any case. As the three men went down the stone steps into the courtyard, Mr. Hardaker observed with a casual air:

“How do you like at your place, then, Edward?”

“Well, the firm of course is excellent, as you well know, Mr. Hardaker,” returned Edward. (His heart beat fast, for this was a crucial moment which must not be bungled, but he kept his voice cool yet sunny.) “And my present job is very good too. But I don't see much future scope—not much chance of promotion.”

“No?” said Mr. Hardaker. “Too many nephews around ready to become directors, eh?”

“Yes. And too many good men over me in the department,” said Edward with a grin. “Besides, designers are thought of as being purely technical experts, you know.”

“And you want to be managerial, eh?”

“I do,” said Edward, looking at the old man squarely.

Mr. Hardaker said nothing. But Edward was not dissatisfied.

Beside Lucius' scarlet M.G. in the courtyard there now drew up a car of pale silvery hue.

“It must be Elizabeth's,” thought Edward at once.

The quickness of his reactions was very useful, he thought: it gave him just that little extra moment in which to decide his course, before the other fellow reached the point. This encounter might be disastrous; too early. But as it had occurred, he was saddled with it and must turn it to advantage.

“May as well find out the extent of the opposition now,” he decided, and as Elizabeth in a pale clear linen dress dismounted from the car and came towards them, he exclaimed: “Elizabeth!” in a tone of pleasure, and went forward to meet her, briskly. Elizabeth coloured as he approached, and he guessed that she had heard of Lucius's invitation to him (carefully angled for) to see the Ramsgill Mills and accompany Lucius home for an evening meal, and had come to the mill on an invented errand in the hope of meeting Edward. His guess was confirmed as Elizabeth gave Lucius a message from their mother, which might just as well have been telephoned. But the next moment he was confounded, for she turned to him and said frankly:

“I thought I might meet you here, Edward. I thought I might take the opportunity to tell you: there is an Antiquarian excursion on Saturday, if you would care to go. Probably you are already engaged,” she added hastily, subsiding into diffidence.

“Oh, I've already applied for a ticket—I've joined the group,” said Edward airily. “After what you told me of its work—I was interested.” His admiration for her honest frankness was so genuine that his next remarks had the ring of truth. “If you would—guide me a little on Saturday—I don't know the ropes—one doesn't want to vex people or make a fool of oneself—I should be extremely grateful—but don't let me be a nuisance to you in any way, of course.”

“I shall be most happy to do so,” said Elizabeth with unconcealed pleasure. “They're very friendly people.” She went on to speak of the route to be taken, the houses to be seen, tea arrangements, transport.

Edward listening carefully—he had not the slightest intention of making a fool of himself by not knowing the Antiquarian ropes; he never made a fool of himself by ignorance of ropes—
found a moment to glance at Lucius and Mr. Hardaker. To his delighted surprise, not opposition, but approval and even pleasure, were to be read in their faces. (They had never heard Elizabeth talk so freely, with such happy animation, to a man before.)

“I've got them,” thought Edward exultantly. “I've got them all in a band.”

It gave him pleasure to use this Yorkshire phrase (meaning to hold people in a string, a noose as it were) about the Hardakers.

At Lucius' handsome bungalow Carol, who was in the uncomfortable period of her first pregnancy, soon left the two men alone and retired to bed, after a rather snappy adjuration to them not to stay up too late talking. This seemed to convey to Edward's ear that Carol knew they had some business to discuss, and he awaited Lucius' opening move with interest. Sure enough as they sat together in front of the picture window looking out over the hilly West Riding landscape Lucius presently asked Edward in a hesitant diffident tone, what Edward thought of Ramsgill Mills.

“It's good,” said Edward emphatically. “What a lucky fellow you are, Lucius, to have such a solid, reputable, old-established business behind you!”

“Old-established” was meant to arouse a slight uneasiness in Lucius' mind. Edward perceived that it had in fact confirmed a slight uneasiness already existing in Lucius' mind. He went on, delicately feeling his way.

“Of course, you're in rather a difficult position—with your grandfather, I mean. I'm just the same with my own grandfather. We're two generations apart. Old Sam! What a man! I wouldn't hurt his feelings for the world, but sometimes, you know, when I see him struggling with all his Trade Union work papers—so much red tape, and he writes so slowly, it takes him hours—pathetic, really.”

“The Trade Unions are hopelessly out of date,” said Lucius with conviction.

“Agreed,” said Edward, though he felt obscurely angered. “And set against modernisation. I once tried to persuade old Sam to obtain a certificate of posting for an official paper, but it upset him, you know. I had to abandon the attempt. I don't
know if you ever find yourself in the same position with old Mr. Hardaker?”

“Yes,” said Lucius slowly. “Yes, I do.”

“I heard you soothing that customer on the telephone before we went down to the warehouse,” proceeded Edward, applying, as he told himself, the best, the most refined, butter. “You're good at that, Lucius.”

And in fact the simple straightforward honesty employed by his brother-in-law had impressed him; it was like Elizabeth's frankness; foolish but pleasant. If everyone were honest, of course, it would be useful, effective—but everyone was not.

“Did you notice any special thing at the mill which struck you as—out of date?” enquired Lucius slowly after a pause.

“Well, just one or two small things,” said Edward with an air of reluctance.

“Such as?” pressed Lucius.

“I thought your letter-head might be improved,” said Edward. “Of course that large ram beside a piece of cloth has always been your trademark, I expect.”

“I don't really know,” said Lucius, considering.

The ram's large convoluted horns, its extremely curly fleece, the look on its face which could only be described as sheepish, now suddenly struck him as naïve.

“I don't think grandfather would like to change it,” he said.

“Of course not. I agree. Tradition must be respected. If the ram were a little smaller, perhaps, and differently placed, with the lettering in a more modern type-face—that might combine the best features of old and new.”

He's a clever fellow, thought Lucius admiringly. He knows all the things I don't. Type-face! He's Carol's brother. Elizabeth likes him. This last item rather surprised him, somehow, but also for some reason reassured.

Before Carol was brought to bed of her first child, Edward was installed at Ramsgill Mills as works manager.

* * *

A breath of fresh air, Edward flattered himself, blew through Ramsgill Mills after his arrival.

The letterhead was promptly remodelled—Mr. Hardaker did
not like this at first, but after one or two of his customers admired the new style and asked who had designed it, he resigned himself to it and quite often gave it a keen scrutiny, trying to discover why it was in fact more pleasing than the old. Edward, observing the scrutiny, misunderstood its nature for contempt and felt humiliated.

It was time for the mill's interior to be repainted; instead of the old whitewash Edward substituted wherever possible bright colours.

“Rather like a fun-fair at Blackpool,” said Mr. Hardaker. “Still, it's cheerful, I agree.”

Edward also improved the filing system—again, Mr. Hardaker took the attitude that he could never find a letter nowadays and always had to ask someone from the outer office to find it for him, but the outer office approved the new system and gradually everyone grew accustomed to it.

Edward urged Mr. Hardaker so strongly to buy dictaphones that the old man with a sardonic smile gave in, and two were installed. But neither Mr. Hardaker nor Lucius, as they each discovered to their private disconcertment, had any gift for dictation without the assistance of a sympathetic typist, and the machines, unused, stood about growing dusty, a reproach and a humiliation to Edward whenever he saw them. At length he asked Mr. Hardaker's permission to borrow one of them for some work of his own.

“Aye—take it away and don't bother to bring it back,” said Mr. Hardaker, waving his hand as if relieved by the departure.

Edward also installed an intercommunication system throughout the mill; the Ramsgill acreage was really quite considerable and much time had been lost in the past, in his opinion, by the need to run round to find Mr. Hardaker or the various department heads when they were wanted. Mr. Hardaker approved of the intercomm but to Edward's irritation did not often use it. The old man seemed positively to like to go stumping around, climbing steps and pushing open heavy doors, pausing here and there on his way back to the office while customers grew frantic waiting for him on the telephone.