Down Weaver's Lane (10 page)

When she got outside Emmy saw her mistress in conversation with another lady so went to stand in the shadow of one of the stone buttresses to wait for her, knowing Mrs Tibby walked better if she had someone’s arm to hold. A sharp jab in the ribs made her spin round in shock.

‘What are
you
doing here among decent folk?’ Lal hissed.

‘I’m attending church with my mistress. I’m maid to Mrs Oswald now.’

‘You won’t be once she finds out about your mother.’

‘She knows already. I told her myself.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

A shrill voice called, ‘Lal! Where have you got to?’ and a woman came round the corner of the church, stopping in shock. ‘Come away from that creature at once!’ she said in a low voice. ‘Whatever are you thinking of, Lal Butterfield?’

‘I’ll make you sorry, coming to church with decent people!’ Lal hissed at Emmy then flounced off.

Mrs Butterfield’s voice floated back to Emmy. ‘Don’t you dare speak to her again! Don’t even look in her direction. What if someone saw you?’

The voices faded away and with a sigh Emmy turned back to see if Mrs Oswald was still talking.

‘Don’t listen to Lal, lass, You’re doing the right thing, coming to church.’

She spun round to find Jack Staley standing a few feet away, smiling down at her.

He moved forward, thinking how lonely and unsure of herself she looked. ‘How are you, Emmy? Lal hasn’t been attacking you again, has she?’

‘No, just - you know, saying things.’

‘Well, a few words won’t kill you. How are things going on with your new mistress?’ As Emmy told him all her news, he watched her eyes sparkling with happiness and thought how jealous Lal must be of her far prettier cousin, however much superiority she pretended.

‘Who is your friend, Emmy dear?’

Emmy flushed with embarrassment for not having seen that Mrs Tibby was ready to leave. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to keep you waiting, ma’am. This is Jack Staley, the one who rescued me when those girls were throwing stones at me.’

Tibby Oswald studied him and liked what she saw. ‘It was kind of you to intervene, young man.’

‘I can’t abide cruelty,’ he said simply. Then he glanced round and realised the rest of Parson’s class had filed into the little church hall next door. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go to the Reading Class now. Pleased to have met you, Mrs Oswald.’

As she watched him leave Tibby thought what a good-looking young man he was and yet how gentle his smile was. It wouldn’t do for him to get too friendly with her maid, however, for the girl’s sake.

Emmy watched Jack go. ‘I didn’t think he’d speak to me in front of everyone.’

‘He seems a very nice young fellow. Clean and decent, though he could do with a new jacket. He’s growing out of that one. What did you say his name was?’

‘Jack Staley.’

‘Now where do I know that name from ... Oh, my! It was a man called Staley who was killed in those dreadful riots in April. You don’t suppose that was his father, do you?’

‘I don’t know, ma’am.’

Tibby abandoned her speculations, looking round with a weary sigh. ‘Well, my dear, shall we make our way home now? I’ve enjoyed the service, but I’m feeling rather tired. I’ve been talking to our new Parson’s wife. I thought I recognised her face. Mrs Bradley is the cousin of a lady I used to know when I was a girl and ...’ Talking gently, she led the way home.

She didn’t say that Prudence Bradley had tactfully raised the matter of Emmy’s parentage and that Tibby had told her firmly that she was a good girl, not to be blamed for her mother’s behaviour, and was the best maid Tibby had ever had, so cheerful and hard-working.

She sighed. She had felt a bit out of place among the congregation in the churchyard until Mrs Bradley had come over to speak to her. She had seen some ladies she used to know glancing scornfully at her shabby clothes and making no attempt to renew their acquaintance. Well, the Lord didn’t care whether you were rich or poor, only whether you were a good person or not, and Tibby didn’t intend to stop coming to church now that she had plucked up the courage to start again. It would be something to look forward to, because the choir was indeed a good one and so was the new organ old Mr Rishmore had donated in memory of his wife. As for the sermon, dear Mr Bradley had chosen an interesting topic which would give her something to think about during the following week.

If only her poor, dear James hadn’t been so trusting with his savings. If only some dreadful person hadn’t robbed him in the street, hitting him over the head so viciously he had died there before anyone found him. And James had had hardly had any money on him, only his old silver watch and chain. She still wept at night sometimes thinking of that, and still missed her old home and comfortable life.

Then she looked down at the clear-eyed child walking beside her. Well, at least she wasn’t lonely any more. You had to count your blessings, indeed you did. The two of them could help one another because from what the child had let fall, she had led a very lonely life.

In September Jack came home from the mill one day to find his sister cooking the evening meal, banging the dishes about and looking furiously angry. ‘Where’s Mam?’

‘Gone to see our Tom.’

He couldn’t take it in for a minute, just stood there holding out his chilled hands to the fire and frowning at her. He was bone weary after a particularly frustrating day and soaked to the skin because it was pelting down outside. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, she’s sold her wedding ring and gone off to see our Tom in Lancaster.’

‘Sold her wedding ring?’

‘Can you do nothing but repeat what I say, Jack Staley?’ Meg yelled. ‘She said to tell you she had to see him again or it would kill her. She left our Joey an’ Ginny with Mrs Farron next door an’ just up and went.’

He closed his eyes and sagged down into his mother’s rocking chair. ‘She must have been desperate to sell that ring. She’s always stroking it and saying it’s all she has left of Dad. Why didn’t she tell me?’

‘Because she knew you’d persuade her out of doing it. I only found out this morning after you’d left, and when I told her not to waste her money, she clouted me round the ears. He’s allus been her favourite, Tom has. An’ I’ve allus been the one she doesn’t like.’

He ignored her last remark because it was true, though he could never understand why. Meg was a bit sharp-tongued, but she was a good, hard-working lass. ‘I should go after Mam.’

‘What with? She’s taken all the housekeeping money, too, ’cept for what she paid Mrs Farron to look after the little ‘uns, so I hope you’ve got something tucked away or we’ll all go hungry.’

He looked at her in shock. ‘She took
all
the food money?’

His sister nodded.

‘The savings too?’

Another nod.

‘But how did she think we’d manage?’

Meg shrugged. ‘I asked her that. She said she’d be sleeping in cheap lodging houses an’ at least we’d be warm an’ comfortable.’

‘Eh, I hope she’ll be all right.’ He looked out of the window. ‘She’ll be soaking wet and cold.’

‘It’s her own fault.’ Meg looked at him and her mouth trembled for a moment. ‘I hope our Tom’s not - suffering.’

He nodded, wishing desperately that he could have gone to see his brother, too.

They could do nothing but wait for three long days, coming home each night hoping to see their mother but finding the house empty. Jack borrowed some money from Mr Bradley for food and Meg grudgingly prepared the evening meals. Shad, who was eleven, had a job at the dye works now, fetching and carrying for one of the men there. It didn’t pay much, only two shillings a week, but everything helped and the man he worked for gave him something to eat at midday as well as teaching him about dyeing. Ginny, who was eight, kept wondering aloud where their mother was, but Joey was very quiet, sucking his thumb and cuddling up to his big brother when offered the chance.

Remembering his own childhood and the boisterous caresses and play from his father, Jack always tried to show his little brother as much affection as possible. Their mother had changed a lot since their father’s death and didn’t like anyone to touch her any more, and Meg went out whenever she could to get away from the constant nagging and slaps.

Worry over how his mother was managing was eating away at Jack and he wondered whether to ask Mr Bradley’s help and advice. Maybe he should go and look for her? Only how was he to manage that? They had no money and nothing of value to sell. Besides, he didn’t dare put his job at risk by taking time off. Old Mr Rishmore had been very short-tempered since the loom-breaking.

However, just as Jack felt he could bear the worry no longer, he came home from the mill one night to find his mother sitting slumped in the rocking chair, looking grey and exhausted, her clothes crumpled and dirty. She smelled sour. Normally she would have washed herself as soon as she got in, but today she hardly seemed to be aware of what was happening around her. He went to kneel beside her and chafe her hands. ‘Eh, Mam, why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?’

She stared at him as if she didn’t recognise him, then blinked and reached out to touch his hair fleetingly. ‘He wept when he saw me, Jack. Our Tom. Stood there skriking like a babby.’

He swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine his confident older brother weeping.

‘Don’t be angry at me, son. I had to go. I just had to see him again!’

She suddenly began to cry, keening in a shrill tone, rocking to and fro, so consumed with anguish that he didn’t know how to help her, could only hold her in his arms and make shushing noises.

When her passion was spent she slumped back in the chair with her eyes closed. ‘I’m that thirsty. Do we have any tea in the house?’

‘Aye.’ He went and brewed her some from the dust and leaves at the bottom of the tea caddy, making it extra strong and hang the extravagance. He watched her slurp it down thirstily, then poured more hot water on to the same leaves to make a weaker second brew. ‘How does Tom look?’ he asked at last.

‘Thinner - and dirty. They don’t keep them clean in those places, you know.’ Netta pressed her hands against her chest, her head bowed for a minute, then went on, ‘His eyes are that sad, Jack. You’d think he was forty year old, not nineteen. An’ he sent you his special love, said he was sorry you’d been left with everything on your shoulders.’ She looked at him, her eyes brimming still. ‘What if they hang him, Jack? I think it’d kill me.’

‘Mr Bradley’s going to write and ask for clemency, ask them just to transport him. He said Tom would have got off more lightly if he hadn’t thumped a soldier when they tried to capture him.’

His mother began to sob again. ‘I shall never see him again, I know I shan’t.’

They sat together for a little longer, with her holding his hand tightly, then Meg came in and peace was at an end.

‘So you’ve come back, have you, Mam? You should remember you have other children as well as Tom! How did you think we were going to eat when you took all the money?’

‘Meg, don’t!’ Jack begged.

His sister ignored him. ‘How could you do it? Every week you take nearly every penny I earn, and I’m dressed in rags, and then you go an’ spend all that on seeing our Tom.’ She stared defiantly across the room. ‘Well, from now onwards I’m keeping some of what I earn for mysen.’

‘Meg, that’s not fair!’ Jack rebuked.

‘Life’s not fair. Haven’t you realised that yet? And
she
isn’t fair to us, neither.’

‘Don’t talk to Mam like that.’

‘I’ll talk any way I want. I’m one of the breadwinners here an’ I have a right to my say. You may want to spend your life looking after her an’ the other kids, but I don’t.’

Jack took a hasty step towards her, furious that she would behave like this when their mother was so upset.

‘Don’t!’ Netta grabbed his jacket to hold him back. ‘Let our Meg keep some of her own money. You’re only young once and it doesn’t last. Soon as the childer start coming it’s a struggle just to put bread in their mouths. I could maybe do a bit of scrubbing or get a day’s washing every now an’ then at one of the big houses. I’m not going to be such a burden on you from now on - as long as you’ll keep your promise an’ stay with us.’ She looked at him with haunted eyes. ‘I couldn’t do it on my own, Jack, I just couldn’t. Some women manage all right when they lose their husband, but I’m not one of them.’

‘You might find yoursen another fellow,’ Meg tossed at her. ‘That’d be a big help to the rest of us.’

Netta shook her head and for a moment her eyes were blind with memories. ‘Nay, I want no other after your dad. I couldn’t love another fellow like I loved my Jem. Eh, he was that good-looking when he was younger, I thought I was set for life when he wanted to wed me.’ She sighed. ‘No, I just couldn’t bear anyone else to touch me.’