Pauper's Gold

by Margaret Dickinson

  Hannah and Luke glanced at each other. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ they murmured in unison.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Joe telling me that he’d seen you going up the hill,’ Mrs Bramwell went on, ‘I might’ve thought some accident had befallen you and sent people out to look for you. You’d’ve been in serious trouble then.’

  Hannah felt a flash of anger. So, Joe was a telltale an’ all, was he? It seemed there was no one here she could trust, except the three children who’d come with her from the workhouse. And maybe Nell. She liked Nell. Daniel would never in a million years tell tales about his twin. He’d rather take punishment himself. But Joe, it seemed, had no such scruples. Hannah guessed that he was miffed at Luke having taken Hannah away from him on the walk he had planned. And now, he’d taken revenge.

  Her glance raked the tables until she saw him. He was the only one with his gaze averted. He dared not look her in the eyes. Well, Hannah promised herself, she’d sort him out later, but her attention was dragged back to what Mrs Bramwell was saying.

  ‘I can’t let this go unpunished even so. There’ll be no dinner for either of you. You’ – she pointed at Hannah – ‘will spend the rest of the day in the punishment room on bread and water.’ Her glance turned to Luke. ‘And we’ll see what a beating will do for you.’

  She stepped between them and laid a hand heavily on their shoulders. ‘Come along.’

  As they were led away, Hannah caught sight of the tears coursing down Jane’s face, of Nell’s anxious look and Joe’s scarlet cheeks.

  Not until the next morning as they hurried to work were Hannah and Luke able to speak to each other.

  ‘Was it very bad, Luke? Did she hurt you?’

  ‘It was him – Mr Bramwell – not her. He beats the boys and she punishes the girls.’

  ‘Did it hurt?’

  ‘It wasn’t too bad. I’ve ’ad worse from old Goodbody.’ The lad grimaced and Hannah knew he was being brave. ‘I’m sorry I led you into trouble, Hannah, but it was great out there on the hills, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, it was. And it’s not the first time I’ve been in trouble and I doubt it’ll be the last.’ She grinned at him. ‘I’m just sorry we didn’t stop and have Mrs Grundy’s roast lamb, aren’t you?’

  As they parted in the yard to go to their separate places of work, Ernest Scarsfield saw them laughing together. He’d heard about the previous day’s escapade and now he shook his head in wonder. Was there nothing that would tame this girl? Because the way she was going on, she was going to spend half her days in trouble. And the more trouble she got into, the harsher the chastisement would become. He didn’t want to see a pretty, bright little lass like her forever being punished, yet he couldn’t help but secretly hope that her spirit would never be broken. He’d seen it all over the years. Undernourished, overworked children cowed and old before their time, many of them never even reaching adulthood. The work was arduous and only the strongest endured. He devoutly hoped Hannah was a survivor.

  Nine

  The following Sunday as they walked back from the morning service in the schoolroom, Luke whispered, ‘Are we going out again?’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to, or that I’ve suddenly turned into a bootkisser like Millie calls me.’

  Luke grinned. ‘Fat chance!’

  Hannah smiled too. ‘But I do want to keep in Mrs Bramwell’s good books for a bit, if I can. You know what she’s like.’ Suddenly, Hannah clapped her hands and mimicked the superintendent. ‘“Come along, come along. There’s work to be done.” Well, I’m going to do whatever she asks me. You see, I want to go and see me mam. And they won’t let me if I keep getting meself into trouble, will they?’

  Luke pulled a face. ‘I don’t think they will anyway. ’Specially not yet. We’ve only been here a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to try in another two weeks’ time,’ Hannah said determinedly. ‘But in the meantime, I’m going to behave myself.’

  Luke laughed aloud. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it. By the way,’ he added, ‘have you seen Joe?’

  ‘Not to speak to. I’ve seen him in the yard but he scuttles out of my way whenever he catches sight of me.’ Her eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘Reckon he’s scared to face me.’

  ‘Me an’ Daniel thought about giving him a thumping—’

  ‘Oh, don’t do that, Luke. You’ll end up in more trouble.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s what Daniel said. So instead we’ve got all the other lads to ignore him for a bit. None of ’em can stand him, so maybe that’ll teach him a lesson.’

  Hannah laughed. ‘Poor Joe,’ she said, but there was not much sympathy in her tone.

  The four children had been living and working at the mill for a month. Apart from still trying to help Jane with the evening’s household chores when the younger girl was almost dropping on her feet with tiredness, Hannah had been a model of good behaviour. Every day, except Sunday, was the same. All the children, regardless of their age, were woken at five thirty in the morning and had to be at work by six. Their breakfast of porridge and oatcake was brought to them in the mill by the overworked Mary from the apprentice house, but the children were allowed an hour at midday to go back to the house for their dinner. They then returned to the mill and worked until six o’clock in the evening, followed by two hours’ schooling, household chores, supper and bed. The food was reasonable – better than the fare in the workhouse. There was a regular supply of fresh vegetables from the field in front of the mill, in which the boy apprentices worked on Sundays under Arthur Bramwell’s instruction whilst the girls sewed and darned under his wife’s direction. They were given meat two or three times a week and there was plenty of milk from the Grundys’ cows.

  Hannah remained fit and healthy. She’d taken Mr Grundy’s advice and bathed her eyes night and morning, which seemed to prevent her suffering from the eye infections that plagued many of the mill’s workers. And sometimes, when the atmosphere became dense with the floating dust from the cotton, she would tie a piece of clean rag around her mouth and nose.

  ‘Look at Lady Muck here,’ Millie would jeer, but it wasn’t Hannah who went home at night with rasping breath and her mouth caked with fuzz.

  At the end of Hannah’s fourth week at the mill, Mr Scarsfield came into the preparation room. ‘I’m going to try you as a piecer, Francis. You’ve made good progress in here and—’

  Overhearing, Millie piped up. ‘What about me, Mr Scarsfield? I’ve been here longer than Boot. I should be—’

  Ernest Scarsfield frowned. ‘Boot? Why on earth do you call her Boot?’

  Millie blushed. She’d called Hannah the derogatory name ever since that first day. Usually she remembered to call her by her proper name in front of their superiors, but in her indignation at being passed over, as she thought, the nickname had slipped out.

  ‘I – I . . .’ the girl faltered, but Hannah laughed.

  ‘It’s nothing, Mr Scarsfield. It’s only a bit of fun. I’ve got a name for her, an’ all.’ Her eyes twinkled with merriment. ‘But I’m not going to tell you what it is.’

  The overlooker glanced between the two girls. He was well aware that there was animosity between them; he’d seen it from that first day. That was partly why he was looking to move Hannah to another job. He’d taken to this girl. She was a willing worker and a quick learner, even if she was a bit rebellious at times.

  ‘Hmm,’ he glanced at Millie. ‘I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll try you as a tenter working on the carding machine with Hughes. In the meantime, I’m putting a new girl with you. You can teach her to do your job and then we’ll see.’ Millie’s eyes flashed resentment but she had the sense to keep silent. The overlooker’s voice took on a note of warning. ‘She’s come from the village, not from a workhouse. Her parents work here in the mill and they’ve apprenticed her.’ Without saying so, he was indicating that it would be unwise to try bullying the new girl; she was not alone in the w
orld. ‘She starts on Monday, so you,’ he turned back to Hannah, ‘come to me first thing on Monday and I’ll take you to Hudson. She’ll show you what to do.’

  Hannah smiled broadly. ‘Thank you, Mr Scarsfield.’ She liked Nell Hudson. The bed she shared with Jane was s till next to Nell and her sleeping companion, and there were often muffled giggles in the night between the four of them.

  ‘It’s all right for some,’ Millie muttered begrudgingly. ‘I’ve been here a lot longer than you. I should be getting a better job, not you.’

  ‘Who says it’s a better job? It’s not bad in here. At least it’s away from all that noise.’

  ‘You’ll’ve more chance of being offered overtime, that’s what,’ Millie spat. ‘You’ll be able to earn money instead of just your keep and a new set of clothes once a year.’

  ‘Well, if you weren’t such a slacker, you might get the chance. The bosses aren’t stupid, y’know. Keep yer nose clean and you might get the chance to work with Joe next door.’

  ‘I don’t want to work with him. Mrs Bramwell’s pet. I’m no bootkisser,’ Millie sneered. ‘You ’n’ Joe Hughes make a good pair.’

  Now Hannah didn’t respond. Since the day he’d carried tales to Mrs Bramwell, Hannah had heard it from some of the other children that he was not only the woman’s favourite but that he deliberately sucked up to her. Joe still attempted to be friendly with her, but Hannah gave him the cold shoulder. Luke, she’d decided, was the one she wanted as her friend.

  ‘Come to think of it, that Hudson girl’s one an’ all.’

  Hannah’s eyes widened. ‘Nell? Never!’

  ‘You’ll find out. Only it’s not boots she’s kissing,’ Millie said smugly and refused to say more.

  The rest of the day passed in silence between the two girls, but at six o’clock, Hannah ran out of the yard and up the hill, excited to tell her good news to Jane and Nell.

  ‘I’m coming to work with you,’ she cried, grabbing hold of Nell about the waist and whirling her around. ‘Mr Scarsfield says I can be a piecer and you’re to teach me what to do.’

  Nell’s dark eyes lit up. ‘That’s wonderful. Marvellous!’ She flung her arms around Hannah and they danced the length of the dormitory, laughing and singing together.

  ‘What’s got into you two?’ one of the other girls asked as, one by one, they trudged wearily into the room. ‘Come into a fortune, ’ave yer?’

  ‘They’re leaving. I bet that’s what it is,’ said another.

  ‘Nah.’ Millie, coming into the room, overheard the remarks. ‘They’re a couple of bootlickers, the pair of ’em. ’Er,’ she pointed at Hannah, ‘has got Mr Scarsfield wrapped round her little finger. And as for ’er – well, we all know who’d she’d lift her skirts for, don’t we?’

  The two girls stopped dancing and looked at each other, their merriment dying. Hannah made to pull away from Nell and lunge herself at the smirking Millie, but Nell caught hold of her. ‘No. Leave it. She’s not worth it. Not worth losing this chance over. You come and work with me. We’ll be all right together.’

  ‘Yeah, ’course you will,’ Millie sneered. ‘His pimp now, a’ yer?’

  Hannah started forward again, but Nell’s grip tightened. ‘I said, leave it.’

  The rest of the girls averted their eyes or hurried out of the room. Hannah said no more, but the vindictive Millie had spoiled her exciting news.

  ‘Mrs Bramwell, please may I go to see my mother one Sunday?’

  The superintendent stared at Hannah in amazement. ‘Go – to – see – your – mother?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes. I haven’t heard from her since I came here.’

  Mrs Bramwell sat down suddenly, her shocked gaze still fastened on Hannah’s face. ‘Well, I never heard the like.’

  Hannah put her head on one side and stared at her, puzzled by the woman’s reaction to what, to the girl, seemed a simple, straightforward question. ‘May I go? Please?’

  ‘Oh no, no.’ Mrs Bramwell shook her head. ‘It’s out of the question. Dear me. The very idea.’

  Now Hannah frowned. ‘Why? Why can’t I go? It’s not so far. I could do the journey in two days. There one day and come back the next. I just want to see her.’

  Mrs Bramwell laughed wryly. ‘Oh, my dear child, don’t you know what signing that indenture means?’

  ‘What’s an in – indenture?’

  ‘The piece of paper you were asked to sign when you arrived here.’

  ‘Oh, that. I’d forgotten what it was called.’

  ‘Yes, that.’ Mrs Bramwell’s tone was flat. ‘Signing that paper means that you’re bound to Mr Critchlow until you’re eighteen. And he doesn’t allow anyone to leave here. Not even for a day.’

  Shocked, Hannah stared at Mrs Bramwell. ‘You mean – you mean I can’t go to see my mother for – for six years?’

  Mrs Bramwell nodded.

  The twelve-year-old child felt a lump in her throat and her eyes smart with tears. ‘Why? Why not?’

  Mrs Bramwell bit her lip as she considered her answer. This young girl was spirited, some might say wilful. If she put ideas into the girl’s head, then . . . ‘It’s – it’s the rules here,’ she said lamely, ducking giving a full answer.

  Now Hannah was angry with the uncontrolled rage of a young girl. Her blue eyes sparkled defiantly. ‘Then they’re cruel rules that keep a child from its mother. For six years!’ She whirled around and ran from the room, and though Mrs Bramwell called after her, the girl didn’t stop, ignoring the possibility of a night in the punishment room for her disobedience. Left alone, Ethel Bramwell sighed. For once, she’d take no action against the girl. For once, she sympathized with her.

  Hannah ran on, out of the house and down the hill to the mill. She would see him. She would seek out Mr Critchlow – the man who made these harsh rules. She’d tell him exactly what she thought of him.

  Moments later she was banging on the door of the outer office. When a voice bade her enter, she thrust open the door and marched into the room. The clerk, Mr Roper, looked up from his desk. He blinked at her over the top of his spectacles.

  ‘What do you want, girl?’ he asked gruffly. ‘You’ve no right to be in here. Have you been sent for? In trouble, are you?’

  ‘No, but I want to see Mr Critchlow.’

  ‘See – Mr Critchlow?’ Mr Roper was startled, just as Mrs Bramwell had been, at the girl’s audacity. Hannah thought for a moment that he was going to say, just like Mrs Bramwell, ‘Well, I never heard the like.’ But instead, he pursed his mouth. ‘You’ve got cheek, I’ll give you that. But in this place, that’ll only earn you a punishment – not admiration.’

  Hannah bit back a hasty retort. She swallowed her anger, realizing suddenly that belligerence would gain her nothing.

  ‘Please, sir,’ she said, modifying her tone, her whole attitude. ‘Please, could I see Mr Critchlow?’

  ‘He’s not here. He’s gone for the day.’ Mr Roper paused and then added, slyly, ‘but Mr Edmund’s here. You could perhaps see him, if you like.’

  In her innocence, Hannah nodded. ‘Yes, please.’

  Josiah Roper was a strange, complicated character. He had been born into relatively privileged circumstances. He’d attended private schools and had been set to enter Oxford or Cambridge University until the day he’d learned that the family fortunes had been drunk and gambled away by his ne’er-do-well father. Josiah had been obliged to seek gainful employment. He was intelligent and able, but the doors that once might have been opened to him by way of his family’s standing were now slammed in his face. Seventeen years earlier, as a desperate young man of eighteen, Josiah had sought out Edmund Critchlow, who’d been one of Josiah’s father’s more fortunate gambling cronies. Mistakenly, Josiah believed the man might feel some pangs of guilt, perhaps some sort of responsibility that he’d been involved in the downfall of the Roper family. Whilst Edmund did persuade his own father to employ Josiah as their clerk, his reasons were far from charitable. Edm
und was ambitious. He couldn’t wait to take over the running of Wyedale Mill from his father. Roper, he assumed, would be eternally grateful and utterly loyal to him. The impoverished young man, Edmund believed, would be his eyes and ears throughout the mill. People would tend to ignore the quiet man, to look upon him as a mere clerk. But they would be mistaken, Edmund schemed, for there would be nothing happen in the mill that he wouldn’t hear about from Roper.

  Josiah was indeed grateful to take the position, but his appreciation was short-lived. Though he did his job conscientiously, he was resentful of his benefactors, seeing his lowly position as an insult to his intelligence and none of his own making. In his twisted, embittered attitude, he took a perverse delight in hearing the quarrels and troubles that took place within his hearing in the inner office. As he went about the mill, ostensibly on office business, he picked up titbits of gossip, overheard private conversations, witnessed quarrels between workers and saw problems arise. And all of this he carried back to his office to calculate how he could best use such information. If he could manipulate a situation to cause tro uble for someone – anyone, it didn’t matter who it was – then his day was all the brighter. It relieved the monotonous drudgery of his enforced servile position. Yet, with his tale-bearing he was unwittingly fulfilling the very act that Edmund wanted of him.

  And now here was this girl, who’d been in the mill but a few weeks, standing in his office demanding to see the master. Josiah’s lip curled. It lightened his day. Well, she could see the young master. That’d stop her gallop and no mistake. She was a bit young at the moment, but Edmund would mark her out, and in three or four years’ time . . .

  Josiah rose slowly from behind his desk and straightened up. ‘I’ll ask if Mr Edmund will see you.’ He moved deliberately slowly towards the door to the inner office, knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. He closed the door behind him and Hannah was left alone. She looked about her.

  The offices were on the top floor of an annexe attached to the main mill. As she looked out of the windows, Hannah could see the building at right angles to this one and then, directly in front of her, the third one. The room itself was dark and dreary, furnished only with Mr Roper’s high desk and an odd chair or two. A candle stood on the corner of his desk to give him a little extra light by which to write in his fine, spidery hand. The walls were lined with shelves, overflowing with ledgers and files and papers. No doubt Mr Roper knew where everything was, but to her, the place looked a muddle.