Calico Road (35 page)

He realised Mortley was ringing the little handbell for service and went with a sigh into the private parlour. ‘Would you like a piece of apple pie to finish off with, sir?’

‘I would indeed.’

It was only after the man had left that the pedlar, Bram Craven, who’d been sitting very quietly in a corner of the public room, came across to the counter. ‘I didn’t think to see you speaking so friendly to that sod.’

‘I can’t refuse to serve him, can I?’

Bram scowled. ‘I would. I’ve never seen the bugger dressed up so fine afore, but I’d recognise him anywhere. I’m surprised no one else in Calico has done.’

Toby frowned in thought. Now he came to think of it, Mortley usually arrived in the late morning, at a time when the men from the village were still at their day’s work. He always went straight into the private parlour and stayed there. In fact, he’d done that the very first time, as if he already knew the layout of the inn.

‘I wonder what Mortley’s doing travelling to and fro so much? He doesn’t often leave Tappersley unless he’s on his master’s business.’ Bram took another mouthful of beer, then set his pot down and snapped his fingers. ‘I remember seeing him in Todmorden last month. He was talking to someone from Calico then, come to think of it.’

‘Who?’ Toby’s voice came out more sharply than he’d intended.

Bram shook his head. ‘Don’t know the fellow’s name, only that I’ve seen him round here.’ He looked at Toby, eyes shrewd in his weatherbeaten face. ‘Maybe he’s doing a job for Mortley or his master? Moor folk have trouble putting bread on the table now that the handloom weaving’s nearly gone an’ folk’ll do owt to turn an extra penny. Eh, there was a time when I were young that handloom weavers lived like princes. Meat every day, new clothes every year. Now all the spinning an’ most of the weaving’s done inside those damned mills an’ folk have to jump when they’re told or they’re thrown out of work and home.’

‘What was the village like in those times?’ Toby asked.

‘Busy. Full o’ happy folk. There were bundles of cotton wool coming up Calico Road an’ packets of calico as had been woven from it going back down to the putters-out. Why dost think the place is called Calico?’

Toby knew that already, but humoured the old pedlar. ‘I like to hear tales of the old days. I like to read about them too. But I wouldn’t like to work in one of those damned mills. I was always grateful my mother put me to learn the carpentering trade instead, though it was a struggle for her.’

‘Ah, well, the mills are here to stay now, aren’t they? And if they were all as well run as Greenhalgh’s, they wouldn’t be too bad. By, that place has changed for the better since the son took over.’

‘It has? How?’

Bram shot him a sly glance and grinned. ‘Curious about your brother, are you?’

Toby could feel his expression growing stiff. ‘He doesn’t feel like a brother. Let’s just call him a relative, eh?’

‘Anyone who’s seen the two of you together would know you at once for brothers.’

‘Never mind that. Tell me about his mill. Why is it better now?

‘Well, it were never as bad as Beardsworth’s. Few place are. And Greenhalgh is still strict with his operatives. Don’t get me wrong, he expects them to work damned hard. But they aren’t treated as harshly as when his father were alive and it stands to reason that must be because of young Jethro. There aren’t as many fines as there used to be an’ the children aren’t beaten to make them work harder. Even the rent collector behaves different. I heard last time I was in Northby that folk aren’t thrown out of their houses if they’re sick and some have even been let off paying the back rent when they got better.’

Toby blinked in surprise. He’d never even considered that Jethro Greenhalgh might have a better side to him because the air fairly seemed to crackle with tension on the rare occasions when the two of them met. ‘I’m glad to hear that, though I still don’t consider him a brother. Now, are you hungry?’

‘I am and I’ve heard tell your new cook is good.’

Toby smiled. ‘She is that!’

Bram chuckled openly. ‘That smile says she’s more to you than a cook.’

‘Not yet.’ He went to the house place to get Bram’s food, a bit worried now. Did he betray his feelings about Meg so easily? Had he done so with Mortley? What
was
the fellow doing calling here, lingering, chatting?

He took out Bram’s food. ‘How about a free night’s lodging and supper in return for pointing out the fellow you saw in Todmorden?’

‘All reet, lad. Suits me. I’ve some stuff to deliver to Mrs Pickerling an’ I’ve no doubt I’ll sell a few odds and ends more once folk realise I’m here.’

The following day, after Bram had left, Toby went up to the back place to think about what the pedlar had said. The identity of the man Mortley had been talking to was no surprise. Cully Dean was a bad lot if Toby had ever met one and didn’t seem to have any real friends in a village where folk stuck together and half of them were related.

Toby had heard one or two of the other men asking Dean where he was getting his money from lately. Not that they’d received an answer except for, ‘Mind thy own business an’ I’ll mind mine.’

Bram’s revelation suggested that Beardsworth was paying Dean, dealing through his overlooker, but why should he do that? Toby couldn’t remember ever meeting Beardsworth, let alone upsetting him enough to have him hire someone to kill him.

He was wondering whether to get out the secret papers and read the rest of them when he heard footsteps. He turned to see Meg bringing some washing to hang on the indoor lines they’d strung back here for rainy days.

She stopped at the sight of him and set down her basket of wet clothes. ‘Oh. Am I disturbing you?’

‘No, lass. It’s my own thoughts that are doing that. I’m still worried about who’d want to kill me, to tell you the truth – aye, and how best to protect you and Phoebe in case they try again.’

She smiled at him. ‘We’ll all try to look after one another, eh? That’s what my brother always used to say.’

‘He sounds a nice fellow, your brother.’

She nodded, her eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears.

‘Don’t you want to write to him, let him know you’re all right? You
are
all right now, aren’t you? Settled here, I mean?’

‘I’m happier than I’ve any right to be, Toby, but I’m not writing to my family because I don’t want anything to do with my mother – and besides, Jack has enough on his plate without worrying about me.’

‘Don’t you think he’s already worrying?’

She sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But there’s nothing he needs to do for me. I want him to enjoy his own life – as much as
she
will let him.’

‘Well, I’ve got paper if you ever want to write and in the meantime you’ve us two looking out for you.’

A smile transformed her face as she said softly, ‘Yes, I have, haven’t I?’

She didn’t smile like that very often and he was always amazed at how much difference it made, how attractive she looked. But he didn’t know whether to tell her so and risk losing their friendship, risk her leaving.

She began pegging the washing on the lines. ‘It’s very useful to have this place, isn’t it? And I like coming here. It makes me feel safe – and peaceful.’

‘Me, too.’ Strange that she felt the same, because it made Phoebe nervous to come here. Was that because of the goods her husband had left here or for some other reason? No, he was too fanciful about this place, should have more sense.

But Toby couldn’t quite convince himself that there was nothing here or that it was only his imagination when he heard faint chanting sounds or distant footsteps.

Once Meg had finished he patted the bench beside him and they sat there for a while, not speaking, enjoying a short rest together in this special place. After a while he reached out and took hold of her hand. He didn’t say anything, afraid to break the spell of the moment, but after a while he gave hers a quick squeeze.

She looked down at their joined hands, stole a quick glance sideways at him, then bowed her head again. But she didn’t pull away.

He was sorry when she let go and stood up.

‘I’d better get on. Phoebe will be wondering what’s happened to me.’

He smiled a farewell then looked down at his hand, pleased that she’d let him hold hers.

Maybe it would soon be time to be more open about his feelings? It was strange how sure he was of his fondness for her.

Was she getting fond of him?

Meg walked back to the house place, worrying. Why had Toby taken hold of her hand? She hadn’t pulled hers away, had liked the feel of his fingers twined around hers. Had he
wanted
to hold her hand like a fellow did with a woman he fancied or was he just being kind to her?

She didn’t know. She wished she did.

She could feel a blush creeping up her neck.
Meg Pearson, what’s got into you?
she scolded herself and began to bustle about in the kitchen, keeping busy, trying not to think about what had happened.

Unfortunately she couldn’t prevent the memory of how right his hand had felt in hers from creeping back into her mind. Couldn’t help remembering the slow warmth of his smile.

Could a man as lovely as Toby be interested in her?

It had been three years since Ben died and although she’d briefly walked out with Liam Kelly, she’d never felt like this about him, nice fellow though he was. In fact, she’d never felt like this about anyone, not even Ben. It frightened her. And gave her hope. And sent heat creeping into her cheeks again.

Andrew Beardsworth scowled at his overlooker. ‘It’s taking too damned long to get rid of Fletcher. That fellow you hired hasn’t even tried to kill him again.’

‘He says he needs to wait until our dear innkeeper feels safe and isn’t on his guard.’

‘A pitiful excuse! I think we’ll have to do it ourselves.’

Jad grinned. ‘I don’t know why we didn’t take care of it ourselves the first time. It’s only an hour’s ride up the valley, if that. While everyone else is sleeping we could be there and back in three hours at most, with the deed done. Why, there’s only the two women up there with him.
They
wouldn’t be able to help him. You and I could manage it on our own.’

‘They might see us, though, and then we’d have to kill them as well. I didn’t want to do it myself because it’d increase the risk at both ends. One of my servants might hear me going out or my wife – though
she
doesn’t matter. She does as I tell her. It’s not like the old days though, Jad, as I keep reminding you. We have to
seem
to obey the law.’

When Andrew crossed his arms in front of his body and began to slap his right palm against his left arm, Jad kept quiet. If his master got that expression on his face, started doing that arm tapping, it meant he was thinking about something and you left him in peace – if you wanted to go on living in peace yourself.

After a few minutes Andrew cleared his throat. ‘Look, Jad, we’ll give Dean a week or so and see what he manages. We’ll have to get rid of him afterwards, though. Can’t risk leaving a witness who could lead the constables straight to us.’

‘Dean doesn’t know who I am.’

‘Of course he knows who you are, or at least guesses. Those folk up in Calico have relatives down here and they’ve no love for us. You were taking a risk even going to the Packhorse, though Fletcher is less likely to recognise you than the others in the village. They’re a damned surly, masterless lot up there! My mill helped put them out of business and they’ve never forgiven me for it. They tried to smash my machines in the early days, but we got the militia in to deal with ’em. Killed a couple, too.’ Andrew smiled, a wolfish expression that was as much a snarl as anything else, and began pacing up and down.

‘I thought they’d nearly all move down the hill to work for me. Some did, but most didn’t, so I had to bring in others from further away, folk who knew nowt about cotton, and then I had to teach them. That cost me good money. And the moor folk
still
don’t mind their own business, even now. I’m damned sure it’s they who’re helping my operatives run away. The law may take a dim view of anyone leaving employment without giving due notice and may even be on my side, but if you can’t find the folk who’re missing, you can’t prosecute them. As for the apprentices,’ he threw Jad a distinctly unfriendly look, ‘do you
have
to beat them so hard? You make them useless to me.’

His companion shrugged. ‘It happens when I get angry, and those stupid children are enough to try the patience of a saint sometimes.’ He risked adding, ‘And we’re neither of us saints.’

‘Maybe not, but I keep what I do private. You’re getting known for your beatings.’

Jad didn’t say it was also common knowledge that Andrew beat this wife and had beaten the previous one, too. He didn’t dare. His employer was the only person in the world of whom he was afraid.

That night Andrew found out that Harriet’s courses had come again, regular as clockwork, damn her. So for all his extra efforts this month, she wasn’t carrying a child yet. His anger and frustration overflowed and he was unable to restrain himself from thumping her.

For once she answered back. ‘What child deserves a father like you?’ she demanded, her cheeks flying spots of hectic colour. ‘I’m
glad
I’m not having one. The way you treat your daughters sickens me. They daren’t call their souls their own. I don’t want children who’ll be so unhappy.’

He thumped her again and this time she lashed back at him, managing to land a resounding slap across his cheek.

He stilled and gave her a long, level look, watched her wait for retaliation but said only, ‘Be very careful what you do and say from now on, Harriet. If you anger me as well as continuing to disappoint me, I might decide I’d be better off without a wife like you.’

She gasped and took an involuntary step backwards, her face paling.