by Ellen Wood
“They seem always at work,” remarked Jane.
“Always at work!” repeated Mrs. Buffle. “You don’t know much of ‘em, mum, or you’d not say it. They’ll play one day, and work the next; that’s their work. It’s only a few of the steady ones that’ll work regular, all the week through.”
“What could a good, steady workwoman earn a week at the glove-making?”
“That depends, mum, upon how close she stuck to it,” responded Mrs. Buffle.
“I mean, sitting closely.”
“Oh, well,” debated Mrs. Buffle carelessly, “she might earn ten shillings a week, and do it comfortable.”
Ten shillings a week! Jane’s heart beat hopefully. Upon ten shillings a week she might manage to exist, to keep her children from starvation, until better days arose. She, impelled by necessity, could sit longer and closer, too, than perhaps those women did. Mrs. Buffle continued, full of inward gratulation that her silent customer had come round to gossip at last.
“They be the improvidentest things in the world, mum, these gloveress girls. Sundays they be dressed up as grand as queens, flowers inside their bonnets, and ribbuns out, a-setting the churches and chapels alight with their finery; and then off for walks with their sweethearts, all the afternoon and evening. Mondays is mostly spent in waste, gathering of themselves at each other’s houses, talking and laughing, or, may be, off to the fields again — anything for idleness. Tuesdays is often the same, and then the rest of the week they has to scout over their work, to get it in on the Saturday. Ah! you don’t know ‘em, mum.”
Jane paid for her darning cotton and came away, much to Mrs. Buffle’s regret. “Ten shillings a week,” kept ringing in her ears.
CHAPTER XIX.
MRS. REECE AND DOBBS.
Jane was busy that evening; but the following morning she went into Samuel Lynn’s. Patience was in the kitchen, washing currants for a pudding; the maid upstairs at her work. Jane held the body of Anna’s frock in her hand. She wished to try it on.
“Anna is not at home,” was the reply of Patience. “She is gone to spend the day with Mary Ashley.”
Jane felt sorry; she had been in hopes of finishing it that day. “Patience,” said she, “I want to ask your advice. I have been thinking that I might get employment at sewing gloves. It seems easy work to learn.”
“Would thee like the work?” asked Patience. “Ladies have a prejudice against it, because it is the work supplied to the poor. Not but that some ladies in this town, willing to eke out their means, do work at it in private. They get the work brought out to them and taken in.”
“That would be the worst for me,” observed Jane: “taking in the work. I do fear I should not like it.”
“Of course not. Thee could not go to the manufactory and stand amid the crowd of women for thy turn to be served as one of them. Wait thee an instant.”
Patience dried her hands upon the roller-towel, and took Jane into the best parlour, the one less frequently used. Opening a closet, she reached from it a small, peculiar-looking machine, and some unmade gloves: the latter were in a basket, covered over with a white cloth.
“This is different work from what the women do,” said she. “It is what is called the French point, and is confined to a few of the chief manufacturers. It is not allowed to be done publicly, lest all should get hold of the stitch. Those who employ the point have it done in private.”
“Who does it here?” exclaimed Jane.
“I do,” said Patience, laughing. “Did thee think I should be like the fine ladies, ashamed to put my hand to it? I and James Meeking’s wife do all that is at present being done for the Ashley manufactory. But now, look thee. Samuel Lynn was saying only last night, that they must search out for some other hand who would be trustworthy, for they want more of the work done. It is easy to learn, and I know they would give it thee. It is a little better paid than the other work, too. Sit thee down and try it.”
Patience fixed the back of the glove in the pretty little square machine, took the needle — a peculiar one — and showed how it was to be done. Jane, in a glow of delight, accomplished some stitches readily.
“I see thee would be handy at it,” said Patience. “Thee can take the machine indoors to-day and practise. I will give thee a piece of old leather to exercise upon. In two or three days thee may be quite perfect. I do not work very much at it myself, at which Samuel Lynn grumbles. It is all my own profit, what I earn, so that he has no selfish motive in urging me to work, except that they want more of it done. But I have my household matters to attend to, and Anna takes up my time. I get enough for my clothes, and that is all I care for.”
“I know I could do it! I could do it well, Patience.”
“Then I am sure thee may have it to do. They will supply thee with a machine, and Samuel Lynn will bring thy work home and take it back again, as he does mine. He — —”
William was bursting in upon them with a beaming face. “Mamma, make haste home. Two ladies are asking to see the rooms.”
Jane hurried in. In the parlour sat a pleasant-looking old lady in a large black silk bonnet. The other, smarter, younger (but she must have been forty at least), and very cross-looking, wore a Leghorn bonnet with green and scarlet bows. She was the old lady’s companion, housekeeper, servant, all combined in one, as Jane found afterwards.
“You have lodgings to let, ma’am,” said the old lady. “Can we see them?”
“This is the sitting-room,” Jane was beginning; but she was interrupted by the smart one in a snappish tone.
“This the sitting-room! Do you call this furnished?”
“Don’t be hasty, Dobbs,” rebuked her mistress. “Hear what the lady has to say.”
“The furniture is homely, certainly,” acknowledged Jane. “But it is new and clean. That is a most comfortable sofa. The bedrooms are above.”
The old lady said she would see them, and they proceeded upstairs. Dobbs put her head into one room, and withdrew it with a shriek. “This room has no bedside carpets.”
“I am sorry to say that I have no bedside carpets at present,” said Jane, feeling all the discouragement of the avowal. “I will get some as soon as I possibly can, if any one taking the rooms will kindly do without them for a little while.”
“Perhaps we might, Dobbs,” suggested the old lady, who appeared to be of an accommodating, easy nature; readily satisfied.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, you’ll do nothing of the sort,” returned Dobbs. “We should have you doubled up with cramp, if you clapped your feet on to a cold floor. I am not going to do it.”
“I never do have cramp, Dobbs.”
“Which is no reason, ma’am, why you never should,” authoritatively returned Dobbs.
“What a lovely view from these back windows!” exclaimed the old lady. “Dobbs, do you see the Malvern Hills?”
“We don’t eat and drink views,” testily responded Dobbs.
“They are pleasant to look at though,” said her mistress. “I like these rooms. Is there a closet, ma’am, or small apartment that we could have for our trunks, if we came?”
“We are not coming,” interrupted Dobbs, before Jane could answer. “Carpetless floors won’t suit us, ma’am.”
“There is a closet here, over the entrance,” said Jane to the old lady, as she opened the door. “Our own boxes are in it now, but I can have them moved upstairs.”
“So there’s a cock-loft, is there?” put in Dobbs.
“A what?” cried Jane, who had never heard the word. “There is nothing upstairs but an attic. A garret, as it is called here.”
“Yes,” burst forth Dobbs, “it is called a garret by them that want to be fine. Cock-loft is good enough for us decent folk: we’ve never called it anything else. Who sleeps up there?” she summarily demanded.
“My little boys. This was their room, but I have put them upstairs that I may let this one.”
“There ma’am!” said Dobbs, triumphantly, as she turned to her mistress.
“You’ll believe me another time, I hope! I told you I knew there was a pack of children. One of ’em opened the door to us.”
“Perhaps they are quiet children,” said the old lady, who had been so long used to the grumbling and domineering of Dobbs, that she took it as a matter of course.
“They are, indeed,” said Jane, “quiet, good children. I will answer for it that they will not disturb you in any way.”
“I should like to see the kitchen, ma’am,” said the old lady.
“We only want the use of it,” snapped Dobbs. “Our kitchen fire goes out after dinner, and I boil the kettle for tea in the parlour.”
“Would attendance be required?” asked Jane of the old lady.
“No, it wouldn’t,” answered Dobbs, in the same tart tone. “I wait upon my missis, and I wait upon myself, and we have a woman in to do the cleaning, and the washing goes out.”
The answer gave Jane great relief. Attending upon lodgers had been a dubious prospect in more respects than one.
“It’s a very good kitchen,” said the old lady, as they went in, and she turned round in it.
“I’ll be bound it smokes,” said Dobbs.
“No, it does not,” replied Jane.
“Where’s the coalhouse?” asked Dobbs. “Is there two?”
“Only one,” said Jane. “It is at the back of the kitchen.”
“Then — if we did come — where could our coal be put?” fiercely demanded Dobbs. “I must have my coalhouse to myself, with a lock and key. I don’t want the house’s fires supplied from my missis’s coal.”
Jane’s cheeks flushed as she turned to the old lady. “Allow me to assure you that your property — of whatever nature it may be — will be perfectly sacred in this house. Whether locked up or not, it will be left untouched by me and mine.”
“To be sure, ma’am,” pleasantly returned the old lady. “I’m not afraid. You must not mind what Dobbs says: she means nothing.”
“And our safe for meat and butter,” proceeded that undaunted functionary. “Is there a key to it?”
“And now about the rent?” said the old lady, giving Jane no time to answer that there was a key.
Jane hesitated. And then, with a flush, asked twenty shillings a week.
“My conscience!” uttered Dobbs. “Twenty shillings a week. And us finding spoons and linen!”
“Dobbs,” said the old lady. “I don’t see that it is so very out of the way. A parlour, two bedrooms, a closet, and the kitchen, all furnished — —”
“The closet’s an empty, dark hole, and the kitchen’s only the use of it, and the bedrooms are carpetless,” reiterated Dobbs, drowning her mistress’s voice. “But, if anybody asked you for your head, ma’am, you’d just cut it off and give it, if I wasn’t at hand to stop you.”
“Well, Dobbs, we have seen nothing else to suit us up here. And you know I want to settle myself at this end of the town, on account of it being high and dry. Parry says I must.”
“We have not half looked yet,” said Dobbs.
“A pound a-week is a good price, ma’am; and we have not paid quite so much where we are: but I don’t know that it’s unreasonable,” continued the old lady to Jane. “What shall we do, Dobbs?”
“Do, ma’am! Why, of course you’ll come out, and try higher up. To take these rooms without looking out for others, would be as bad as buying a pig in a poke. Come along, ma’am. Bedrooms without carpets won’t do for us at any price,” she added to Jane by way of a party salutation.
They left the house, the lady with a cordial good morning, Dobbs with none at all; and went quarrelling up the road. That is, the old lady reasoning, and Dobbs disputing. The former proposed, if they saw nothing to suit them better, to purchase bedside carpeting: upon which Dobbs accused her of wanting to bring herself to the workhouse.
Patience, who had watched them away, from her parlour window, came in to learn the success. She brought in with her the machine, a plain piece of leather, the size of the back of a glove, neatly fixed in it. Jane’s tears were falling.
“I think they would have taken them had there been bedside carpets,” sighed she. “Oh, Patience, what a help it would been! I asked a pound a week.”
“Did thee? That was a good price, considering thee would not have to give attendance.”
“How do you know I should not?” asked Jane.
“Because I know Hannah Dobbs waits upon her mistress,” replied Patience. “She is the widow of Joseph Reece, and he left her well off. I heard they were coming to live up this way. Did they quite decline them? Because, I can tell thee what. We have some strips of bedside carpet not being used, and I would not mind lending them till thee can buy others. It is a pity thee should lose the letting for the sake of a bit of carpet.”
Jane looked up gratefully. “What should I have done without you, Patience?”
“Nay, it is not much: thee art welcome. I would not risk the carpet with unknown people, but Hannah Dobbs is cleanly and careful.”
“She has a very repelling manner,” observed Jane.
“It is not agreeable,” assented Patience, with a smile; “but she is attached to her mistress, and serves her faithfully.”
Jane sat down to practise upon the leather, watching the road at the same time. In about an hour she saw Mrs. Reece and Dobbs returning. William went out, and asked if they would step in.
They were already coming. They had seen nothing they liked so well. Jane said she believed she could promise them bedside carpets.
“Then, I think we will decide, ma’am,” said the old lady. “We saw one set of rooms, very nice ones; and they asked only seventeen shillings a-week: but they have a young man lodger, a pupil at the infirmary, and he comes home at all hours of the night. Dobbs questioned them till they confessed that it was so.”
“I know what them infirmary pupils is,” indignantly put in Dobbs. “I am not going to suffer my missis to come in contact with their habits. There ain’t one of ’em as thinks anything of stopping out till morning light. And before the sun’s up they’ll have a pipe in their mouths, filling the house with smoke! It’s said, too, that there’s mysterious big boxes brought to ‘em, for what they call the ‘furtherance of science’: perhaps some of the churchyard sextons could tell what’s in ‘em!”
“Well, Dobbs. I think we may take this good lady’s rooms. I’m sure we shan’t get better suited elsewhere.”
Dobbs only grunted. She was tired with her walk, and had really no objection to the rooms; except as to price: that, she persisted in disputing as outrageous.
“I suppose you would not take less?” said the old lady to Jane.
Jane hesitated; but it was impossible for her to be otherwise than candid and truthful. “I would take a trifle less, sooner than not let you the rooms; but I am very poor, and every shilling is a consideration to me.”
“Well, I will take them at the price,” concluded the good-natured old lady. “And Dobbs, if you grumble, I can’t help it. Can we come in — let me see? — this is Wednesday — —”
“I won’t come in on a Friday for anybody,” interrupted Dobbs fiercely.
“We will come in on Tuesday next, ma’am,” decided the old lady. “Before that, I’ll send in a trolley of coal, if you’ll be so kind as to receive it.”
“And to lock it up,” snapped Dobbs.
CHAPTER XX.
THE GLOVE OPERATIVES.
At the hours of going to and leaving work, the Helstonleigh streets were alive with glove operatives, some being in one branch of the trade, some in another. There were parers, grounders, leather-sorters, dyers, cutters, makers-up, and so on: all being necessary, besides the sewing, to turn out one pair of gloves; though, I dare say, you did not think it. The wages varied according to the particular work, or the men’s ability and industry, from fifteen shillings a week to twenty-five: but all could earn a good living. If a man gained more than twenty-five, he had a stated salary; as was the case with the foremen. These w
ages, joined to what was earned by the women, were sufficient to maintain a comfortable home, and to bring up children decently. Unfortunately the same drawbacks prevailed in Helstonleigh that are but too common elsewhere; and they may be classed under one general head — improvidence. The men were given to idling away at the public-houses more time than was good for them: the women to scold and to quarrel. Some were slatterns; and a great many gave their husbands the welcome of a home of discomfort, ill-management, and dirt: which, of course, had the effect of sending them out all the more surely.
Just about this period, the men had their especial grievance — or thought they had: and that was, a low rate of wages and not full employment. Had they paid a visit to other places and compared their wages with some earned by operatives of a different class, they had found less cause to complain. The men were rather given to comparing present wages with those they had earned before the dark crisis (dark as far as Helstonleigh’s trade was concerned) when the British ports were opened to foreign gloves. But few, comparatively speaking, of the manufacturers had weathered that storm. Years have elapsed since then: but the employment remained scarce, and the wages (I have quoted them to you) low. Altogether, the men were, many of them, dissatisfied. They even went so far as to talk of a “strike”; strikes being less common in those days than they are in these.
It was Saturday night, and the streets were crowded. The hands were pouring out of the different manufactories; clean-looking, respectable workmen, as a whole: for the branches of glove-making are for the most part of a cleanly nature. Some wore their white aprons; some had rolled them up round their waists. A few — very few, it must be owned — were going to their homes, but the greater portion were bound for the public-house.
One of the most extensively patronised of the public-houses was The Cutters’ Arms. On a Saturday night, when the men’s pockets were lined, this would be crowded. The men flocked into it now and filled it, although its room for entertainment was very large. The order from most of them was a pint of mild ale and some tobacco.
“Any news, Joe Fisher?” asked a man, when the pipes were set going.