Now Nell was indignant. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
Hannah was quick to say, ‘’Course I do, but – like you say – there’s no need for anyone else to be in trouble. Only me.’
Nell nodded towards Jane. ‘Well, she will be. She sleeps with you, and the rest of us can hardly say we haven’t noticed you’re missing.’
‘I’ll go early, while you’re all still asleep. All you’ve got to do is to know nothing when they ask you.’ She laughed. ‘You can say you thought I was in the punishment room. I spend enough time there.’
Nell snorted. ‘You’ll be spending a lot more in there an’ all when they catch you.’ Then she sighed and relented. ‘But we could cover for you for a bit. Give you time to get right away.’
Hannah shook her head. ‘It’s good of you, Nell, but I’d rather none of you knew. There’s just one thing. I’ve decided to go early on a Saturday. It’ll give me two days. I know how I can get a lift part of the way and I’ll get back – somehow – on Sunday night. Thing is, Mr Scarsfield’ll miss me at work.’
‘He might not. He doesn’t come round so much on a Saturday. Spends the morning with the bosses in the office. Planning next week’s work. I know, ’cos—’ Nell stopped suddenly and bit her lip. A faint blush tinged her face. ‘Anyway,’ she went on swiftly, ‘me and Jane’ll play dim, and the rest of them really won’t know anything. And I’ll cover your machine for Mrs Martin. I’ll tell ’er you’re not well or summat.’ Now Nell glanced severely at Jane. ‘So don’t go telling anyone else, see.’
Jane shook her head, red-faced and tearful that she had given away Hannah’s secret. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah.’
Hannah put her arms around her and hugged her. ‘It’s all right. No harm done.’
She hoped fervently that she was right.
On the Saturday morning, very early, Hannah slipped out of the bed she shared with Jane, managing not to disturb the sleeping child. Carrying her clothes, she tiptoed out of the room and dressed on the landing outside the dormitory. It was still dark as she crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. The noise, as she opened the back door, seemed to echo through the house. She held her breath a moment, listening, but there was no movement from above that might mean someone had heard her. As quietly as she could, she pulled the door shut behind her and set off down the hill, then along the wall side and past the pillared gate leading into the mill. Once clear, she began to run up the lane. Passing the Grundys’ farm, she could hear sounds from the cow shed but she didn’t dare to linger. She wasn’t sure of the time and she didn’t want to miss the man who collected the milk.
At the top of the hill she bent over to catch her breath but was relieved to see that Mr Grundy’s churns were still standing against the low stone wall. She sat down beside them, leaning her back against the rough stones. As she waited she watched the dawn streaking the sky with a rosy peach colour and the world around her grew lighter. She listened, straining her ears for the sound of the rattling wheels of a cart that might herald the carrier’s arrival.
She had no means of telling the time and she began to worry that she’d missed him. Perhaps the churns were empty, returned for the farmer to refill the next day. She tapped the side of the one nearest to her and heard the dull sound that meant it was full of milk. She breathed a sigh of relief. But then she heard another sound – a sound she dreaded hearing. Footsteps were coming up the last stretch of the hill, nearer and nearer. Someone else was coming from the valley to beg a lift too. She watched as a figure, climbing the last few feet, appeared. Hannah drew in a startled gasp. The man was walking with his head bowed. She couldn’t see his features, but there was no mistaking his hunched stance. Shocked, she couldn’t move. And then it was too late to run as he lifted his head and saw her.
‘You!’ Josiah Roper came towards her slowly, his beady eyes never leaving her face. As he drew closer she could see that he was smiling with sadistic pleasure. ‘Running away, are you?’
Now her boldness returned. She stood up, facing him and saying stoutly, ‘No, I’m not. I’m coming back tomorrow tonight. I’m going to see my mother in Macclesfield.’
For a brief moment even Josiah Roper seemed fazed by her bold, yet polite retort. But he recovered quickly to say, ‘I thought I heard Mr Edmund tell you distinctly that you couldn’t go?’
There was a brief silence before Hannah muttered, ‘He did. But,’ she added, more strongly, ‘I mean to come back. I’m not a runaway, Mr Roper, truly I’m not.’ She stepped closer, trying to appeal to the man’s better nature – if he had one. ‘I have to see my mother. I have to know if she’s all right. I haven’t heard a word from her ever since I came here. And you know I’ve written four times.’
‘That’s as may be, but you cannot go without the master’s permission . . .’
At that moment, they both heard the sound of the carrier’s rattling wheels.
‘Oh, please, Mr Roper, let me go. I beg you. I swear on my mother’s life that I’m coming back tomorrow night. I promise you.’
But he was smiling nastily. ‘I don’t believe you. I’ll have to take you back.’
‘But – but you’ll miss your ride too. Please, Mr Roper . . .’
But delivering an errant child back to the punishment that awaited her would bring Josiah Roper far more satisfaction than his monthly weekend trip to Buxton to see his widowed mother.
‘Mr Roper.’ Mrs Bramwell’s face was puzzled as she opened the back door of the apprentice house to the man’s loud knocking. Then her glance travelled down a little to see the girl standing beside him and saw that he was gripping Hannah’s arm tightly. For a clerk who sat hunched over a desk all day, Josiah was surprisingly strong.
‘Francis?’ Now there was an anxious question in her tone as if she already knew – and feared – the answer.
‘I found this girl at the top of the hill, waiting – would you believe? – for a ride with the milk cart. And where, I’d like to know,’ Josiah put his head on one side and smiled accusingly, ‘did she get the money to take a trip all the way to Macclesfield?’
Mrs Bramwell’s mouth dropped open and she glanced from one to the other. ‘Well, you needn’t look at me like that, Mr Roper. I know nothing about this, believe me.’
Josiah grunted. ‘Really. Then in that case you’ve shown a serious dereliction of your duties, Mrs Bramwell. Because you should’ve known and put a stop to it.’ He gave a mock sigh, pretending that what he was about to say pained him. ‘I shall be obliged to report the matter to Mr Edmund.’
Ethel Bramwell stared at him before saying bitterly, ‘Oh, I’m sure you will, Mr Roper. Nothing’ll give you greater pleasure, will it?’
‘It’s not Mrs Bramwell’s fault,’ Hannah cried. ‘She knew nothing about it. No one did.’ She looked up at Ethel. ‘And I wasn’t running away, Mrs Bramwell. I was coming back tomorrow night. I was only trying to see my mother.’
‘A fine tale,’ Josiah snorted. ‘Since when did any child voluntarily come back if they once got away from here?’
‘Me.’ Hannah glared up at him. ‘If I say I’ll do something, then I’ll do it.’
The adults looked down at her. She could see that Mrs Bramwell wanted to believe her, but there was no softening in Josiah Roper’s attitude. ‘Where did you get the money? Did you steal it?’
‘No,’ Hannah gasped, horrified that anyone could think such a thing of her.
His grip tightened painfully on her shoulder and he bent menacingly towards her. ‘Then where did you get it?’ His face close to hers, Hannah stared into his beady eyes and shivered fearfully.
But now Hannah couldn’t answer truthfully. She wouldn’t involve Mrs Grundy. ‘I . . . I saved it. It was mine.’
‘Saved it? How? You came from the workhouse and all they give you is the two guineas you handed to Mr Critchlow.’ He smiled maliciously. ‘And I still have that in my safekeeping.’
‘That he took off us, you mean,’ Hannah said rashly and earned herself
a clout across the side of the head from Josiah.
‘I asked you where you got the money,’ he shouted, but now Mrs Bramwell intervened.
‘That’s enough, Mr Roper. You’ve no right to touch this girl. No right at all. She’s my responsibility.’
Josiah turned on the woman. ‘Then you’d better start doing your job, Mrs Bramwell, or else—’
‘Oh yes, Mr Roper, or else – what? You lay another finger on this girl – or any of the children in my charge – and I’ll be the one doing a bit of reporting to the master. To Mr Nathaniel Critchlow.’
They glared at each other, whilst Hannah stood watching, biting her lip and chastising herself for her wayward tongue. It’d got her into trouble before and it looked as if she’d made matters worse now.
Josiah turned away, but as he did so, he wagged his finger in Mrs Bramwell’s face. ‘You watch out, Ethel Bramwell. You just watch your step, that’s all I’m saying.’
As he turned to go, Mrs Bramwell reached out and dragged Hannah into the kitchen and slammed the door. ‘And now, young lady, I’ll deal with you.’
Thirteen
‘It’s out of our hands. There’s nothing we can do about it, Arthur.’
Mr and Mrs Bramwell were standing either side of the kitchen table, arguing over the girl who sat between them calmly eating her porridge. They glanced at Hannah with expressions of anger tinged with pity. They were cross with her for – as they believed – attempting to run away. They, as well as she, would be in trouble. But more than the concern for themselves, they pitied the golden-haired girl for the punishment they knew awaited her – a punishment of which she was, at this moment, blithely unaware.
‘Roper knows. He brought her back. He’ll waste no time in telling the master or Mr Edmund.’
Arthur Bramwell regarded the girl sorrowfully. ‘The old man’s away. It’ll be Mr Edmund he tells.’
‘Ah!’ Ethel let out a deep sigh and murmured, ‘Poor child.’
Arthur leaned on his hands on the table, large, capable hands that had never been afraid of manual work, hands that were just as ready to caress as to chastise the apprentices in his care. He was a big man, broad and strong and quiet, and when he could he protected the youngsters. Sometimes he had to beat them, but he made sure he did not damage them physically. It was humiliation he wished to inflict rather than actual hurt. Just to make them toe the line. But when it came to the matter of a child running away, he was powerless to prevent the inevitable punishment.
‘Why did you do it, Francis? Why did you try to run away?’
Hannah swallowed the last mouthful and laid her spoon in the empty bowl. She looked up at them both, first at Mrs Bramwell’s anxious face and then at the big man’s. During the time she’d been here, she’d come to like and respect this couple. They were strict, but fair, and she knew they really cared about all the children. She was sorry to have caused them trouble and said so, adding, ‘But I wasn’t running away. I just had to go and try and find out how me mother is. I asked for permission, but Mr Edmund refused me.’
‘So,’ Arthur said in his deep rumbling voice. ‘You went anyway?’
Hannah bit her lip and nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said huskily. ‘But you’ve got to believe me, Mr Bramwell, I was coming back.’
‘Do you really mean that?’ It seemed as if Arthur Bramwell couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
Hannah nodded. ‘I like it here. The work’s hard, but I don’t mind that. And I like the people.’ She pulled a face. ‘Well, most of them. All except Mr Roper.’
She didn’t like Mr Edmund either, but she thought it wise not to say so at this moment.
Husband and wife glanced at each other and, though they said no more, Hannah could see that neither of them really believed her. And if they didn’t, then there was not the remotest chance that either of the Critchlows would, especially Mr Edmund.
‘Well, we’d best get it over with,’ Ethel Bramwell said. ‘Come on, girl.’
‘Want me to go with her, Ethel?’ Arthur straightened up and looked across at his wife, but she shook her head. ‘No, no, Arthur. The girls are my responsibility. It’ll not be the first time I’ve had to stand there and take his abuse – nor will it be the last.’
Again they both looked down at Hannah. ‘Mebbe he won’t be so hard on her,’ Arthur murmured, intending that Hannah should not hear him, but her sharp hearing caught every word. ‘She’s a pretty little thing.’
But Ethel answered swiftly, ‘I’d sooner see her spend a week in the punishment room than anything else he might have in mind.’
‘Well, keep your eye on her. She’s just the sort he goes for. Give her another year or two and – well . . .’
His voice petered out as Mrs Bramwell took hold of Hannah’s shoulder and propelled the girl in front of her. ‘He’ll have to get past me first. He can get up to his tricks with the mill girls from the village if he likes. They’ll have to look out for themselves, but he’s not having his way with any of my girls. Not if I can help it. Mind you,’ she lowered her voice. ‘I don’t seem to be managing it with young Nell.’ She raised her voice. ‘Come on, you. Let’s get it over with.’
Hannah wasn’t sure who was trembling the most as they stepped into the inner office.
Even though it was Saturday morning, Edmund Critchlow was sitting behind his desk, leaning back, rocking slightly as he regarded them through his dark, hooded eyes.
‘So, girl, you thought you could defy me and get away with it, did you?’
‘Mr Edmund—’ Mrs Bramwell began, but the man held up his hand to silence her, his glance never leaving Hannah’s face.
‘Well, what have you to say for yourself?’
Hannah lifted her chin and met his eyes boldly. Inside she was quaking, but she was determined not to let this man see her fear. ‘I’m truly sorry, Mr Edmund, that I disobeyed you. I just wanted to see my mother.’
‘Don’t you think all the children here would like to see their mothers? Why should you be different?’
With an outward calmness, Hannah answered, ‘Most of the children in the house have no mothers – or fathers. They’re orphans. I’m not. I have a mother. I wanted to see her. I’ve written to her four times – like you suggested – and brought the letters to Mr Roper to send, but I’ve not had a word back. I just want to know she’s all right. That’s all.’
It was quite simple to the girl’s mind. She couldn’t understand why no one else could see it. And worse still, she couldn’t understand why anyone would deliberately want to keep a child from its mother.
Edmund leaned forward, tapping the desk with his forefinger. ‘I thought I’d made it clear last time. When you came here, you signed a paper. You remember?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And do you know what that paper was?’
‘An indenture, sir.’
‘Quite right. And what did it mean?’
‘That I’m apprenticed to you for six years.’
‘Exactly. Six years. And that means you do not run away during that time.’
‘I wasn’t running away, sir. I keep trying to tell you – and everyone – I was coming back tomorrow night. As soon as I’d seen my mother.’
For a moment, Edmund stared at her and then his lip curled, ‘You really expect me to believe that?’
Hannah met his gaze steadily. ‘Yes,’ she said simply, ‘because it’s the truth.’
‘She’s a good girl usually, sir,’ Mrs Bramwell began but Edmund snapped.
‘Hold your tongue, Bramwell. I’ll have more to say to you later. I hold you responsible for all this.’
‘Mrs Bramwell had nothing to do with it, sir,’ Hannah spoke up. ‘She knew nothing about it. I let myself out of the back door this morning, really early. Before anyone was up.’
‘That’s no excuse. You shouldn’t have been able to get out. The door should have been locked and the key hidden.’
Mrs Bramwell opened her mouth to protest, b
ut at the sight of the young master’s glowering face, she closed it again.
His mouth was tight, his thick black eyebrows drawn together almost hiding his cruel eyes. ‘Well, we have a way of dealing with runaways here.’
Hannah opened her mouth to say, ‘I’m not a runaway,’ but further protest was useless. No one would believe her.
Hannah roused to hear a soft tapping on the door.
She was lying on the cold hard floor of the punishment room with not even the rough blanket for covering. There was nothing in the room now except a jug of water to drink and a bucket for her to relieve herself in. She pulled herself up slowly. Every bone in her body ached, every muscle screamed for relief and her buttocks stung from the wheals inflicted by the thin cane. Mr Edmund had delivered the beating himself, despite Mrs Bramwell’s valiant protests.
‘You’ve no right, sir,’ Ethel had cried. ‘Not a girl.’
‘No right? No right, you say. I’ve every right, Bramwell. I own her – body and soul. I own all of them, every last one, and I will do with them as I please.’
With that, Edmund had grabbed hold of Hannah and hauled her towards his desk. Swinging her round, he had grasped the back of her dress, and in one swift movement torn it open to reveal her naked back and bottom.
‘No, sir, no,’ Ethel had tried in vain, terrified by the madness in the man’s eyes. He had raised the cane, and though she lunged forward, trying to wrest it from his hand, he had pushed her roughly out of the way so that she overbalanced and fell to the floor. Then with a vicious delight he had brought the cane down on the girl’s pink young flesh again and again until her skin was raw and bleeding.
Ethel had sat on the floor where she had fallen, closed her eyes and moaned aloud. But there was no sound from Hannah. Not a whimper, not a word of protest or entreaty. She had stood with her face buried against her arm as she was held over the desk, and made not a murmur. It had incensed Edmund further. ‘I’ll teach – you – to run – away,’ he had shouted between each cutting stroke. ‘We’ll see how you – sing after this – eh?’
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