The Castlefield Collector
Page 5
But he didn’t move, just stood there looking at her in a funny sort of way which made her go all hot and uncomfortable. It seemed to take forever before he responded though it was probably only seconds, almost as if he were returning from some far distant place and had to drag himself back to the present by sheer physical force. ‘It’s Milly, isn’t it?’ The Barkers liked to imagine they knew their operatives, each and every one.
‘Dolly.’
‘Ah yes, of course. Dolly. I remember.’ He cleared his throat and for a brief second she thought he was about to reach out and pat her on the head, but then he put his hand in his pocket instead. ‘Do you have enough time left of your dinner break to nip to the cook shop, Dolly, or do you need a note from me to say it’s all right? I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with Harold, if you were late back at your machine.’
Dolly was startled, and surprised that he should be so considerate. To be fair he didn’t look in the least bit stuck-up, as folk claimed the Barkers were and he wasn’t bad looking, considering he was so old. His face bore a quiet, thoughtful expression, and the blue-grey eyes steady upon hers with a trace of curiosity in them. Even so, she reminded herself sternly, what did he know of hunger? No doubt his table was groaning with food every flipping night of the week.
‘I’ve plenty of time, just no money,’ she commented. The words had popped out unbidden and she followed this unhappy confession with a bitter little laugh for she might well have added: how could I have on the wages you pay me, and with a dad who drinks and bets away every penny he can get hold of? But pride held the words in check. Besides, he’d been kind and this wasn’t the moment to complain about poor wages. Dolly offered a watery smile instead and tried to slip past him, to make her escape through the open door. He put out a hand to stop her leaving, grabbing her elbow and then just as quickly let go, as if the very touch of her offended him. Probably thought he’d catch something nasty. But again his words surprised her.
‘Nay lass, you can’t possibly return to your work with no food inside you.’
‘Don’t worry, I allus give value for money and get the right number of yards spun, empty belly or no.’
Dolly got little satisfaction from this burst of insolence for the next instant he was holding out a shilling, bright and shining, between finger and thumb. His hands were clean; the skin soft and pink, nails neatly clipped with long, tapering fingers, very much the hands of a gentleman.
She was shocked by the gesture. ‘I can’t take yer money. I couldn’t do that.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘Well, because…’ Dolly couldn’t think of a single reason, and standing so close to him in the doorway, not knowing which direction to move to avoid him, she felt trapped, and furious with herself for feeling so small and inferior. She didn’t normally get into a state just because someone was better off than she was. Dolly believed all men were born equal, it was just that some were more equal than others, as the saying went, and she certainly had no intention of being bought off by someone as condescending and full of himself as Nathan Barker, gaffer or no gaffer. If his conscience was troubling him over the state of his workers then that was his problem. ‘It wouldn’t be right, not the done thing at all,’ she tartly informed him.
‘You could call it an advance on your wages, if that would help?’
‘An advance?’ She looked at him askance. ‘It’s well near a third of what I earn in a week.’ The expression of surprise on his face was such that Dolly let out a harsh little laugh. ‘You’ve no idea how much I earn, have you?’
‘Not the slightest,’ he admitted, and the guilt etched on his face somehow made him seem younger, more vulnerable. Not that she allowed this to influence her attitude one iota, and Dolly quickly thrust aside the slight flicker of pity she felt for him.
‘Three bob.’
‘Three shillings, is that all?’ He saw that she was regarding him now with almost mischievous amusement, as if she knew more about his own mill than he did. Which may well be the case on issues of this nature. He remembered his most recent, and difficult, negotiations with the unions: how he’d insisted upon a reduction as the only means of survival, ruthlessly overriding their objections. ‘Ah yes, of course, three shillings would be about right for someone as young and inexperienced as yourself.’
‘Inexperienced after two years? It’s a flipping scandal, that’s what it is. I should be earning two or three times that sum, the union says. Plenty are in this town.’
‘You have to appreciate how fortunate you are that I allow unions to exist in my factory at all. Many of my colleagues won’t tolerate such anarchy.’
Nathan was annoyed with himself for opening up this whole sensitive issue of pay. Why on earth was he arguing the case with a twopenny-halfpenny mill girl? Yet he sensed that he’d insulted her in some odd way by offering her any money at all. Perhaps sixpence or a threepenny bit would have been better, a more realistic sum for her to accept without injuring her working class pride. Nevertheless, he couldn’t back down now. He felt lost for words, his charm, even his common sense having deserted him. He had nothing but admiration for the way she was so bravely standing up to him. Was it any wonder he’d seen his mother in her, for hadn’t Mama possessed just such courage, and those eyes; a deep and glorious blue that blazed with pride and beauty. Then again, the differences between this child and his scented, gracious, sainted mother were manifest; the one so richly blessed, while the other…
Just for a second another face blurred before his eyes, one he had once known well, too well. He blinked and it was gone and Nathan stoutly turned away from the memory, not wishing to examine it too closely. Yet it left a sense of guilt gnawing at him for he knew that from this moment on, he’d never get the sight of this child’s achingly sad and hungry little face out of his mind. Nathan Barker also experienced an uncharacteristic surge of protectiveness, as if he could change the way the world turned, if only to see her lovely little face light up with happiness and look upon him more kindly. ‘Here, take the money anyway. Call it a bonus, or compensation for your stolen dinner.’
Dolly stared at the coin with longing in her heart as she thought what it would buy. She could get herself a threepenny pie from the cook shop. And the balance would buy her a good dinner for the rest of the week, or she could save it up towards a pair of new boots. ‘No thanks. Wouldn’t be right. I’ll not take brass I’ve not earned. Not with the strike and everything.’ And pushing past him, chin held obstinately high, she went out the door and set off down the corridor.
Secretly, Dolly rather hoped that he might chase after her, offer her sixpence instead, or say he’d take her to the pub himself and treat her to a slap up meal, but of course he did nothing of the sort. He simply watched her walk away in silence. That’s bosses for you, she thought, all talk and no action. For no reason she could think of, since it wasn’t his fault that her dinner had been stolen, Dolly felt irritated that he’d given up so easily and not insisted she take the shilling. Perhaps that was why she paused at the foot of the stairs and, seeing that he was still watching her, couldn’t resist having the last word.
‘Course, if you provided a decent place for folk to eat: somewhere clean with tables and chairs, instead of a filthy, smoky, hot old boiler room, this sort of thing might never happen. Not to mention how much easier life would be if we were paid decent wages in the first place.’
Nathan Barker’s jaw went slack and his mouth fell open. Dolly allowed herself a small, superior smile as she stalked off upstairs, back to her machine, with at least her pride intact as she strove to ignore the noisy rumblings of her stomach. Obviously he wasn’t used to his operatives giving as good as they got, and her parting words had hit home. Serve him right! That’ll teach him a sharp lesson for attempting to patronise Dolly Tomkins.
* * *
It was as she was crossing the floor that it happened. Paying no heed to her sister’s warning to tread carefully, since Dolly never did anythin
g slowly, and perhaps because her mind was still on the conversation with Nathan Barker and the loss of her dinner, she wasn’t paying proper attention as she hurried back to her frame. But then something struck her on the back of her ankles and she went sprawling, face down on the oily, wet floor. It seemed to be her week for falling.
‘That’ll teach you for favouring blacklegs.’
To her horror, Dolly realised she’d been felled by a large spindle, rolled right under her feet from the hand of Betty Deurden, a buxom wench twice Dolly’s size. She was not one of her favourite people at the best of times. Hot with fury and without pause for thought, Dolly gave a blood-curdling roar and launched herself at her assailant. Catching Betty off guard as she stood laughing at the result of her clever trick, Dolly wrapped her arms about the girl’s plump waist and brought her down. Within seconds the pair were grappling and rolling about the floor, spinning and sliding in the muck and oil, arms flailing as they aimed and dodged blows, tore at each other’s hair and attempted to scratch whatever came within clawing distance.
‘I’ll flay you alive,’ Dolly yelled.
‘You asked fer it, helping that hoity-toity little madam take work from our lads, and bread from our mouths.’
Gasping for breath, Dolly saw the uselessness of argument even as she yelled, ‘She were only doing her bit…’ and Betty’s fist connected with her jaw. Why do I bother? she wondered in a haze of pain. What’s it to me? I don’t even know the girl in the fancy motor, and had accused her of the self-same thing. Except that Dolly had seen how relieved Maggie’s widowed sister was to arrive safely, having surely suffered enough troubles recently, so recognised that toffee-nosed though she might well be, the girl had meant well in her clumsy way. Besides, Dolly always liked to give people the benefit of the doubt, particularly when they were helping others.
And then the spindle struck her again, this time on the back of her head, felling her with a single blow. That made her see red, and stars too.
Despite feeling dazed, she was on her feet in seconds, as feisty as a terrier: blood up, fists flying and temper running hot and high. My God but she’d make Betty Deurden sorry for that one. But before Dolly had time to catch her breath let alone consider just where on Betty’s plump form she should place the next blow, a hand grasped her by the collar and lifted her bodily off the ground. This was not difficult for anyone to do, since Dolly was aptly named and her size diminutive. The hand belonged to that of the overlooker, Harold Entwistle, who did not suffer fools gladly.
‘Right, Miss, I’ve had enough of you and your trouble-making.’
‘What, me? What’ve I done?’
‘What have you not done? I still remember the time you climbed out the mill window and got yourself locked out. Made me look a proper Charlie in front of the gaffer.’
Dolly was outraged. ‘That was only because it was hot and I needed a bit of fresh air. Why take it out on me now? Anyroad, it weren’t my fault someone closed the window, and this isn’t my fault neither.’
‘I’ve been patient with you, Dolly Tomkins, let you try jobs you weren’t really up to, put up with that sharp wit of yours, said nothing when you shinned down the drain pipe after the Christmas party. Didn’t even dock your pay when you were late in to work and—’
‘That were only because I were looking for me dad.’
‘Nevertheless, fighting on the mill floor is one step too far for me to turn a blind eye to, so is arguing with your betters. So you can pick up your cards and go.’
‘But it were Betty what started it.’
‘I don’t care who started it, I’m finishing it.’
Aggie was beside her in an instant, pointing out to Harold that he was being unfair, but he would have none of it. ‘Nay, I’m sorry Aggie. I’ll not have no bother, not on my shift. They can both go. Betty and your Dolly, and that’s my last word on the subject, or else it’ll be my neck on the block.
‘You rotten coward,’ Aggie cried, driven to defend her sister since she’d seen exactly what had taken place.
Harold flushed scarlet. ‘Are you wanting to join her on t’dole? Because I’ll take no lip from you neither.’
Aggie at once began to cry, weeping copious tears into her grubby hanky.
‘Nay, Aggie lass, don’t take on. She’s brought it on herself.’ Stricken by his apparent cruelty, Harold turned on Dolly. ‘Look what you’ve done now, Dolly Tomkins, upsetting your Aggie. I’ve heard of your latest exploits, about you helping a blackleg. You’re a liability, that’s what you are, and we don’t want your sort in this mill. You should take a leaf out of your sister’s book and be more ladylike. Next time you consider doing a bit of strike-breaking, Dolly Tomkins, you’ll happen remember this episode and think better of it. Meanwhile, you can pick up what’s due to you, and get off home.’
‘What’s going on here?’
Dolly’s heart sank even further, if that were possible, as she recognised the bulky shape of her father approaching, his face like thunder.
Chapter Five
Someone had evidently told Calvin that his two lasses were in a bit of bother and here he was, bearing down upon them, eyes almost popping out of his big, round head, great fists clenched, his whole, bulging body swollen with rage. And Dolly knew, she just knew, that he wouldn’t take her part in the dispute. Not for a second would he see her as the victim in all of this, but would be sure to put the blame squarely on to her shoulders. What her mam would say when she learned she’d lost her job, Dolly didn’t dare to think. ‘It weren’t my fault,’ she said, before ever he’d reached her.
Aggie chimed up. ‘Aw Dad, she’s been sacked, me an’ all.’
‘Na then,’ said Harold in his most conciliatory tones. ‘Don’t start something you might regret, Calvin. Thy lass is only getting what she deserves. And I didn’t mean it about your Aggie. She’s a good worker and can stop on, but Dolly goes.’
Calvin wasn’t even listening. The moment he’d drawn level with Aggie, seen how his precious daughter wept and taken note of her disastrous news, he turned to Dolly and landed her one with the flat of his hand, right across her face, sending her sprawling. ‘So you’ve lost us your wages now, have you? You great gormless lump.’
Holding her stinging cheek, Dolly decided that she’d stay where she was on the floor. If she risked getting up he might only knock her down again. Besides, she couldn’t seem to move a muscle. Her head was spinning and tears of agony were running down her flushed face.
‘Here, hold on,’ Harold put in, finding himself in the peculiar position of defending the very person he’d just sacked. ‘There’s no need to get nasty. We’ve had enough fisticuffs for one morning.’
‘And you can mind your own business.’ So saying, Calvin threw a punch right at the poor man’s face. Fortunately, Harold Entwistle spent his spare time in the boxing ring, a useful skill he’d always thought, in his line of work. Being in charge of any group of workers was a hazardous task at the best of times, let alone during a period of strife. A bit of fancy footwork had often stood him in good stead. On this occasion he neatly evaded the blow with a swift sideways motion, so that it did not connect. Unfortunately, the force of his punch carried Calvin relentlessly onward and his heel caught on the very same spindle that had felled Dolly. His feet skidded like pistons beneath him, arms winding round and round like the sails on a windmill as he strove to keep his balance. It might almost have been funny had he not grabbed hold of the long rope which hung from the enormous fly wheel and drove the great engine that operated the spinning frames. Somehow he got himself tangled up in it and Dolly knew that as long as she lived, she would never forget the surprised expression on her father’s face as the giant pulley lifted him high up into the roof, carrying him effortlessly the length of the room where finally it crushed him like an ant.
* * *
‘Are you trying to put the blame on to me? How on earth can I be responsible for some girl being given the sack, and her father killed?’
Nathan thought of the girl’s lovely face and felt again that stab of guilt. Was he to blame for her suffering? He’d always believed in taking responsibility for his own life, and assuming others would do likewise. Seeing that young girl with the desperation of hunger in her haunted gaze, pinching her cheeks to hollow shells, he’d been moved to pity. A reaction, which had unnerved him, since he’d never seen himself as the over-sensitive sort. And his daughter was even less so.
Evie tossed her head, buttering her breakfast roll with a studied grace, as if this were of no concern to her at all. ‘Utter tosh! When Mumsie comes down, I shall tell her that you’re being unkind to me again.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Evie, stand on your own two feet for once and leave your mother out of this. You know it only upsets her.’
‘I know that you are upsetting me. I was only doing my bit to help. And the woman I gave the lift too was glad enough to have it. You should have seen how her brats crawled all over my lovely leather seats in their filthy boots. Really, these people can’t have it both ways.’ She bit delicately into her roll, taking the smallest nibble, and then thought better of it and set it back on her plate. If she didn’t start eating a little less, she’d never squeeze into the divine wedding gown being made for her.