The Master of Liversedge

by Ley, Alice Chetwynd

  He tried to thrust it away, telling himself that it would be disloyal to his master, but gradually it gained ground. By the time he had seen the last man off the premises and locked the mill door, he had made up his mind.

  He walked briskly over to the Vicarage. Mrs. Duckworth opened the door to him, telling him to be quick and state his business, as she had something in the oven. He asked to see John.

  ‘He’s out, nor not expected back all night,’ she told him. ‘T’ Reverend’s abroad, too. There’s only Miss Mary, and she’s lying down on her bed with a bad headache, poor lamb. Won’t it wait till tomorrow?’

  ‘Reckon it’ll have to’ began Nick, reluctantly, when footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  Mary’s pale face peered over the housekeeper’s shoulder. ‘I heard your voice asking for John,’ she said, coming forward, ‘Is there anything I can do for you instead?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have come down, Miss Mary. But if you can see to it now you’re here — ’

  Mrs. Duckworth bustled gratefully back to the kitchen.

  Mary asked Nick inside, and closed the door. ‘How can I help you?’

  He shuffled uneasily. ‘I don’t know as tha can — least-ways — ’

  ‘There isn’t anything wrong, is there?’

  He hesitated. ‘Happen not. But dost know where Maister John’s gone tonight?’

  ‘No, I — ’ She broke off suddenly, her eyes widening in fear. ‘Now I think of it, he did say something — but I was upset at the time, and didn’t pay much heed. He mentioned some meeting in Halifax — ’

  ‘That’s what I came about,’ said Nick, heavily. ‘Dost reckon he’s gone there, Miss?’

  Her face grew paler still. ‘I — I think it likely. Why? You know something, I can see. What is it, Nick? Why have you come to see John?’

  ‘I wanted to drop a friendly word o’ warning, that’s all. Reckon ’tis too late now.’

  ‘Too late?’ She clutched his arm. ‘What do you know? Is John in any danger? Tell me, I beg you!’

  ‘Least said, soonest mended, Miss. If t’ lad’s gone to t’ St. Crispin, there’s nowt either on us can do. Reckon he’s played wi’ fire once too often — I knowed how ’t would be.’

  ‘For God’s sake, tell me!’

  ‘Happen I shouldn’t,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Though it’s hard to see t’ innocent suffer wi ’t’ guilty — not that there’s owt to be done that I can see. It’s like this — t’ Redcoats are goin’ to t’ St. Crispin tonight — Maister Arkwright reckons as it’s a Luddite meeting, an’ he’s warned Colonel Grey.’

  Mary pressed her hands to her head distractedly. ‘I must think. There must be some way — what time is it now?’

  ‘Close on six — ’

  ‘Then there might be time!’ She seized his arm energetically. ‘I recollect he said this meeting was for eight o’clock. If I can reach the inn before him — quick, Nick! How can I get there in time?’

  ‘Tha’s never meanin’ to go there thysen?’

  ‘Who else would go? John would not wish my uncle to know of this, and there’s no one else. But how shall I get there? Think, think!’

  ‘B’ God!’ exclaimed the overseer. ‘If ever I seed a lass wi’ t’ spunk o’ a lad, ’tis thysen! Ay, reckon I can find summat to get thee there — but how wilt go on, then? He’ll be wi’ all that lot — an’ a reight rough lot they are, an’ no mistake. ’Tis man’s work, lass.’ He paused. ‘I’ll go for thee.’

  Her eyes filled with tears. ‘You’re a true friend, Nick. But it won’t answer — John can be very obstinate when he’s excited, and I don’t think he’d pay attention to anyone but me. I must do everything possible — I must go myself.’

  ‘Then I’ll go along o’ thee,’ said Bradley quietly. ‘There’s a gig I can borrow. We can be in Halifax just turned seven, and keep a look out at t’ Crispin for thy cousin. Please God we’ll catch him in time.’ He paused. ‘What’ll tha tell t’ good woman in there?’

  ‘I must give her a hint that John’s in danger — she knows how he involves himself in these matters,’ replied Mary. ‘She’ll think of something to tell my uncle that will not alarm him.’

  ‘Then get about it, lass, while I fetch t’ gig. An’ wrap up warm, mind, for ’tis sharp tonight.’ He turned to go, then changed his mind.

  ‘Happen what I’m doin’ is wrong,’ he said, slowly. ‘It’s scarce loyal to Maister Will. But how can a man tell nowadays what is wrong — or what’s reight, for that matter?’

  SIXTEEN: AT THE ST. CRISPIN

  Not far from the parish church of Halifax stood the St. Crispin Inn. Above its entrance, a flickering lantern swung in the wind: the rays from this were too feeble to do more than afford an indistinct glimpse of the shadowy figures that from time to time passed through the door of the inn from the darkness of the street outside.

  Once inside, most of the arrivals on this particular evening did not linger in the lighted passages, nor turn towards the warm comfort of the tap or the coffee room. Instead, they moved quickly — almost furtively, thought the landlord uneasily — to a steep staircase at the back of the premises which led to a large upstairs room. At the foot of this staircase, a man loitered who sharply accosted every stranger who went that way: those whom he permitted to pass, encountered two further sentinels at the head of the stairs.

  This performance had not escaped the notice of the landlord. Usually a jovial man, ready to share in either a jest or a tankard, tonight his face wore a worried frown. His wife observed it, and quizzed him shrewishly.

  ‘What’s amiss, Joe? Tha looks as sick as a cat! ’Tis all that pudden — I’ve telt thee often enough tha shouldn’t stuff thysen when there’s work to be done — for we’re reight brisk this evenin’, an’ no mistake. Anyone’d think it was a Saturday.’

  ‘Bain’t the pudden,’ replied Joe, sulkily, ‘I’ve been werriting over that lot’ — he jerked a thumb upwards — ‘in t’ clubroom. What’re they up to, I’d like to know? There’s a chap on t’ stair, keepin’ folks out, I reckon.’

  His wife shrugged, and vigorously wiped a cloth over the wet counter. ‘So long as they buys our ale, reckon it’s nowt to do wi’ us what they gets up to. Tha’ll need to go down to t’ cellar just now for more, so look lively, do!’

  This sharp injunction recalled the landlord to his duties; and, for the next twenty minutes, he was too occupied to spare a thought to the Democratic Club.

  He was reminded of it again when he went into the coffee room to take orders from the customers there. A man and a young woman were standing inconspicuously just inside the door: from habit, he ran a practised eye over them. It was part of a landlord’s stock in trade to be able to assess customers at a glance, and this appeared to be an oddly-assorted pair. The man was a respectable-looking workman, most likely of some standing in his own particular line of business, for when he spoke, his voice had the rough authority of one used to handling others. The young lady appeared more gently bred than her companion. Joe thought that she had the look of an impoverished clergyman’s daughter, and he noted the strain in her pale face and clouded eyes.

  ‘There’s a club meets here,’ stated the man. ‘Democratic Club, it calls itself. Canst tak’ me to it?’

  Mine host sucked in his breath, and shook his head. He was not a quick thinker.

  ‘Ay, there’s a club — ’ he began.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Nick Bradley, starting forward.

  ‘Upstairs,’ replied Joe, slowly. ‘But tha’ll never be takin’ t’ young lady? Reckon they don’t have females — don’t know as they’ll have thee, think on. They’re reight partic’lar.’

  Bradley looked sharply at him. ‘Art tryin’ to jest, man?’

  ‘Not me.’ Joe shook his large head from side to side. ‘Just trying to give thee a friendly word o’ advice. But please thysen — it’s nowt to do wi’ me.’

  He began to turn away, but the other man put a hand on his arm.

  �
�Wait a bit. Where’s this stair, then?’

  ‘If tha cares to come wi’ me, I’ll show thee. This way.’

  Bradley turned to Mary. ‘Wait here, lass, and don’t move till I come back.’

  She cast a frightened glance at the grandfather clock standing against one wall of the room. Already it was a quarter past seven.

  ‘Yes, but hurry up and find him,’ she replied, in a whisper. ‘That’s if he’s here yet — pray Heaven he is!’

  He murmured something reassuring, and she nodded, seating herself on a chair close to the door. Bradley turned to follow the landlord down the passage. Half way along, Joe halted, and pointed to the far end, which was less well-lit than the rest.

  ‘Round to t’ left,’ he directed. ‘There’s a man there watchin’ like.’

  Bradley continued along the passage, and, turning to the left, saw a steep, dim staircase immediately before him. As he approached it, a figure loomed out of the shadows and stood directly in his path.

  ‘Who’s that?’ growled a voice.

  ‘Don’t matter who I am,’ replied Nick, shortly. ‘Is there a lad up there called John Booth? I want a word wi’ him.’

  ‘Dost tha, now? Well, happen he don’t want to talk wi’ thee,’ retorted the other.

  ‘He’ll be the best judge o’ that, I reckon. Just give him t’ message, wilt?’

  ‘I haven’t said he’s here, yet. Nor won’t, till I know who’s askin’,’ was the surly reply.

  ‘Tell him it’s his cousin wants him.’

  ‘Reckon his cousin’s got a name?’

  ‘Ay, but I’m not shoutin’ it all over t’ place.’ Tis a lass — she’s sent me to fetch him to her.’

  ‘Petticoats, eh?’ The man gave a lewd chuckle. ‘Well, reckon she’ll ’ave to wait. There’ll be plenty o’ time for courtin’ after t’ meeting’s finished.’

  ‘Nowt o’ t’ sort,’ retorted Nick, angrily. ‘‘Tis an important matter — she must see t’ lad at once. Wilt do as I ask, an’ tell him?’

  ‘I’ve not said as he’s here.’

  Nick let loose a ripe oath. ‘Give over foolin’, an’ find out — or let me by to do it.’

  ‘Let thee by? What dost tak’ me for? Who art, that thinks to give orders? Let’s have tha name, or by gum — ’

  Nick made no answer, but pushed past him, and started up the stairs.

  He had not gone far when he felt himself seized in a rough grasp by several pairs of hands. Two men had rushed from the top of the stairs to join their companion at the foot.

  ‘What’s to do?’ they demanded, while Nick Bradley struggled to free himself.

  ‘This chap wants to see someone in t’ clubroom. Reckons it’s urgent, but won’t give his name.’

  ‘Let’s see his face, then,’ suggested one of the men. ‘Happen we’ll know him.’

  ‘Happen he’ll know us, too,’ muttered another in a warning tone.

  ‘Not likely. Bring him to t’ top, lads.’

  Nick Bradley was a short, tough specimen of manhood, but he could do nothing against three men. Willy-nilly, he was dragged to the head of the stairs, and brought to a halt outside the door of the clubroom. Two of the men held him firmly, while a third stooped, and picked up a dark lantern. He held it before Nick’s face, and cautiously slid back the shutter a little way.

  Nick turned his head quickly, to try and catch a sight of his captors’ faces, but, quick as thought, the man with the lantern covered it again, before the brief glimpse could betray him or his companions. They had all managed to see Nick’s face clearly in that brief moment, and one of them exclaimed in satisfaction.

  ‘Ay — I know him reight enough, though I’ve forgotten his name. He’s t’ overseer at Liversedge mill.’

  At this point, Nick began to struggle more violently, and opened his mouth to shout for assistance; but the call never sounded. One of the men cracked him on the skull with a truncheon that swung from his arm. The overseer sank to the ground, and lay still.

  ‘What’ll we do wi’ him?’ asked one of the men.

  ‘There’s a cupboard in t’ clubroom,’ answered another. ‘Let’s shove ’im in there.’

  ‘He’s not dead, is he?’ asked the one who had first spoken.

  ‘Nay — reckon his skull’s tougher nor that,’ was the reply. ‘He’ll come to, presently, but he’ll be safer locked up in t’ cupboard.’

  After Nick left her, Mary sat for some time without moving, her eyes fixed anxiously on the door. If John were here already, there could be no reason why Bradley should not return with him in five or ten minutes at the most. Then they could all three be clear of the inn well before the soldiers arrived. She and Nick had discussed this matter thoroughly on the journey into Halifax: they had both agreed that, in all probability, the soldiers would arrive after, rather than before, the time fixed for the meeting. In this way, there would be more chance of catching all the culprits at once.

  When the ten minutes had expired which she had judged to be reasonable, she began to fidget. Once, she opened the door, and peered along the passage in the direction Nick had taken; but still he did not appear. His instructions to her to remain there had been explicit, but something might have gone wrong. Why should he not have returned by now? Assuming that John was already in the inn, there had been plenty of time for them to have joined her; while, if John had not yet arrived, Nick’s return should have been even more prompt.

  She resumed her seat for another few moments, drawing off her gloves and putting them on again with restless movements which spoke of tension. She glanced yet once more at the clock, and saw with a sinking feeling that it was already half past seven.

  She jumped up resolutely. Something must be done. She could no longer sit here waiting.

  She closed the door of the coffee room behind her, and stood irresolutely in the passage for a moment. She had no clear idea which way Nick had gone, and was hoping to see either the landlord or one of the servants, so that she might inquire.

  No one appeared, and she was too conscious of the passage of time to linger there. She knew that the room she wanted was upstairs, so she must first find the staircase. As there was no sign of one where she stood, she walked along the passage in the direction Nick had taken earlier.

  At first, she turned to the right; but a very brief walk brought her to a door which opened out into the courtyard of the inn. She saw that she had taken the wrong turning, and, hurriedly retracing her steps, found the staircase she was seeking. There was no one about.

  She glanced upward. At the top, a crack of light, showed round a door which had been left slightly ajar. This might be the room she wanted.

  She caught a quick breath. Without stopping for further thought, she ran swiftly up the stairs, her light, heelless shoes making no sound. Putting her hand on the door, she cautiously edged it open a little more. Then she peered timidly round it.

  It was a sparsely furnished and ill-lit room, but at first her eye did not take in all its details. Two things she did notice clearly. One was the knot of men gathered about an open cupboard at the end of the room farthest from her: the other was a tattered screen which had been pulled away from the door, and now stood at the side of it, very close to the wall. She could touch the screen easily with her outstretched hand.

  She made up her mind in a moment. Something — she did not know what — was keeping the attention of the occupants of the clubroom focused on the cupboard. She seized her chance, and, slipping round the door, eased herself behind the screen in one swift, lithe movement. Then she leaned out and gently pushed the door back as she had found it, finally moving the side of the screen a little so that it shielded her from the view of anyone using the door.

  It all took only a moment, and she was inside the room, safely hidden from a superficial scrutiny. Anyone who approached the screen from its other side might still observe her, for she did not dare to move it again. But there was no one at this end of the room at present; and, with luck
, perhaps no one would come close enough to find her out.

  She had no clear idea of what she meant to do. Obviously, it would be foolhardy to approach the group boldly, and ask for her cousin. If they were indeed Luddites, they would give her short shrift. She should soon be able to see if he were present among them: if so, she must rely on inspiration to show her a way of giving him her warning.

  She was reminded unpleasantly of the night when she had first come to Liversedge. Her knees trembled now as violently as they had done on that occasion, and once again her heart seemed to be beating in her parched mouth — she knew that there was not much time. In half an hour — perhaps more, perhaps less — the soldiers would arrive. By that time, John must be well away from the St. Crispin. This meant that she must issue her warning some time during the next ten minutes. How, she could not foresee.

  Up to now, she had been much too occupied with her own thoughts and fears to take in what was happening at the far end of the room. Once safely settled in behind the screen, however, she began to realize that some kind of argument was taking place. At first, the voices were too distant for her to distinguish the words, but, gradually, they grew clearer. At the same time, a heavy clumping of boots told her that the group had moved away from the cupboard, and nearer to her place of concealment.

  ‘I tell thee he’s a’reight,’ said someone, truculently. ‘He’s a thick head on ’im, has Nick Bradley, bad cess to him.’

  She started violently at mention of Nick’s name. What had happened to him? Had these people done him any harm?

  ‘But — but — you don’t know how b-badly he’s injured — they sh-shouldn’t have hit him. And to p-push him in a c-cup-board — ’

  Although she had expected to find John here, she recognized his voice with dismay. What he had just said sent a cold shiver down her spine: it seemed that they had attacked Nick Bradley, as she had feared. She prayed that he might not be badly hurt, that they might all three come off safely from this terrible adventure. For a moment, in her agony of mind, she lost track of the voices.