Pauper's Gold

by Margaret Dickinson

‘You can repay him, girl, by working hard and keeping yourself out of trouble. And no more thoughts of running away, eh?’

  ‘Oh no, Mr Roper.’ Her bright blue eyes were glowing with a happiness that had been missing for weeks, ever since Jane’s death. She’d never forget her little friend and she would always carry the feeling of guilt. But with news she believed to be from her mother, Hannah could allow herself to look forward again.

  ‘Fall for it, did she?’ Edmund demanded, opening his door as soon as he heard Hannah leave the clerk’s office.

  Josiah smiled maliciously. ‘Oh yes, sir. She fell for it.’ And so, he thought as the young master’s door closed again, have you. Another Critchlow secret in my keeping.

  At that moment, Hannah was skipping down the stairs back to her work, the precious letter clutched against her breast and, for the first time since Jane’s tragic death, she was singing at the top of her voice.

  But the next day, a rumour flew through the mill that struck dread into the heart of each and every worker. Mr Nathaniel Critchlow had suffered a serious seizure. For days, his life hung in the balance, but when the news came that he would live, there was little rejoicing. The man was paralysed and would never again sit behind the desk in the mill office. From that moment, Mr Edmund was in full control of Wyedale Mill, and there was only one person who revelled in the news.

  Josiah Roper.

  Eighteen

  As the months and years passed, Hannah moved from job to job in the mill, working as a bobbin winder and then as a drawer.

  ‘I could leave you on the mule with Mrs Martin,’ Ernest told her, ‘but you’re a quick learner and I want you to learn as many jobs as you can. Then, if I’m short anywhere, you can always fill in for me, lass.’

  Hannah beamed at him and nodded. She always found a new interest in her work, always found something to sing about. On alternate Sundays, she, Luke and Daniel climbed the hills above the mill, to breathe in the fresh air and taste freedom, even for only an hour or so. When it snowed and the hillsides were clothed in white, they still climbed, slipping and sliding and clinging on to each other, laughing and shrieking in delicious enjoyment. Most weeks they called to see Mrs Grundy, Hannah taking a few of her hard-earned coppers whenever she could. Slowly, the debt was being repaid.

  And still the letters that she believed were dictated by her mother to Mrs Goodbody arrived regularly. Hannah could imagine her mother speaking the words aloud – she could almost hear Rebecca’s gentle, loving voice exhorting the girl to be good and to stay at the mill.

  ‘Don’t be trying to come to see me,’ the letters always said. ‘I’m well and happy to know that you are too. You are so fortunate in your position. It was so kind of Mr Goodbody to arrange it all for you and we don’t want to upset either him or Mr Critchlow, who has been so good to you too, do we? She signed all her letters, Your loving mother, and this was followed by an untidy cross.

  Hannah would hold the place where she imagined her mother’s fingers had touched the paper against her face, close her eyes and pretend that her mother was tenderly caressing her cheek.

  ‘Mrs Goodbody must write them all for her,’ Hannah told Luke and Daniel as the three of them stood on the top of the hill overlooking the dale. She showed them the growing bundle of precious letters from her beloved mother that she carried in her pocket.

  ‘They’re all in the same handwriting.’ She paused and then added wistfully, ‘It’s lovely to hear from her and know she’s all right, but it’s not the same as being able to see her and talk to her and . . . and hug her.’

  With one accord as if pulled by the same string, the two boys turned and Daniel began to run down the hill, slipping and sliding in his haste to get away. Luke paused for a moment to look back at her.

  ‘At least you’ve still got a mam,’ he said harshly and then he ran after his brother.

  Hannah stared after them, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Oh, how stupid I’ve been. How unkind. I never thought . . .’

  At suppertime, she sought them out. Never one to shirk doing the right thing, she stood in front of them. ‘I’m so sorry. It was thoughtless and hurtful of me to keep going on about my mother. You helped me so much at first when I was so worried about not hearing from her that I hadn’t realized every time I talk about her it must remind you of . . . of . . . Well, I’m sorry.’

  The two boys glanced at each other and then looked at her with identical grins on their cheeky faces. ‘’S all right,’ Luke said. ‘We were being daft an’ all. It’s not your fault we’ve no mam and dad.’

  ‘And we are glad for you that your mam’s all right,’ Daniel added.

  ‘Friends then?’

  ‘’Course,’ the twins chorused.

  Summer came round once more, Hannah’s fourth in Wyedale. Letters from her mother came spasmodically, but Hannah wrote faithfully every month. On alternate Sundays, whatever the weather, she roamed the hills or walked beside the river with Luke and Daniel, and her friendship with Nell, too, deepened. Ernest Scarsfield had noticed how well the two girls worked together, so when it was time for them to learn yet another job, he put them together once more.

  ‘We’re to learn to be throstle spinners,’ Nell told her excitedly. ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to do that. We’re to work on one of the machines that produces the warp thread.’ Nell hugged her. ‘We’re going up in the world, Hannah. Just like Mrs Riley said we would. You’ll see. I must remember to be specially nice to . . .’ She broke off. ‘Come on, let’s go and find your Luke and tell him.’

  ‘My Luke,’ Hannah laughed.

  ‘Oh yes.’ Nell’s face was serious. ‘He’s in love with you. Hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘Well, I love him. And Daniel and you, of course.’ She skipped ahead of Nell, singing a song of her own making this time. ‘We’re going up in the world.’

  Nell smiled and shook her head in wonder. Was Hannah still so innocent and naive as she made out? She frowned. Maybe she should have a little talk with the younger girl, explain just how boys, and men in particular, could be – once you started to grow up.

  ‘Quick, she’s coming,’ Luke hissed. ‘Get ready. The minute she opens the door we all shout “Happy Birthday”.’

  The giggling children lined up around the long bench tables in the kitchen. It was suppertime on a Saturday evening in August, the evening of Hannah’s sixteenth birthday. In the middle of the table stood a birthday cake, which Mrs Bramwell had made herself. It was something she and Arthur did on an apprentice’s sixteenth birthday. Although it meant no legal coming of age, to the Bramwells that particular age seemed to mark a turning point in the lives of the youngsters in their charge. If a child had already worked four or five years – or even longer – in the mill, by the time they reached sixteen they were doing the work of an adult and the Bramwells believed they should be treated as such. And if anyone had earned that right, it was Hannah Francis. She was a hard worker and always cheerful – well, almost always. Mrs Bramwell was well aware that the girl still carried a sadness in her heart over the death of her little friend, and daily she still longed to see her own mother. During the three years and three months that Hannah had been at the mill, it had never been possible for Rebecca to travel to see her, and the girl – of course – had never been granted permission to return to the workhouse.

  Ethel Bramwell understood that part of it. What she didn’t understand was why the mother had never been allowed to visit. Parents who’d agreed to their children being apprenticed to the Critchlows were allowed to visit often.

  ‘I expect the guardians won’t pay for her fare to get here, if she’s still in the workhouse,’ Arthur had remarked reasonably when Ethel broached the subject with him earlier that day.

  Ethel had sighed. ‘It’s not right. Keeping a girl from her mother for all that time with only letters to keep them both going.’ Her voice had faltered a little over speaking of what was a great sadness to both her and her husband. ‘If we’d been blessed w
ith children, I know I couldn’t have borne to’ve been separated from them in such a way.’

  ‘No, love,’ Arthur had agreed quietly. ‘No more would I.’ He had sighed. ‘But that’s the way it is. At least she’s been well treated at this mill. It’d be a different story at some of the others.’

  Ethel had shaken her head. ‘If Mr Nathaniel had still been at the helm, then I might’ve agreed with you, but not now. Not with him in charge. I hear the children talking. The tales they’re bringing back, Arthur. Things are getting worse and they’ll go on getting worse now he’s got no one to curb him.’

  ‘It’s been happening for years, Ethel. Let’s face it, Mr Nathaniel was weak. He rarely stood up to his son even when he was still coming to the mill, now did he?’

  Ethel Bramwell had shrugged. ‘But when he was still here, Edmund was away a lot in Manchester on business. Things didn’t seem quite so bad then, but now he’s here more of the time . . .’ Her voice had trailed away.

  Arthur Bramwell’s face had been solemn. There was something he’d heard that had filled him with deep foreboding. He’d put off telling his wife until he knew if the rumour was true. Yet then, he had felt he must tell her. ‘I’m sorry to say,’ he had said slowly, ‘that things are about to get worse.’

  Ethel had stared at him. She held her breath, knowing she was not going to like what he was about to say.

  ‘It seems that Mr Edmund wants to resume handling the business side of things. He’ll be spending more time away just like he did before.’

  Ethel had begun to smile hopefully. ‘Well, that’ll be better—’ Seeing her husband’s expression, she stopped.

  Bluntly and in a flat, hopeless tone, Arthur had said, ‘Ernest reckons he’ll make Roper manager of the whole mill when he’s away.’

  Ethel’s eyes had widened. ‘Josiah Roper! Why him? He doesn’t know the first thing about the workings of the mill. He’s just a clerk. Why not Ernest or one of the other overlookers?’

  With a puzzled frown, Arthur had said slowly, ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, if it does happen, if Roper’s put in charge, then may God help us all. That’s all I can say. But let’s not say anything to the children,’ Ethel had begged. ‘Not yet. Let’s not spoil Hannah’s day. You can tell them when we know it’s really going to happen.’

  Now, as they stood waiting for Hannah, they pushed aside all thoughts of the mill. Tonight, they would have a party for all the children in their care. For a few precious hours they’d try to help them forget the drudgery of their working days.

  ‘She’s coming,’ Luke said again. ‘I can hear her singing.’

  A ripple of soft laughter ran amongst the children. ‘We can always hear where Hannah is,’ Daniel said, and everyone laughed.

  ‘Shh,’ Luke hissed, and everyone tried to stifle their laughter.

  The door opened and Hannah stopped in surprise, the words of her song dying on her lips, her mouth wide open in astonishment as everyone chorused, ‘Happy Birthday.’

  She put her hands over the lower part of her face to hide her blushes, but her eyes sparkled with tears of surprised delight. As their voices died away, Luke and Daniel moved forward and stood on either side of her.

  ‘Mrs Bramwell’s made you a cake.’

  ‘And now you must cut it and make a wish.’

  For the next hour laughter and singing filled the kitchen of the apprentice house. At last Arthur rapped on the table for silence. ‘Now, we’ve all had a good time, but it’s time the younger ones were in bed . . .’ This was greeted with a chorus of protests, but they rose obediently, helped to clear away the remains of the feast, and climbed up the narrow twisting staircase, still laughing and talking.

  Hannah put her arms around Ethel Bramwell’s waist. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much for a lovely party. It was just like my mother used to do for me. I only wish . . .’ The girl’s voice broke and she buried her face against the superintendent’s breast.

  Ethel put her arms about Hannah. Though kindly towards all the children in her charge, she was rarely demonstrative. But her lack of any show of affection was deliberate. It didn’t do to become too attached to any of the children. Her position demanded aloofness, and besides, that way lay hurt. How could she have borne to watch poor little Jane die in agony if she’d allowed herself to love the child? How could she – each and every day – watch the little ones toil to and from the mill, dragging their weary feet, coughing and spluttering as the fluff took hold of their lungs, watching as their eyes became sore, their ears hard of hearing? No, Ethel Bramwell couldn’t allow herself to become a proper mother to the children. She dared not. But tonight, just for a moment, the barriers were down and she hugged Hannah to her. ‘I know, my dear, I know how you must feel.’

  Hannah lifted her face and smiled through her tears. ‘But I wouldn’t want you to think I’m ungrateful. My mother would love to’ve been here to join in the fun, but when I write to her, I’ll tell her everything. It’ll make her so happy.’

  Ethel, who knew nothing of the deception being carried on by Josiah Roper and Edmund Critchlow, smiled. ‘I’m sure it will. And she should be very proud of her grown-up daughter. You’re a credit to her, Hannah. Now,’ she said briskly, gently easing herself out of the girl’s arms, ‘help me clear up and then you can get to your bed.’

  As the room began to empty and Ethel bustled about clearing away the last few crumbs of the demolished cake, Luke grabbed Hannah’s hand. ‘Come for a walk,’ he whispered. ‘Now you’re an old lady of sixteen, you don’t have to go to bed for another hour.’

  Hannah giggled. ‘Oh, the freedom. It’ll quite turn my head.’ Then impishly she added, ‘But you’re not sixteen yet. You’d better go to bed, little boy, or you’ll be in trouble.’

  ‘I’ll risk it,’ Luke grinned, but as he pulled her towards the door, Hannah glanced back. ‘What about Daniel?’

  ‘He’ll be all right. I want you to meself for once.’

  Hannah’s eyes widened and she laughed, a faint pink tingeing her cheeks as they slipped out of the back door and into the velvet blackness of the night. ‘Come on. Let’s go into the wash house.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to go for a walk.’

  Through the darkness, she heard his soft chuckle. ‘Not really. I just wanted to get you to meself.’

  They crept into the building across the yard and shut the door behind them. Hannah shivered and Luke put his arm about her, drawing her close.

  ‘Enjoyed your birthday, have you?’

  Hannah rested her head against his shoulder and sighed. Although a year younger, he was as tall as she was now. ‘Of course I have. It was lovely of the Bramwells to arrange it all.’

  ‘With a bit of help from me an’ Daniel.’

  Hannah put her arms round his waist and hugged him. ‘I thought as much. Thanks, Luke. You and Daniel are my very best friends besides Nell.’

  His arms tightened around her. Against her hair he whispered huskily, ‘I . . . I’d like to be more than friends. Hannah – I want you to be my girl.’

  She drew back a little. ‘Oh, Luke, I’d love that, but you know it isn’t allowed. We’d be in such trouble—’

  He laughed so loud now that she put her finger against his lips to quieten him. ‘Since when,’ he mocked her fondly, ‘has that ever stopped you?’

  Hannah laughed softly and leaned forward, until their foreheads were touching. Thinking back over the time she’d been here, she seemed to have been in trouble more times than not. Most of the time her misdemeanours had been nothing very serious. The worst had been the time she’d tried to visit her mother. But since letters had come frequently, she’d been, if not happy, then content to do as her mother asked her in every letter. ‘Be a good girl, work hard and be a credit to me.’

  ‘We’ll have to keep it secret, then, won’t we?’ Luke was saying. ‘Folks are used to seeing us together. They know we’re good friends. We’ll just have to mind they don’t guess it’s
a lot more now.’ He paused and there was an unaccustomed hesitancy in his tone as he added, ‘It is a lot more now, isn’t it, Hannah?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes, Luke.’ She wound her arms around his neck as he leaned forward and tried to kiss her. But they bumped noses and ended up convulsed in laughter. ‘Reckon we need a bit of practice,’ Luke whispered. Then he bent his head to one side and his lips touched hers in their first tentative kiss.

  They stood whispering and giggling and kissing until at last, Luke said reluctantly, ‘We’d best go back in. I don’t want Mr Bramwell coming after me with a big stick. Come on,’ he grabbed her hand and together they sneaked out of the wash house once more. ‘Now,’ he said, letting go of her hand near the back door. ‘Remember, no one must know.’

  ‘Not even Daniel?’ Hannah said.

  ‘Daniel?’ Luke was surprised that she should even ask. ‘Oh, he knew how I felt about you even before I realized it meself.’

  Hannah collapsed in gales of laughter and clung to him for a moment, and that is how Mrs Bramwell saw them as she opened the back door.

  ‘There’s something going on between those two,’ Ethel told her husband as they undressed for bed that night.

  ‘Which two?’

  ‘Luke Hammond and Hannah.’

  ‘Going on? Naw. They’re just friends, that’s all.’ He laughed, a deep, low rumbling sound. ‘Can’t be much going on when the three of them go everywhere together. Can’t do a lot when his twin’s tagging along, can he?’ He sobered suddenly. ‘Unless you’re implying—’

  ‘No, no, of course I’m not suggesting anything like that,’ Ethel said hurriedly.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ her husband muttered.

  ‘But you know the Critchlows make their own rules. If word gets out they’ll be sacked. One, if not both of them. Ne’er mind their so-called indenture.’

  Arthur made a dismissive sound as he said, ‘Ach, I know the rules, woman. But it goes on. You know it does. We see the lads and lasses walking back up the hill to the village at night after work hand in hand, now don’t we?’