The Silk Factory

by Judith Allnatt

  But first he must propose. Here his heart made a strange kind of struggling leap, as if hope and fear were equally matched and warring within his chest. Later, he would need to ask the captain’s permission formally and see the parson about the reading of the banns. All that could wait. First he must frame the words that would convince Effie to be his.

  EIGHT

  At the end of the working day, Tobias told Beulah that he was going to a public house with some of the men, and that she would either have to walk home on her own or come too. Beulah trailed behind them feeling angry. She hated it when this happened. She wanted to go home for she ached all over, but it was dark and cold, and she knew that on the way there were places in the hedgerows that seemed to shift in moonlight: stumps that looked like crouching, hump-backed dwarfs and branches that seemed to grope towards you like grasping boggarts. On the other hand, she didn’t like the Blood Tub either. The place had a sign that read ‘The Admiral’ and a picture to match but everyone knew it as the Blood Tub.

  Many new drinking dens had sprung up around the village to service the soldiery: houses pressing parlours into service and blocking off their private quarters with a bar at which they served ale and rum. The locals avoided those frequented by the soldiers: the Horseshoe Inn, the Plume of Feathers and twenty more. However, lately a new influx of Bedfordshire Militia men were packing out these hostelries and some, losing patience with waiting for their drink and the sweaty press of men, spilt rowdy out into the street and made incursions into the locals’ territory. Both soldiers and villagers now frequented the Admiral and drink was often the spark that lit the tinderbox of aggression between the two.

  Beulah followed Tobias and the group of weavers through the streets. Jervis, Tobias’s mentor, led the way, followed by Jim Baggott and three other craft weavers of the old school, men who once worked for themselves, at home with their families. Behind them came Ellis Coulishaw and Griffith Hood, both veterans who had become weavers by reason of their injuries. Tobias and Saul Culley, another drawboy, brought up the rear. Beulah slipped in behind them as they filed into the inn. Jervis nodded to the landlord and, as they took up their accustomed places round an oak board, Beulah crept between the settle and the table to sit in the sawdust at Tobias’s feet, out of the way of any trouble. She hunched her knees up under the tent of her dress and wrapped her arms around them to warm herself. A few old men were sitting around the fire, talking and nodding. They sucked on their clay pipes and paid no mind to the weavers. The candles burning in sconces on the walls made grey smoke marks, greasy streaks on the pale stone; the flames of those on the tables guttered and danced in the draughts from the ill-fitting window sashes.

  Jervis put a coin down on the table and the rest of the men followed suit. A skinny girl, hardly older than Beulah, brought tankards and a jug of ale-and-water. Tobias took a long draught before passing his down to Beulah with a quick ‘All well?’ She drank greedily, clearing the clagging dust and fibres from her throat, until he took the tankard back and leant in, elbows on the table, to listen to the conversation of the men.

  Jervis was talking to Ellis Coulishaw, a tall bony man who had once been a sailor with an upright bearing. Now, he walked with a limp, his shin bone shattered by a musket ball, and had taken up weaving, like many other veterans, as his meagre pension was insufficient to feed his large family.

  ‘So, you say the master is investigating yet another newfangled mechanical contraption, down on the first floor?’ Jervis asked.

  Ellis nodded and the men and boys craned in to hear him reply, his voice kept low against listening ears. ‘’Tis a loom he’s shipped in from abroad, unlike anything we have here. Taller. Bigger. It has a chain of punched cards that hang atop, folded like …’ He sketched a square shape in the air. ‘… like an accordion, in pleats. There’s a treadle, and as you work the cards move through. Where there is no hole, those threads are blocked and where there is a hole, the threads pass through, so that the pattern is formed.’

  ‘So there is no drawboy to pull the harness and draw the threads?’

  ‘None is needed. The skill lies in the initial threading up of the frame; after that ’tis child’s play. It produces more cloth, more complicated patterns. And it is fast.’

  Jervis frowned. ‘And the master?’

  ‘Strode around, viewing it from all angles as if it were a very statue of Venus, rubbing his hands and muttering, “As I thought, as I thought.” I swear he’ll be ordering them in by the dozen, has probably already done so. I tell you, they’ll put half of us out of work straightaway and the other half will lose most of their wages …’ His voice became higher and louder so that Jervis patted the air to say he should speak more softly.

  Ellis continued, ‘I’m telling you, we need to act and act fast.’ A mumble of ‘hear, hear’ came from some of the men and was taken up by Tobias and Saul.

  Griffith Hood, the oldest of the men, with sparse white hair and a high colour, asked drily, ‘What have you in mind? If we refuse to work these new machines and they no longer need great skill, Fowler will simply put apprentices or even women in our places.’

  ‘So we are all to become automatons on half-wages!’ Ellis exclaimed, shoving his tankard away from him so that ale slopped over its lip and on to the table. ‘Today my wife kept two of the children at home for lack of shoes and abed for lack of coals. And I’m to tell her now that soon we must feed the children on half of not enough!’

  The door swung open and Jervis put a restraining hand upon his arm. A group of infantrymen entered in high spirits, jostling at the door and talking loudly. The weavers fell silent, all aware that it was unlawful for them to gather and converse on such matters. ‘Look more jolly, lads,’ Jervis hissed. ‘We needs must talk but we don’t want to swing for it!’

  The soldiers gathered at the bar, one of them beating on it with his fist for the landlord. Another, who swayed on his feet, staggered towards them shouting, ‘Where is our drink! How’s about you give us a welcome?’ He made to reach for the jug on the table. Ellis, scowling, half rose and put his hand on the jug’s handle. Jervis leant between them and said pleasantly, ‘’Tis all but empty, soldier. Better to order afresh,’ and one of the soldier’s companions pulled the man away.

  The landlord arrived with ale and gave the soldiers a cheery good evening but he exchanged a glance with Jervis and led them to a free table on the other side of the room. There, they started a noisy game of cards, disagreeing loudly at every hand and occasionally breaking into snatches of song. Beulah, who had shrunk herself into a ball, like a hedgepig, when the drunken soldier had reeled towards them, peeped out between her fingers to see the weavers huddling close to talk once more in lowered voices.

  ‘’Tis true that this state of affairs cannot continue,’ Griffith said in his slow, measured tone. ‘We can barely afford to put bread in our mouths. But the common folk have no say. If we petition, the government ignores us and the masters have it all their own way.’

  Ellis drank the remainder of his beer in one draught and set down his tankard hard. ‘We are nothing to them – a mere commodity,’ he said bitterly. ‘If we gather to express our grievances, they set the cavalry upon us.’ He raised his voice in the direction of the soldiers. ‘They come down on us with the full weight of the law, yet they turn a blind eye to those who injure us and throw us on the streets! ’Tis no good appealing to the impartiality of a law that forbids both rich and poor to sleep in doorways!’

  ‘Shh! Shh!’ Jervis quieted the chorus of agreement. ‘We must keep to the problem in hand.’

  ‘It is the same problem writ small,’ Ellis said. ‘The master grows fat off us, in his High House. He rides in his carriage and pair while he treads us into the dirt. He and his kind must have more and ever more; they cannot be satisfied but must build an empire founded on our misery!’

  ‘There must be something can be done,’ Jervis said. ‘But we must be circumspect and not put ourselves or our families in jeo
pardy.’

  ‘We could destroy the frames.’ Jim Baggott, a dour man, who had listened without comment until now, voiced what several were thinking.

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘Others have done it,’ he said. ‘I met a drover told me the weavers in Rochdale wrecked their frames and burned down the House of Correction. They made their mill owner sign a wage agreement, on his knees in the street.’

  Beulah, alarmed by the turn the conversation was taking, looked up at Tobias. He sat hunched forward with the other men; his face, lit from beneath by the candlelight, was flushed with excitement, his jaw set hard. She reached up and tugged at his sleeve but he pushed her hand away.

  ‘I would dearly love to see the master on his knees,’ Tobias said and Saul muttered his agreement. Again the men fell quiet, for all remembered Fowler whipping Tobias for falling asleep and Saul still bore the scar where, the year before, Fowler had dragged him by the ear until it was almost off, pulled out of its socket and the bottom of it torn from his head.

  Beulah nudged Tobias’s arm harder and this time he ducked his head and listened to her. His face grew sombre. ‘My sister has overheard something at the garrison,’ he said to Jervis.

  Jervis looked over to see Beulah’s face peeping above the table. ‘Let’s have her out then,’ he said and Tobias helped her scramble up on to the seat beside him.

  ‘Some soldiers were talking,’ Beulah said in a whisper, looking sidelong at the infantrymen in the opposite corner who were now playing a rowdy game of dice. ‘They spoke of the arms and men stationed here, not in readiness for battle against Old Boney but to put down any disturbance in the counties hereabouts.’

  ‘There you have it,’ Griffith said. ‘They would have the dragoons on us for sure if we protest openly.’

  ‘Then it must be in secret,’ Ellis said, ‘as with the stockingers in Nottingham. A man I met on the London road said they cut the jackwires from the new wide frames and ne’er a one of them was caught. ’Tis true the constable dragged three of ’em from their beds and told them they’d been informed upon but ’twas naught but lies. They kept their counsel and the authorities had no proof and had to let them go.’

  ‘Nonetheless, it is a risk we should not take lightly,’ Jervis said. ‘Think of those in Spitalfields who broke frames and paid dearly; they were hanged outside their workshops.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ Ellis slapped both hands upon the table. ‘We must nip this in the bud or face penury. Would you see your children begging in the street? That’s what it’ll come to. Drive men into a corner and their only defence is attack!’

  The mutter of agreement from the men was a low growl, like a dog woken from its slumber.

  ‘Very well,’ Jervis said. ‘Frame breaking it shall be.’

  ‘But won’t the master know we’ve done it?’ Tobias said in confusion.

  ‘He will know that some of us have done it but he will not know who. There will be no proof and he cannot turn us all out; he has orders for cloth to fulfil. He cannot find out the culprits, not if we make our pledge to stand together and all are strong enough not to break it.’ He looked around at each man’s face in turn and each gave the slightest of nods, Griffith holding up his hands and giving in. When Jervis came to Tobias and Saul, he said, ‘Are you youngsters in or out? Be aware that a crime against property is treated harsher than a crime against persons and the new law against frame breaking makes it a capital offence. There’s no shame in withdrawing.’

  Tobias and Saul glanced at each other and said with one voice, ‘In.’

  ‘What about the child?’ Baggott said. He glowered at Beulah. ‘You must hold your tongue, or you’ll regret the day …’

  Jervis stopped him and turned to her, his face serious. ‘You’ll have no further part in this, Beulah, but what you’ve heard tonight must not be breathed abroad. Do you understand? We must have your word on your silence.’

  Beulah nodded vehemently.

  Jervis released her from his gaze and turned back to the men. ‘Then it is settled. Whenever the machines arrive, be it weeks or months, Ellis will inform us. Meanwhile, each one of you must equip yourself with hammer or pick, for all men present will be required to strike the blows. They must be got in absolute secrecy for ’tis a hanging matter to go about armed.’ He paused, to make sure that all understood the weight of his words. ‘It will be done at dead of night and each will return to their houses where their families must swear they have been all night, and must arrive for work in the morning as if all is as usual.’

  ‘How will he know our demands?’ Ellis asked.

  ‘We must write them down in an unsigned note,’ Jervis said. ‘But who has learning enough to do it?’

  The men shuffled their feet and looked down at their hands for, truth to tell, not one of them could write more than his name and some knew only how to make their mark.

  Beulah, who could write a clear hand thanks to Effie’s teaching, shrank into her shawl. She wanted nothing to do with it. She had told them what she knew, that would have to be enough. It made her tremble inside when she thought of the constable, of soldiers, and, worst of all, of the master’s wrath to come.

  ‘I can do it,’ Tobias said, with a lift of his chin. ‘I can write the note.’

  The countryside was ice-bound for three days but when the weather turned milder the thaw was fast. As Jack rode over to see Effie, the sound of running water was everywhere: gurgling in the ditches beneath the last crusts of snow, running in rivulets in the roads leaving sticks and pebbles in its wake and grit washed into patterns like sea-shore sand combed by the tide.

  Jack stabled Maisie in the derelict cottage and knocked on the door. There was no answer but he could hear Effie singing inside. He thought to look through the window but the panes were misted so he knocked again more loudly and then let himself in. The dim room was foggy with steam and full of washing. Piles of clothes ready for ironing lay on the straw pallets that served as beds for Effie and Beulah; wet sheets and shirts were draped over clothes horses in every corner and, above the fire, petticoats and stockings hung down from the wooden dryer like pale stalactites in a dark cave. Effie was standing at the table applying a flat iron to a cotton dress spread over a blanket. Her face was flushed with the heat, her sleeves rolled up and her dress loosened at the neck. A strand of hair stuck to her temple and as she pushed it away with the back of her wrist, she looked up. Her face lit up as she caught sight of him. Jack had never seen her looking more beautiful. She set down the iron and came to him, saying, ‘I’m so glad to see you at last! How long have you been there? I’m not much of a singer!’ She laughed and they embraced.

  ‘Oh, how I’ve hated being apart from you,’ Jack murmured as he held her, the softness of her bare arms around his neck making his heart speed and his mouth dry. He wanted desperately to kiss her but made himself stop. He must say his piece. He took her hands in his and stepped back. Effie felt that he looked on her like a man dying of thirst finding a cold, clear stream. She smiled at him, meeting his eyes with an open gaze.

  ‘Effie, I want us to be together always. I want to look after you and care for you and never have to be apart.’ Jack spoke quickly, the words he longed to say spilling from him in a rush. ‘It will take some time. I must get my father’s blessing and will have to save to get us lodgings, so you must keep your place here and your work at the farm until I have a home for us.’ His eyes searched her face. ‘I would dress you in silks and satins if I could but our beginnings will be more humble …’

  ‘What are you saying? I don’t understand,’ Effie said, overwhelmed by the intensity of Jack’s expression and the flood of words.

  Jack pulled up short. What was he thinking of? He hadn’t said the most important thing. He took a deep breath. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Will you be my wife?’

  Effie felt a huge joy lift her; then, as if she rode a wave that broke against a shore, a great relief washed over her. No more worry.
No more striving. No more loneliness. She sank down on to the piles of washing strewn across the straw bed and began to cry.

  ‘What is it? My dearest girl!’ Jack put his arms around her and she clung to him. He looked into her grey eyes, flecked with gold and shining with tears and saw himself reflected there. I am yours, he thought, you have captured me as surely as a mirror and I will never want to be let go. For a moment he rested his forehead against hers and then he kissed her face, her closed eyelids, her warm mouth.

  They sank back against the soft piles of clothes, their hands searching and finding, fumbling with buttons and ties until at last their bodies could touch skin to naked skin.

  As they moved together, the smell of lye and cotton rose from the clothes. Through the wall, they could hear the sounds of Maisie shifting and pulling at the hay. When Effie cried out, the horse gave a soft whicker and then settled again.

  Jack woke first. The room was dark; the only light the faint glow from the embers of the fire that had died right down to red jewels within grey ash. Effie lay on her side against him, her head on his shoulder, her dark hair loose across her cheek and breast, her breath light and steady. Jack was filled with tenderness and guilt in equal measure. What had he been thinking? He’d not intended this to happen. He had been weak, had let himself be carried away by the intensity of the moment instead of waiting, as he should, for their wedding night. Would Effie regret it? He touched her hair, drew his finger along its length, to the tiny curl at its end. He couldn’t bear it if she regretted it. He would make it right as soon as he could; now that he knew how she felt he would see Captain Harris at the earliest opportunity and begin to put his plan into action. Filled with a sense of purpose he whispered, ‘Effie? Effie, my love?’ She stirred and opened her eyes. ‘We’ve been sleeping and it’s grown late.’