Pauper's Gold

by Margaret Dickinson

  On and on he had gone, stroke after stroke, until Hannah’s legs had given way and she had crumpled to the floor. At last, he had stopped, standing over her, breathing hard whilst Ethel Bramwell scrambled across the floor to gather the girl into her arms.

  At last Hannah had made a sound. Quite plainly they had both heard her trembling words.

  ‘Rock of ages, cleft for me . . .’

  Ethel Bramwell had looked up at the man towering above them both, and almost laughed hysterically to see the incredulous look on his face.

  ‘Hannah? Hannah – you there?’ The voice came again, rousing her.

  Despite her terrible state, Hannah wanted to laugh and reply, ‘Where else do you think I’d be?’ But she quelled the retort and struggled to the door. She pressed her face to it and whispered, ‘Luke?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s me. I’ve brought you some food, but there’s no key. I can’t open the door.’

  Again a sharp retort sprang to her lips but remained unspoken. Instead, she said, ‘That’s nice of you, but I can’t open it either.’

  There was a long silence and Hannah thought he had gone, but then she heard Luke say, ‘Can you open the window?’

  ‘I . . . I’m not sure. It’s so cold in here, I haven’t tried.’

  ‘Well, have a go because . . .’ His next words were lost to her as, stiffly, she moved across the small room and pushed at the window. She pushed and shoved, and slowly, protestingly, it opened. She went back to the door.

  ‘Yes, I’ve opened it, but why?’

  ‘Listen, when it’s dark tonight I’ll get a rope and throw it up to you. Then I’ll tie a cloth with some food wrapped in it and you can pull it up.’

  ‘Oh, Luke, you’ll be in trouble if you’re caught.’

  ‘Ne’er mind about that. You’re hungry, aren’t you?’

  At the mere thought of food, Hannah’s stomach rumbled, but Luke was whispering urgently, ‘I’ll have to go. But watch out tonight.’

  She heard a brief movement on the other side of the door and knew he was gone. Now she felt lonelier than ever.

  It worked better than Hannah had imagined it possibly could. The punishment room was at the top of the house in the attic, but she’d reckoned without Luke’s determination. It took four attempts before she caught hold of the rope and hauled it into the room.

  ‘Wait a bit,’ Luke called up in a loud whisper. ‘I’ve got to tie it on this end.’ A moment’s silence and then she heard him say, ‘Right, pull away.’ Slowly and steadily she hauled on the rope until the bundle came level with the window.

  ‘And what, may I ask, is going on here?’

  Hannah gasped, startled by the voice that came up through the darkness from below the window. Oh no! she thought. Not him again. Swiftly she dragged the bundle in through the window and squatted down out of sight. She held her breath, listening intently through the open window.

  ‘Evening, Mr Roper,’ she heard Luke say brightly, but Josiah Roper was not to be fooled so easily.

  ‘I asked you what you were doing, boy?’

  ‘Tekin’ a stroll like you, Mr Roper. Nice evenin’, ain’t it?’

  There was a moment’s silence when Hannah visualized Josiah glancing up towards the window of the punishment room. His next words confirmed her fears. ‘I hope you’re not communicating with that girl?’

  ‘What girl, Mr Roper?’

  Despite her pain, Hannah had to stuff her fist into her mouth to silence the laughter bubbling up inside her. Luke sounded so innocent.

  ‘You know very well “what girl”,’ Josiah snapped. ‘I think I’d better report this to Mrs Bramwell . . .’

  Hannah heard no more. Swiftly she opened the bundle to reveal a piece of cold meat pie and some bread and cheese. This wasn’t the sort of fare the apprentices were given. She hoped Luke hadn’t stolen it. He’d be next in the punishment room if he had. She heard them move away, and now, ravenous, she stuffed it into her mouth.

  By the time footsteps sounded outside the room, the door flung open and light from the lamp that Mrs Bramwell carried flooded the room, making Hannah wince against the sudden brightness, all trace of the food was gone and the cloth it’d been wrapped in hidden beneath her clothing. The rope was the only thing that might have given them away, but she’d thrown that out of the window, hoping that Luke would have the sense to retrieve it as soon as he could.

  Ethel glanced round the room and then, seeming satisfied, she nodded, ‘You’ll be coming out in the morning. Mind you’re ready for work.’

  The light disappeared and the door slammed shut again. Hannah sighed and lay back on the floor trying, in vain, to find a comfortable position. Tomorrow night, she thought, she’d be back in her own bed snuggling close to Jane.

  *

  When she appeared in the dormitory the following morning, Jane ran to her and hugged her hard. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you so.’

  Hannah hugged her in return and then said, ‘Come on, we’d best hurry. I don’t want to be late on me first morning back.’

  Hand in hand they left the house and ran down the hill, joining the other apprentices already making their way through the early morning mist, scarcely awake and rubbing their eyes with weariness.

  Ernest Scarsfield counted them in. ‘Oh, you’re back with us, Francis, are yer? Not do that again in a hurry, I’ll be bound.’

  Hannah glanced up at him. ‘Why will no one believe me, Mr Scarsfield?’

  ‘Eh?’

  As she explained, his blank look turned to one of incredulity. He laughed. ‘You trying to tell me you really meant to come back?’

  Hannah nodded. ‘Yes, I am.’

  Ernest pushed back his hat and scratched his head. ‘Well, if that don’t beat all. I’ve never heard the like.’

  ‘It seems as if no one expects someone to come back if they once get away,’ Hannah said solemnly.

  Ernest nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it, lass.’ He paused and then stared at her again. ‘You really did mean to come back once you’d seen yer mother?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  For the first time someone really seemed to believe her. The overlooker smiled and bent towards her. ‘Look, I’ll try to see what I can do to help yer. I’ve got a mate in the village who goes through to Macclesfield about once a month. Would yer like him to ask around for yer? See if he can find out about yer mother?’

  Ernest Scarsfield was rewarded with Hannah’s wide smile. Her blue eyes sparkled with grateful tears. ‘Oh, thank you, Mr Scarsfield. You’re so kind. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  He straightened up, feeling an unaccustomed lump in his throat. ‘There, there,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Don’t fret. I’ll see what I can do.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Run along into work now.’

  As he watched her go, Ernest stroked his moustache, still marvelling over the child. Not only had the young girl done something remarkable – she’d made him involve himself in the life of one of the workers, a thing he’d vowed he’d never do – but for some reason he couldn’t explain, he believed her story. He actually believed the child had meant to return to the mill.

  And that, to him, was the most incredible part of it all.

  That morning, despite the soreness of her back that would take some time to heal, Hannah sang at her work.

  At last, someone really believed her.

  Fourteen

  Hannah had to be patient – something she wasn’t very good at. Ernest Scarsfield had said he’d try to make enquiries for her and she believed him, but the wait was agonizing. She busied herself with work, trying to keep her mind off thoughts of her mother, even asking Mrs Bramwell for extra chores in the evening. ‘Jane’s so tired. Please let me do her jobs.’

  Ethel Bramwell was amazed at the resilience of this girl. After a beating like she’d taken, many another would have moaned and begged to be excused from work for weeks. But Hannah made no complaint even though her back was smarting and she would always bear a faint scar or tw
o where the cane had cut the deepest. Ethel believed Hannah’s story now and was secretly trying to think of a way to help the girl find out about her mother. They were all supposed to be orphans that came from the workhouse. It was Goodbody’s fault for sending Hannah, no one else’s and certainly not the girl’s.

  ‘Can we do something, Arthur?’ Ethel asked her husband. ‘I can’t help liking her. I know she’s a bit of a rebel.’ She smiled with something approaching fondness. ‘But I have to admire her spirit. We don’t get many like her in this place. You should have seen that beating he gave her.’ The woman shuddered. ‘He was like a man possessed.’

  Arthur’s kindly face was grim. ‘I expect there was a bit more to it than that.’ He nodded knowingly at his wife. ‘You know what I mean, love. Beating a young girl. Gave him a thrill, I expect. By, he’s a nasty piece of work and no mistake.’

  ‘I know she’s a handful, but she didn’t deserve that. She’s a funny little lass. She’s – she’s . . .’ Ethel sought the appropriate way to describe Hannah. ‘She’s rebellious for the right reasons.’

  Arthur nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

  ‘So?’ Ethel prompted. ‘Is there anything we can do to help her?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with Ernest. He’s a decent bloke. Mebbe he can think of something.’

  Ethel smiled. ‘D’you know, she’s still doing all her little friend’s chores at night? The little pasty-faced one. Pickering.’

  ‘And you let her? Spoiling the other lass though, isn’t it?’

  Ethel grimaced and shrugged. ‘Like Francis says, the other child’s dropping on her feet when she gets back from the mill. It’s plain to see and I can’t argue with it. I have to let the little ’un rest else she’ll not be fit for the mill and then you know what’ll happen. It’ll be us to blame. As usual.’ They exchanged a glance, then Ethel asked, ‘D’you know what job Pickering’s doing?’

  Arthur shrugged. ‘No, but I’ll mention it to Ernest. See if he can put her on something a little less tiring.’

  They met in the Wyedale Arms at the top of the hill – Ernest Scarsfield, Arthur Bramwell and Ollie Grundy. Several of the male mill workers also climbed the steep slope two or three times a week. The ale was worth the tough climb and the walk back home was easy, unless of course one too many had been imbibed and then there was the danger of falling and rolling home quite literally.

  The three of them tucked themselves away in a corner and almost before they’d got settled with their pints in their hands, Arthur said, ‘Now, Ernest, my missis has made me promise to ask you about that little lass who’s desperate for news of ’er mother. You know, the one that ran away and spent a week in the punishment room for her trouble.’

  Ollie Grundy pricked up his ears, knowing at once that it was Hannah they were talking about.

  Ernest was nodding soberly. ‘He beat her himself, didn’t he?’

  ‘Beat her? Who?’ Ollie had spoken aloud before he could stop himself.

  ‘One of the lasses tried to run away,’ Arthur explained. ‘She said it was to see her mother in the workhouse, that she meant to come back—’

  ‘Oh, she did,’ Ollie said, without thinking. ‘She did mean to come back.’

  ‘Eh?’ Ernest stared at him.

  Ollie sighed, realizing he’d said too much. Now he’d have to explain. ‘My missis helped her. Lent her some money. Lily trusted her – believed her.’ He faced the other two fiercely. ‘And so do I.’

  Ernest and Arthur exchanged a glance.

  ‘But who beat her?’ Ollie persisted.

  ‘Mr Edmund,’ Arthur said. ‘Thrashed her till she bled, my missis says. I’ve never seen the wife so upset over any of the young ’uns.’

  Ollie’s face was grim and Ernest shook his head sadly.

  ‘But d’you know what?’ Arthur said, leaning forward. ‘Ethel said that he only stopped when the little lass fell to the floor almost in a faint, but she was still trying to defy him. She was still trying to sing.’

  The three of them sat in silence, until at last Arthur said, ‘Well, then, is there anything we can do to find out about her mother for her? She’s a good worker – at least she is at the house. Even does some of the jobs for her little friend. And that’s another thing – that little girl Pickering is fair done in when she gets home at night. A’ you working ’er too hard, Ernest?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ Ernest remarked, drily. ‘But you know I don’t make the rules, Arthur.’

  There was silence between the three of them whilst Ernest took a long swig of his ale. Ollie was saying nothing now, but he was listening intently. His Lil would certainly want to hear about all this. Ernest wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then twirled the ends of his long moustache. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve already asked a pal of mine to inquire at the Macclesfield workhouse about her mother.’

  Arthur beamed. ‘That’s good o’ yer. The missis’ll be pleased.’ He shrugged and gave a wry laugh. ‘Don’t know why ’cos Francis is a troublesome little baggage, but the missis has taken a liking to her. I ’ave an’ all, if truth be known.’

  Ernest laughed. ‘I know what you mean.’ He leaned towards Ollie. ‘D’yer know, she sings hymns. All day long while she’s working.’

  ‘Aye. She does at the house, an’ all,’ Arthur put in.

  Ollie, who had promised himself to say no more, could contain his curiosity no longer. ‘Sings, you say? In that place? What on earth has the poor little lass got to sing about?’

  ‘Francis is a good little worker,’ Ernest said. ‘I’ve already set her on as a piecer alongside Nell Hudson. You know Hudson, don’t you, Arthur?’

  ‘Oh aye. I know her,’ Arthur said wryly.

  ‘And the two lads that came at the same time – the twins,’ Ernest went on. ‘They’re doffers now. But that other little lass you’re on about – Pickering. She’s not making much progress. She’s still sweeping up.’

  Ollie’s face was grim. ‘What, under them machines?’

  The two mill employees glanced at each other uncomfortably. They remembered only too well what had happened to Lucy Longmate, Ollie’s niece.

  ‘I’ll watch out for the little lass,’ Ernest said gently.

  Two days after this conversation had taken place, Hannah woke with a start as Arthur came into the girls’ dormitory, banging the ends of their beds with his stick as he always did. She sprang up, wide awake at once. She never seemed to suffer the weariness that the others did. Some had to be fairly dragged out of their beds every morning. And Jane was one of them.

  ‘Let me be,’ she whimpered as Hannah shook her awake. ‘I can’t get up. Not today. I really can’t. I’m so tired.’

  It was the same complaint every day and Hannah took no notice. ‘Come on. Up you get. If you want me to plait your hair, you’ll have to get up now.’

  There was no answer – Jane was asleep again.

  With a sigh, Hannah ran to the bowl and ewer at the end of the dormitory and splashed her face with the cold water. She liked to be first to use it; by the time fifty girls had washed their sleepy faces in it, the water was cloudy with scum. Hannah dressed quickly and tied up her own long hair. Then she bent once more over the sleeping girl. ‘Do come on, Jane. We’ll be late.’

  ‘I’d leave ’er,’ Nell commented. ‘Let Mrs Bramwell find her. She can deal with her. She’s a pain, that one.’

  ‘She’s just tired out.’

  ‘So’s a lot more that work in the mill. She’s nobody special.’

  ‘She is to me,’ Hannah snapped back.

  ‘Oh, sorry I spoke, I’m sure.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, Nell,’ Hannah said quickly, not wanting to fall out with the girl who had become such a friend to her. To them both, if it came to that. ‘It’s just that I don’t want to see her in trouble. The work’s more than she can manage without being put in the punishment room.’

  Nell moved to the other side of the bed. ‘Come on
, then. I’ll give you a hand.’

  Together, they pulled back the thin grey blanket, grasped Jane on either side and hauled her upright. The girl’s head lolled to one side.

  ‘Come on, you,’ Nell said sharply. ‘Up with you, else I’ll throw that bowl of mucky water all over you.’

  They got her standing, and Nell held her whilst Hannah pulled on her skirt and blouse. Jane just stood there, swaying limply, her head down, her eyes closed. If they hadn’t held on to her, she’d have fallen over. She was quite literally asleep on her feet.

  Hannah grasped hold of her hair and began to separate it into three hanks ready to plait it.

  ‘You haven’t time to do that now,’ Nell said. ‘We’ll all be late. Everyone else’s gone already.’

  Hannah bit her lip, but she couldn’t argue.

  ‘Put her bonnet on and tie it tightly. That’ll have to do her today.’

  Together they dragged the girl out of the room, stumbling awkwardly down the stairs with Jane between them.

  The blast of cold morning air seemed to wake her, and she pulled herself free of Hannah and Nell to walk on her own. She pulled her shawl closely around her and hurried into the mill.

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ Nell muttered sarcastically, her eyes following Jane, but it was said with a grin. She linked her arm through Hannah’s. ‘Come on, there’s a lot of broken threads waiting for our fingers.’

  ‘They’re late with the breakfast, aren’t they?’ Nell said, when they had been worked for over two hours.

  ‘I dunno, I left me gold watch at home this morning,’ Hannah mouthed.

  ‘Oh, very funny, but I wish they’d hurry up. Me stomach thinks me throat’s been cut.’

  ‘You carry on here,’ Hannah suggested. ‘I’ll just pop me head outside and see what’s happened.’

  To her amazement, groups of workers were standing about the yard, whispering together, their faces solemn. But there was no sign of Mr Scarsfield. She saw Luke and ran to him. ‘What’s going on? Why’s everyone out here? And where’s breakfast?’

  As Luke turned to face her, Hannah was shocked to see tears in his eyes. Fear gripped her insides. ‘What is it? What’s happened? Is . . . is it Daniel?’