Kill All Kill All

by Craig McNish

  “Of course – the day for hiring workers at the market place!” Arthur Mills got out of his bed, still in the clothes he had worn for the last two days gone, and walked into the larger room at the front of the house. “A very big day indeed, Andrew Mills! And how might you be faring?”

  “My stomach is filling with nerves, but the mind is strong and the body is willing to work at whatever tasks it might be given. If I should get work, maybe there will be a chance the master who hires me will need more help, and at that time I might mention your name. Then we would be able to work together and live together, be the family that we are right now. Wouldn't that be a grand idea?”

  “Indeed it would, but I fear no master would be wanting to put a man to work who is as sickly as I. It would be a waste of his money, most certainly. There will be many today who find no work at all, and they will be much more capable than me of doing any task required of them. But you should not think about me, only what is best for yourself. My wish is that your mother was here now to see what a fine young man you have become, Andrew Mills, for she would surely be filled with pride.” The younger man took a quiet moment to think on these words, and felt a tear prick at his eye.

  “I very much hope that would be true. But now I must ask, what is to become of you once here alone, too sick to work and earn wages? It may be that I can bring you a few farthings and perhaps a little food if I am able, but I think it little likely I should be paid enough to keep us both.”

  “That isn't to be your worry, my lad. I am of an age where I must think of fixing these things myself. All my life I have never strayed too far from vagrancy, so it would be of no real surprise if I was to end up back there. But me and your mother were always of the belief you would grow up to take a better path in life than we did and today is the chance you might find yourself on it. You would not deny your poor mother her dearest wish, I hope?”

  “I would do all that I was able to make her be happy with me, that much I swear.”

  “Then go forward and make a good life for yourself. Work tirelessly, serve your new master well, respect those even less fortunate than you or I and it will surely find you a good-hearted woman who will bear you sons and daughters that will make you a proud man. Fear not for me, I am ready to accept whatever might be lying in wait once you depart. Now go, for you do not want to be late! Farewell, my lad!” The two men embraced a while before the youngest of the two stepped out onto the lively hustle and bustle of the street on which he lived, a mind full of wonder at what the day might behold.

  *

  It was just after a quarter to eight when the market place saw his arrival. Mills looked around at the boisterous coming together of men, women and children, along with the animals and wares that they carried for trade. The men would talk and laugh amongst themselves while their wives and maids haggled and bartered for supplies, the younger children busying themselves chasing after ducks and chickens, startling goats and passing under the legs of horses that paid them no attention.

  Mills headed for the far corner of the market, the part where an assembled crowd was jostling one another, trying to find a fair vantage point from where they might be seen by a potential employer. It was often with great amusement that Mills would watch such a show in years gone by, never at that time even once thinking he would find himself in such a place one day. He checked his boots were clean, straightened his linen shirt and strode towards the fray in a confident way, taking his place at the edge of the crowd and just a little way from the edge of the track worn by passing carts.

  “'Tis going to be a very profitable day, I would reckon” Mills said to the man stood at his left, who went by the name of Robert Clarke.

  “That much would seem likely” said he. “Always a fine crowd for the first day of hiring, and the fair weather has brought them in their hundreds. The name's Clarke. And you might be?”

  “Andrew Mills.” The two shook hands, but only for as long a time to share a passing greeting. It would do no good to become more sincere, for competition to gain the best of the work was fierce and this was not a time to be making friends. “I hope to gain work on a farm close by. Many is the time I have helped during the harvests and am quite skilled at running a plough, so I've been told. What work might you be looking for? You seem to me to be a man who would forego the toil of working in the fields.” Mills nodded to Clarke's unweathered hands as he said this.

  “That is partly true – you have good observation” was Clarke's reply. “But I can turn my hand to many a task without difficulty. I lived on a farm for a spell as a lad; tending to cattle and livestock was expected of me, as was rearing the young who were too sickly to feed during birthing season. Why, I have nurtured many a calf or a lamb to the fullest of vitality when it was expected they should not live past but a few days. The hours were long, but the work worthwhile. I wish you luck in finding work this day, Andrew Mills.” And off Clarke disappeared into the thick of the crowd.

  “Begging your pardon, sir...” Mills looked to where the quietly-spoken courtesy had come from, offering a slight bow to the young lady standing close by. “I'll be certain to watch my step – I'm sure you have no desire to be thrown around like a child's doll.”

  “Nothing but an accident, and so not your fault” he answered. “With a crowd gathered so tightly as this, it would seem impossible not to collide with many people, never mind just me alone. No offence was meant and none has been taken.”

  “I'm Isabell Goodchilde” she said, flushing slightly and looking to the ground at her feet as she did so. “My daughter, Millicent – she is eleven years now.” The arm of the mother pulled a young girl into her side, and Mills couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance between the two. He told Isabell this, and she seemed pleased by his words.

  “You are here with your husband also? Only it would seem to be strange that a lady and her young daughter might be seeking employment in a household without her husband close by...”

  “He died, when Millicent was but six years old. A terrible fever took a hold of him and wouldn't let go, no matter what we tried. By the time we were able to get enough money to pay for a doctor to call, it was too late. Now that Millicent is of an age where work is expected of her, I hope we will find someone decent enough to take us both in. I couldn't bear to be separated from my little girl, but it might yet come to that. Maybe you could pray for us?”

  “I shall pray for you” Mills said. For this he was given a brief curtsey before the woman hurried after her child, whose attention had been caught by something Mills could not see.

  *

  Now, another commotion. His position in the crowd meant he could see little, but Mills knew from the excited talk easily overheard from close by that the visitors who many might class as their saviours was coming. He could hear carriages. Horses received instructions to draw to a stop, neighing and stamping their feet as they did. Carriage doors being opened, and the murmur of voices belonging to the wealthier part of society as they approached, skimming the gathering of hopefuls with an appraising eye.

  “You, what is your name?” Mills didn't recognise the face of the plump, grey-haired man who was pointing his cane at a girl he could not yet see. “Step forward and speak.”

  “Martha Fairless, sir.” She spoke in a timid way, maybe not surprisingly so. It was easy to be in awe of such obvious wealth and power, even more so at such a young age. “Eighteen years old I am, sir. Ready to work hard – I'll do anything you ask.”

  “Anything?” A large smile appeared on the man's lips. “Well, Martha Fairless, maybe I can find you a job or two somewhere in my home. You can cook, clean and sew, I take it?”

  “That I can. Very good at all three, sir. Mother started to teach me when I was three or four years old. No husband or children – I could start work today, if needs be.” The man cupped a hand over his chin, deep in thought apparently.

  “Be sure not to leave, I might want to speak to you again.” And so he moved furthe
r into the market place, perusing the crowd at a leisurely pace.

  “Why, it's as plain as the difference between night and day that she's lying!” Mills glanced over his shoulder.

  “You know this for certain?” He asked of the female who was stating her opinion to anyone close by who cared to listen. She seemed surprised by the interest of this one man stood in front of her.

  “Course I do! She's still only a child – no way is she eighteen years! My mother put me to work when I was only five; been doing a woman's work longer than she's been alive!”

  “Would it be rude of me to ask your name?”

  “Elinor Chator, that's who I am.”

  “Well then, Elinor Chator, might I suggest you hush down and keep such claims for those who would care to hear them, because I for one certainly do not. Now please, run along and bring me back something to eat that would be more appetising than having to chew on your words.”

  “Why you little...” was all a humiliated Chator could manage to say before skulking off with the sound of laughter in her ears.

  “Put her right in her place good and proper, you did” said a broad-shouldered young man who thrust his right hand into Mills' and shook it heartily. “William Longstaff” he introduced himself. “Eighteen, I am. Love horses – thought I'd try my luck getting work as stable hand. Might even work my way up to head coachman, who knows? But you get work that you enjoy and it isn't really work, right? More like somebody paying you to do your favourite thing.” Mills found this to make a lot of sense; it was something he'd never given any real thought.

  “Not that I know of such things, but I would reckon to land such a job you would need a lot of years behind you having done the same work elsewhere. You believe you are able to impress with your knowledge to gain such employment?”

  “That I do.” And much to Mills' amazement, Longstaff began to speak in great detail about what the job required and how anyone would be foolish to pass up on his talents. It would seem that someone agreed, for a man stood nearby couldn't help but hear Longstaff's words and immediately offered him work. Mills and Longstaff quickly shook hands before the second man left with his new employer. Now Mills began to hope that he too would be so lucky.

  *

  Edmund Fetherstone was nervous. Despite the warm mid-morning air and bright sunshine, he could not stop his body from trembling. It was something that his wife could not possibly fail to notice.

  “Are you sick, my love? Your whole body shivers, as though you have the most awful fever...”

  “I have no fever, Agnes...”

  “Then what is wrong with you?”

  “Fear has taken a hold of me” he admitted after some delay. “It scares me that this could be the last time I will see my wife and child. I know you will say I am a fool to think such things, but I do not believe it to be entirely without reason. There are not many who would take on a family of husband, wife and child, yet that is what we must hope for if we are to remain together. What are our choices? Either we accept work where it becomes available, or are cast out onto the street to live with the other vagrants. So now we must decide – do we save our marriage, or save ourselves?” Agnes looked away; Edmund knew that she would be trying hard to keep back her tears.

  “We have been married eight years and then some” she said. “We have the most beautiful daughter, and she needs the love and guidance of her mother AND her father. I cannot bring myself to think of such a time when we might not be together, Edmund. I would rather us share love as a family of vagrants than live out our own separate lives. We will stay together, and we will be fortunate enough to find a household that will take us all. You are a skilled craftsman, and I a good cook and cleaner. Young Rose will be well taught by both parents and become a fine young woman in her own right. So we must believe that good things will happen for us.” A scuffle at their feet brought the conversation to a stop.

  “You would go off with this man and just leave me here?” Edmund winced, feeling the pain behind the hand of the man who had just struck a young and pretty woman across the left cheek with an open palm, leaving a bright red patch on her face. She held a hand against it, yet didn't shed a single tear. Instead, her eyes were full of revulsion for a man Edmund assumed was her spouse.

  “This is just the reason why I would gladly go” said the lady. “You have no love for me, only for the bottle of ale that is forever in your hand. There was a time I remember when you were a good and kind man, and I would have happily spent all of my days with you, but the drink brings out the evil in you and I want no part of it. I just thank the good Lord above that we are yet to marry, for that would have been the worst mistake of my life, I am sure.” Agnes looked at the young man; she was sure it was remorse and regret that he had in his eyes, and she pitied him.

  “And if I was to stop with the ale – what then? You would marry me?” A pause for thought.

  “If I truly believed you could stop taking drink, become the man I first loved, I would marry you in a single heartbeat. But I have grown tired of waiting, Nicholas; it has you in its grasp and you refuse to make it let go. I fear it will be the cause of your demise, and I have no wish either to be a witness or taken down with you. Maybe in time, if you can prove to me the ale is no longer a more important part of your life than I, but for now I feel it best that I go.” A cloud of sadness hung over the nearby crowd as Susanna Toft started to walk away, looking once over her shoulder as she left. Nicholas Ollyver crawled away out of sight, with Agnes guessing he would go looking for the nearest alehouse in which to drown his sorrows of a love lost.

  “Oh, God be praised!” Edmund took his wife's face gently in his hands and kissed her with some passion.

  “Edmund?”

  “I have just this minute talked with a man who has inherited a large estate and is looking to hire a great many staff. I told him I was married with a young child and he said there would be work for all of us. There is even a chance we would get our own small cottage inside the grounds! Isn't that wonderful?” Agnes was excited, but managed to stay calm.

  “And where would this estate be?”

  “A little outside of Northallerton, I believe – about forty miles or so from here. But the master of the estate tells me it is a fine part of the country and I have no reason to doubt his word. We should go.” A quiet moment, while Agnes thought.

  “Yes, we should go” she said. They collected three year-old Rose and made for the coach that Edmund was pointing out, excited at the prospect of beginning a new chapter of their lives together.

  *

  Mills was getting bored, and also losing heart. The throng of people was slowly being whittled away, the crowd much thinner now. Many had been hired. Many more had moved on after their offers of servitude were rejected two, then three, and then four times or more. Another day, they had thought. But while carriages continued to roll into the market place, there was always a chance. It was this thought that had got Mills to stay, and keep hoping that little while longer.

  A hideous din made itself apparent quite unexpectedly. Mills knew precisely its cause and smiled as he looked around to try and find from where it sounded.

  “Here's Annie Sanders, late as ever!” Elizabeth Barton screeched, nudging younger sister Hannah with her elbow. “You been at the whiskey bottle again, or was it them men who constantly call by your house during the night?” Everyone turned in the direction Elizabeth was pointing; a wide-bodied woman came running into the market place, huffing and puffing as she held up the hem of her dress so as not to stumble and fall. Her face was flushed and she was sweating.

  “Blimey, I can smell you from 'ere!” Elizabeth made a show of waving a hand in front of her face as she heckled the newest arrival, who as yet had said nothing. “When was the last time you 'ad a wash, then?” It wasn't entirely a lie; Sanders was quite pungent, this being made known when people edged away from where she was stood. Some were cruel enough to voice their disapproval with little regard to Sander
s' feelings.

  “You shut your mouth and mind your business!” Came the retort. “Don't be speaking ill of people when you don't know the truth!”

  “Well I knows this much; them men will only come to your room at night so they don't have to look at that big ugly face of yours while you give them their farthing's worth.” Another peal of laughter, but this time more widespread. Some felt pity for thirty-one year-old Anne Sanders, most just simply didn't care so long as they weren't the subject of unwanted attention.

  “We all have to do what we can to eat” said Sanders, which in not so many words was an admittance of pleasuring men for frugal cash reward. “At least men pay me for my services – you and your sister just give it away for free to any man who would ask. No need to even buy you ale first.” Hannah scowled as those who stood around expressed their amusement as the tit-for-tat dispute went on. It was with some disappointment that more carriages then arrived to put an end to the humour.

  With the passenger of the first carriage making their appearance known, Mills felt his heart quicken and his stomach become a jumbled mess. Constance Merryman opened a parasol and placed it across her right shoulder, holding onto it with both hands. Mills hadn't expected to see her here; she was a teacher, and therefore without a large amount of land that required long hours of toil, nor the financial means to employ paid help at her comfortable but modest home. So what might she be doing here? He wondered.

  Passengers disembarked from two other carriages, and Mills recognised the senior gentlemen to be Robert Cutter, who was a very successful trader that lived nearby, and also John Brass, the owner of the highly productive Brass Farm, which stood a short way to the west of Ferryhill. It was Mills' hope that he might get to work for Brass, as the outside life working in the fields was something he craved more. To be certain he could be seen, Mills forced his way to the front of the crowd, each one hopeful they might end this day with paid work. Mid-afternoon was starting to come on, and it was little likely anyone else of such importance would arrive here this day. With no wish to return home empty-handed and disappoint his father, Mills had to take this last chance being presented to him.