by Leah Fleming
Everywhere there were fleeces to be sorted. It took five stones of Yorkshire wool to make a dozen yards of tough, hardwearing kersey and fifteen people to make it: three to sort out the fleece, dye and dress the cloth, seven or eight carders and spinners to turn it into wool for the weavers and helpers and all of them chosen by Zephaniah from the fellowship for their skill and honesty.
It was my job to see that light ale and oatcakes were made to keep them fed. Sometimes there was a minute to chat and smile with the girls spinning as they walked back and forth. That’s where I first met Ellinor Holt, working the great wheel with speed and skill.
We sometimes stood together at meeting if there was a crush and I tried not to yawn with exhaustion. Ellinor often gave testimony to her faith, speaking before her elders like a preacher. How I admired her quiet joy and gentleness. There was something in her brisk manner, her devotion that I knew I must follow if ever I was to be a worthy Friend.
She lived with her father in very humble circumstances, their cottage was little more than a hovel with thin walls and thatch and her father had a bad chesty cough that would not heal. I offered to make him snail juice, remembering every detail of how Dora Cranke had made the paste. Everyone laughed at my efforts, but I took no notice of the weavers’ jibes.
It was in the giving of this remedy that I was rewarded a hundredfold, for John Holt had suffered in York gaol alongside my parents, recalling every detail of that terrible time to me. I clung onto his every word, with so many questions to ask him I think I made his chest ache with all the re-telling.
It was hard not to keep away from their door but Ellinor was patient with me and sometimes we took walks along the riverbank together. ‘Have you a calling?’ she asked me one day as we sat by the water.
‘Calling where?’ I replied and she laughed.
‘Perhaps not yet, but women can be preachers too. You speak well when made to give answers. Your voice is strong and carries but it is the words we give that matter. One day I hope to cross the seas to the Colonies. I dream of a ship tossing on the sea.’ She sighed. ‘But it will have to wait until my father is in his glory.’ She lay back, looking up at the sky. ‘One day I will see the New World. Perhaps we will go together.’
I never had a special friend before, one who seemed to accept me just as I was, restless, a chatterbox, full of ideas about how we could go out preaching together as witnesses for the Truth. She smiled as she listened, her grey eyes looking into the distance as if she could see far beyond the horizon.
‘It is the Lord who decides our path, Joy, not our own will.’ She was the only person who said my name softly, the only person who seemed to use it without awkwardness. Every morning I looked forward to our chats. She never left off her spinning but stood at her work without complaint, feeding the wool and smiling as I prattled on about nothing.
As summer days opened into bright skies and spring blossoms floated on the water, I took to taking the children down to the riverbank to look for fish and birds, to tumble and play blind man’s buff which turned into wild races and silliness that was observed by one of the tenters from the meeting. I was brought before the Women’s Meeting in need of correction, to explain my conduct.
‘Thou must curtail the urge to jump and play foolish games. That is what worldly children are about. We train our youth to sit in quietness, not foolishness. It hath also come to our notice that thee hath been dispensing potions to our friend Tabitha’s leg without permission, and to John Holt,’ said Martha Houldsworth, who seemed to take delight in ticking me off.
‘I was just doing as I was taught to ease suffering,’ I argued, cross that every action had to be accounted for.
‘There thee goes, child, answering back to those who would seek to tame this boldness of speech. We are a community of the blessed set apart and there are rules as to your conduct in all things. How else can we distinguish ourselves from the world?’
I bowed my head and crept back to the house, steaming with indignation and resentment. Susanna and Tamsin took great delight in deceiving me as to who was whom, hiding so I couldn’t catch them for punishment. For once I snapped and shouted so loud everyone was in tears and Tabitha was banging on the ceiling wanting to know what was going on. It was hard trying to be holy and patient and forbearing like Ellinor all the time.
As if reading my thoughts, sometimes Zeph would send me on little errands of mercy to let me wander into town, away from my tormentors. It was on one of those outings that I caught an unexpected glimpse of the Crankes about their business.
They did not recognise me at first in my new grey cloak and linen skirt. Part of me wanted to let them see how I had gone up in the world without their help, that obstinate pride that has kept pushing itself ever forward in my life. They were busy selling their potions from the stall and I thought I could see the children peering out of the flap, staring down the street.
There was Dora up to her old tricks with the stuffing at her belly, praising her latest tincture of raspberry leaf to ease the childbirth, pointing to the boys. ‘When you have a wagon full of noise like me. Look yonder, Hedley and Rawden up to mischief as usual . . .’
Hedley and Rawden, not Holderness and Halifax; even Doctor Marvel could not grow children so fast. The boys looked like brothers with red-gold hair clipped short. These were not their children at all. I stepped back quickly, puzzled and confused but Dora spotted me at once and waved as if we were the best of friends. I nodded, meaning to go on my way but she hailed me again.
‘ ’Tis good to see you have come up in the world, Joy, back as a servant, I see,’ she shouted. ‘We’ve new children to mind, my cousin is sick. Come and meet Hedley and Rawden.’
The boys looked no more than three or four, silent and dull-eyed with sores on their chins and lips. Had they not returned for the other two as she promised, it being now high summer?
‘But what of your other lads? Are they not with you too?’ I asked her.
‘They are settled with kin. This is no life for little ones. These boys will soon be back home,’ she said and busied herself with her customers.
I walked on some way but was puzzled enough to turn back, knowing I must have a better explanation about those scabby children. There was something about this that did not add together. I turned around the corner to confront them with my questions but in that short time she had upped sticks and left and their set was empty. The Crankes never left a fair until the last order to quit. What was the hurry?
Halifax, Holderness, Hedley and Rawden, what forenames were these; false ones, perhaps? I shivered with the enormity of my suspicions. None of these children were theirs. They were as sham as the stuffing cushion in Dora’s belly. I had heard tales of gypsies who stole children in the night, of the pied piper who charmed away little ones to their death . . . but the Crankes as child-stealers? Surely not.
Yet once the idea was fixed I could not shift it from my mind. I scurried back past the Moot Hall towards the bridge, not even looking up at those dreadful pikes, bumping straight into a man hurrying in the opposite direction so that we collided and his sheaves of manuscript scattered in the mire. I scrabbled to catch them before the horses’ hooves crushed them underfoot and found myself face to face with my old antagonist, Miles Foxup, a student no longer by the looks of him in his black gown and stock. It took but a second for him to recognise me.
‘So we meet again, the Justice’s little runaway,’ he laughed, his eyes flashing with delight at my discomfort. ‘So this is where you’re hiding yourself. I had heard that you’d fled the chicken coop, but to hide in this den of industry and iniquity . . .’
My silly heart was thudding to be caught out with flushed cheeks, cap awry and hair tumbling forth. What would the matrons of meeting say if I was caught talking to a young man not of our calling?’
‘Miles Foxup!’ I said, getting to my feet before his outstretched hand could touch mine. ‘And these are no student papers.’
‘Alas!
I did not stay the course. My heart was not in Divinity studies,’ he replied.
‘This is a lawyer’s gown then?’
‘Hardly. I am to be articled to one Abel Catherwood, if I can salvage these from the dirt. Not a good start on my first day, is it? So who has the pleasure of employing thee?’ he said mockingly.
‘I serve the Seeker family called Webster in the cloth district.’
‘They treat you well, these Friends?’
‘Aye, fair enough considering my past record.’ I sighed.
‘Is that a sigh I’m hearing?’ he replied.
‘Not really, ’tis another matter that troubles me,’ I added, not sure if I should voice my suspicions, but seeing Miles brought it all back: Scarperton, the market and his distrust of Titus and Dora. I could not keep silent.
‘You recall the doctor and his stall, the one you called a quack, the one who mended my ankle. I made the journey here with them and many a time I wished I hadn’t, believe me.’ I paused to see if he was listening. His eyes were fixed on mine, much to my unease. ‘When we first met they had two boys by their side who they said were their own children. They told me the boys were farmed out in safety for the winter but now it is third month and there are two more boys in their cart and no sign of the others.’
‘That was fast work,’ he smiled but his eyes were not laughing.
‘Exactly my thoughts, two red-haired boys called Hedley and Rawden, or so she told me when we met a few moments ago. I am concerned for their welfare.’
‘And the others were called?’
‘Halifax and Holderness, strange names even for Seekers,’ I said. ‘I thought they were true Puritans but I have seen them at work. Hedley could be Headingley and we passed through Rawden, I think. Is it possible they are trading in children, that somewhere there are mothers crying for their bairns?’ My anxieties tumbled out, words spilling over themselves as I tried to explain my imaginings.
‘I’m sure it’s not unknown for children to be sold into slavery, but not in this country, surely?’ said Miles. ‘Are they still here?’
‘No, I turned back to speak to them again and they were gone. I know their wagon and old mule, Moll. I have to go back now or my mistress will be wondering where I am. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Leave it with me, Joy. Have no fears. If there’s something amiss, we will find it out,’ he replied, putting a reassuring hand on my arm. Just at that moment of intimacy, as we were deep in conversation who should pass by but Martha Houldsworth’s servant, Eliza. She pretended to delve into her basket but our eyes locked for a second. She nodded but I could see her frowning, reading everything wrong.
‘I know what they look like and their mule. They can’t go far with that old bag of bones. I’ll set a watch on their doings even if I have to do it myself,’ Miles continued, oblivious to our observer. ‘You’ve a good heart in that grey garb you are wearing even if it does nothing for you. I have to say I preferred you in blue.’
‘Mind your own business!’ I snapped.
‘We must talk of this again,’ he added as he bowed.
‘I think not, not in a public place.’ What else could I say if he was to be my watch in this matter?
‘What better than a public place, Joy? I shall walk early down the cloth market before the bell rings and if you should happen to be about your business at that hour we may bump into each other and pursue this matter further. Or are you not concerned?’ He looked down on me with that quizzical expression and raised eyebrow that stirred something within.
‘Of course I care what happens to those children,’ I flushed. ‘I will be there. I will not settle until there is a hue and cry. Good day to thee.’
‘Until we meet again,’ he smiled that broad grin that would always make my knees wobble and my heart tremble.
As I hurried back to the Websters’ house I made a wager to myself how many hours it would take before my presence with a strange man on Briggate would be common knowledge among the women. Twelve at the most, I reckoned but I was two hours out. By nightfall I was summoned to Tabitha’s bedpost for a full explanation and dressing down but this time I was prepared.
‘It is such a burden to us to know thee prefer the company of unbelievers, Joy, talking closely as if he was privy to thy heart,’ said my Mistress sitting up, her lips pursed in disapproval as she stitched a hem for Suzanna.
‘Master Foxup is an old acquaintance, son of my uncle’s servant, Widow Priscilla. He has left university for studies in Leeds. It was an accidental meeting on the Brigg and there was a matter of some urgency to discuss. I do assure you—’
‘Be that as it may but I was informed that the young man was of uncommon comeliness, of high stature and bearing and wearing a lawyer’s gown,’ she replied, searching my face for any signs of untruthfulness.
‘He is articled to one Abel Catherwood and newly appointed. We just bumped into each other, nothing more.’
‘So what is so important that you take time from your errands to loiter together for all to observe?’
‘The safety of stolen children, I fear, taken against their will.’ Out came all the story of the Crankes and their evil schemes.
‘Surely that is a matter to bring to the Elders,’ she sighed.
‘In truth it was such a relief to see a known face among the crowds, such a comfort when I was so troubled. Did I do wrong?’
‘I have your word that there was no carnal talk between you, no attachment to this worldly man?’
‘Not on my part, I assure you. Miles has promised to inform the constables that there is a witness to their deception. I have seen the children and the new ones. We have to find them. I fear for their safety.’ I shivered at the thought of them being sold into slavery.
‘Enough, child, your imagination is too violent. It is good you show concern for lost souls but let the authorities deal with the matter. The Lord punishes the wicked in due course. Let’s hear no more on it. To your work,’ she said, turning back to her stitching as I was dismissed.
‘By the by,’ she added. ‘It pleases me you take time in Ellinor’s company. She will be thy best guide. Don’t take upon thee’sen to wander from her path. Sometimes we fear thee’s an unbridled horse that needs a firm halter and discipline. I don’t mean to be harsh but it is for your own good if we confine you to the household for the next sevennight; no gadding about on Zephaniah’s errands. This restless spirit must be bridled before it leads thee into trouble.’
Thy name is Trouble: why did that word arise and assault all my good intentions? What was so wrong in acting on the promptings within? Now I was confined to the yard and the household, but I must see Miles again. I had to go to the next cloth market and find out if the Crankes were discovered, no matter what.
13
As the morning of the cloth market drew near I was panicked at the thought of not seeing Miles to hear his news. Every day I went out of my way to be extra diligent, teaching Suzanna and Tamsin letters from their hornbooks, keeping Hiram and Hepzy out of everyone’s hair and nursing little Will. I made sure I was up early and last to bed, that everything was done quietly, not running up the stairs or thundering about banging pots and pans; everything I could think of to earn a reprieve.
The thought of defying the Master and Mistress was fearsome, for I would bring them into disrepute with the meeting. I did not want to see the look of disappointment on their faces, for they were kind and loving in their own way.
It was to Ellinor that I took all my troubles. There was always a stillness to her manner, in her spinning and conversation, even the way she sipped from her cup that made me feel like a clodhopping cart horse beside her gentleness. I blurted out my dilemma and she sat in silent thought for a moment, looking me straight in the eye.
‘Are the children thy main concern in this matter or the young man who sets your voice a-trembling and thy cheeks a-flushing?’ Those pale grey eyes missed nothing, flashing like a torch, making me look away. It was a
s if she could read my very shame. ‘There is something about him that troubles thee, sets a fire inside your chest?’
I bowed my head and said nothing. What was there to say?
‘This is lust at work, not love’s devotion. It will tear you apart with yearning for what can never satisfy. Hot love doesn’t last,’ she said, reaching out to reassure me but I pulled my hand away.
‘When he looks at me I want to melt into those dark eyes. I don’t understand . . . what shall I do?’
‘If he has such a hold on you, stay away, Joy. Don’t fall into temptation’s net. Take another path. There is always a choice in these matters.’
‘But I have to find out about those children, to know if they are rescued,’ I argued.
‘So you keep saying. Then write a letter to his place of work. There need be no connection between you, no carnal thoughts. Find peace in obedience to the inner truth that we preach.’
‘Why is it so easy for you?’ I snapped, turning from her in frustration. I had hoped she would be on my side and give me permission to see him again.
‘Don’t judge what you don’t know. There are some things we cannot fight and must give in with grace. This man is not for you; believe me, I know how it can hurt. There was a weaver, a fine man, before I came here. He made promises to come to meeting. I had hopes of his convincement but he could not resist the lure of strong drink and worldly pastimes, playing cards and fiddle music. It was not to be, and the more we fight the harder it gets. We’re not here to please ourselves but to bring others to the light of true understanding. All things pass, so will this,’ she said, smiling.
‘I’m sorry, I had no idea . . .’ I replied, sure in my heart that Miles would not be like her weaver. I didn’t want this excitement to pass.
‘Don’t pity me, for I am glad that I am free to serve now. When I get permission to join the preachers I will put my trust where it never fails and you must do the same. There will be no contentment outside our community of believers, that I do know.’