Chapter 5
Foundations
Gideon smiled at Mr Ridley as they stood side by side, perusing the accounts ledger. Every farthing for materials had been accounted for, every delivery dutifully noted in a precise hand. Truly, it was a thing of beauty.
“Excellent work, Mr Ridley,” Gideon said approvingly.
“Would you like to see the men’s wages book now?” Ridley offered, closing the first ledger and reaching for another.
Gideon considered the wisdom of spending another hour checking the figures of the man he had employed to do the job for him.
He had always found it difficult to delegate tasks to others, preferring to work long hours to ensure every job was done to his own satisfaction.
On an undertaking of this scale, however, that was impossible, and he’d be foolish to consider it.
He could hardly lay bricks and do fancy plasterwork, why should he trouble himself with the accounts in such detail?
He would continue to do his end of week checks but surveying every penny that came in and out was wearing and a waste of his time.
“No. I’ve other things to see to. I’ll leave you to your work, Ridley.”
“Very good, sir. Let me know if there’s aught else you want.”
“I will do,” Gideon replied, letting himself out of the temporary hut they’d built for site meetings and such.
He strode across the site, nodding greetings to the men as they went about their work and fielding too familiar remarks from the bolder fellows who thought they were comedians with quips of his own.
It was always a careful balance, though, keeping distance and authority enough whilst being on good terms with the men.
Making his way to what would be the grand ballroom, he looked around with approval.
He walked about the room, studying the proportions, his attention absolute.
Moving from place to place, he considered the room from every vantage point, doubt niggled at the back of his mind. There was something wrong.
“How goes it, Ludlow?” he asked the site manager, spying the man as he strode into the room.
A short, stocky fellow, Ludlow was strong as an ox.
He had massive shoulders and arms, the proportions of which would not have looked amiss on an ancient oak tree.
The fellow tugged at his cap, his serious expression clearing for a moment.
“Well, enough, sir. Reckon we’re on schedule.”
Gideon nodded his approval. “Mind if I check the measurements again?” He met the man’s eyes, both aware this was a rhetorical question.
“Aye,” Ludlow said, resignation in his voice.
Gideon unrolled his plans on the crude table set out for the purpose, using tools to weigh down the corners.
He reached for the boxwood rule he’d brought with him and walked to the first column base.
Marble dust hung in the air, coating everything and tickling the back of his throat.
Bending before the base, he unfolded the ruler, the brass joints clicking as he drew them apart.
Checking the diameter, he noted the measurement in a small notepad, and then stood, reaching for the measuring rod that lay on the floor at their feet.
He laid it down, marked one end, and then picked it up and placed the end on the mark, repeating the process.
When he got to the end, he stood, frowning down at it.
“A chalk line, please,” he called.
“You heard the man,” Ludlow called, gesturing to two masons who downed tools to come and help. “Mark and Billy, get your arses over here.”
The two men held the chalk line taut between two bases, one on either side of the width of the room, close to the floor. One flicked the line, leaving a crisp blue line across the floor. Nodding, Gideon stood behind the column, lining it up with the other visually before measuring it at intervals.
“Next,” he called.
It was by necessity a slow process, and he could feel the men’s impatience. Mark and Billy eyed each other, muttering under their breath about bleedin’ fussy architects, but details mattered and it was better to catch any errors early on, before they were quite literally set in stone.
They arrived at the last set of columns and Gideon sighed, both relieved and annoyed to have discovered an error.
“It’s out,” he told Ludlow, whose expression became mulish.
“I’d swear it ain’t,” he protested, folding his arms.
“You can swear all you like,” Gideon replied coolly. “Come and stand here and look down that line. Once you’ve seen it, take the measurements. I’d judge it to be three-eighths of an inch or thereabouts.”
Gideon waited as Ludlow got the men to measure the chalk line at intervals, noting Ludlow’s expression becoming increasingly grim as Gideon’s words were proven correct.
“Two-eighths,” Ludlow said dourly, as if that made it all right. He commenced bellowing at the stonemasons for having made the error.
Billy grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck as Mark slouched off, looking mulish.
Gideon intervened. “Nevermind the shouting, get it fixed, and mind you measure it properly this time. Ludlow, a word.”
Ludlow returned to stand beside him, jaw set in a hard line.
“You ought to have caught that before I got anywhere near it,” Gideon said, his tone even.
“Men make mistakes, that happens, but I’d rather you spent an hour checking work at intervals than have days or even weeks of delay with having to undo something that wasn’t caught in time.
The schedule is important, but the perfection of the result is not to be compromised for anything. Have I made myself clear?”
“Aye,” Ludlow growled, arms folded.
Gideon opened his mouth to say something conciliatory. He’d caught the mistake, which would be easy enough to rectify at this stage, and he did not want any bad feeling between him and the site manager, but a cultured, feminine voice took his attention.
“Mr Bramwell?”
Gideon turned, startled by the sound which was not one he was accustomed to on a building site.
His eyes widened with astonishment as he took in the unlikely picture of Lady Henrietta standing in the middle of the busy construction site, dressed in a lovely muslin gown of pale blue, with a matching spencer.
Whilst he noted she wore a sensible pair of sturdy boots, her pristine white gloves seemed entirely at odds with the dirt and dust around them.
Her wide-brimmed bonnet, trimmed with frilly silk roses and bows, was so out-of-place Gideon could only gape at her. He wasn’t the only one.
Suddenly aware of the curious gazes of the men around them, many of them grinning their approval, Gideon scowled with annoyance.
“Lady Henrietta,” he said, his tone conveying his aggravation correctly, judging by the way she stiffened at the sound of his voice.
Ridley appeared at Gideon’s elbow as he stalked towards her. “I’m that sorry, sir. I didn’t know how to stop her. Short of putting my hands on her, and I… I couldn’t do that.”
Gideon glanced at Ridley, who looked justifiably rattled. “Understood,” he replied tersely. “Lady Henrietta is a force of nature, Ridley. She’d likely have mowed you down. Leave this to me.”
Ridley nodded, his relief evident as he hurried away.
“What the devil are you doing on my building site?” Gideon demanded, the words low and angry as he drew level with her.
“Well, I reasoned that if I waited for you to come to me, I’d be waiting until doomsday,” she replied with a smile, apparently undeterred by his obvious annoyance.
“Tell me you didn’t come here alone, at least?” he asked, appalled by the sudden realisation that the men were now looking between them with curious and knowing glances. “Do you want to have everyone talking about us?”
She shrugged carelessly. “People talk about me no matter what I do, but no, Mr Bramwell. I am not so lost to propriety as to do something so harebrained as that. My maid, Jenkins, is with me but I asked her to wait in that dear little hut you’ve constructed.
I feared the sight of two females setting foot upon such a manly place of work might cause your labourers to swoon. ”
“It’s no laughing matter,” he muttered, taking her firmly by the arm. “Building sites are dangerous places. You might have tripped or fallen, or been struck by something, and then where would I be? Your father would see me ruined.”
Something like chagrin flickered in her eyes. “I was careful,” she replied tartly. “I’m not such a ninny as to walk about without keeping my eyes open, but I take your point. Still, I needed to speak to you and as you are here, I am too.”
“What is it that was so blasted urgent that you must come and seek me out?” he demanded, belatedly remembering he’d discarded his coat earlier and his sleeves were rolled to the elbows.
Hurriedly, he began tugging his shirt sleeves back into place, aware of Lady Henrietta’s gaze fixed upon the bare skin of his arms as he did so.
It was utterly ridiculous, but he felt strangely naked all at once, heat licking over his skin in a manner that did nothing to settle his leaping nerves.
“You need me.”
Her words shocked him profoundly, perhaps because of the way her eyes were fixed on his bare right arm as she said it. Having dealt with the left, he hurriedly covered its twin, wondering what on earth she was playing at.
“What?” It was hardly an eloquent reply, but his brain seemed to move through treacle and had done so since the moment she’d appeared on site. What was it about the aggravating female that set him all on end?