Pauper's Gold

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘There’s not much he can do about those who live out, but what he doesn’t like is it going on here in the apprentice house. Old man Critchlow might’ve turned a blind eye, but his son certainly won’t. And I’ll tell you something else, an’ all. It’ll make Mr Edmund notice her. She’s growing up fast. And if he starts to notice her, you know what might happen then.’

  For a moment, Arthur stared at his wife across the width of their double bed, then he shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s Hannah you’ve to worry about. If anyone, it’s Nell.’

  As Arthur Bramwell climbed into bed, lay down and closed his eyes, his wife sighed heavily. ‘I’ve been worried about Nell Hudson for years.’

  In the dormitories, most of the children were asleep, but two were wide awake, thinking of each other. Hannah snuggled down in the bed she no longer had to share, feeling the happiest she’d been since she’d come to the mill.

  ‘Nell?’ she whispered. ‘Nell, are you awake?’

  When there was no answer, she reared up and squinted through the darkness to the bed next to hers. To her surprise, it was empty. But far from being concerned, Hannah only chuckled. Maybe Nell’s got a sweetheart too, she thought happily.

  Nineteen

  The day that Edmund became bored with spending most of his days at the mill, Josiah Roper believed it might be the happiest day in his life.

  ‘I’m not getting the best prices for cotton,’ Edmund ranted, pacing up and down his office.

  ‘There’s no better negotiator than you, sir.’ Josiah gave a small obsequious bow as he hovered in the doorway. ‘The figures certainly aren’t as good as when you were doing the buying in person.’

  Edmund grunted and continued to pace. ‘There’s nothing else for it, Roper, I’ll have to start going to Manchester and Liverpool again myself. I can’t trust anyone else to do it. Not properly.’

  I could do it, Josiah was thinking. I could barter just as well as you. But the clerk held his tongue. He was an expert book-keeper – no one could ever deny that. He knew how to make the figures add up to a healthy profit on the bottom line in his numerous, neatly written ledgers. Yet no one realized that during the years he had, on the surface, faithfully served the Critchlows, Josiah Roper had been garnering a wealth of knowledge about the cotton industry. He’d learned all he could about the financial side of the trade – and so much more. He could recognize the best quality of the cotton and where it came from. On the pretext of checking deliveries, he’d seen for himself the bales of raw cotton that Edmund had bartered for and bought. He’d listened at doors, subtly questioned the workers as they passed in and out of his office. And when the machines fell silent late at night, Josiah would pass like a shadow through all the floors, seeing for himself all the processes needed to turn the raw cotton into a finished, saleable product.

  But he could reveal none of this to Edmund Critchlow. He had to wait. He had to bide his time . . .

  Edmund stopped his pacing and faced his clerk. ‘What I need, Roper, is someone to be manager of the mill whilst I’m away.’ His lip curled. ‘Scarsfield would be the obvious choice, but he’s far too soft. He’d have the hands running circles round him. No, I need someone with a firm hand. Someone who’ll stand no nonsense.’

  Josiah cleared his throat. ‘Does it have to be someone who actually works in the mill itself, sir? I mean, surely, it should be someone who understands the business side too. The – er – financial side. They would know what needed to be done and merely be capable of passing on those requirements to the various overlookers.’

  He fell silent, waiting for his words to permeate Edmund’s mind. He watched the fleeting expressions on his employer’s face. Saw the light beginning to dawn. Hardly daring to breathe as excitement flooded through him, he wondered briefly if this feeling was akin to the thrill his own father and Edmund had felt at the gaming tables. If so, then for the first time in his life, he could understand his father’s addiction. The fast-beating heart, the clammy hands, the beads of sweat on his forehead.

  Edmund was staring at him. ‘You mean – you?’ There was sarcasm in his tone.

  Again the deferential bow. ‘You know you can trust me implicitly, Mr Edmund. You surely cannot doubt my loyalty to you and your family.’

  ‘But you know nothing about the workings of the mill.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Josiah said meekly, preferring not to divulge the extent of his acquired knowledge. ‘But – like I said – is that strictly necessary?’ Daringly now, he put it into words. ‘I’m sure I could see that the overlookers carry out all their duties. If, of course,’ he added slyly, ‘you were to give me the authority.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Edmund pondered for a moment and then his face brightened. ‘I’ve a better idea. I’ll bring Adam home from school. Make him manager of the mill.’

  Josiah’s hopes faded. Yet he was not quite ready to give up. ‘But Master Adam’s only sixteen—’

  ‘Seventeen. High time he was here learning the family business instead of idling away his time at school.’

  ‘But won’t he be going to university?’

  Edmund let out a loud guffaw. ‘Adam? Go to university? He’s not clever enough, Roper. He’d never get in. Besides, he’d be far better here. After all, the mill will be his one day. The sooner he starts learning his trade, the better. He’s too soft, of course. He’s like his grandfather. But with me to guide him, he’ll toughen up. I’ll write to his headmaster at once.’ Edmund rubbed his hands, gleeful that his problem had been solved. ‘Of course,’ he said offhandedly as he sat down behind his desk and picked up a pen, ‘you can hold the fort until Adam gets home.’

  Josiah Roper almost spat in the other man’s face. He glared at Edmund’s head bowed over the letter he’d begun to write. If he’d had a weapon to hand at that moment, Edmund Critchlow might not have lived to see another day. As it was, Josiah turned on his heel and left the room, his only outward show of displeasure being to bang the door behind him.

  One day, he promised himself. Oh, one day, Mr Edmund Critchlow . . .

  ‘Nell – where were you last night? Oh, you weren’t in the punishment room, were you? Surely Mrs Bramwell couldn’t have been so mean. Not after my party. She couldn’t have been—’

  ‘Hannah, just shut up, will you? And stop asking so many questions.’

  Hannah gasped. ‘But . . .’

  ‘But nothing. Just mind your own business. All right?’

  Hannah stared at her friend. Nell avoided meeting her eyes and pushed past her to get to her bed. Hannah’s mouth tightened. She picked up her shawl and her clogs. ‘Well, if that’s the way you want it,’ she said stiffly, and began to follow the others rushing to get to work. The bell had gone already. At the door, she paused. ‘You’d better get a move on. You’ll be late and then you’ll be fined . . .’

  ‘Just go, Hannah. Leave me alone.’

  To Hannah’s surprise, Nell made no attempt to follow, but climbed onto her bed and lay down, curling herself into a ball, hugging herself.

  Hannah bit her lip, hesitating. ‘Nell, are you ill? Do you want me to fetch Mrs Bramwell . . .’

  Nell sat up suddenly, and leaned over the side of her bed to pick up her clogs. Hannah felt a wave of relief.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she began, but her relief turned to horror as Nell flung one of her clogs straight at her, narrowly missing her head. The clog banged against the wall and fell to the floor with a clatter.

  ‘Get out!’ Nell screamed. ‘Just get out and leave me alone.’

  Hannah went, almost falling down the stairs, gulping back the sobs. Whatever was the matter with Nell? She rushed to find Mrs Bramwell, not caring if she was late and incurred a fine.

  ‘There’s something the matter with Nell,’ she burst out. ‘She wasn’t in bed last night before I fell asleep and she’s just come in like a bear with a sore head. She’s lying in her bed and won’t come to work.’

  Mrs Bramwell’s face was grim. ‘Is she indeed?’
<
br />   It was a strange thing to say, Hannah thought. The woman didn’t seem concerned that Nell might be ill. Just that she was not going to work.

  ‘I think she’s ill, she’s holding her tummy and—’

  ‘Leave her to me and you get to work, Francis.’

  Hannah ran out of the house and down the hill, only just managing to clock in half a minute before the bell in the tower stopped ringing.

  The whole day passed with Hannah having to run between the two machines, doing her own work and Nell’s, trying to keep her friend out of trouble.

  The day passed quickly. As she was leaving by the gate, hurrying back up the hill to the house to see how Nell was, she heard a shout behind her and saw the twins running towards her.

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ Luke began.

  ‘Master Adam’s back,’ Daniel continued.

  ‘He’s to be manager—’

  ‘Of the mill—’

  ‘When Mr Edmund’s away—’

  ‘On business.’

  As always when they were together, the two boys imparted the information in turn.

  Hannah glanced from one to the other in amazement. ‘Master Adam? But . . . but he’s only a boy. How can he be manager?’

  ‘Because he’s a Critchlow—’

  ‘That’s why.’

  ‘And he’s about seventeen now, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh.’ Hannah wrinkled her forehead. ‘Oh well, I don’t suppose it will make much difference to us. Will it?’

  Luke grinned. ‘Things might be better. Word has it that Mr Adam is much nicer—’

  ‘Than his father.’

  ‘More like—’

  ‘His grandfather.’

  Hannah smiled at them in turn and then stepped between them, linking her arms in theirs. ‘Come on, let’s go and tell the others. And I want to find out how Nell is.’

  There was excited chatter amongst all the apprentices at the news. Only Mr and Mrs Bramwell seemed preoccupied and anxious.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s good news about Master Adam being made manager, Mrs Bramwell?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘What? Oh yes, I suppose so. Don’t bother me now, Hannah. I’ve enough on my mind.’

  ‘How’s Nell? Where is she? Can I see her?’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Bramwell snapped. ‘You can’t. Nor will you. She’s gone.’

  Hannah’s mouth dropped open. ‘Gone? What do you mean, gone? Gone where?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘But . . . but . . . you should know. You’re the superintendent, you’re—’

  Mrs Bramwell rounded on her. Now she was nothing like the kindly woman who’d hugged Hannah on her birthday only yesterday. Now she was like a screaming banshee. ‘Is it my fault if the stupid girl gets herself into trouble and gets sent away? Is it? Is it?’ Mary, the kitchen maid, stopped and turned to stare at her mistress. Even she, who worked for her all day and half the night too sometimes, had never seen Mrs Bramwell in such a temper.

  Hannah blinked and opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment Mr Bramwell came into the kitchen and hurried towards his wife. ‘There, there, Ethel,’ he soothed, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. Or the poor girl, if it comes to that. We know who’s to blame, now don’t we, but there’s not a thing we can do about it.’

  To Hannah’s horror, Ethel turned her face away and wept against her husband’s shoulder. ‘But what’ll become of her? What’ll happen to her?’

  Hannah began to feel frightened. ‘Mr Bramwell, what’s happened? Please – won’t you tell me?’

  Arthur Bramwell looked down upon the innocent face upturned towards him. He sighed inwardly. He would dearly like to tell this honest, hardworking child the truth, but he had been sworn to secrecy and so had his wife. He’d like to warn Hannah too, but he dared not do so.

  Instead, he said sternly, ‘It’s not your place to ask questions. Hudson’s gone and she won’t be coming back. That’s all you need to know. Now, get about your chores else you’ll find yourself in the punishment room for insolence.’

  For once Hannah did as she was told, and the following morning she sought out Dorothy Riley, but the woman only shrugged. ‘Best not to ask, love. Know your place, that’s my advice to you.’ She glanced at Hannah and then touched her face with callused, work-worn fingers. ‘You’re a pretty lass, more’s the pity, so keep your head down. Do your work and try not to get noticed. Now come on, we’ve all got work to do, else we’ll have Mr Scarsfield after us. And he’s in a bad mood this morning, now he’s a throstle spinner down.’

  Again Hannah worked the two machines all day, though it wasn’t easy. Tired, hot and dirty by the end of the day, she was still determined to try to find out what had happened to her friend.

  The overlooker was standing next to the time clock when the bell sounded for the end of the day.

  ‘Mr Scarsfield,’ Hannah asked after she had stamped her card and returned it to its holder. ‘What’s happened to Nell?’

  The man stared at her in surprise for a moment and then frowned. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see you don’t know.’ He glanced away, avoiding her clear, straight gaze.

  ‘All I’ve been told is that she’s gone away and won’t be coming back. What I don’t know is why. No one will tell me.’

  ‘She’s been sacked,’ Ernest said bluntly. ‘She’s displeased the master and he’s sacked her.’

  ‘But . . . but how? Why?’

  Ernest looked at her strangely for a moment and then muttered bitterly, ‘You’d better ask him.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’ Hannah began and turned away as if to go that very minute, but Ernest caught hold of her arm and held her fast. He shook his head, his eyes full of concern for her now. ‘No, lass, don’t. I shouldn’t have said that. That’s the last thing you should do. Promise me you won’t go asking any more questions.’

  Hannah stared at him for a moment before saying solemnly, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Scarsfield, I can’t give you that promise.’

  He released her with a click of exasperation. ‘On your own head be it then, girl. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Twenty

  Now, on Sundays, Luke and Hannah walked alone.

  ‘I feel awful leaving Daniel,’ she said more than once. ‘He hasn’t any other friends.’

  But Luke only grinned ‘He doesn’t mind. I’ve told him – time he got himself a girl an’ all.’

  ‘Is there anyone he likes?’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  He glanced behind him. They were out of sight of the mill now, walking round the edge of the mill pool beneath the cliff and alongside the river. Green-headed mallards, uptailed as they searched the depths for food, swam close by. Coots and moorhens darted about the surface and every so often they heard the plop of a jumping fish. Overhead, leafy trees sheltered them from the hot sun. Luke put his arm about her waist and they walked on, matching their steps to each other.

  ‘So – what do you think to our new young master then?’ Luke asked her.

  ‘He’s all right. I haven’t seen much of him.’

  ‘Haven’t you? Well, I’ve seen him watching you at work’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘No, he minds to keep himself well back in the shadows. But he stands watching you and listening to you singing.’

  Hannah laughed. ‘I shouldn’t think he can hear much above the noise all that machinery makes.’

  ‘No – but he can look at you.’

  Hannah teased him. ‘A’ you jealous?’

  He grinned at her. ‘’Course I am. I don’t like anyone eyeing my girl up, even if he is the boss’s son.’

  Hannah tweaked his nose playfully. ‘Just so long as it isn’t Mr Edmund. He sends shivers down my spine every time he looks at me.’

  Now Luke wasn’t laughing any more. He’d heard the tales about Mr Edmund and he didn’t like them one little bit. And he didn’t want Hannah asking him about them, especially if the l
atest rumour about Nell was true. Deliberately, he changed the subject. ‘Have you heard from your mother lately?’

  Hannah didn’t answer immediately. Ever since that day on the hillside when the twins, younger then, of course, and feeling more vulnerable, had been so upset, she’d avoided talking to them about her mother. In fact, she scarcely spoke to anyone at the mill about her now. She was conscious that many of the children she lived and worked with were orphans. But now, as Luke asked her directly, she frowned and said, ‘No, not since before my birthday. In fact, I didn’t get a letter then and I know she wouldn’t have forgotten it. She . . . she always used to make a big thing of anyone’s birthday.’

  Gently, Luke said, ‘Hannah, you didn’t get a letter last year for your birthday. You were upset about it then.’

  Hannah stared at him. ‘You’re right. But I got such a lovely one a week later that I forgot all about it. I . . . I just thought that . . . well . . . being in there, she’d lost track of the date.’ Her voice trailed away, her heart aching at the thought of her mother still imprisoned in the workhouse.

  ‘Have you written to her?’ Luke prompted.

  ‘Yes. Twice – but she’s not written back.’

  They walked on in silence. Luke couldn’t think of any useful suggestion, and though Hannah was busy with her own plans, she had no intention of telling Luke what they were. It had been two months since Nell had disappeared so suddenly and Hannah still didn’t know what had happened to her, and now she wanted to find out why the letters from her mother had stopped. And so, despite her declaration that she tried to avoid Mr Edmund, there were now two very good reasons why she needed to seek him out deliberately.

  ‘May I see Mr Edmund, please?’ Hannah asked Josiah Roper politely.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I – it’s a personal matter.’

  The man’s mouth twisted slyly. ‘’Bout you and young what’s-’is-name, is it? Want to get married, do you?’

  Hannah gasped and couldn’t stop the flush rising in her face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do. You’d better be careful. If Mr Edmund gets wind of it, that lad’ll be out on his ear, indenture or no indenture. He’ll be gone.’ His impudent glance raked her from head to toe. ‘Mind you, he’ll not sack you. Oh no, he’ll likely keep you for himself.’