‘Never mind who I am, get yourself out of here, an’ quick, else I’ll kick you out!’
‘Kick me out, huh! Now look you here; I’ve come to do this family a good turn. Just look at them. If ever I saw anybody in need of a shillin’ or two it’s them. An’ I’m tellin’ you, he’d go to a good man; I know him as if he was me brother. Doesn’t go in for factory flues nor the big mansions where the lads get stuck in the crannies, he’s thoughtful he is; small flues, that’s his business, small flues. An’ the young ’uns take pride in doin’ a good job. Why, he even carries them from one chimney to another so’s they make no dirt in the house, an’ the housewife always appreciates this, with special titbits for the lads. I’m tellin’ you, he’ll go a lot farther and fare worse, an’ he’ll not get another offer like this again.’
‘And I’m tellin’ you’—Rory moved towards him now, his body bent, his head thrust out—‘I’m tellin’ you to get out of here afore I kick you out and then call the constable. You know as well as I do it’s against the law to take any lad under ten, unless he’s willing.’ So ferocious was his manner that the man backed towards the door. Nevertheless, he still looked as if he were going to continue the argument, until Rory said, ‘I’ll give you two ticks to get into the street!’
‘You, you young snipe, talkin’ of constables. I’ll have you up afore the Justices for threatenin’.’
‘You do that, you do that, and then you can explain how you’re goin’ round buyin’ lads, and it against the law, you do that, mister, you do; go on!’ He drew his arm backwards, his fist doubled, and the man went out, but not without having the last word. ‘I’ll see me day with you,’ he growled at him through his teeth. ‘Trying to play the big fellow you are, an’ your folks stinkin’ and starvin’.’
Rory now gripped the door and banged it in the man’s face and had the satisfaction of hearing him yell; then he turned and looked at his family, and they at him.
Peter McAlister was thirty-eight years old but he looked sixty. His thick mop of dark hair accentuated the bony pallor of his face, his hand, where it gripped the side of the flock mattress, was like a claw, and his body was so emaciated that it gave no evidence of itself under his rough nightshirt.
Jane McAlister was thirty-four. She had borne ten children. Bill, who was nine, came next to Rory, and was the only other member of the family who was working. His wage was more than Rory’s, being one and nine a week, and at times going up to as much as two and threepence, but then he had to be kept out of it, and it was the keeping that was the main thing; keeping Edna and Mabel and the bairn fed—her man didn’t eat much, not of the food she could give him anyway.
She bowed her head now against Rory’s stare, for his eyes seemed to be probing deep into hers and seeing there how nearly she had succumbed to the temptation of taking the five pounds that the man had offered for Sammy. She had refused it four times within the last week, but she knew she couldn’t go on refusing it; and the man had known that too.
Her weary gaze dropped towards the two sacks lying on the floor, and she noticed immediately that they were fuller than usual and she thanked God. She looked up at her eldest son, and then said, ‘Hello, lad.’
‘Hello, Ma.’
Rory now walked slowly to the bed and looked at his father who had lain back. ‘Hello, Da, how you keepin’?’ he asked.
‘Oh, much the same, lad, much the same.’
The two children scrambled off the bed and gripped his hands and he looked from one to the other and smiled and said, ‘Hello, Mabel. Hello, Edna,’ and they answered, ‘What you brought us, Rory?’
He turned swiftly away from them and, lifting the sacks from the floor, emptied the bread and belly pork onto the table. The sight of it brought Jane McAlister to her feet, and when she reached the table she stared down at the good food as if looking upon gold dust.
‘Them’s taties’—Rory pointed to the other sack—‘enough to last you a week if you go steady with them. An’ I’ll bring the same along next week.’
‘You’re gettin’ a holiday every week?’ His mother was looking at him; and looking straight back into her eyes he lied and said, ‘Aye, aye; every week.’ His mind was working rapidly. When he got back he’d go to his master and put it to him. He’d ask him if he could split his half-day so that he could visit home once a week; and then he’d put it to the mistress, in a nice way of course, that he’d do owt she wanted after half past seven at night, such as scrubbin’ down the stairs or possing the master’s rough cords and the heavy bedding. Oh, there were a dozen and one jobs he could do extra in payment for a couple of sacks every week. And his mind racing on told him there was another thing he must do; but that would keep until just before he was leaving, so that there’d be less argument.
‘Get some water, Edna,’ he said, ‘and then put the tatey pot on the fire.’ Turning to his mother and pointing to the belly pork, he added, ‘Will I boil this or fry it, Ma?’
‘Oh, fry it, lad; it’ll be quicker. But I can do it.’
‘No, you go and sit yourself down, I’ll see to it…’
Half an hour later, with the exception of Peter, they were all sitting round the table, not gobbling the food as one would have expected, but eating slowly, savouring every mouthful, glancing every now and then at each other and smiling. Even Peter, from the bed, was smiling. His eating was even slower than that of the rest and punctuated by coughing, but he was smiling. At one point he said, ‘You’re not havin’ any, lad?’
‘No, Da; I had me nuff afore I came away, I’m choked up.’
‘That’s good then, that’s good.’ Peter nodded towards Rory; then asked, ‘You’re still liking it there?’
It was odd, Rory thought, that his father should ask this question almost every time they met, but he answered in the same vein, ‘Oh aye, Da; it’s the best place on earth.’ And, as always, he added, ‘There’s no master like Mr Cornwallis, he’s a good man.’
‘Yes, he’s a good man.’
They nodded at each other.
When the meal was over and the table cleared, Rory sat by his father’s side and, still keeping to the pattern, told him the doings in the wheelwright’s shop, while the children knelt on the clippy mat at his feet and his mother lay down once more on the pallet bed.
After a while Rory got up and went to the door and looked into the sky to see where the sun was. When he came back into the room he said, ‘Well, it’s me for the road, Da.’ Then he paused and, going close to the bed, looked at his father; and again he said, ‘Da,’ and Peter, looking up at him, asked, ‘Aye, lad, what is it?’
‘I’m…I’m goin’ to take Sammy back with me, ’cos I don’t trust that bloke.’ He couldn’t say that he couldn’t trust his mother’s strength to hold out against five golden sovereigns. He watched his father and mother exchange glances, then his father was looking at him again, saying to him, ‘You do that, lad. But what will you do with him? He’s too young to be apprenticed.’
‘The master’ll find something for him, I’m sure of that. If not, there’s always a bit of field work. An’ he can sleep along of me. I’ll arrange it with the mistress about his feed.’ He spoke with more confidence than he was feeling at the moment, for he knew that although his mistress was kind, there was such a thing as taking advantage of a good nature.
Sammy, who had been sitting on the floor, was now on his feet. ‘Me goin’ along of you, Rory, to the shop?’
‘Aye, to the shop.’
‘An’ I can stay there?’
His voice had ended on a high note, almost a squeak, and Rory said, ‘Aye, you can stay there, providing you don’t turn lazy.’ He cuffed his brother’s ear, and Sammy giggled and began to laugh almost hysterically as he danced about the room, pushing first at Edna and then at Mabel, crying, ‘I’m goin’ with our Rory! I’m goin’ to the shop, I am! I am!’
‘Can I come an’ all, Rory?’ Edna was standing looking up at him with her great brown eyes, and he touched her
cheek gently as he said, ‘No, you stay and look after our ma and da. And I tell you what, I’ll bring you some flowers…heather next time.’
Edna nodded, swallowed deeply, then turned away; and Rory said, ‘Now, come on, young ’un.’ Then more quietly, as he looked at his father, he murmured, ‘Goodbye, Da. I hope you’ll get on better this week.’
‘Goodbye, lad; I’m doing fine.’ They nodded at each other. Then Rory stood looking at his mother. Somehow the sight of her made him want to cry. She had once been bonny; when he was very young he had known she had been bonny, but now she looked old, and unwashed, and she smelt of sick. ‘Bye-bye, Ma.’ He put out his hand, and she took it and gripped it tightly as she said, ‘Bye-bye, lad. And thanks, thanks, for, for your pay an’ everything.’
He moved swiftly to the door with Sammy at his heels; but stopped before he reached it and he turned on his younger brother and cried, ‘Say bye-bye then.’
‘Oh aye.’ Sammy swung round now and ran to the bed and said, ‘Bye, Da.’
‘Bye, me bairn,’ said Peter thickly, tousling his son’s hair.
‘Bye, Ma.’
‘Bye, son.’ His mother put her fingers under his chin and lifted his face up to hers and looked down into it for a long moment before saying, ‘Be a good lad, now.’
‘Aye, Ma, I will.’ He now, in his mercurial way, turned to Edna, who was as tall as him although two years younger. ‘Ta-ra, our Edna.’
‘Ta-ra, Sammy.’ Edna again swallowed.
‘Ta-ra, our Mabel.’ Sammy could bend to Mabel, and Mabel grinned up at him and said, ‘Ta-ra, our Sammy.’
The farewells over, he dashed up to where Rory was standing in the doorway and grabbed at the bottom of his coat, and Rory gave one last look back into the kitchen, then walked away.
Rory kept up a good pace until he was clear of the streets and in the open country again, and not until he became aware of Sammy’s gasping breath did he slacken his speed. He had not spoken to the boy since they had left the house but now, looking down at him, he said roughly, ‘Mind you, you’ll have to pull your weight. Do you hear?’
‘Aye, Rory.’
‘And do what you’re told, an’ no sleepin’ in the mornin’. You’re a thickhead, you know, and like your bed too much.’
‘Aye, Rory; but I’ll get up, first call I’ll get up.’
‘You’d better; you’d better.’
The worry in his mind caused his pace to quicken again. Perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew. Big head, he chastised himself; that’s what he was, nowt but a big head, always rushing into things. Two things he had rushed into today; making Lily promise to stick out and wait for him, and now bringing their Sammy to the shop without a by-your-leave, or if I may? or, is it all right with you? Eeh! He was in for something when he got back, he knew that. He started on Sammy again. ‘And don’t think you’ll get any pay, ’cos you won’t, not for years an’ years. Lucky if you get your keep an’ a bed. And when you do start your apprenticeship, that’s if you do, it’ll be seven years. You know that? Seven years.’
Sammy gazed up at Rory. His face solemn, his eyes wide, he nodded, for he hadn’t the breath now to say, ‘Aye, Rory,’ his short legs were tired, he was all out of puff.
‘And you’ll have to keep your eyes and ears open an’ learn about wood. In a wheelwright’s shop you have to learn about wood. Wood has got ways with it, like women. That’s what Mr Cornwallis says. You can get ash that’s like a steel hawser and ash that’s as boast inside as a big-mouthed galoot. An’ you find the same in beech. Aye, and in oak an’ all. An’ there’s somethin’ else I’ll tell you. If you ever see oaks growing in a valley, well, you leave ’em there. Do you hear? Leave ’em there.’
Now Sammy drew in a deep breath and on a gasp said, ‘Aye, Rory, aye, I’ll leave ’em there.’
‘You do.’
What was he on about, talkin’ about wood to a bairn? What would the bairn know about wood for years ahead? He was only just coming by the knowledge himself. He was all wound up; that was why he was acting as he was. And he had run the bairn off his legs. Suddenly he stopped and looked down at Sammy and asked quietly, ‘You tired?’
Sammy blinked up at him, then said, ‘No, Rory. No, I’m not tired.’
The look on Sammy’s face belied his words, and Rory was about to say, ‘Don’t be frightened, nothing will happen to you, you’ll be all right,’ but not being sure of this he remained silent and walked on, but much slower now.
If anybody was frightened at this minute he told himself, he knew who it was. Crikey Moses! He was the one for pushing his luck, wasn’t he?
Half an hour later he approached the end of the village street and he knew something odd was afoot. There was a stir about the place, never evident at this time of day. A number of men were standing outside the Grey Hen; one was Farmer Armstrong, and another, old Doctor Bennett’s driver.
The men stopped their conversation and looked at him as he passed them; but they didn’t speak to him, and he blinked in slight embarrassment and hurried on. Mrs Beeney was outside her shop talking to Miss Tyler, who made dresses and things. They, too, looked at him, but didn’t speak. He wondered for a moment if it was because he had Sammy hanging on to him.
When he entered the wheelwright’s yard there was the doctor’s gig standing in the middle of it, and there was also Morley Cornwallis talking in his loud blustering voice to Peter Tollett and Benny Croft. He had his hand raised, wagging it as if he were threatening them, at least admonishing them, and they were staring back at him, both grim-faced.
Morley turned and, catching sight of Rory, called, ‘So you’re back, are you, you’re back?’
‘Aye, I’m back, and afore me time.’
‘Cheek! Give me your cheek, you would? Get going! By! if I had…’
‘Morley!’ It was Mrs Cornwallis calling from the doorway. Her face looked grim, but white, very white, and her voice was low as she said, ‘I’ll thank you to keep your voice down, Morley. And if there’s orders to give I’m capable of giving them; until John’s on his feet again.’
‘Now, Rosie, Rosie.’ Morley was moving towards her. ‘I was only saying…’
‘I know what you were saying, Morley. But you heard what I said. When I need you I’ll send for you.’
‘You’re insulting me, Rosie.’
‘Not my intention, Morley, to insult you. All I’m asking is for you to go now and leave us in peace. Come in, boy, come in.’ She put out her hand and hastily drew Rory with Sammy attached to him into the back shop. Then closing the door she looked from him to Sammy and asked, ‘Who is this?’
‘Me brother, Mrs Cornwallis.’
‘What’s he doing here?’
‘Well, it’s like this. But ma’am, afore I tell you will you tell us what’s happened to the master?’
Mrs Cornwallis lifted the corner of her apron and wiped her hands on it before she said, ‘He’s had an accident. It happened in the saw pit. He wouldn’t wait, he just wouldn’t wait; he wanted to get it all sliced and stacked. It’s always the way afore a journey, always the way.’ She now brought her apron up to her face and wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘It’s his back,’ she said. ‘The doctor’s with him now; we’ll know shortly, we’ll know shortly.’
‘Oh, missis!’ Rory was finding it difficult to speak. ‘I’m sorry. If I had been here perhaps I could have…’
‘You could have done nothing, boy. As I said, when Mr Cornwallis has a journey in front of him he’s always agitated, always, always.’ She now began a movement with her hands as if washing them; then looking down at Sammy, who was staring wide-eyed at her, she said, ‘Now tell me now, what is he doing here?’
Standing meekly before her, Rory told Mrs Cornwallis why he had brought his brother, ending, ‘I’ll do anything, missis, anything; take all the rough I will. An’ he can work, he can an’ all; he’s small, but he’s quick to learn.’ He stopped for a moment before saying, his voice very quiet, ‘I could
n’t bear to know him bein’ pushed up the chimneys. Awful that is. They choke to death. There was a lad burned, burned alive ’cos they couldn’t get at him…’
Mrs Cornwallis was wagging her hand at him, her head was bent and her eyes tightly closed as she said, ‘Enough, boy! Enough. Well, we’ll have to sort this out after. In the meantime he can have his bed and board and make himself useful. But it’s not for me to say yes or no, it’ll be the master’s decision. You understand that?’
‘Yes, missis. Aw yes, missis. But he’ll be helpful; I can…’
‘Enough. Enough, I said, boy. I must go up again.’ She went towards the stairs at the far end of the room; then pausing and looking over her shoulder, she said, ‘Take him to the pump before you put him into bed.’
‘Yes, missis.’ Rory now hustled Sammy outside and to the pump, and there he whispered hoarsely, ‘Strip off.’
‘What! All me clothes?’
‘Well, keep your trousers on but off with the others. An’ I’ll wash your shirt, it’ll be dry by mornin’. Put your head down and don’t yell when the water hits you.’
Sammy didn’t yell when the spate of cold water hit the back of his neck but he nearly fainted through shock and weariness.
Ten minutes later, his body pink from the rubbing with a coarse sacking towel but still shivering, he followed Rory through the back room and up the stairs. When they reached the living room Mrs Cornwallis was standing near the table, the corner of her apron once again in her hand. She turned her gaze from the door at the far end of the room and looking at Sammy, she said, ‘That’s better.’ Then nodding at Rory, she added, ‘Cut him a chunk of bread and a dollop of pease-pudding’—she jerked her head now towards a side table on which were laid out the eatables that would be served for supper—‘then off to bed with him. But you, I…I want you down here.’
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