A Woman of Substance. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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the need for horses to pull ’em any more. They go from the Corn Exchange to all parts of town. I have ridden on one, sure and I have. I sat on the top deck, that’s open to the world and the weather, viewing the town like a real gent. Faith and there are many wonders to see in Leeds, yes indeed.’
Emma’s eyes glowed, all the weariness and worry which had enveloped her earlier that morning miraculously dissipated, her imagination inflamed, and her emotions stirred most palpably by Blackie’s recital. She attempted, as always, to contain herself, but in her anxiousness for further information about this most extraordinary place, her voice rose and became shrill. ‘Why did yer got ter live in Leeds then, Blackie? Tell me more about it!’
‘I went to live in Leeds because there was no work in me native Ireland.’ His voice dropped, was low now and sad, yet there was no disgruntlement or rancour in it, only dim resignation.
‘It was me Uncle Pat, settled in Leeds for this many a year, who did bid me come over to be a working by his side as a navvy. Lots of work in Leeds, being as how it’s a growing metropolis, as I told ye afore, Emma. When I saw all the new manufactories going up and the mills and the foundries, as well as the handsome carriages and the elegant houses of the gentry, I thought to meself: Sure and this is the place for a boyo like ye, Blackie O’Neill, a spalpeen that’s not afeared of hard work, strong and brawny and a match for any man. This is indeed the place to be a-staying, faith and it is, for the streets are surely paved with gold! A man can make a fortune in Leeds, I was believing, so stay I did. That was five years ago. Now me Uncle Pat and me have our own business going. We do repair work and building for the mill-owners and the gentry. Doing well, sure and we are, little colleen. Small it is now, but I know it will be growing. Ye see, I aim to be rich one day. I am going to make meself a pile and be a millionaire!’
He tossed his head cockily and laughed, his face full of youthful optimism. He put his arm around her shoulders and said confidentially and with the utmost self-assurance, ‘I aim to get me a diamond stickpin and be an elegant gent, a real toff, that I do, mavourneen. On the Blessed Heads of the Saints, I swear I do!’
Emma had listened attentively. Blackie’s account had been thrilling and it had held her spellbound, had aroused all manner of longings within her. But it was that magical word ‘fortune’ that had made the most profound impact on her. Thoughts of fancy clothes and theatres were swept away. Those things were insignificant in comparison to Blackie’s revelations about the opportunities for making a fortune in Leeds. Here was someone after her own heart, who knew that money could be earned as well as inherited. Emma’s heart was pounding so hard she thought her chest would burst, and now it took all of her strength for her to retain her composure. She felt she could not speak and then, at last, ‘Can a girl like me make a fortune in Leeds?’ she asked, breathless in her anticipation of his answer.
This was the last thing Blackie had expected. He was dumbfounded. He stared down at Emma and saw the starveling girl who reached only up to his chest, so fragile and wan and undernourished, and his heart clenched with feelings of pity and protectiveness. Poor little mavourneen, he thought, I should have held me tongue. Fool that I am, filling her head with dreams of a better life, a world she’ll never see. He was about to answer her negatively when, with a terrible clarity, he recognized the gleam in her eyes for what it was – ambition, raw and inexorable. He took in the face, now suddenly stern in its fixity, the eyes blazing hard green light. It was the most implacable face he had ever seen and he was shocked by what he saw. Blackie felt a cold chill on the back of his neck and his Celtic intuition told him that she was in deadly earnest. He could not encourage the preposterous idea of her running off to Leeds, yet he must attempt to pacify her.
And so Blackie bit back the ‘no’ he had been about to utter, drew in a deep breath, smiled, and said with all the gallantry he could summon, ‘Faith, and to be sure ye could. But not now, Emma. Ye are but a little colleen. Ye can’t be going off to Leeds until ye are older, I am thinking. ’Tis a fine city, sure and it is, full of prospects, but awesome and dangerous, too, for a little snippet like ye.’
Emma appeared not to hear this. At least she ignored it. ‘Where would I work to make this fortune?’ she rushed on, undaunted. ‘What would I do?’
Blackie realized she was not going to be easily appeased. He pretended to consider the question seriously, for he was only humouring her, in spite of his initial response. She did not look as if she would make it to Fairley Hall, let alone Leeds, and had he not imagined that relentless expression on her face? Anything was possible on these ghostly moors, at this hour, in the depth of winter.
‘Well, let me be thinking this one out,’ he said cautiously. ‘Perhaps ye could work in one of the manufactories making the fine dresses or maybe in one of the elegant shops selling the finery to the ladies. Many things there are ye could do, but as I said afore, I must be thinking on it careful. That’s important, sure and it is. We must find ye the right occupation. That’s the secret of success, ye knows, Emma. Least, so I’ve heard tell.’
She nodded, realizing the truth of what he said, and debated whether to confide further in Blackie, but her canniness, that inbred wariness, made her hold her tongue. She decided she had said enough for the moment. But she did have one more question and it was of crucial importance to her. ‘If I comes ter Leeds one day, when I’m growed up like yer say I should be, will yer help ter show me the ropes like, Blackie?’ She was gazing up at him and he saw that her face was the face of a child again and he breathed a sigh of relief, although he was not certain why.
‘Faith and sure I will, Emma. It will be me pleasure. I live at Mrs Riley’s boardinghouse on the “ham and shank”, but ye can always find me at the Mucky Duck.’
‘What’s that then? The “ham and shank”?’ Her brows puckered in bewilderment.
He laughed, amused at her puzzlement. ‘What rhymes with “ham and shank”?’
‘Lots of things!’ she exclaimed pithily, and threw him a scathing look.
‘The Bank, that’s what. Ham and shank. The Bank. See? It rhymes. Rhyming slang we calls it in Leeds. ’Tis the railway bank though, not the riverbank, near the Leylands. But that ain’t such a good neighbourhood, full of roughs and toughs it is! Not the place for a colleen to be a-wandering in alone, I am thinking. So if ye wants to find me, just go to the Mucky Duck in York Road and ask for Rosie. She’s the barmaid and she’ll know where I am, if I ain’t in the pub. Ye see, I might be at the Golden Fleece in Briggate. Ye can be leaving a message with Rosie, to be sure ye can, and she’ll get it to me or me Uncle Pat the same day.’
‘Thank yer, Blackie, ever so much,’ said Emma, mentally repeating with the greatest of care the names he had reeled off, so that she would remember them. For she did intend to go to Leeds and make her fortune.
She fell silent. They walked along not speaking, both of them lost in their own thoughts, yet it was a harmonious silence, without unease or awkwardness. Strangers though they were, they had taken to each other and a kind of understanding had sprung up between them, brief as their acquaintance was.
Blackie looked about him, thinking how grand it was to be alive, to have a job of work to do, a few shillings warming his pocket, and most importantly, the prospect of lots more to come. Even the moors had a strange compelling beauty now that he could see them properly. The fog had lifted long before and the air was no longer damp and moisture-laden. It was a brisk day, with a light wind that imbued the naked trees, so rigid and lifeless at this season, with a new and graceful mobility as they waved in the breeze. And the sky was no longer the colour of dull lead. It leaked a hard metallic blue.
They had almost reached the end of the flat plateau of moorland, and Blackie was beginning to wonder when they would arrive at Fairley Hall, when Emma announced, ‘The Hall is yonder, Blackie,’ as if she had read his thoughts. She was pointing straight ahead.
His eyes followed the direction of her outstretched arm. He could see nothing but the empty moorland. ‘Where? I must be the blind one, Emma. I can’t see no spires and chimneys, like himself described to me last week.’
‘Yer will when we gets ter the top of