The Master of Liversedge

by Ley, Alice Chetwynd

  Mary was about to ask for an explanation of this remark; but at that moment, they heard a shout from close at hand.

  At once, the two men ran forward. Mary followed; when she came up with them, she saw that they had joined a third man, who was rubbing his head and muttering a string of colourful oaths. As she arrived, Nick Bradley stooped and held his lantern over a figure which lay sprawled in the snow.

  ‘Hold thy noise, Will Oldroyd — there’s a lady present, I’d have thee know.’ He turned the recumbent figure over with one hand, holding the lantern in the other. ‘Come on, now, Ben, lad — ’

  He broke off suddenly.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Jack Hartley, curiously. ‘Bain’t he comin’ to?’

  ‘Perhaps you could try rubbing some snow on his temples,’ suggested Mary.

  Nick Bradley removed the lantern quickly, so that it no longer illumined the staring eyes.

  ‘Tak’ more than snow, lass, I reckon,’ he said, grimly. ‘Poor chap’s dead.’

  THREE: WILLIAM ARKWRIGHT

  The mill at Liversedge was in darkness except for a solitary light which burned in the small office at the front of the long, low building. A man in his early thirties was sitting there, poring over a ledger. The yellow lamplight accentuated the darkness of his keen, shrewd eyes, and of the thick crop of hair which was brushed carelessly back from a high forehead. The deep frown which furrowed his brow gave him an irascible look; but it was the weight of responsibility rather than ill-temper which lent the grimness to William Arkwright’s face.

  He moved impatiently, passing a hand across his aching eyes. He laid aside the pen, and allowed his thoughts to wander for a moment back over the past.

  Eight years ago, he had been a promising young Army officer without a care in the world. From the first, his father had determined that this only son of his should receive the education of a gentleman: William had been sent at an early age to a well-known Young Gentlemen’s Academy in the south of England. His visits from school to his West Riding home had been short and infrequent; perhaps this was why the untimely death of his mother and his father’s subsequent marriage to the present Mrs. Arkwright had been matters which seemed not to touch him acutely. The birth of his stepsister Caroline, which took place when he was eighteen years of age and newly commissioned to the Army, was yet another event which seemed remote from the realities of his life.

  Six years later, this detachment from family affairs was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the sudden death of his father. He had come home for the funeral, little suspecting how things would be.

  For a moment, a rebellious look darkened the older man’s face as he recalled the interview which had taken place at that time with Benjamin Drew, his father’s lawyer.

  ‘So that’s how it is, Master Will,’ Drew had said, drawing his lips into a thin line across his narrow face. ‘There’s nothing left but a few hundred pounds as you see, and the finishing mill at Liversedge.’

  ‘But I don’t understand.’ The younger William had almost stuttered the words. ‘What of the mill at Huddersfield, that was started by my grandfather? When did that go — and why? My father was always plump enough in the pocket — he’s boasted of it to me a score of times — there wasn’t a shrewder manufacturer in the West Riding, I’ll take my oath on that — ’

  ‘True — none shrewder, in his time,’ admitted Drew, with a shake of his bald head. ‘But this war plays the devil with trade, as no doubt others will tell you. There have been serious reverses, and your father wasn’t strong enough to grapple them during the last few years — ’

  ‘Then why the devil did he never tell me — drop a hint of the way things were going? I’ve been spending pretty freely — I could have drawn in my horns a little, had I realized how things were.’

  ‘My dear boy, that was the last thing he wanted. He was proud of your commission, proud of your claim to be a gentleman — ’

  William Arkwright had interrupted here with one short, ungentlemanlike word, dropped in the stress of the moment.

  ‘Well, what am I to do now?’ he had asked. ‘I can’t continue in the Army with my finances in their present state, that’s certain.’

  ‘Quite right, Will. There’s only one thing that I can see for you to do,’ the lawyer had replied. ‘You must resign your commission, and take charge of Liversedge mill.’

  ‘Take charge — are you mad, sir? What do I know of the textile trade — or of any trade, except soldiering, come to that?’

  ‘Precious little, I grant you — but you can learn. And if you don’t, Will,’ Drew had said, gravely, ‘not only you, but your stepmother and stepsister will starve — ay, and your workmen and their families, too. For times are hard, my boy: make no mistake about it. It all depends on you, and what you can make of the mill.’

  William Arkwright moved impatiently, and took up his pen again. There was no profit in going back over the past; there was urgent work here and now for him to do.

  During the ensuing quarter of an hour, the pen scratched away industriously. Presently, he raised his head, listening. He fancied he had heard a sound outside. He waited for a moment. This time he heard an unmistakable rattle at the side door.

  He threw down his pen, and, striding quickly from the office, crossed the cold, stone passage outside. He turned up a lamp which was hanging on the wall, drew the bolts back from the door, and flung it open.

  A girl of about fourteen was standing on the threshold. She held a storm lantern aloft in one hand, while with the other, she clutched about her a snow spattered cloak. The lantern’s rays showed a small face framed by black, curling hair, and a pair of dark, lively eyes, very like his own.

  ‘Caro!’ His tone showed annoyance. ‘What are you doing here — and alone, too? Haven’t I told you to keep away from the mill?’

  ‘Don’t be cross, Will.’ She skipped inside with that quick, eager vitality that was so much a part of her. She set down the lantern, and took his arm, looking appealingly up into his face. ‘Nell was coming with me but I persuaded her not to — it’s so silly — of course I’m all right on my own! I came to bring you a message.’

  ‘What kind of message?’ he asked, still frowning.

  ‘Colonel Grey has come, and wants to see you. And Miss Grey is with him — and, oh, Will — she’s wearing the sweetest blue velvet pelisse, just the colour of her eyes, and one of those new bonnets with big, droopy feathers — ’

  ‘Spare me your Ladies’ Magazine Fashion Chat,’ he interrupted, the hint of a smile touching his mouth. ‘Didn’t your Mama explain to the Colonel that I am occupied here, and suggest that he might walk over to see me?’

  ‘N-no, not exactly,’ replied Caroline, doubtfully. ‘You know how it is with Mama, Will — she holds the Colonel in awe — ’

  He made an impatient movement. ‘Yes, yes, I dare say. But this isn’t just a whim of mine — I have urgent business here tonight — ’

  He broke off, aware of having said more than he had intended.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Caro, eagerly. ‘Do tell me!’

  He shook his head, frowning. She gave him a shrewd look.

  ‘You’re worried about something, aren’t you, Will? It’s no use to deny it — I know! What is it? Is it to do with the Luddites? Or is trade bad?’

  ‘A young lady should know nothing of such matters,’ he said repressively.

  ‘Stuff! Oh, I beg your pardon,’ as she saw his face change — ‘but, really, Will, I am not — nor ever want to be — that kind of young lady!’

  ‘You are my sister, and will be and do everything that is proper,’ he stated grimly. ‘You will begin by promising me never again to venture out of doors after dark alone.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try,’ she said, doubtfully.

  He seized her in a firm grip, tilting up her chin compellingly with his strong, thin fingers.

  ‘You will do as I say, madam.’

  The dark eyes grew serious. ‘Of course, I shall, Will
— but there are times when you don’t mean to do wrong things, and they just happen. You know — like an emergency, or someone else making you do them — ’

  He released her, and laughed. ‘You’re a rogue, child, and would argue your way out of any scrape — or into it! Heaven help the man who marries you, for he’ll have his hands full!’

  She pulled a wry face. ‘I don’t think of marriage,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’ll be an old maid, like the Mouse.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he replied, looking down at her with tenderness in his eyes. ‘Poor Mouse, you did lead her a dance! You’ll not do so with the new governess, or I’m much mistaken.’

  ‘What’s she like?’ asked Caro, eagerly.

  ‘You ought to have met her for yourself by this,’ he replied, frowning again. ‘I hope the wretched female hasn’t cried off because of the weather, or gone first to her uncle’s house instead of coming here. The arrangement was that she should be with us by midday, and here it is close to nine o’clock.’

  ‘Perhaps the weather’s delayed her. But what is she like? You haven’t told me, yet.’

  ‘Like? I really can’t say. She seemed capable enough — firm but pleasant with it — ’

  ‘Ugh!’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘She sounds horrid! Is she very old?’

  ‘As Methuselah,’ he assured her, solemnly.

  She looked up quickly, and caught the twinkle in his eye. ‘Now you are joking! I shan’t believe a word you say — I shall wait and see for myself.’

  ‘A capital plan,’ he approved. ‘But the Colonel is waiting. I wonder if I could chance leaving this place for a short while — after all, they may not turn up for hours yet — ’

  ‘Who? Are you expecting someone?’

  ‘Curiosity, young lady, killed the cat. I’m expecting Nick Bradley, since you must know.’

  ‘But you can see him at any time during the day!’ objected Caroline. ‘You had far rather come and see Miss Grey, Will, for I know you like her, and you don’t see her so very often. She is pretty, isn’t she?’

  ‘Certainly,’ he agreed stolidly.

  ‘Oh! In that tone of voice! But I know you admire her — you can’t humdudgeon me — I’ve seen you looking at her sometimes — ’

  ‘Young woman!’ He turned upon her, all the playfulness gone from his manner. ‘You become pert. We must try and see if Miss Lister can work a change in you. If not, we may need to consider sending you to school.’

  ‘Indeed. I beg your pardon, Will.’ She bowed her head contritely, veiling her eyes with dark, curling lashes. Her mouth trembled a little.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, testily, ‘there’s no need to go off into a decline about it — just mind your tongue, and try to have a little more conduct.’ He reached down a top-coat from a peg behind the door, and shrugged his broad shoulders into it. ‘We’d best go, Caro.’

  He went into the office and, casting a quick glance round to assure himself that all was well, closed the ledger and extinguished the light. He returned to her side, turned down the lamp on the wall, and picked up the storm lantern.

  ‘Come along,’ he said, drawing her arm through his. ‘And take off that Friday face of yours, miss. What brought it on — the thought of school?’

  He slammed the door behind them, testing it to see that it was firmly closed, before taking the narrow, snow-covered path which led to the house.

  Caroline shook her head. ‘No. I shouldn’t at all mind going to school if only the teachers were not too strict. At times, I get tired of being on my own with only Mama and a governess for company.’

  ‘But that’s only at this season,’ he objected. ‘You have playmates enough when the weather’s good, and the days longer. All the same,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘it might be to your advantage to spend a few years in a seminary. I’ll make some inquiries.’

  She flung her arms impetuously about him. ‘Oh, Will, you are so good! If only they could know how good and kind you really are — ’

  ‘They?’ he queried, sharply. ‘Who, for instance?’

  She hesitated. ‘Oh — oh, some of the people hereabouts,’ she said, at last.

  ‘I can only suppose you’ve been listening to the servants’ gossip,’ he said, coldly. ‘I’ve warned you before that I won’t have that.’

  ‘No, indeed, it’s not the servants — you must know how much they think of you! But some of the workmen — they do not understand why you are obliged to turn men off — they think you are hard and unfeeling — ’

  ‘That will do.’ She was not used to hearing that tone in his voice. ‘You are not to concern yourself with the affairs of the mill. I thought I had made this plain.’

  ‘Yes, Will.’

  Seeing that he was seriously displeased, she wisely refrained from saying more, and they finished the remainder of the short walk to the house in silence.

  They were admitted by Nell, the housekeeper, a plump, middle-aged woman with wispy, grey hair. Usually, she was smiling, but now she greeted her master with an apprehensive look.

  ‘I thought you understood, Nellie,’ he began curtly, ‘that Miss Caroline is never to leave the house unattended.’

  She started to answer, but was cut short by Caroline herself, who eagerly leapt to her defence. ‘It was my fault, Will, as I’ve explained — oh, please don’t be angry with Nell — ’

  The little face was eloquent with pleading. He turned, and gently touched her cheek with an admonitory finger.

  ‘Very well: we’ll say no more. But I shall not expect this to happen again.’

  He directed a sharp glance at the housekeeper as he spoke. She nodded, relieved at having escaped more serious censure, for she knew the rules quite well. Miss Caro was her stepbrother’s most treasured possession, and must be guarded accordingly.

  ‘Are my visitors in the parlour?’ Arkwright asked, discarding his coat and tossing it towards her.

  ‘Ay Maister.’ Nellie hesitated. ‘Mistress don’t know about Miss Caro,’ she added, timidly.

  ‘She shall not learn of it from me,’ he replied, helping Caroline out of her cloak. ‘But no more of it — understand?’

  He did not wait for an answer, but strode over to the parlour door, and opened it, guiding Caroline before him into the room.

  It was a comfortable apartment, furnished in a style that had been fashionable some thirty years before. Emerging from behind a Chinese screen which had been placed before the door as a guard against draughts, the newcomers moved towards the generous fire which was burning on the hearth.

  A stocky gentleman who had been leaning against the mantleshelf in thoughtful contemplation of the glowing logs, turned at their approach. He nodded his iron-grey head in greeting.

  ‘ ’Evening, Arkwright. Devilish cold — sorry to fetch you over here, but there are one or two matters I wish to discuss with you.’

  ‘Just so, sir.’ William Arkwright turned towards a sofa, where Miss Grey was seated beside his stepmother. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’

  Lucinda Grey extended a small, white hand, which he was obliged to take. Brief though his bow was, it brought his eyes within range of her provocative glance. He withdrew from the encounter in good order, without any visible signs of damage. Caroline watched discreetly, an alert expression on her intelligent face: she fancied that Miss Grey showed just a trace of pique. As for Will — who could ever be certain of what he thought or felt?

  ‘Your pardon, sir, but I mustn’t stay long,’ Arkwright said, addressing the Colonel. ‘You’ll no doubt recollect the business I mentioned when last I saw you? It’s for tonight.’

  ‘My dear chap, why didn’t you send a message? I’d have walked over to the mill. Shall we return there, now?’

  Arkwright shook his head. ‘No matter, Colonel. I may well have an hour or so to wait, and it’s a pity to drag you from a good hearth on a night like this.’ He turned to Mrs. Arkwright, whose plump fingers were hovering nervously over some netting. ‘You’ll have sent for refreshment, no do
ubt, ma’am? The Colonel and I will take ours in the library.’

  ‘Can’t we persuade you to stay here with us?’ asked Miss Grey, with a reproachful glance from her deep blue eyes. ‘I do so dislike a hen party — do not you, ma’am? Tell them they can very well talk here!’

  She turned for support to her companion on the sofa; but Mrs. Arkwright knew better than to argue with her strong-minded stepson, even if she had not viewed with relief the prospect of Colonel Grey’s departure. She had an uneasy feeling that the Colonel considered that all females of her age were little better than half-wits. Once this notion had entered her head, it made her behave like one whenever she happened to be in his company. She was aware that her intellect was not her strongest point, but never did she show to so little advantage as when Colonel Grey paid them a visit.

  She shook her head vehemently, so that her long earrings trembled.

  ‘Nay, lass — I mean, ma’am — if the gentlemen have business to discuss — ’

  ‘Oh, business!’ Lucinda Grey shrugged a slim, arrogant shoulder. ‘To be sure, that must come before everything.’

  Arkwright’s gaze rested on her consideringly, but he did not speak as he moved towards the door.

  ‘None of your tantrums, Lucy,’ admonished her father, teasingly. ‘I told you this wouldn’t be a social call, but still you would come.’

  ‘A trifle indulged, I fear,’ he explained to Arkwright, as they crossed the hall to the library. ‘But, there, what can a fellow do when he’s left with a female child on his hands? She was only eight when her mother died, and I had precious little understanding of children — or time to deal with ’em. I put her in charge of that Foster woman — good-hearted enough, but a fool, like most females of that age. It wasn’t long before madam could twist Aunt Foster around her little finger. Lucy’s no fool, I’ll say that.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s not, sir,’ replied Arkwright, opening the door and ushering his guest into the library. ‘Would you care to sit there?’

  Colonel Grey took the armchair which was indicated, drawing it closer to the fire. He cast a shrewd look at his host from under his strongly-marked grey brows.