Charles Swainbank appeared at a run from the opposite direction – he had obviously escaped through the side door. His eyes met Janet’s and he slumped against the wall, a hand to his chest.
The fire brigade arrived and cleared everyone away to the other side of the yard where they all remained, some silent, some choking as they watched their weaving shed going up in flames. Those worst affected, including Lizzie, were herded into ambulances and mill lorries, but most stayed with eyes glued to their disappearing livelihood. By this time, the whole of number one had been evacuated and people arrived in droves to stare at the fire.
‘Is everybody out?’ asked a man by Janet’s side. ‘There’s not much alive in there now, I can tell thee that for nowt.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know how many were in and some have gone to the infirmary.’
Jim laid an arm across her shoulders. ‘That’s me decision made for me, then.’
‘No! You can still work if you want to! There’s other sheds, other mills . . .’
He shook his head sadly. ‘Nay, lass. Man and boy I’ve worked in this shed. I know where I am here – I was even looking forward to getting me automatics – I’d like to have tried one of them new-fangled battery looms. But it’s not to be, Janet. You can start afresh, but not me.’
A quiet crowd had gathered on the road outside, not out of curiosity, but because this was the way when disaster struck. A fire, a collapsed pit, a road accident—all these melded people together, brought them to stand shoulder to shoulder like a human wall of support for unfortunate victims and their kin. Then a great sigh went up as a brave fireman carried out a charred body, laying it with reverence on the cobbles in the centre of the mill yard. Janet burst into tears and threw herself against Jim. There was little to recognize about the blackened remains, but she knew those clogs. Nobody in the world had feet as big as Ronnie’s.
Jim patted her back. ‘Aye, it’s your mate, lass. I always said his feet would give him away come the day. But not like this, dear God . . .’ And Jim began to cry, his weeping interrupted by a dry, smokey cough.
‘The price, Jim! Gran always said about the price of cotton.’ She took from her pinny pocket the length that had been her first, the length that would also be her last. ‘It costs too much,’ she said to herself.
‘I’ve had enough, love. I’m fair sickened now.’ He dried his eyes. ‘They can do without me from this day. When I think of the sights I’ve seen in me time – but young Ron? Not a bad bone in him – and there were only him and his mam at home . . .’
Ronnie was wrapped in a large sheet and carried out through the gates, the crowd drawing aside to allow this sad procession through.
Janet raised her eyes and stared directly at Charles Swainbank. He stood at the top of some steps across the yard, face and clothes made filthy by smoke, hands resting for support on the cast-iron rail. Yes. That was what had bothered her before in the shed. He came in with a cigar and left without one!
She walked unsteadily across the yard and stood at the bottom of the flight. Jim followed. ‘Whatever are you doing, Janet? Come away – you mustn’t go near the buildings. Fire spreads, you know.’
Janet threw back her head and stared up at the boss. ‘Swainbank?’ Her voice was high and clear. ‘Where’s your cigar?’
The crowd studied this insolent young girl, eyes and mouths widening in amazement. They were not used to such direct confrontation – if the lass had anything to say, then it should rightly go through a steward.
‘You came in our shed at three o’clock smoking. There’s a sign in there as says you can’t smoke, but you’re above all that, aren’t you? Or can’t you read?’
The man flattened himself against a door.
‘You dropped a cigar end, didn’t you? Happen you thought you’d put it out, but it seems you hadn’t. My friend has died today, somebody I’ve known from nursery. You killed him.’
A murmuring broke out among the crowd as Janet pointed an accusing finger. ‘We all have to sneak out for a smoke, them that need a cigarette. We could get sacked for smoking – even the unions agree about that. But who sacks you now, eh?’
A group of angry men approached Charles. ‘Well?’ asked one. ‘Can’t you answer her? She’s nobbut a slip of a lass – she’ll not bite thee. Are you feared?’
The crowd began to roar its demands for a reply. ‘Answer her!’ ‘Get on with it!’ ‘Come on, Swainbank!’
‘I can’t.’ His voice arrived strangled. ‘I don’t . . . don’t remember.’
A spinner joined Janet on the bottom step. ‘You’d best remember, Boss, ’cos we want to know. Were you lit up in that weaving shed? Well, were you?’
‘Yes!’
The spinner turned to his colleagues. ‘We’ve all seen him smoking, haven’t we? Do we smoke at our mules?’
‘No!’ shouted a hundred voices.
‘What would happen if we did? Sack on the spot, thrown out for behaviour likely to threaten lives. Yet he smokes, Mr Charles bloody Swainbank with his airs and graces.’ He looked at his employer. ‘You didn’t just threaten lives – you bloody took at least one! So you can stop here till you tell us where you put that fag-end!’
The crowd was no longer quiet. Someone picked up a stone and threw it at Charles, missing his head by no more than an inch. Jim ran up the steps, his arms outstretched as he covered Charles Swainbank’s body with his own. ‘Listen to me!’ he cried. ‘Do we want to sink to that level? Don’t forget, any of you, that we are human beings and not blinking animals.’
‘He’s an animal!’ screamed a hysterical woman. ‘Ronnie were from our street . . .’
‘Charlie’s dad were an even worse animal,’ shouted a man from the back.
‘Aye,’ came an anonymous cry. ‘And his grandad were a flaming dinosaur!’
Jim held up a hand. ‘Look lads – and lasses too. We all make mistakes. I’ve been for a crafty smoke in the lav before now and so have most of you. He’s done wrong, has this feller. Aye, I know how you all feel, ’cos I’d scalp him meself given half a chance and a dark enough night. But where would it get me? Would I want to go dangling and dancing at the end of a rope for his likes? No, he’s not worth it. Let him suffer knowing what he’s done. Now go home, all of you.’
‘Why should we?’ asked the spinner at the bottom of the stone steps. ‘He should be done for murder, he should!’
Jim maintained his precarious stance in front of Charles, the latter apparently dumbstruck by what went on around him. ‘Hang on!’ screamed Jim. ‘That’s if they ever prove he started the fire. It could have been owt – a total accident for all we know. And you can’t form a lynch-mob whether he did it or not. So I’m telling you now – all of you – get home before this goes out of hand.’
When a few policemen entered the yard, the crowd began to disperse. As soon as there was enough space, Jim bundled Charles down the steps and round the corner to number two mill. Janet followed at a slower pace, catching up with the two men outside the ground floor office. ‘Mr Swainbank?’ she called.
He turned to look at her.
‘I shan’t be coming back, not tomorrow, not ever. Ronnie was a good lad, good at school – talented, like – and kind to his mother. He was special. I’ve no real idea whether or not you started this lot, but in me bones, I feel it’s your fault. So I don’t want to work for you no more.’
Jim reached out an imploring arm. ‘Nay lass. Don’t be hasty. You’ll make a fair weaver in time.’
‘If I wanted to carry on, there’s other mills, Jim. Mind, I’ll never find a better teacher, will I?’
‘You’ll do all right. Anyway, I’m leaving meself what with one thing and another.’
Janet fixed a cold grey gaze on Charles Swainbank’s stricken face. ‘Mr Higgins is going blind,’ she said quietly. ‘Because of one of your shuttles. I think it’s time you paid him off, don’t you?’
Jim’s face was white with grief and anger. ‘Janet! Don’t you be
minding my business now! Anything between him and me will go through the union—’
She straightened her weary spine, holding herself tall, literally and actually growing up in that moment. ‘No, it won’t, Jim. Like a lot round here, you’ll just put up with it because old injuries are hard to prove. Fight him! For God’s sake – have some pride!’
‘Not you, Janet.’ Charles’ voice was weak with smoke-damage. ‘Don’t turn against me – please.’
‘Why not? What does it matter to you, eh? I’m just an apprentice weaver, ten a penny. Why should you care what I think?’ She smiled at Jim. ‘I’ll not be going in another mill. Me mother wants me in the shop in town, so I’ll give in to her. Like you, I feel it’s all been decided for me—’
‘Janet!’ Charles’ tone was stronger now. ‘Do you realize who I am?’
She looked him up and down. ‘Oh yes. I know who you are, all right. We all know who you are. In time, it won’t matter a jot. Government will keep you going for a while, put taxes on cheap cloth from abroad. But the only road as you lot will survive in the long run is if you all stick together. Names are probably the first thing for the chop. I came into cotton hoping that a few takeovers would give me a good wage. It won’t be a case of who you are – it’ll be who you used to be.’
This was Ma Maguire all right! Ma Maguire talking through the mouth of a fifteen year-old babe! ‘Janet!’ he called. ‘I am your f—’ He dropped his head. What was he doing? What price would she put on herself now if she knew whose daughter she really was? Cheaper than ten a penny? Dear God, what had he done with that dead cigar? And had it been dead? Questions, questions, all unanswerable. He lifted his head. ‘I am your friend,’ he muttered.
‘Then I’d best keep me eyes open for enemies, hadn’t I? Make sure you give something to Mr Higgins to cheer him up now you’ve sent him near blind—’
‘Shut up!’ shouted Jim.
‘They’ve got away with too much!’
‘Janet.’ Jim’s tone was quiet and serious. ‘I’ve seen a lot of life and a lot more of death than I wanted to. There’s a pattern to things, lass. If it wasn’t him’ he jerked a thumb towards his employer, ‘it would be some other clever bugger flying battle colours and shouting the orders. Don’t be taking so much on yourself and you not that long out of nappies. If you’re not careful, you’ll turn out a bitter woman.’
‘Then I’d best leave present company. Oh, I don’t mean you. You were the greatest thing about this job. But I’d get bitter if I stopped too long near him.’
‘Wait!’ Charles stepped forward. ‘Listen to me. I don’t know how the fire started and that’s the honest truth. Perhaps it was my fault and if that’s the case, I am very sorry. Ronnie’s mother will be compensated . . .’
‘Oh aye? Pounds shillings and pence? How much for a life, Mr Swainbank? Ten bob, a hundred pounds – two hundred? What’s the bloody difference? How much for Jim’s eye, what about them that lost arms and legs, what about bald old women who left their hair in a carder? You can’t do anything for Ronnie’s mam, nowt at all! There’s no fetching him back, is there?’ Her eyes blazed with fury.
‘He knows that, Janet,’ ventured Jim. ‘Two sons and a Missus he’s lost these last weeks . . .’
‘Really? Then he’ll know it’s nowt at all to do with money. Though I dare say Ronnie’s mother would be glad of a few bob now her wage-earner’s been snatched. Do as you like, Mr Swainbank. I’m off to my family, must let them know you didn’t kill me too!’
Janet marched out past the smouldering remains of the shed, her eyes brimming with tears. She had loved the mill, so had poor Ronnie. He’d been a good laugh once he’d got his bearings and stopped being shy, always joking and pulling folks’ legs, was Ron. Why, if he’d lived, they might have finished up wed to one another, ’cos they’d got on great.
She turned into a dingy street at the back of the mills and walked unannounced into a house. Ronnie’s mother, her face white with shock, sat by the fire surrounded by neighbours.
‘Mrs Bowles?’
‘What? Oh, hello love. Get a brew, pot’s full.’
Janet led Mrs Bowles’ next door neighbour into the scullery and closed the door quietly. ‘I’m Ronnie’s friend,’ she whispered. ‘Now I know Mrs Bowles won’t be up to much for a while, but when it’s all over, send her to my shop on Bradshawgate.’
‘Your shop, love?’
‘Maguires’ Market – it’s owned between me and me brother. There’ll be a job for her, fair pay and a good dinner on top. She can start whenever she’s ready.’
‘I’ll tell her. What happened at the mill, lass?’
Janet shook her head wearily. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘They say Swainbank were smoking. Is it right?’
‘Yes.’
The woman dropped on to a stool. ‘There’ll be bother – I reckon they’ll kill him! Her at the other side of Mrs Bowles – she works at number one, says their blood’s up.’
‘They’ll have to catch him first.’ Janet smoothed her tangled hair, noticing how it still reeked of oily smoke. ‘Yes, they’ll have to catch him. And there’s no easy way to catch a snake, is there?’
Chapter 15
He had been shut away in the study for a week now. Food was left outside the door and untouched trays would be picked up within the hour, while very short shrift was meted to anyone who dared to put a head inside the room when it was unlocked for brief periods. Perkins marched into the kitchen and banged Mr Swainbank’s breakfast on the table. ‘That does it!’ he announced. ‘I’m for getting the doctor in.’
Mrs Marshall tutted as she scraped eggs, bacon, toast and marmalade into the slops bucket. ‘I wouldn’t care. There’s folk who’d give an arm for a meal like this.’
‘Aye well. There’s no use saying them sorts of things to him just now, is there? That’s what it’s all about – how his workers are bad done to. He blames himself for that lad’s death. And God knows there’s been more than enough dying round here lately.’ He fell into a chair and stretched aching legs in front of him. ‘Happen he’s stopping out of the union’s road till after the investigations. Only that’s not like him – he’s never been a-feared of facing music. I don’t know how to snap him out of it – he won’t listen to anything like sense.’
Mrs M threw the pots into the sink, then removed her capacious apron. ‘You’re not the only one, Jacob. Me, Emmie, Carrie Fishwick – we’ve all fell out of the same boat, all drowning ’cos yon feller won’t try and swim. Damn foolishness! Carrie’s usually good with him and you’d think her nursing training would help, but she’s pleaded with him all night through that door, begged him to come out and eat, she did. Might as well talk to herself! Anyroad, I’m nearing the end of me rope and you can come with me and all.’
‘Where?’ He sat bolt upright and stared at the bustling woman as she dragged a comb through her hair. ‘What the hell are you up to?’
‘Me? I’m up to nowt much! I’m ground that far down with cooking meals what folk don’t eat – I feel as if I’m not a full shilling any more! I’ve tried boiling, frying, poaching – you name it – I’ve stood on me head and done it. There’s more food in that pig-swill bucket for the back farm than there’s ever been before, even when we had a full house. So, I’m putting a stop to it, that’s what. I just wish Carrie was here to back me up, only she’s past the armpits down the mill what with him stopping here a week and no sign of going back. We are getting in that room, Jacob Perkins, even if it means taking an axe to the door.’
His jaw dropped. ‘We can’t do that, Mary!’
‘Course we can! Shut your mouth, there’s a tram coming! No use sitting there looking gobsmacked and gormless.’ She smoothed the dark dress over her heavily corseted frame. ‘It’s either thee and me or the bloody fire brigade. Coming on a treat, he were. And now where is he? Back to the kick-off is where. We have to get him out of that study, lad.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ He puffed out his
cheeks and exhaled loudly. ‘When did he last eat?’
She scratched her pepper-and-salt head. ‘I’m not sure. Only I count the spuds and that, I even know how many carrot rings or peas to the nearest and it looks as if he’s touching nowt apart from tea, coffee and whatever he’s got in them there decanters on his desk.’
Perkins leapt to his feet. ‘All right, lass. Can’t let him drink himself to death, can’t let you tackle him on your own. Only we might need help – he’s a big feller and there’s a fair amount of whisky in that study.’
‘You mean there was.’
He nodded grimly. ‘There’s more to this than meets the eye, Mary. There’s summat up with him, summat as were there long afore the fire. Always either excited or deep in thought, he was. Only I’d be better saying nowt—’
‘Jacob! When did we last have a secret, eh?’ She strode across the room and placed herself in front of him, hands on ample hips, feet apart, head wagging from side to side in an attitude that demanded an immediate answer.
‘Oh it were . . . well . . . I don’t rightly think I should say much—’
‘Out with it, Jacob Perkins, before I fetch you one with me rolling pin! Whatever it is, I’ll keep it to meself!’
Perkins walked round the table and stared into the fireplace, hands thrust deep into trouser pockets. ‘There’s a lad, the one he turned up with not long back – him as got the guided tour.’
‘Well? I never saw him.’ A foot tapped on the floor while thick arms folded themselves beneath a heavy bosom. ‘What about him? I’ve not all day to be stood here gassing with you!’
‘I reckon . . . I could be wrong, like . . .’ He took a deep shuddering breath. ‘I reckon that one’s his son.’
‘You what?’ Her mouth opened and closed several times. ‘Wrong side, you mean?’
‘Aye.’
‘Eeh, heck!’ Visibly deflated, Mary Marshall fell against the table, fat hands outspread on its bleached wooden surface. ‘Who’s the mother?’
With Love From Ma Maguire Page 48