No Stone Unturned by Helen Watts

Author:Helen Watts
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472904478
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2014-10-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20 – Christmas 1859

Sir Charles Barry spent the Christmas of 1859 at home with his family. The heavy snow had made the celebrations all the more magical for his children and Barry was determined not to dampen their spirits. But in truth, he had found it difficult to push his troubles to the back of his mind. So when his friend Sir Francis Throckmorton joined them for Boxing Day lunch, the conversation soon turned to less festive matters.

The cook, the housekeeper and the maid had been given the day off and sent home with a box of leftovers to share with their own families, so Sarah had laid out a cold buffet. While she was busy clearing it away, the two gentleman went to sit by the fire with a glass of malt whisky each.

‘So what’s troubling you, my friend?’ said Sir Francis, leaning forwards in his chair, as soon as Sarah had left the room. ‘You’re hardly bursting with Christmas cheer.’

‘Where do I begin?’ replied Barry, raising in hands in exasperation. ‘The Westminster project is going to be the death of me. The Chambers may be finished and in use, but we still have a long way to go.’

‘How long do you think? Since your original estimate was, oh what was it, six years?’ Sir Francis smirked.

Barry glared at him. ‘Yes, and it will be twenty years this coming May. You don’t think I know that? And I shall soon be turning sixty-five. Good God, man, I shall go to my grave regretting the day I ever mentioned that six-year figure.’

‘I apologise, Sir Charles. I was jesting. I’m not apportioning any blame. I know you were pressured into providing an unrealistic date. On a project of this scale it’s almost impossible to foresee all the problems that might crop up.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Barry, staring into the fire. ‘All this snow is a perfect example. It’s so cold that the mortar won’t dry, the water supplies are all frozen, and the delays we have had with deliveries are crippling us. The stone supply from Wilmcote dwindled to almost nothing in the approach to Christmas.’

Sir Francis swirled his glass, the golden whisky glowing warmly in the firelight. ‘But the bulk of the construction is now complete, which is marvellous, isn’t it?’

‘Certainly. Most of the work now is interior finishing. But that’s no easy task. I have my late friend Pugin to thank for that, with his sumptuous designs. Carvings, gilt work, panelling, furniture, even door knobs and spill trays—the standard of workmanship required is beyond anything I have seen before. It will be stunning, I can assure you of that, but I can’t allow the work to run a day over the twenty years mark and I must have the whole thing signed off by the State Opening of Parliament in November. If we are not finished by then, I may as well throw myself off the clock tower. My reputation will be in tatters.’

He rose sharply to his feet, unable

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