The Girl from the Mill

by Chrissie Walsh

  Jonas got to his feet. ‘How do, lass. Sit down, make yourself comfortable.’ He indicated a couch sitting at right angles to the one Constance and Felicity occupied. Lacey sat down carefully, her knees together, her feet to one side and her hands resting in her lap – exactly as the Women’s Journal dictated. Nathan sat beside her.

  Constance gave her an icy smile. ‘So – Miss Barraclough – do tell us something of yourself. Nathan has been rather remiss in giving us the details.’ Rattled by the imperious tone, Lacey fought to control her feelings.

  Nathan interjected. ‘Mama, for goodness sake, it’s not an inquisition.’

  Lacey placed a restraining hand on his knee. ‘It’s not a problem, Nathan. If we’re to get to know one another it’s only right I answer your mother’s questions.’ She smiled at Constance but didn’t receive one in return. ‘As you already know, I work in the weaving shed at the Mill. I’ve been there seven years come next spring. My father and mother own Netherfold Farm, up on the moor. Matt, my elder brother, helps farm it and Jimmy, my younger brother, works in the Mill warehouse.’ Lacey sat back, wondering if she had satisfactorily acquitted herself.

  ‘Barracloughs of Netherfold, you say?’ Jonas turned in his chair to face them, smiling warmly at Lacey. ‘An old, respected family, and damned good sheep farmers so I’ve heard.’

  Lacey beamed her gratitude. Constance sniffed. ‘I can’t say I’m acquainted with your family, Miss Barraclough, but then – she paused, artfully – ‘I don’t associate with farmers or mill hands.’ Her supercilious deprecating smile cut Lacey to the bone. Sensing her discomfort, Nathan enlarged on the attributes of Netherfold Farm, Felicity coming to his aid. ‘You haven’t told Mother about the marvellous sewing you do.’ She turned to address Constance. ‘Lacey makes the most wonderful outfits. They’re as fine as anything you’d see in Rushworth’s or Brown Muff’s. I suppose you made the dress you’re wearing now.’

  Lacey said she had, flattered that Felicity likened her creations to those sold by two of the best fashion houses in the West Riding.

  Ignoring Felicity’s remarks, Constance returned to the subject of Joshua’s occupation.

  ‘So, your father’s in agriculture,’ she said, her tone casual. ‘Mine was in coal on the borders of Scotland.’

  Duped into believing Constance was putting her at ease by telling her that her own father had been a working man, and thinking they were at last conversing on an equal footing, Lacey readily responded. ‘That’s a hard life, and dangerous, too. It takes a brave man to work underground, hacking coal from…’

  Jonas’s barking laugh and Constance’s sharp intake of breath stopped Lacey in full flow. Constance glared haughtily. ‘My father didn’t work down the mines, Miss Barraclough; he owned them.’

  Jonas smothered his laughter with a coughing attack and Nathan and Felicity looked at one another, lips quirking and eyebrows raised in amusement. Lacey clapped her hand to her mouth.

  Then, unabashed, she said, ‘Well, if he did I hope he respected his workers enough to provide them with safe working conditions and decent wages. From what I’ve read, some of the pits are appalling, and what with the Unions withdrawing their support and the Government reneging on deals, the poor miners’ demands are never met. That’s why they keep striking.’

  Jonas chortled merrily. ‘She has you there, dear.’

  His wife threw him a dirty look, then smiled ingratiatingly at Lacey. ‘You have an interest in politics then, Miss Barraclough?’ She sniffed derisively. ‘Personally I consider it unfeminine; and as for those dreadful suffragettes…’ Constance threw her hands into the air dismissively.

  Before Lacey could respond she felt Nathan’s thigh press hard against her own, and when she turned to look at him his eyes begged her not to respond. For his sake she swallowed the retort she had been about to make.

  Tea was served, Felicity and Nathan driving the conversation towards literature and the arts. At ease with both subjects, Lacey joined in willingly, voicing her knowledge and opinions clearly and cleverly.

  Jonas watched and listened, his admiration growing by the minute. Not only was the girl well read, she was well informed with regards to the world outside Garsthwaite. It took him by surprise.

  Up to this moment Jonas had convinced himself that Nathan was merely attracted by the pretty face and the pert figure and would soon tire of her. He’d said as much to Constance shortly before Nathan and Lacey arrived. ‘He’ll come to his senses. Let him find out for himself that she’s unsuitable. The more you object the more determined he’ll be to have his way.’

  Now, Jonas was finding it difficult to support his own argument. He understood what Nathan saw in her. She was intelligent, interesting, a girl with fire in her blood. If Nathan truly loved her, as he swore he did, he’d have a marriage filled with passion and shared interests: unlike his own loveless union.

  He gazed sadly at Constance. She had refused to partake in what she considered the distasteful side of married life once she had produced a son and heir, and a daughter. She even denied Jonas licence to share the Mill’s problems or triumphs, whereas Lacey would understand whenever Nathan talked Mill talk, as Constance called it. The more Jonas thought about it, the more inclined he was to brook no opposition to Nathan and Lacey’s relationship.

  *

  ‘Whew, that was a nightmare,’ said Lacey, releasing a deep breath as the butler closed Fenay Hall’s front door behind them.

  Nathan chuckled. ‘I’ll admit there were one or two sticky moments but we’ve broken the ice. I thought Father was about to choke when you misunderstood Mother’s remark about her father. She’s such a snob, yet I think she was surprised by how well read you are, and Father was definitely impressed by your wealth of knowledge.’

  Lacey gave a mock curtsey and sarcastically said, ‘So can I come again, kind sir?’

  ‘You most certainly can.’ Out of sight of the house now, Nathan pulled Lacey behind a large rhododendron and kissed her. Lacey kissed him back, pleased by the relative success of the visit.

  *

  The following Wednesday evening Nathan brought Felicity to Netherfold Farm along with a length of dress material she’d purchased in Bradford the day before. The girls went up to Lacey’s bedroom, leaving Nathan in the kitchen with Joshua and Edith.

  Felicity opened her parcel, showing Lacey what she had bought. ‘I want you to make me a dress, but only on one condition: you allow me to pay you the same rate as I pay my dressmaker in Huddersfield.’

  ‘I’d make it for free, just for the pleasure of working with such lovely material,’ said Lacey, fingering the luxurious hyacinth blue voile. Felicity was adamant she must pay her and Lacey acquiesced.

  They sat on the bed, Lacey showing Felicity her compilation of paper patterns, magazines and some of her own sketches. ‘I copy the magazine illustrations as best I can and then work out a pattern,’ Lacey told Felicity.

  For the next hour or so they perused the fashion magazines, commenting on likes and dislikes. To an uninformed observer these two young women, similar in age, might have appeared to be the best of friends. So easy was their rapport that at one point, Lacey quite forgot herself.

  She pointed to a modish, tiered dress in the latest fashion, exclaiming, ‘Ooh, this ‘ud suit you. Your figure’s quite boyish and frills don’t suit you, whereas the simple cut of this one will bring out your best features. You’ve got lovely narrow hips and you’re quite flat chest…’

  Lacey clamped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh! me and my big gob,’ she groaned, apologising for fear she had overstepped the mark by being too familiar.

  ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Felicity hooted. ‘I’ve little patience with people who don’t say what they think.’ She softened her tone. ‘We’re friends, Lacey, not mistress and servant,’ and taking the magazine looked closely at the illustration and then exclaimed, ‘and if you can make me look like this we’ll be jolly good friends.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ s
aid Lacey, ‘and as for the dress, I’ll do me best.’

  Heads close together, Felicity watched whilst Lacey made a few quick sketches, explaining what she intended as she drew. Then she took Felicity’s measurements, recording them neatly in a book she kept for that purpose. Felicity admired her professional approach.

  ‘Will it be ready by the seventh of July? I’d love to show it off at my birthday party; you’ll be invited, of course.’

  Lacey’s heart swelled. ‘I’ll make sure it’s ready.’

  They went back down to the kitchen to find Nathan and Matt laughing and joking over a game of cards, Joshua and Edith looking on, amused. Edith made supper, Nathan and Felicity complimenting her drop scones. Nathan gazed adoringly at Lacey, overjoyed by the successful evening.

  When it was time for them to go, Felicity said, ‘We’ve had a simply lovely time, haven’t we, Nathan? We must do it again.’ Thanks and farewells delivered, Lacey walked with them to the car. Felicity pecked Lacey’s cheek before climbing in. Nathan gave her a lingering kiss and then whispered into her hair, ‘I love you, Lacey Barraclough. You have a knack for making people happy: most of all me. I have a feeling that from now on our future will be filled with happiness.’

  Lacey watched the car trundle slowly down the rutted lane and out of sight. Too elated to go straight indoors she gazed out over the moor. The darkening sky was streaked with pink and red: shepherds’ delight. Resting her elbows on the wall’s ancient stone, she breathed in the sweet smell of night-scented stock and the wallflowers Edith had planted. Everything’s perfect, she mused, Nathan loves me and I love him. My family accept him and his accept me – almost. Constance’s haughty face crept into her mind’s eye. I’ll win her round, she told the rising moon; see if I don’t. Then, like Nathan says, we’ll have a lifetime of happiness.

  11

  Joan caught Lacey’s hand and squeezed it as they strolled towards Brearley’s Mill. ‘I’m ever so pleased everything’s going right for you and Nathan,’ she said. They were early and enjoying the walk on this bright, warm morning.

  Lacey returned the squeeze. ‘Thanks, Joanie; it’s a weight off me mind, I can tell you. Mind you, his mother’s still a bit frosty, although the more she sees of me the less obvious it is. She’s either given up in disgust or she’s beginning to realise I’m not something nasty she trod in.’

  Joan sniggered. ‘She’d be daft not to see how grand you are. I’ll bet before long she’ll genuinely like you. Stanley’s Mam hates me.’ Her shoulders drooped and her face wore an expression of defeat. ‘I can’t do anything to please her. She finds fault with everything I do an’ she interferes in every conversation me an’ Stanley have. We’ve no privacy except when we’re in bed, an’ even then she’s laid on t’other side o’ t’wall listening.’

  Lacey’s heart went out to Joan: Hettie Micklethwaite was the kind of mother-in-law every girl dreaded. ‘Poor Joanie,’ she said, giving her a sympathetic hug as they paused on the kerb to let the traffic go by, ‘does Stanley know how miserable you are? Is there no chance of you finding your own place?’

  Joan shook her head. ‘What with Hettie taking most of Stanley’s wages for letting us live with her we can’t save enough to rent anywhere else. Most landlords want four weeks rent up front.’

  There being no solution to Joan’s problem, Lacey voiced her own as they reached the Mill gates. ‘I’m worried about our Jimmy. He’s ever so sly these days. He riles Mam and Dad something shocking. He’s out till all hours and gives cheek whenever he’s in the house. You haven’t seen him up to owt, have you?’ Joan living in the town, she was more likely to know what he had been up to there.

  ‘I’ve seen him hanging around wi’ Arty Bincliffe once or twice. I would have mentioned it ‘cos I know you don’t like Arty, but what wi’ you having problems at work an’ wi’ your love life I didn’t like to say owt.’

  Lacey shook her head in exasperation. ‘Let me know next time, Joanie. I’ll have to sort something out.’

  *

  Lacey glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. It was almost ten thirty and Jimmy was not yet home; again. Joshua and Matt had retired at nine and Edith not long after, all three grumbling at the late hours Jimmy kept. ‘It’s a wonder he can get up for his work of a morning,’ Edith moaned. ‘Who he’s with an’ what he’s up to at this time o’ night ‘as me fair pothered.’

  Saddened to see her mother so worried, and plagued by her own suspicions, Lacey decided to have a word with Matt in the morning and to tell him about Jimmy’s friendship with Arty Bincliffe. Maybe then Matt would make Jimmy see sense, and failing that he’d deal with Arty in his own way. By, but she’d give Jimmy a piece of her mind when he came home.

  She picked up the book Nathan had given her earlier in the week. ‘Read this,’ he had said, ‘it’s considered quite intriguing.’ It was a copy of Sons and Lovers by a new author called D.H. Lawrence.

  Lacey was soon lost in the story, but rather than enjoying it she found herself assailed by niggling doubts about her own relationship with Nathan. Had he given her the book simply for her to draw comparisons between their association and that of the characters in the novel? Did he see himself in the woman who marries out of her class and is bitterly disappointed? Or did he cast himself in the role of the son who denies his own happiness for the love of his domineering mother? Had Nathan bought the book for himself and, after reading it, thought it an easy way to point out the pitfalls awaiting them should they marry; was this his way of letting her down gently? Lacey closed her eyes, deep in thought.

  Cinders rattled in the grate. Startled, Lacey opened her eyes, surprised to find herself in the chair by the fire and not in bed. She glanced up at the clock on the mantel; half past four, she’d slept for almost six hours. Suddenly remembering why she was in the chair, she leapt up and climbed the stairs to the bedroom Jimmy shared with Matt. Matt lay flat on his back with his mouth open, his snores reverberating in the sparsely furnished room. Jimmy’s bed was empty. She woke Matt.

  *

  The Black Maria trundled down Manchester Road on its way to the Police Station in Huddersfield. Jimmy sat in the back, his head in his hands, Arty and two of his mates alongside. Jimmy pressed his fingertips into his eyes to stem tears he was desperate to suppress. Arty and the other lads sat back nonchalantly, legs outstretched, cocky expressions on their faces. A ride in a Black Maria was not a new experience for them.

  Inside the Police Station the desk sergeant recorded details in a thick ledger: names, addresses, the part each man had played in the robbery. When Jimmy gave his name the desk sergeant said, ‘Joshua Barraclough’s lad?’ He sounded shocked. Jimmy hung his head, ashamed.

  ‘You silly young bugger; how did you get mixed up wi’ that lot?’ the arresting officer said, as he pushed Jimmy into a cell and slammed the door.

  *

  At first light Matt went in search of Jimmy. He came back with the news that the warehouse at Brearley’s Mill had been broken into, the thieves attempting to steal bales of finished worsted and four men had been arrested.

  Later that morning a police car drew up outside Netherfold’s yard gate. Through the kitchen window, Lacey watched two policemen climb out, her heart heavy. She had taken the day off work; she had a terrible feeling Edith would need her. Joshua and Matt sat by the fire, sheep temporarily forgotten. Edith stood aimlessly at the sink.

  Lacey opened the door, the policemen shuffling in and removing their helmets. Four pairs of eyes fixed on them but no-one spoke. The policemen, faced with the abject misery of those they counted as friends, looked uncomfortable.

  At last, Joshua broke the silence. ‘Go on then. How bad is it?’

  ‘Bad enough, Jos,’ said Bert Pickles, the older of the two policemen, ‘that’s if I’m right in saying your lad’s James Barraclough, seventeen years of age, and currently employed in the warehouse at Brearley’s.’

  Joshua’s face crumpled. He rose unsteadily to face Bert. ‘What’s he
done?’

  ‘He says he were asked to leave one o’ t’warehouse doors unlocked at finishin’ time so’s Arty Bincliffe an’ his lot could get in later. Trouble is, the daft young bugger hung about an’ helped ‘em rob the place.’

  Lacey’s heart sank. Typical Jimmy, trying to prove he was a big man. ‘Is our Jimmy being charged with robbery,’ she asked.

  Bert sucked on his teeth. ‘It’s worse than that. T’nightwatchman, Fred Sykes, spotted ‘em an’ raised t’alarm. It appears Jonas Brearley’s not as soft as you might think. What with there havin’ been a few robberies in t’valley in t’past months he’d taken precautions by employing an extra fellow, armed wi’ a shotgun. They—’

  Edith’s cry split the air. ‘Has our Jimmy been shot?’ She clutched Joshua’s arm, her eyes riveted on Bert.

  ‘Nay lass, don’t take on,’ Bert said kindly. ‘Nobody wa’ shot, but in t’altercation Fred Sykes were clobbered over t’ead. He’s in a bad way; very bad.’ He paused to let the importance of his words register. ‘What wi’ a badly injured man to take into consideration, they could all be sent down for a long spell.’

  ‘Gaol!’ An image of her feckless younger brother incarcerated with rough, tough criminals flashed before Lacey’s eyes. ‘Was it our Jimmy injured Fred?’

  Bert raised his brows and clamped his lips, his expression bemused. ‘That’s just it, lass, nobody’s saying, an’ unless one of ‘em owns up they’ll all be to blame.’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘What wa’ your Jimmy doin’ mixed up wi’ that lot any road?’

  No-one answered, not even Lacey.

  Bert replaced his helmet, adopting a more formal attitude. ‘We’ll keep you informed. He’s been charged an’ will plead his case in court afore t’end o’ t’week.’ Then, reverting to being a family friend, he added, ‘You might like to go down to t’station an’ see if there’s owt you can do.’