‘No. Mam is going to be caught in the middle and will be smuggling food to you. Rebecca, too, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Jimmy’s grin widened. ‘She’s all right, is Rebecca.’ Then he appeared to be calculating. ‘How long do you reckon it’ll keep?’
Eveleen shrugged. ‘A day maybe.’
‘Right then. I’ll stick it out today and I’ll eat it tomorrow morning. I’ll make my point and then I’ll let the old bugger think he’s won.’
‘It’s not quite the way I meant, but I suppose it’ll do.’ ‘It’ll have to. ’Cos it’s all you’re getting.’
The cricket season was over, but that did not stop the young men and boys employed in Harry’s workshops from practising in the yard on fine evenings until the deepening dusk made seeing the ball quite impossible. Then, much to Eveleen’s dismay, she would hear them clattering out of the yard, not to go home, but to the pub the Brown Cow, at the end of Chapel Row. If they could no longer play cricket, then they could talk about it, and where better than over a pint?
‘You wouldn’t think they’d have a pub at the end of the street where there’s a chapel,’ Eveleen said, ranting herself for once.
‘It was probably there first,’ Mary put in. ‘Besides, there are two chapels further along the road on the opposite side. Don’t you worry about Jimmy. He’ll not go into a pub. And he’ll be home by ten, just like he’s always been.’
Eveleen wondered if her mother was really as blinkered about her son as she made out. But Mary was sitting placidly by the fire, her bobbin lace on her knee, her head bent over her work. Eveleen felt a lump in her throat. At any moment Mary might glance up and expect to see Walter sitting on the opposite side of the hearth. The tranquillity would be spoilt. But Mary did not look up. Eveleen wondered if her mother were deliberately inhabiting an imaginary world of her own, pretending that she was back home beside her own fireside with her husband. Anxious not to break the spell, if it gave her mother comfort, Eveleen tiptoed out of the house and across the road to the chapel where she had promised to help her cousin with the Wednesday night evening classes for the Sunday school children.
Later that night when they all went up the stairs to their rooms, Jimmy was still not home.
‘Don’t lock the door, Harry. He’ll be home any minute,’ Mary pleaded, but Harry, frowning and silent, made a great performance of turning the heavy key in the door. For once, Eveleen was in sympathy with her uncle. If Jimmy couldn’t come home at a decent hour, she thought, then he can sleep in the pigsties.
It was half past one in the morning when she heard the gate into the yard bang and two drunken voices be raised in song and then collapse into silly giggling.
‘Oh no,’ she breathed and quietly slipped out of bed without disturbing Mary. She descended to Rebecca’s room, opening the door as quietly as she could, but the click of the latch woke the girl.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ Rebecca’s fearful voice came out of the darkness.
‘It’s Jimmy. He’s shouting and carrying on outside. If he wakes your dad—’
She didn’t need to say more, for already Rebecca was throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. ‘Oh dear. I’d better come down. I know where Father puts the key. I’ll let him in.’
‘You stay there. You’ll only be in trouble.’
‘I don’t mind. Not – not if it’s for Jimmy.’
There was silence between them as Eveleen strained through the darkness to see Rebecca’s face. She would have said more, but at that moment there was such a banging and rattling on the door that both girls scuttled down the stairs as fast as they could.
‘Quick, Rebecca, you find the key while I light a candle. He’ll wake everyone in the row at this rate.’
Rebecca was shivering with cold and fright but laughing nervously at the same time. She could hardly get the key into the lock. ‘Thank goodness Father’s a heavy sleeper.’
‘Even he won’t sleep through this if it goes on,’ Eveleen muttered. ‘Hurry up, do.’
At last the key turned and Rebecca pulled open the door. Jimmy fell against her, almost knocking her over.
‘Oh there you are, pretty Rebecca. See Andrew, Rebecca’s come to let me in. Andrew?’ He raised his voice, but, sensibly, Andrew had gone into his own house next door.
‘Shush,’ Eveleen hissed and grabbed hold of Jimmy by the scruff of his jacket. ‘Come in and just keep the noise down.’
Jimmy swayed and put his finger to his lips, imitating Eveleen. ‘Sh-shush. Quiet as little mi – hic – mice. Sh-shush.’
Between them, the two girls hauled Jimmy into Harry’s chair.
‘You go back to bed, Rebecca. I’ll see to him.’
‘No, no, you go. If your mother wakes up and finds neither of you there, she’ll likely start a commotion that will wake Father.’
‘That’s true, but—’
‘Go on,’ Rebecca urged. ‘I’ll stay with him. No one will miss me and I’m always up first anyway.’
Eveleen glanced doubtfully at the frail girl and then at her brother, his head lolling to one side, a glazed look in his eyes and a stupid grin on his face. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’
‘Of course I am. Go on, before you’re missed.’
Reluctantly Eveleen saw the wisdom of the girl’s suggestion and went back upstairs to bed. Though she slept fitfully, she did not hear Jimmy come to his bed under the eaves nor Rebecca return to her room.
When Eveleen came down the next morning, there was no sign of Jimmy. Rebecca was bustling between pantry, scullery and kitchen preparing breakfast.
‘Where is he?’ Eveleen asked. ‘I’ll knock their heads together, him and Andrew, when I catch up with them.’
Rebecca smiled, a pink tinge to her cheeks. ‘He’s all right. He – he slept it off on the hearthrug. He’s outside having a wash under the pump.’ Her smile widened. ‘Waking himself up.’
Eveleen glanced out of the window and saw Jimmy with his head under the spout, while a green-faced Andrew Burns pumped the icy-cold water.
‘Serves ’em both right,’ she muttered and then turned to ask, ‘What about you? Did you manage to get some sleep?’
Rebecca, the pink tinge in her face deepening, avoided meeting Eveleen’s frank gaze. ‘Me?’ she said airily. ‘Oh don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’
Twenty-Two
Eveleen was chafing at what she thought of as idleness.
After a few weeks of living in Flawford, she had learnt to make socks on the Griswold machine in the house. She helped Rebecca with the seaming of the garments knitted in the workshops and, of course, shared all the household chores. And her grandmother had told her that already she had surpassed her own mother’s skill in making bobbin lace.
‘Mary never got her work as neat and even as that,’ Bridget confided. ‘But don’t you let on.’
Daily now, Eveleen listened to their uncle ranting that Jimmy was hopeless and that he was taking up a knitting frame that could be put to better use. Jimmy had passed his seventeenth birthday and she, her eighteenth, yet her brother seemed to have gained nothing in the way of common sense or a willingness to apply himself.
‘I’ll run away to sea if you keep on at me, Evie,’ he said morosely when she tried to reason with him.
‘Look, Jimmy, we’re lucky that Mam’s family took us in. And even luckier that Uncle Harry is prepared to teach you a trade. And a good trade at that.’
‘Huh. I don’t see him making a fortune even for all the hours he works. And the other fellers who work here take home a pittance.’
‘And you think you’ll make your fortune at sea, do you?’ she answered sharply. ‘What are you going to be? A pirate?’
Jimmy grinned. ‘Now, there’s an idea.’
She had to laugh in spite of her exasperation with him. ‘Oh you!’ She punched his shoulder playfully, then asked seriously, ‘You wouldn’t really run away and leave us, would you? We ought to stick together. At least until
we can go back home.’
‘And how do you think we’re going to do that when we only make a few miserable pence a week between us?’
‘You’ve got to try harder, Jimmy. Uncle’s fast losing patience with you.’
‘Well, if you think you can do any better on one of those frames, why don’t you have a go. It’s hard work, let me tell you—’
‘Me?’ Eveleen said and then again, suddenly thoughtful, she repeated, ‘Me?’ As Jimmy’s derisory challenge took root, she murmured, ‘Why not me?’
Now Jimmy was scoffing. ‘He’d never let you. He won’t have women working in there, I can tell you. Andrew told me.’
But Jimmy had not overheard the conversation between their uncle and grandmother. There was a determined glint in Eveleen’s eyes as she said, ‘We’ll see about that.’
‘Huh,’ Jimmy said again, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and turning away, ‘Pigs might fly.’
Over the following few days, Eveleen gave a lot of thought to the idea. She made several excuses to visit the workshops and lingered as long as she dared to watch the men at work. She was careful not to catch her uncle’s eye, for he would certainly have gestured that she should be about her own work. No doubt he would have misconstrued her reasons for being there, thinking that she was flirting with the young lads. She kept her distance from Andrew Burns, for he never lost an opportunity to talk to her and would wink cheekily at her.
She was confident that she could learn how to operate a frame and the only thing that worried her was the physical strength that was obviously required. But she had worked on a farm, she reminded herself. She had lifted churns of milk and sacks of corn. She had stood on the top of a stack at threshing time and wielded forkful after forkful of straw. Her muscles flexed involuntarily at the memory.
Eveleen left the workshop and walked back down the brick path towards the cottages, returning to her own work. On Sunday, she decided, she would talk to her grandmother. Bridget and she had drawn even closer and she knew the old woman would be her ally.
If anyone could help her persuade Harry to give her a trial at one of the frames, then it was her grandmother.
‘Gran,’ Eveleen began the following Sunday, as she sat working the pillow lace under her Bridget’s guidance. ‘Do women ever operate the frames?’
The question obviously startled the old lady.
Eveleen paused in twisting the bobbins one over the other to form the spidery web of lace and repeated her question.
‘I don’t know about anywhere else, but they never have here.’ Bridget’s shrunken mouth widened into a smile. ‘Your uncle would think it a distraction to the fellers to have a woman working alongside them.’ She put her head on one side and eyed Eveleen thoughtfully. As shrewd as ever she said bluntly, ‘Are you thinking of taking Jimmy’s place?’
Eveleen met her grandmother’s gaze squarely. ‘I’d like Uncle to teach me how to operate a frame.’ Then she added deviously, ‘Perhaps with me there, Jimmy would work harder. He’d not like to be outshone by his sister.’
Bridget laughed. ‘You crafty little monkey.’ Then, thinking aloud, she murmured, ‘Well, your uncle doesn’t like to have frames standing idle, and by what he said yesterday there’ll be another from tomorrow morning. One of the older fellers was taken ill on Friday.’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Poor old Alfie. He worked for your grandfather ever since he started this place.’ The old lady’s mind was wandering off into her own memories but far from being irritated, Eveleen was fascinated.
‘When we first got married we came to live here in an old tumbledown cottage.’ She pointed down to the ground. ‘That stood where these houses are now. Your granddad started with just one frame at home and I worked the stocking-machine and made pillow lace. We worked from dawn to dusk and then some. He had this dream, you see, that he’d build workshops, run his own little factory. He bought this place because it had a good-sized garden to it and he could see the possibilities. Then he started to build the workshops, brick by brick with his own hands. It took years.’
She fell silent and gazed out of the window as if her old eyes, which could not see clearly around her now, could see perfectly back into the past.
‘If Uncle would only teach me,’ Eveleen said, trying to keep her growing excitement in check, ‘there might be other people who would employ me.’
Bridget was dragged back to the present by Eveleen’s remark.
‘There might be,’ she said guardedly, not sounding too hopeful. ‘But I’m not sure any of them would employ a woman, let alone a young girl.’
Eveleen’s smile broadened and her eyes twinkled as she said, ‘We’ll see.’
‘No, no, it’s impossible.’ Harry shook his head. ‘It’s unheard of.’
‘Why, Uncle Harry?’ Eveleen said evenly, keeping her tone respectful and deferential.
‘Well, because it is.’ She could sense he was wavering. Whatever her uncle was, strict and uncompromising, he was also honest and truthful.
‘But is there any good reason why I shouldn’t learn, Uncle Harry? Other than that it isn’t usual?’
Now he looked her up and down, appraising her.
‘I worked on a farm, Uncle,’ she reminded him gently. ‘I’m used to hard work. Physical hard work. I’m not afraid of it. Oh, I’m not saying I could operate a frame at once. I can see how difficult it is—’
‘So that’s why you’ve been hanging around the workshops is it? I thought you were eyeing young Burns.’
‘You needn’t be afraid of anything like that with me, Uncle Harry.’
The man put his head on one side and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You’re a pretty young lass and one day—’
Eveleen shook her head firmly. ‘No, Uncle. I’m not interested.’ There was no need to tell him of the unhappy experience that had destroyed her trust in men. Instead, she used the weapon that she knew would be most effective with this forbidding man. ‘I only want to work and work hard. You and Grandmother have been very kind to us, taking us in, especially after what happened years ago. I know that. But we don’t want to be beholden to you for ever. I have to get this family back on its feet.’
Harry nodded. ‘Well, lass, you’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. Pity your brother isn’t out of the same mould.’ His expression lightened and Harry came as near to smiling as he ever would. ‘You know your grandmother has been pleading your cause?’
Eveleen smiled up at him. ‘I hoped she might. And she did say’ – Eveleen’s heart was in her mouth as she played her final card – ‘that there’s a frame not working now, because of Alfie.’
The frown was back and yet Eveleen could see the calculating look in his eyes. Anything – even this slip of a lass – was better than having a frame standing idle. ‘Aye. It’s his frame, mind you. I’d have to ask him. In fact, I’d have to ask the other fellers. Can’t risk having a riot on my hands.’
Eveleen waited in a fever of excitement, pressing her lips together to stop more words tumbling out.
‘Tell you what. After work at night, I’ll give you a trial. If you shape up, lass, then we’ll see. Can’t promise more than that.’
‘No, Uncle, you can’t. But I won’t let you down. I promise you.’
‘You’d better not, lass.’
‘Now, I’ll show you first and then you can have a go. We’ll only do one strip although this is a wide frame and would usually produce three strips at once.’
Harry hoisted himself on to the leather straps that formed the seat in front of the frame. First he pointed out all the different names of the parts: needles, jacks, sinkers, presser bar and treadles.
‘You’ve got this metal frame and inside this you’ve got these plates. These are called the sinkers and they push the yarn around the needles to create loops. The needles are spring-bearded needles.’
He picked up a loose needle from a box of parts at the side of the machine and held it out towards Eveleen. ‘The pointed end is bent int
o a hook which is closed by the presser bar.’
‘Do the needles move in and out like the Griswold’s move down and up?’ she asked.
‘No, no. On the Griswold they’re latch needles but on this machine the needles don’t move at all. Now, watch carefully, Eveleen. It’s all a case of operating your feet and hands in a series of movements. At the base, look’ – he pointed down to his feet – ‘there are three pieces of wood called treadles. The two outer treadles are attached to that large wheel.’
Eveleen bent and peered through the workings to see a large, solid wooden wheel at the back of the frame. Harry went on explaining while Eveleen tried to take it all in, her quick mind racing to keep pace with his demonstration.
‘And also attached to that wheel by these cords is the yarn carrier taking yarn from the bobbins at the top. Now, this treadle in the middle is attached to this bar called the presser bar and that’s brought down to close the needles. So, Eveleen, my hands work these handles on either side of the machine with my thumbs on these two metal plates. My left foot is always on this sinking pedal and my right moves between the two treadles and the presser bar in the middle.’
Eveleen nodded, her eyes bright with excitement as Harry began to operate the machine. ‘First, I bring the sinker bar forward . . .’
Fascinated, Eveleen watched the various parts of the machine begin to move under Harry’s experienced hands and feet. There was a sudden noise as the yarn fled across the needles and the jack sinkers fell between the needles creating a loop across every two needles.
‘You can’t make a loop round every needle at once,’ Harry explained. ‘The yarn would snap. So, now we bring down a second series of sinkers by pressing on these thumb plates and these form a loop over every needle. See?’
‘Yes, yes, I see,’ Eveleen could hardly contain her eagerness and her fingers itched to try for herself. ‘The first set of sinkers went up a bit,’ she said.
Harry glanced over his shoulder. His beard hid his mouth but there was a smile in his eyes. ‘That’s right.’ There was a hint of pleasure in his tone at her quick understanding. ‘That’s so that all the loops are equal. Now.’ Harry pulled the carriage forwards and the new loops were pushed into the hooks. The carriage was lifted, the presser bar brought down to close the hooks and then the carriage was pulled forward again to bring the old loops over the closed hooks. A new row of knitting was formed.
Tangled Threads Page 14