by Mary Nichols
‘Against the machinery?’
‘No, we cannot halt progress. I meant against the employment of children. If the adults were paid properly, there would be no need for children to work.’
‘How fortunate we are,’ Anne said. ‘We have everything we need, clothes, food, houses. I have never had to do a day’s work in my life.’
Harry laughed. ‘Let us hope you never need to.’
‘But Jane works. She spends hours copying her father’s manuscript for him.’
‘Oh, that is nothing to the point,’ Jane said. ‘I enjoy it and like to help him. If I did not, I would hardly see him from one week’s end to the next.’
‘How is he managing without you now?’ Harry asked.
‘He has taken on a clerk. Mr Allworthy found him. I believe he was once employed by Mr Allworthy’s man of business.’
Jane had spoken Donald’s name easily, but now she was aware of a quietness in the coach, as if the name was like a pebble thrown into a pond, spreading its ripples over the whole surface, clouding the water. She stole a look at Harry. He was sitting tight-lipped, his eyes half-closed.
Anne’s light laugh broke the tension. ‘Then your papa can manage without you, Jane, and you were so sure you were indispensable.’
‘I never said that! I said anyone else might find it difficult to understand his hand, but as Mr Allworthy pointed out, I cannot work for Papa when I am married and he must learn to make his writing more legible…’
‘So you do mean to marry, then?’ Anne leaned forward to emphasise her point.
‘One day, perhaps. I am not at all certain that I would not do better to remain single.’
‘Why?’
Jane had no answer. Everyone, including Mr Allworthy himself, assumed she was going to accept him. She had allowed it to happen, had listened to Aunt Lane and her father, and the obnoxious Countess of Carringdale and let herself be carried along by the tide, knowing she would disappoint them if she did not. How weak she had been! And how much weaker to allow Harry to kiss her, to let him see how much she craved his love. Well, from now on, she would be strong. She would have a will of iron; she would allow no one to influence her. She did not want to marry Donald, but she knew if—no, when she rejected him, the old gossip would be resurrected and added to; she was the woman who could not be trusted to be faithful to a promise, and she would not have Harry and Anne drawn into the tittle-tattle again.
Harry covertly watched the expressions flit across her face, the troubled eyes, the softness of her sweet mouth, the determination manifested in the slight uplifting of her chin and knew, as if she had said her thoughts aloud, what she was thinking. And although he was as interested in her reply as Anne was, he also knew that pressing her would drive her in the opposite direction from the one he wanted. He had already acted too precipitously and had to apologise for it. It had been a hard lesson to learn. But something had come out of it. He had discovered Jane to be a warm, passionate woman who only needed to have that passion awakened. He did not think Allworthy could do it. He hoped no one but himself would be given the opportunity, but he must be patient.
‘Anne, I collect you said I was not to quiz Jane, and you are doing it yourself.’
‘Yes, I am sorry,’ Anne said, touching Jane’s hand.
Jane suddenly laughed. ‘Now that everyone has taken a turn to say sorry, do you think we could talk of something else?’
‘Well, I am famished,’ Harry said. ‘I vote we have something to eat when we stop at Sedgewick for a change of horses. It seems ages since breakfast.’
They all agreed and the uncomfortable quizzing was abandoned, to Jane’s great relief. They had an adequate but indifferent meal and were soon on their way again, but this time, Harry elected to ride on the box beside their driver. He did not say he thought there was danger, but they would be travelling through Lancashire where a great deal of the unrest was taking place and he wanted to be where he could keep a sharp lookout, leaving Giles to concentrate on driving. He had his shotgun across his knee.
‘You know he had that gun in pieces last week,’ Anne said. ‘Every tiny screw. I hope he put it together again properly.’
‘Why did he take it to pieces? Was it broken?’
‘No, he wanted to see how it all fitted together. Until he explained it, I had not realised how much precision goes into making a gun and how many people are involved. The designer, stockmaker, barrelsmith and locksmith all have a role to play. The gunsmith needs to know all about iron, how to purify it, soften it, shape it and polish it like glass and keep it from going rusty. Some of it is beautifully chased too. And there is the bore and the rifling which must be exact to the last degree. And the stockmaker must understand the wood he is using, how to shape it so that the whole is perfectly balanced and fits comfortably in the hand. To hear Harry you would think it was a work of art, not something meant for killing.’
‘I wish he had found something less warlike to occupy him. I hate guns.’
Anne smiled. ‘The remedy is in your hands, Jane. You could easily persuade him out of it.’
‘How?’
‘You know how.’
‘I do not.’
‘He’ll do anything for you, settle down and live the life of a country gentleman, looking after the estate for Grandfather, if you tell him you will marry him.’
‘I cannot do that. For one thing, he has not asked me and I do not think he will. He has lived down the scandal and so have I; it is dead, cold ashes, and it would be too mortifying to rekindle it. And that will surely happen if Harry were to start paying his addresses to me again. We all know that. I beg you, do not mention it again.’ She stopped suddenly, realising they were slowing down to a walking pace, and put her heads out of the window. The road ahead of them was filled with people, old and young, marching determinedly, blocking the way. Giles was having difficulty with the horses, who were disinclined to force a way through. ‘There is a great crowd walking in the road.’
They were travelling so slowly, Harry was easily able to jump down and walk alongside them. ‘They do not look threatening,’ he told Jane and Anne. ‘But I am going to ride postilion until we are safely past. If the horses are panicked, they could gallop off with the carriage and injure dozens of people, not to mention throwing you and Anne about. I will guide us through.’
He left them and mounted the leader. There was no saddle, but that hardly worried him, he was more concerned with persuading the walkers to stand aside. One of them, a big strong man carrying an ancient blunderbuss which, in Harry’s opinion, would do more harm to him than whoever he was aiming at if he were to fire it, turned and grabbed the horse’s bridle and they were forced to stop or run him down. ‘Not so fast,’ he commanded. ‘Who are you? Where are you going?’
Harry decided it would be prudent to answer politely. ‘I am Captain Harry Hemingford of the 95th Rifles and I have with me my sister and cousin. We are on our way to London from Windermere, passing through, no more.’
‘Been fighting in Spain, have you?’
‘Yes. Wounded. Came home to recover.’ Normally he would not speak of his wound, but in this instance, he thought it might help to gain them safe passage.
‘You have chosen a bad day to travel, my friend. We are not the only ones on the road today, all going to the rally. You will find your way blocked more than once before you reach Stockport. I advise you to find another route unless you want to stop and answer questions at every mile. Some of the men are so fired up, they will assume a good travelling coach must be carrying one of the hated mill owners, and will deal none too gently with you.’
‘Thank you. We will go another way.’ Harry took out his purse and selected a guinea and some smaller change. ‘Here, put this in your fund and I wish you well.’
The man accepted it, touched his hat in a kind of salute and resumed his place in the march. Harry signalled to Giles to pull up and then took a map from his valise and climbed into the carriage to talk to
Jane and Anne.
‘Their leader—I assume he is the leader—has advised us to find another route. The road from here to Stockport is likely to be crammed with people on the march. And if the magistrates try to put a stop to it and bring in the militia, it could become dangerous.’
‘What about Simmonds?’ Anne queried. Their groom had gone on ahead to arrange post horses and would not know they had stopped.
‘If he has seen all these people, he will know we cannot get through.’ He opened the map and studied it for a moment. ‘We could go via Skipton to Leeds and across to Nottinghamshire and make our way south from there.’ It must be fate, he decided, that Leeds should be on the new route. He had received a letter from Jerry Thoms, telling him of a manufactory near Leeds run by an Austrian called Franz Stoller, which might be worth a look. He could leave the girls sightseeing and go and investigate. ‘It means going over Ilkley Moor,’ he added. ‘But the weather is good, we should have no trouble.’ He got out to consult Giles and quickly returned. ‘He says he would rather chance the coach on the hills than have the horses bolt because of the mob.’
Anne and Jane, who had been made as nervous as the horses by the noisy crowds, were happy to agree. They continued slowly behind the marchers until they reached a small hamlet where a fork in the road went off to the left and they turned down it.
‘We might not be able to find a change of horses until we reach Skipton, so we will need to go slowly,’ Harry said, as a farm cart pulled over to let them pass. ‘But it is a lovely day and the views are quite superb.’
‘I shall look upon it as an adventure,’ Jane said.
The road wound on and up, between heather-covered moors dotted with sheep. There was an occasional lonely farmstead, a cottage, a river, snaking its way down to the valley, and above the peaks a wide expanse of blue sky. A shepherd and his dog were driving a flock of sheep along the side of a ridge. To their right a kestrel hovered, so intent on its prey it was oblivious to the vehicle on the road. Jane watched it swoop and then climb, a small animal in its sharp beak.
It was getting late when they reached the little hamlet of Giggleswick, where they stopped to rest the horses and Harry went into a tiny tavern to see if there was food to be had. ‘They can give us food,’ he said, when he returned. ‘And they have a room. It is very small and not very clean, but if we go on, we might not find anything else before dark, so what do you think?’
‘Only one room?’ Anne queried.
‘Yes, for you and Jane. Giles and I can sleep in the coach. There’s a paddock where we can let the horses graze and rest.’
‘Then we had better take it,’ Anne said.
They went inside, ducking their heads below the low lintel. It was no more than a hedge tavern, one ill-lit, ill-ventilated room and a lean-to at the back. It was kept by a bony old man, bent almost double, and a younger woman who was as fat as he was thin. ‘M’wife,’ he told them, waving an arm in her direction. ‘She be a good cook, so she be. Be an hour, if ye likes to wait.’
‘We’ll take a stroll, until our meal is ready,’ Harry said, and ushered the girls out into the fresh air, where they took an arm each and walked across the road towards a promontory where a huge boulder stood against the skyline. ‘I am not at all sure I have done the right thing bringing you here,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should have turned back to Ambleside and set out another day.’
‘I would not have missed it for worlds,’ Jane said. ‘What a story I shall have to tell when I return home. I do thank you both for inviting me.’
‘Have you truly enjoyed it, Jane?’ Anne asked.
‘Oh, yes.’ She could be strong, she told herself, and she was succeeding.
‘All of it? Getting wet and…’ she paused ‘…everything?’
For a moment, Jane thought about what had happened in the storm. How foolish she had been to be so angry over a kiss! It had been nothing to fall into a quake about. It was, she told herself firmly, all part of the adventure. ‘Everything,’ she confirmed as they continued to the top of the hill and stood looking about them. It was wild moorland, almost uninhabited, except for the two or three houses in the village and a distant farm. ‘I would not have missed a minute.’
‘Good,’ Harry said and she felt his arm tighten her hand against his side. ‘I am glad.’
They saw the old man come out of the tavern and wave to them. ‘Supper is served,’ Anne said. ‘I hope it is edible.’
It was more than edible, it was a delicious lamb stew. How the woman managed it in those primitive conditions, Jane could not think, but all three did justice to it, then Jane and Anne made their way up what was little more than a ladder to the room above.
Harry had been right to call the room small. It was no more than a tiny box under the thatch. It contained a bed, a chair and a cupboard and there was only just enough room to move between them. The cupboard, when they opened it, contained a pair of men’s breeches, a shirt, a lady’s skirt, two blouses and an old pair of boots. ‘It’s their own bedroom,’ Jane said. ‘I wonder where they are sleeping.’
‘On the floor downstairs,’ Anne suggested. ‘And I am not sure I would not prefer it. There are no sheets and the blankets are filthy. I propose we sleep in our clothes.’
Even the thought of bedbugs could not keep them awake.
They both slept soundly, to be awakened by a cock crowing as daylight filtered through the tiny window. They rose, tried to tidy their clothes and comb their hair, then went down to breakfast. Half an hour later, they were on their way again.
Harry was laughing, as he sat back in the coach. ‘My goodness, they know their worth, those two. They charged as much as a good London hotel. I was on the point of complaining, but then I decided they had earned it.’
The day continued much as the one before, but nowhere had spare horses and so they were obliged to continue with those they had, walking them at an easy pace and resting them frequently. Their second night was spent in a similar way to the first and the girls were beginning to feel decidedly grubby. ‘Oh, for a bath,’ Jane said when they were shown up to a musty room with only a bowl to wash in.
In the middle of the next day, hot and sticky, they stopped beside a stream to eat the food the last innkeeper had provided. The water looked inviting and Jane longed to immerse herself and wash the grime of travel from her body. ‘Do you remember when we were children, how we used to swim in the brook at Sutton Park?’ she said to Anne.
Anne laughed. ‘We went in in our petticoats and Harry went in in his drawers. And then we had to put our dry clothes on top of wet ones to go home.’ She sighed. ‘How innocent we were and how happy. I wonder what our parents would have said, if they had known.’
‘You both looked like drowned rats,’ Harry said. ‘I cannot believe it was not noted by nurses and governesses. It was as well they did not know I had been with you.’
‘I recall on one occasion when Mama noticed, I told her I fell in and you rescued me,’ Jane said. ‘She was very grateful to you.’
Harry laughed. ‘There’s no one about. We could take a bath now.’
‘Harry!’ His sister was shocked. ‘I do hope you are joking.’
‘Giles and I could take a walk, while you bathed and then you could sit in the carriage while I took a dip. I promise not to look.’
Anne looked at Jane, one eyebrow raised. ‘Yes, why not?’ Jane said. ‘I feel so grubby. If Giles brought the carriage a little nearer, we could undress in it.’
And this is what they did. When the men had disappeared from view, the girls stripped off their outer garments and lowered themselves gingerly into the fast-flowing stream, shrieking because it was icy cold. They were sitting on the pebbles at the bottom, splashing each other like children when they heard the sound of horses’ hooves.
‘Someone’s coming.’ Jane tried to scramble to her feet, but there was no time to regain the coach. She was standing knee deep in water with her petticoat plastered to her body, showing every con
tour, when two riders came into view.
‘Sit down!’ Anne commanded, immersing all but her head and shoulders. Jane did likewise.
The riders pulled up. Both were young men, dressed in riding coats of good Bath cloth and leather breeches. ‘Now who’d expect to find mermaids on the moors?’ one said, doffing his hat. ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’
Jane and Anne glared at him, their cheeks pink with warmth for all they were shivering in the icy water.
‘If they are mermaids, then I should like to take a look at their tails,’ the other said, dismounting.
‘Don’t you dare!’ Anne shouted. Shouting was all they could do. They were not going to stand up while the men were ogling them.
‘My, they do talk after all.’
A gunshot spattered the ground at the feet of the one who had dismounted. Startled, he looked round to see Harry standing on a rock a few yards away, holding his smoking shotgun. ‘On your way,’ he said. ‘Or the next one will be aimed at your heart.’
‘We thought the young ladies needed assistance.’
‘They don’t and I shan’t tell you again.’ Harry lifted the gun to his shoulder again. The man scrambled back into the saddle and they both disappeared over the brow of the next hill at a gallop. Harry let the gun down. ‘You had better come out or you’ll freeze to death,’ he said laconically.
Anne rose, but Jane hesitated. She knew she might as well be naked for all the cover her underclothes afforded her. Harry smiled and turned his back on her. He had seen her trying to get out when the men arrived, had noted the curve of her breast, belly and thighs beneath the softly clinging cambric and his desire had welled up and was likely to be an embarrassment to him. He needed a cold bath himself to cool his ardour. But, oh, how lovely she was!