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Authors: Malcolm Macdonald
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John off to Stockton, to inspect the proposed site for the foundry. At the time, she had dismissed it as coincidence. But now it had to be something more than that.
What was behind it? Hudson was obviously saying, "I know your game." But why? Was he also saying, "Don't think you can do anything in this world without my getting to hear of it"? In other words, was he just gently joking with them? Or was he laying the ground to walk off with their prize and then turn around and say, "I did my best to warn you; fair's fair and all's fair in business."
It was cat-and-mouse, but was the cat just playful—or hungry?
She hid these thoughts and fears from John until they had settled in her mind. Much later that night, when they lay in bed reading, she told him why she was sure that Hudson knew.
He took it as calmly as he always did, not pausing long for thought. "So," he said, "let's assume the worst. Hudson is going to Beador and will magnetize and mesmerize the arrangements out of him and will then offer Beador something better—which is only too easy for Hudson. His signature on a soap bubble would seem worth more to Beador than anything we're justified in offering."
Nora let the silence, and the worry, grow until she judged it right to suggest: "If he's not going to snatch Beador from us, we risk nothing. If he is, then only a desperate remedy will cure him."
"Aye?" John asked, doubting. He trusted only her financial judgement.
"If you told him straight out about Beador, about what we fear he's done with his share applications, and why we need to know…"
"If I did that," John interrupted, impatient and disappointed, "he'd snatch the lot. We've already gone over…"
"Aye!" Nora said with redoubled conviction. "If you did that. But what if I did it? All simple and trusting? Ladylike, you know?"
At least John considered the idea.
"You have to remember," she pressed on, "Hudson's carrying two hundred years of gentility on his back."
He still said nothing.
"It'd go against his grain to use intelligence given him by a gentlewoman asking for his help."
John smiled at that. Nora's whole claim to gentility derived from the fact that her great-grandfather had been squire of Normanton. His neglect of that small estate in favour of hunting had been the first step in the family's long slide into poverty and, finally, with the death of Nora's father, to destitution. Paradoxically, the squire-ancestor in the background enabled her to confess frankly to everyone the degree of poverty she had known. She was not the jumped-up servant she might seem, but a true gentlewoman reduced by the folly of others and rescued by her own innate qualities; not an interloper, but a heroine.
"You have a certain instinct in these matters," John conceded.
"Aye." She settled complacently and blew out her candle.
"And it's nearly always wrong," he said with no change of tone. He blew out his candle.
In the dark she smiled. "Never fret, dearest. You'll find a way, I'm sure."
But he did not; and next morning after breakfast, he reluctantly agreed to try her suggestion.
Chapter 5
The snow began to fall when they were halfway to York. It was a light flurry that looked like a shower; but the land was cold and the flakes stuck to the ground from the very start. By the time they reached the station, there was no doubt that the fall was going to be prolonged and no melt was in prospect.
"I hope you get through to Darlington," she said as their carriage halted. "If it's like this here, it's bound to be worse at Northallerton."
"I'm thinking of you," he said. "Forget Hudson and get straight home. At this rate there could be four foot on the tops by evening."
"Aye," she said. "I sh'll just see you off, then head for home."
He knew she was lying, but, as there were no means to insist on his way, he tacitly let her have hers.
When he was in the director's
What was behind it? Hudson was obviously saying, "I know your game." But why? Was he also saying, "Don't think you can do anything in this world without my getting to hear of it"? In other words, was he just gently joking with them? Or was he laying the ground to walk off with their prize and then turn around and say, "I did my best to warn you; fair's fair and all's fair in business."
It was cat-and-mouse, but was the cat just playful—or hungry?
She hid these thoughts and fears from John until they had settled in her mind. Much later that night, when they lay in bed reading, she told him why she was sure that Hudson knew.
He took it as calmly as he always did, not pausing long for thought. "So," he said, "let's assume the worst. Hudson is going to Beador and will magnetize and mesmerize the arrangements out of him and will then offer Beador something better—which is only too easy for Hudson. His signature on a soap bubble would seem worth more to Beador than anything we're justified in offering."
Nora let the silence, and the worry, grow until she judged it right to suggest: "If he's not going to snatch Beador from us, we risk nothing. If he is, then only a desperate remedy will cure him."
"Aye?" John asked, doubting. He trusted only her financial judgement.
"If you told him straight out about Beador, about what we fear he's done with his share applications, and why we need to know…"
"If I did that," John interrupted, impatient and disappointed, "he'd snatch the lot. We've already gone over…"
"Aye!" Nora said with redoubled conviction. "If you did that. But what if I did it? All simple and trusting? Ladylike, you know?"
At least John considered the idea.
"You have to remember," she pressed on, "Hudson's carrying two hundred years of gentility on his back."
He still said nothing.
"It'd go against his grain to use intelligence given him by a gentlewoman asking for his help."
John smiled at that. Nora's whole claim to gentility derived from the fact that her great-grandfather had been squire of Normanton. His neglect of that small estate in favour of hunting had been the first step in the family's long slide into poverty and, finally, with the death of Nora's father, to destitution. Paradoxically, the squire-ancestor in the background enabled her to confess frankly to everyone the degree of poverty she had known. She was not the jumped-up servant she might seem, but a true gentlewoman reduced by the folly of others and rescued by her own innate qualities; not an interloper, but a heroine.
"You have a certain instinct in these matters," John conceded.
"Aye." She settled complacently and blew out her candle.
"And it's nearly always wrong," he said with no change of tone. He blew out his candle.
In the dark she smiled. "Never fret, dearest. You'll find a way, I'm sure."
But he did not; and next morning after breakfast, he reluctantly agreed to try her suggestion.
Chapter 5
The snow began to fall when they were halfway to York. It was a light flurry that looked like a shower; but the land was cold and the flakes stuck to the ground from the very start. By the time they reached the station, there was no doubt that the fall was going to be prolonged and no melt was in prospect.
"I hope you get through to Darlington," she said as their carriage halted. "If it's like this here, it's bound to be worse at Northallerton."
"I'm thinking of you," he said. "Forget Hudson and get straight home. At this rate there could be four foot on the tops by evening."
"Aye," she said. "I sh'll just see you off, then head for home."
He knew she was lying, but, as there were no means to insist on his way, he tacitly let her have hers.
When he was in the director's
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