The Windfell Family Secrets

by Diane Allen

  Walter followed the wall out of the spinning room and pushed and shoved his fellow workers down the stairs, hoping and praying that he could save his own life as well as that of his co-workers. All the time he was worrying that he was responsible for the raging fire that was engulfing the mill. Had anyone seen him accidentally feed the fire? He hadn’t meant to cause this damage, and he had intended to put out the piece of fired cotton fibre. His mind raced back to the previous evening’s conversation with John Sidgwick, who had asked Walter if he could cause as much disruption to the mill as he could, if he were to offer him a small payment. Walter had dismissed John instantly; he might not like Charlotte Atkinson, but he knew better than to jeopardize people’s jobs and safety. Now he felt responsible for this – the burning down of Ferndale Mill. If anyone had heard John Sidgwick and his conversation, the blame would lie on him.

  Workers jostled and pushed Walter as he tried to keep his footing on the steep stone steps. One more flight to go and he’d be out through the warehouse doors. Women screamed and there was a bang, as a loom was heard crashing down through the floorboards from above, as the floor gave way. Then suddenly the smell of fresh air hit his nostrils as he approached the warehouse doors, where everyone rushed to get out into the night air, away from the burning mill. He’d never been so grateful in his life to smell the frosty, cold air of New Year’s Eve.

  Out in the yard, women and children wailed as the men ran back and forth with buckets full of water, dousing whatever flames they could get at and dampening the attached weaving shed, which the flames had not yet reached. Coughing and bent double, Walter looked up at the four storeys of Ferndale Mill: flames were licking out of every window, and the breaking of glass made standing anywhere near the mill impossible. He watched as Sally Oversby gathered the carding-room women and children together, and Bert Bannister did the same with the spinning-room and warehouse staff out on the open roadside, which was lit up by the orange-and-yellow dancing flames, making a note of who was missing and who had escaped the devastation. Walter put his head in his hands and sobbed. He was responsible for this night’s work. Why had he not let the cotton-fluff dust just burn on the gas light – it would have done no harm there. A momentary lapse of his senses had led to this. Lives were sure to have been lost and it was all his fault.

  ‘Shift your arse, Walter. Grab this bucket and join the chain. Let’s at least try and save the weaving shed, or are you too lazy to help with this an’ all?’ One of the overseers thrust a bucket into his hands and pushed him into the chain of men who were battling to save the shed. Walter grabbed the bucket and passed it from right to left down the line to the millpond, his face covered with smoke and tracks of tears visible to all as the fire raged on. In the distance the sound of the horse-drawn fire-cart could be heard coming from Settle, the bell only distant at first, then becoming clearer as it came down the lane and drew up alongside the millpond. Quickly the double-serving police-fire-officers unharnessed the team of frightened horses and led them into the safety of a nearby field, before manning the pumps and setting about saving the mill. The officers ran hoses along the sides of the millpond and aimed them at the high windows, while two officers pumped fervently on the wagon to transfer the water and give the men holding the hoses good pressure. The workers watched as the race to save Ferndale Mill started. They’d lost their jobs and some of their possessions, with coats and whatever had been in their pockets left behind, but at least they had all escaped with their lives. A count had assured the workers that everyone was accounted for, and the injured were quickly taken in a horse and cart into Settle to be attended to by Dr Burrows. All they could do now was watch and pray that the damage was not too substantial, and that the great mill could be saved.

  ‘Ma’am, ma’am, you’d better come and have a look. I was just adjusting the curtains in the drawing room and I noticed a flickering of flames down by the mill, and I think I can hear the sound of the fire-engine!’ A flustered Thomson took hold of his mistress’s arm and pulled back the curtains for her to see.

  ‘Oh my God – Ferndale, it’s Ferndale on fire!’ Charlotte caught her breath and watched for a second. ‘I’ve got to get down there. People might be in there!’ She turned to Archie.

  The whole family caught their breath as they watched the flames climbing high into the winter’s sky, lighting up the darkness with the cracking of sparks, like a spectacular bonfire, with flames licking around the outlines of the black trees and branches.

  ‘Come on, I’ll take you down in the trap. It will be faster than walking.’ Archie looked at his worried wife as she waited for Thomson to get her cape. ‘It’ll be alright, don’t worry – just as long as nobody’s lost their life.’

  ‘I’ll get the trap, you look after Mother.’ Danny walked quickly to the back door of the manor while Archie put his arm around Charlotte.

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ Betty and Ted echoed together.

  ‘No, stay here. Isabelle, you look after our guests. It may not be as bad as it looks. Oh, my Ferndale . . . how can this have happened?’ Charlotte was shaking as Archie took her arm to the front door to await the trap.

  ‘Please, all of you, stay here. It’ll be no place for party dresses this evening. Ted, I’ll send for you if we need you.’ Archie looked at the women dressed in their finery; a few seconds ago they had been laughing and joking, enjoying the evening. Now all were in tears. ‘Where is that lad? How long does it take him to get Jethro to put the pony into the trap?’ Archie swore as what seemed an age passed, while they waited for the pony and trap to arrive at the front door.

  ‘Sorry. I was asleep in my bunk, else I’d have been here a long time before now. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed, or smelled, the burning on the wind, but as I say, ma’am, I’ve been asleep. Are you alright, ma’am? It might not be as bad as it looks from up here.’ Jethro watched as Charlotte pulled up her skirts and Archie joined her in the trap. ‘Mr Danny is saddling his horse – he’s following us down.’ Jethro cracked his whip, feeling guilty at not noticing that something was wrong at the mill, and set the pony off at breakneck speed.

  Charlotte held back the tears as the smell of burning filled the air and sparks lit the dark skies overhead. As they turned down the lane to the mill, they could see the outline of figures fighting the fire, and the women workers standing high on the grass banking, watching in disbelief as their livelihoods disappeared in front of their eyes. An almighty crash filled the air as the roof of the mill collapsed in on itself, and the watching crowd gasped and moved further back from the flames.

  ‘Bloody hell, Charlotte, it’s gone – you’ve no mill left!’ Archie helped her down from the trap and stood looking at the burning carcass of the once-proud mill.

  ‘Ma’am, I’m so sorry, ma’am. Your beloved mill, gone in a matter of minutes!’ Sally Oversby ran to her employer’s side. ‘It happened so quickly, we were lucky to escape with our lives.’ Smoke-tracked tears ran down her face, and her clothes reeked with the smell of the fire that had raged around her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sally – are you alright? Does anyone know yet how it happened?’ Charlotte put her arm around the shaking woman who, up to the moment of seeing her mistress, had acted so strongly, protecting and accounting for everyone else.

  ‘I’m fine, but like most of us, a bit shaken. And heartbroken at the loss of Ferndale. I don’t know how the fire began, but it moved quickly. There was nothing more the fire service could have done, ma’am.’ Both women watched as the fire and bright-red sparks floated up into the sky, outlining the distraught figure of Archie.

  ‘What am I going to do now, Archie? Look at it, my beloved Ferndale.’ Charlotte gazed around her at the desolation, and at the sobbing women and children. ‘My world of cotton has ended this night.’

  17

  Bert Bannister stood in the cobbled mill yard and watched as Charlotte walked around the ruins of Ferndale. ‘At least we saved the weaving shed, and we’d supplied Smedh
urst’s with part of their order.’ He tried to cheer up his employer.

  ‘But look at it, Bert. I can never build it up again. And the workers, what are they going to do?’ Charlotte walked over to where Bert stood, picking her way through the rubble and past the singed bales of cotton that had been flung out of the warehouse in a vain attempt at salvage.

  ‘At least you were insured. Surely it’s just a matter of waiting for the insurance company to pay out to you and then setting about putting it all back together?’ Bert looked up at the burnt-out shell and knew he was being optimistic.

  ‘I don’t know if I want to do that. I became the owner of Ferndale by misfortune, and happen this is where it and I part ways. Perhaps it is time for me to sit back and wait for my grandchildren, and be a lady of leisure.’ Charlotte sighed.

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying: that you could never do. You’d be bored within the first week.’ Bert knew his mistress well and couldn’t believe that she was admitting defeat.

  ‘I don’t know, Bert. Lately life has thrown a lot at us, and this just tops it. But there’s all the workers – I’ve to do right by them. I just don’t know what to do any more.’ Charlotte looked around at her destroyed empire and breathed in deeply. ‘I’ve paid everybody’s wages up to the end of the month and told them to try and find work elsewhere, because let’s face it: it will be months, if not years, before this place is up and running again – if ever.’

  ‘Mrs Bannister and I appreciate the money; it gives us a little breathing space until we both know what to do next. If you decide to rebuild and need a labourer, I can turn my hand to almost anything.’ Bert looked worried. Unlike his employer, he hadn’t many savings to fall back upon and, no matter how much he revered Charlotte Atkinson, he needed work to keep his world as he knew it.

  ‘Bless you, Bert, you have always been there for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I have appreciated your support over the years. You would be the first I offered employment to.’ Charlotte patted his shoulder.

  ‘Just don’t take on Walter Gibson again, if you decide to rebuild. He might be good at his work, but he’s easily swayed by circumstances and gossip. Even on the night of the fire, he just stood and watched like a gormless idiot until he was made to help.’ Bert shook his head.

  ‘I won’t, and at least he’s got a roof over his head, living in the lock cottages. I can’t turf him out, not with all those children around his feet, and no work now. It’s his wife I feel sorry for, with another baby on the way and Walter with such a bad reputation. No one will want to employ him.’ Charlotte scowled.

  ‘You are too good to him – he doesn’t deserve your sympathy. Did the insurers have any idea how the fire started?’ Bert enquired.

  ‘No, not really, but the women in the spinning room said there was a lot of dust and fluff in the air, so they are blaming a lamp igniting a piece and it floating into the mule that Margaret Alderson was at. She said that was where the fire started, and the blaze came from nowhere. Her son got badly burned, as the fire caught hold of the fluff on his trousers and the lad was that frightened he ran out of the building, alight, instead of staying still and someone dampening him down. It’s frightening to think of everyone who was in there, and I’m thankful we have only her son and a few others with burns. It could have been so much worse.’

  ‘Aye, well, there’s nothing that can be done, for now. You’ll just have to wait and see what comes out of it all. And don’t blame yourself; it was an accident, there was nothing you could have done about it.’ Bert kicked a loose stone across the cobbled yard and felt like swearing. Of all the mill owners in the district, Charlotte Atkinson was the most honourable and she didn’t deserve the trouble she was in.

  ‘I’ll try not to. It’s just that I can’t bear to think of so many lives being affected by the blaze. I lie in bed of a night and think of the families that the mill supported, and I worry how they are going to exist.’ Charlotte turned her head from Bert and wiped a tear away from her cheek.

  ‘Folk around here are as hard as nails, Charlotte. They’ll make a do, don’t you worry. If they want work, they’ll find it.’ Bert felt like putting his arm around her, but knew that was not the done thing. ‘Now come on. I’ll walk up to the lane end with you. I don’t like the look of this sky; it’s threatening rain. And it’s no good moping down here, for there’s nothing either of us can do.’

  ‘Alright, Bert. Once I’ve decided what to do, I’ll let you know. Poor Archie watched me leave home this morning and just didn’t know what to do to help me. I should get back to him and put on a brave face, for the sake of him and my family. After all, it’s not the first cotton mill that’s been razed to the ground – it’s a hazard of the trade.’ Charlotte picked up her skirts and walked along the furrowed track back up the road to Langcliffe.

  ‘You’ve visitors awaiting you, ma’am, in the library. I’ve made them comfortable and served them tea.’ Thomson took Charlotte’s mantle, hat and gloves.

  ‘Who awaits me, Thomson? Did you not tell them I was out?’ She was in no mood for visitors and just wanted some peace and quiet while the manor was empty.

  ‘It is Lorenzo and Hector Christie. They insisted that they would wait until you returned.’

  ‘I suppose I will have to talk to them. Hector’s a close friend, and he will have come to give me his sympathies.’ Charlotte smoothed her skirts and checked herself in the hallway mirror.

  Thomson opened the library door for Charlotte and watched as she walked over to the Christies, revered cotton manufacturers in the area. Both men rose from their seats to greet Charlotte.

  Hector, Lorenzo’s son, held out his hand for Charlotte to take and smiled. ‘You look pale, Charlotte. You must be going through hell. We can’t begin to know what it feels like, and the burning of the mill must be a huge loss to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Hector. I feel like my whole world has fallen apart. But not as much as my workers, who are left with nothing.’ Charlotte urged both men to sit and make themselves comfortable, and watched as Lorenzo struggled to sit down with a stick supporting him, to help with the pain in his knees. ‘Has Thomson made you comfortable? Would you like the teapot refilling?’ She smiled at the elder Christie, the founder of the Christie cotton empire.

  ‘We have been made most welcome in your absence, so don’t you worry, my dear.’ Lorenzo leaned back in his chair. ‘Have you just returned from Ferndale? I hope you don’t hold this against us, or find us presumptuous, but we had a stroll down to look at the site yesterday. You have quite a problem on your hands, my dear. There’s not much left of the main building.’ He smiled at the worried-looking woman, whom his son respected greatly and was close to.

  ‘Yes, I’ve just been down there again. I still can’t believe that the mill is no longer there. It breaks my heart to see the devastation. I don’t quite know what to do. The mill will take a lot of rebuilding, and at the moment my heart isn’t in it.’

  ‘Well, we will be honest and tell you the reason – or should I say reasons – for our visit, besides giving you our support after losing the mill to fire.’ Hector moved his chair and sat closer to Charlotte. ‘Smedhurst’s have been to see us and have asked if we can supply the rest of the consignment that you are unable to.’

  ‘They’ve not wasted much time, have they?’ Charlotte looked down at her hands, hurt by the disloyalty of her customer.

  ‘They don’t have much choice really. They need the supply badly, and it is the second time they’ve been let down, through no fault of your own. I just wanted you to know that we have taken over the order. I didn’t want it to look as if we had stabbed you in the back.’ Hector looked worried; he hadn’t liked accepting the order, but at the same time business was business and he’d have been a fool to say no to the money.

  ‘I understand. After all, I did the same to Sidgwick’s after their demise. I’m glad that it is you supplying them, and I don’t bear you any hard feelings.’ Charlotte
lifted her head up and looked at her close friend and his father.

  ‘Then, my dear, perhaps you might be interested in my suggestion.’ Lorenzo Christie leaned forward in his chair and looked hard at the woman who was down on her uppers. ‘Would you sell what remains of Ferndale Mill to Hector and me? It would make sense as we could still use the weaving shed, for the fire did not reach that, and you clearly have no use for it at the moment; nor, I suspect, in the coming months – that is, if you decide to rebuild the mill. Let’s face it, trade in cotton can be a bit unpredictable.’ Lorenzo sat back again in his chair and rested his hands on his walking stick while he watched the hard-headed businesswoman, which he knew Charlotte to be, thinking.

  ‘It would mean some of your workers would be back in employment straight away, and we could promise places to your old staff. At least it might save some families from the workhouse.’ Hector knew how much her workers mattered to Charlotte, and he also knew how for years his father had wanted Charlotte and Ferndale Mill to fail, as a competitor. Hector thought a great deal of Charlotte, but blood was thicker than water and this was the chance he and his father had been waiting for, ever since Charlotte had taken over the mill, following Joseph’s disappearance and death.

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought what to do with it yet. Could you really take the weaving staff back on – there’s over forty of them?’ Charlotte thought of all the staff who had greeted her most mornings and she felt beholden to them.

  ‘Aye, I give you my word. And I’ll find a position for that manager of yours, Bert Bannister. I always have admired him, he’s a good worker.’ Hector stood up and looked at Charlotte, hoping that he could sway her.