by Rona Randall
“I am ready, Simon. Shall we proceed?”
“Wait!” It was Martin, racing to join them again and covering the ground swiftly despite his hop-skipping action. “I am coming with you.”
“Do you think that wise?”Jessica said.
“A fig for wisdom! What I do when away from the pot bank is no one’s choice but my own, and my choice now is to come with you.” So saying he urged his sister forward and the small cavalcade went on its way.
After they had gone a few yards and were turning the bend beyond the church, Jessica said anxiously, “I don’t want you to get into trouble with Joseph. He could punish you.”
“How? Thrash me? Let him.”
“His punishments can be more subtle than that. He will do it in some way at work.”
“I expect so. He usually does. Ask Meg here — she knows our dear brother’s methods.”
“Surely he doesn’t ill treat you, Meg — a woman?”
“Not me so much as others, ma’am, ’cos I happen to be good at my work and like it into the bargain. What he can’t abide is idleness and suchlike. Not from anyone, man or woman. He’ll take a hand to the women and a strap to the men, but o’ course that’s the right of a Master Potter.”
“So no one dare complain,” Martin added. “They would be turned off if they did, and no one can afford to be without work.”
But one day he himself would complain, and vehemently, and if his anger had not cooled by morning it could well happen tomorrow. Despite his show of unconcern, Martin was seething inside. Nearly nineteen years of age and he was treated in public like a delinquent brat, frog-marched back into line for all to see! The humiliation of it rankled. I will leave Drayton’s, he vowed wildly, but before I go I will tell him precisely what I think of him, and how much I know about him. I’ll make him sorry, that I will.
But how? Anything he said would only be mocked. Secure in his position of Master Potter and with a wealthy wife Joseph could afford to laugh at threats. And it was useless to vow vengeance without the means to back it. A man had to have money to stand on his own feet and, as yet, Martin hadn’t a penny. So it was all very well to declare that he would walk out of Drayton’s. If he did, the most he could hope for would be employment as a thrower with another master potter, and expert throwers were too valuable to be allowed to advance beyond the wheel. Certainly there would be no chance of the partnership which should come to him as a Drayton legacy.
They had reached Larch Lane and as they proceeded along it Jessica noticed that Meg stared straight ahead the moment Martha Tinsley’s cottage came into view, as if afraid of seeing the woman. That was puzzling, for it seemed out of character in a girl who normally marched through Burslem with a defiant air, daring everyone to think the worst of her and making it plain that she cared not a fig if they did.
The memory of Meg swaggering along beside Cobblers Green, on the Sunday of John Wesley’s visit, sprang into Jessica’s mind. The girl had been as oblivious of female catcalls and derision as she had been of insinuating and insulting whistles from the men, so was it likely that she would be intimidated by an old medicine woman, even one reputed to be a witch? The gossips called Meg by the same name, and it was common knowledge that many considered her to be possessed of the sight. Judging by her lack of it today, that must be untrue. No premonition had prepared her for this sudden change of home. Her astonishment had been genuine.
*
Being daylight, the shutters of Tinsley’s cottage were open, but Jessica recalled that even at night the woman never closed them completely, for lamplight had shone through a gap on that unforgettable night of the storm. In her own case, fear had been justified, but what prompted Meg’s? Why did her steps quicken and her eyes refuse to glance sideways when Martin observed, with some amusement, that old Martha was being as inquisitive as ever, staring from her window as they passed?
“And very surprised she looks,” he added. “I suppose we make quite a procession. I gather she likes to know everything that’s going on, in which case I’ll warrant she will pay you a visit within the hour, Meg, if not sooner.”
Meg frowned, saying nothing, and from his driver’s seat Si looked down at her and repeated his assurance that the woman would be a good neighbour. “She was helpful to me in many ways.”
“Aye, I can believe it, sir, but I don’t happen to be you. Nor does my mother. We’re only the Gibsons.”
Not another word was said about old Martha, and the instant Meg saw their new home her whole attitude changed. Halting abruptly, she gasped, “Just look at it, Ma! Just look! All them diamond panes, an’ good sound thatch, an’ a solid front door what shuts proper! And God in heaven, that there’s a real apple tree!”
She was through the gate, her excited eyes missing nothing, not the latch which fastened it, nor the short brick path leading to the front door, nor the crop of apples on the gnarled old tree in the middle of the small front lawn, nor the upstairs window — “A real upstairs! I’ve never climbed stairs to bed!” — and then she was racing back to the gig, biting into an apple with her strong white teeth, arm extended to her mother. “Here’s one for you, love — taste it, just taste it! It’s the juiciest ever! An’ there’s plenty more an’ all our own!” And then, sobbing, she cried, “My, but the Good Lord’s remembered us this day, that He has!”
Later, when Simon and Martin had fetched the rest of their meagre possessions — the arm chair in which Meg curled up at nights, a rickety table, some pots and pans, a homemade rag rug, the wooden tub used for bathing, the pail in which Meg carted water from the village well, and sundry pathetic items which represented home to them — Martin borrowed Simon’s gig to drive his sister to Medlar Croft and there helped her to load into the Drayton gig, as well as into the Kendalls’, all the things needed most urgently. Blankets and pillows, a carpet from Jessica’s former room, spare rugs and other items which Emily and Clara had brought down from the attic, for Emily had not forgotten Meg Gibson’s kindness following dear George’s death. But for her, the plate and beaker from which he had taken his last meal would not be occupying pride of place in the parlour right now, the glaze still brilliant despite having worn thin here and there, a glaze unlike any normally produced by Drayton’s.
Sometimes Emily wondered whether her husband had ever noticed the softness of the glaze, or remarked upon it. Having been married to a potter for so many years, and listened to so many discussions of the trade, she had acquired more knowledge than either he or Joseph had realised. That was why she knew that some glazes could be hard and others soft, and that it had something to do with the firing, as well as the ingredients. On the technical side she was a little unsure, but it didn’t matter. Joseph had taken great pains to produce a beautiful colour for Martin’s gift to his father, and although the boy had wanted to do the glazing himself, he had freely admitted that the celadon green Joseph had prepared was very fine.
And certainly in this instance Joseph had ignored the Drayton practice of using only a clear glaze over the plain red earthenware or buff stoneware which constituted the main Drayton products. Slipware was their nearest approach to decorated goods, and produced only for special orders. To mix an individual opaque glaze for Martin’s bithday gift to his father, and to take such pains to produce a colour of which dear George had been particularly fond, had been a kind and touching thought. And it had been brilliantly opaque, equal to any fine Chinese lustre in Emily’s humble opinion. It was therefore even more sad that it had disintegrated in parts, but at least its brilliance had remained in others. Emily was not surprised that Martin frequently studied it, trying to work out the recipe.
And it was to Meg Gibson that she was obliged for this memento of her husband. Not even Joseph’s wrath today made her forget that. Perhaps it had goaded her into fulfilling her promise to Jessica more diligently.
Besides Jessica’s bed, another had been put aside for Meg’s mother, along with a comfortable easy chair. There was even a sofa which C
lara had helped to carry down from the attic, its upholstery faded and its style old fashioned, but with years of good use in it yet. There were also blankets and pillows and a pair of quilts, plus cushions and other items — bounty indeed for the Gibsons.
When Martin saw it all, he was cock-a-hoop. “We’ll have to hire a carter to take the big things. I’ll see about that tomorrow. We can take the smaller ones now. I will take our gig, Mamma, and Jessica can drive Si’s — if she can manage it! I never trust a lady with the reins.” He was enjoying himself hugely and laughed when Jessica playfully cuffed him, for he knew how capable a whip she was. “I will lead with ours, and you can follow,” he added, heading for the front door.
Jessica put her arms round her mother and kissed her gratefully. “You have been generous, Mamma — I will never forget it and neither will the Gibsons, I am sure.”
The moment was filled with warmth and affection. It was as if nothing had happened to strain their relationship and that if she had ever done anything to hurt her mother it had been forgotten. And when Emily eagerly returned her embrace, Jessica was happy — until a sound on the stairs jerked them apart.
It was Phoebe’s step, halting abruptly and accompanied by a disapproving gasp. She looked down on the pair of them, a frown between her round and guileless eyes, then said coolly, “I thought you had gone, Jessica. I have been waiting to come downstairs.” “And why should my being here prevent you?”
“After seeing the company you and your husband keep, do you really expect me to associate with you? Don’t you realise that very shortly I shall be marrying into a circle which would never receive people who are so unselective in their friends? And I share Joseph’s embarrassment and shame for other reasons.” Her glance ran over Jessica’s thickened figure. “I realise now why he would not attend your wedding and after showing yourself in Burslem today, everyone else must realise it too. You have disgraced the family.”
The big, innocent eyes then focussed on her mother.
“Mamma, I trust you will issue invitations to my wedding with the utmost care and spare me any further humiliation?”
As her mother’s hands fluttered helplessly to her face, Jessica said, “Have no anxiety, Phoebe. I myself will make sure you are spared it.” And without another word or a backward glance, she took her leave.
Chapter Twelve
Martin was not surprised by Joseph’s summons next morning. He stood before the Master Potter’s desk, prepared for the worst, but Joseph’s tone was surprisingly calm.
“You know, of course, why I have sent for you.”
Martin assumed an innocent air.
“Because of my work? Are you dissatisfied? Have you complaints about pots I’ve thrown recently? Are they too few? Unfortunately, I have only one pair of hands, brother.”
He knew it was folly to speak in such a tone, also to omit the obligatory ‘sir’, but his anger still lingered, fuelled by the change in Jessica when she emerged from the house yesterday. She had been happy a few moments earlier, but not then; likewise his mother, waving a fluttering goodbye.
Joseph was saying stiffly, “I have no complaints about your work. You are a good thrower. Eventually there will be none to equal you at Drayton’s.”
“Eventually? That sounds as if you intend to keep me at the wheel forever!”
“If it takes that long for you to reach perfection, yes.”
“But there are other things to learn and my apprenticeship finishes in less than a year.”
“It will finish when I say so.”
“My indentures were for five years. That time will be up on my nineteenth birthday next February. I will then be entitled to a partnership in the usual way.”
“Potters’ apprentices never graduate so ambitiously. They must serve time as journeyen before becoming wedgers or turners or, if they are more skilled, throwers.”
“But under the terms of the family legacy I should have a share in the business, a partner’s share even if a minor one to start with. Time is getting short and I have still much to learn.”
“You have indeed. That is why I’ll be generous and renew your indentures for a further five years if I think fit.”
“That’s unfair! I’ve worked steadily through all the ground work and now, when I am as proficient on the wheel as I will ever be, you call a halt, cheating me out of going further. I have still to learn much about glazing, decoration, firing…I want to experiment, too.” “Then another term of apprenticeship will certainly be necessary.” Choking with disappointment, Martin burst out, “You are doing this deliberately! You want to hold me back, to keep me where I will be most useful. There are other throwers at Drayton’s who are as good as I and possibly better, but none who can produce so many pots in a day. That is your reason, isn’t it? I could have progressed from the wheel to glazing and firing long ago had you only allowed me to, then by the end of my five years I would have been proficient in every branch and ready to take my rightful place in the family trade. Every Drayton before me has done that — except you,” he added, suddenly recalling that Joseph had advanced to the administrative side after only two years as a manual worker, thus missing a long and intensive training as a potter. He had studied the rudiments and mastered enough technique to enable him to understand the various processes, and to levy certain standards on the workers to keep them up to scratch, but his real skill lay in running the place, at which no one could deny he was proficient.
Martin’s last remark brought a cold glance and an equally cold reply from his brother.
“Someone was needed to take over the management, in view of our father’s inefficiency. It was a blessing I was able to. Had I wasted more time on the manual side, Drayton’s would not be here today.” “Things were never so bad as that. The place had known better times, yes, but no workers had been laid off.”
“They should have been. I soon discovered how few were pulling their weight. It was characteristic of our dear father to shun the task of dismissing them. He was sentimental and cowardly — afraid of causing distress, he said. That was rank stupidity and I quickly remedied it once I was in control. But I sent for you to discuss another matter, and you are trying to avoid it. You should know me well enough to realise that I will never be deflected. I expect an apology for your shameful behaviour after Matins yesterday.”
“Shameful? In what way? Your own behaviour was worse.”
Anger tightened Joseph’s mouth, but there was no stopping Martin now. Before his brother could speak he raced on furiously. “I was ashamed of you, ignoring your own sister, hauling me away from her in front of everyone, treating me like an ill behaved brat.”
“Which is precisely what you are, and an insolent puppy into the bargain.”
“Call me what you like,” Martin flung back. “I won’t be treated like a child, nor will I be cheated out of what is due to me. I can see through your plan to keep me on the wheel permanently — you want to save the cost of employing another thrower, or to avoid promoting one of the men, and there are several here who are as good as I and many whose work I admire. Or do you aim to cheat me out of what should rightfully be mine, the share every Drayton before me has earned?”
“They earned it only when fully qualified — ”
“ — which you are stopping me from becoming. Are you afraid that your own position will be threatened one day?”
Joseph burst out laughing.
“A whipper-snapper like you will never be any threat to me.|
“Not so long as you keep me as a permanent apprentice, I agree. Another five years at that level, and the heart and the ambition will be knocked out of me. I love being a potter. I love clay. I love the feel of it and the texture of it and all the things that can be made from it — ”
“Such as those ridiculous toys of yours?”
“They are not toys. They are scale models. People might like them. Jessica is sure they would.”
“And what does she know about it? You will heed on
ly what I have to say. Plainly you have even more to learn than I thought. You will not be ready for any sort of responsibility for a long time yet.”
“But Max Freeman already is? As soon as he and Phoebe are wed you will be bringing him here although he knows nothing about potting!”
“I have already explained to our mother that he will have only a financial interest in Drayton’s as part of the marriage settlement agreed with his father — ”
“ — who must be thankful to see his son get a toe inside the door since he has failed so dismally in everything else. But I could never imagine you expecting nothing in return for such generosity. Do you plan to make him study for five years, like me, but as a privileged and financially rewarded pupil? Of course, not!”
“If he did, he would waste no time with the nonsense you would produce, were I so unwise as to let you. Birds, figurines, flowers, animals! Every other potter in Burslem would laugh us to scorn and quickly overtake us. For how long would we remain the leading potters in the district were we to waste time and materials on frivolities? As for Max Freeman, his social assets can well benefit the firm. Through him, high born families will become acquainted with our wares.”
“I doubt it. I can’t see Max as an ambassador on our behalf, nor can I see him being remotely interested. I can only see him frittering away the income he draws, in ways only he will know about.”
“Enough,” Joseph commanded. The interview had become out of hand and to his chagrin his young brother seemed to have manipulated it. “I summoned you here to express my disapproval of the way in which you greeted the sister who has shamed our family and who brazenly walked through Burslem yesterday in the company of riff-raff.”
“You mean the Gibsons? Jessica and Simon were helping them, moving them from their wretched hovel into a decent home. You must have heard Jessica telling Mamma about it, and I would have expected you to be glad for Meg’s sake.”
“And why, pray? Why should I be interested in what happens to one of my lowest workers?”