Pauper's Gold (18 page)

‘It’s not so much what she’s done as what’s happened.’

Nathaniel Critchlow raised his head slowly and sighed deeply. ‘When she ran away that time, it seems that all she was trying to do was to see her mother. She’s not had word from her
mother – or even
of
her – since she came here. And the child’s worried. It’s only natural, I suppose. She’s written several times, she says, but no word has
come.’

Josiah smiled but said nothing. All Hannah’s letters had been unanswered because they had only left his office in shreds.

‘Until now,’ Nathaniel finished heavily. He picked up a sheet of paper and held it out for Josiah to read. ‘This arrived this morning. It’s from Goodbody. The
child’s mother died only a few weeks after the girl’s arrival here. All this time and no one thought to tell us so that we could tell the poor child.’

Nathaniel’s face crumpled and he dropped his head into his hands once more. Brokenly, he said. ‘It’s all getting too much for me. I can’t bring myself to tell
her.’

Josiah looked down at his master and felt a thrill of jubilation. The old man was past it. High time he retired and handed over the running of the mill to his son. And with Edmund in charge
– Edmund, who was Josiah’s mentor and friend, then . . .

‘Why don’t you leave this to me, sir? I’ll attend to what needs to be done.’

Nathaniel looked up gratefully. ‘You will? Thank you, Roper. You’re a good man.’

He pulled himself up and stood swaying unsteadily. Josiah put out his hand and took hold of his arm. ‘I think you should go home, sir. I’ll get one of the hands to bring the pony and
trap to the door. Here, let me help you with your coat.’

Solicitously, Josiah helped the old man shuffle to the door, down the stairs and into the trap.

‘See him right home, Baldwin,’ he ordered one of the mill workers. ‘Mr Critchlow isn’t well.’

‘Your father doesn’t seem well, Mr Edmund,’ Josiah greeted him on his return late that night. Knowing Mr Edmund’s habit of returning straight to his
office after a successful buying trip to the city, the clerk had stayed late in the office deliberately. Sitting there in the semidarkness, Josiah had hatched a plan. But it would need careful
handling.

‘You still here, Roper?’ Edmund said, shrugging himself out of his coat and striding into the inner office and towards the waiting whisky bottle in his cabinet. He poured himself a
double measure and sat down in his father’s chair. Leaning back, he rested his feet on the corner of the desk, crossing his ankles. ‘What’s the matter with him?’ His eyes
gleamed, matching the excitement glittering in Josiah’s eyes. ‘Serious, d’you think?’

‘I hope not, sir,’ Josiah said dutifully, but they both knew it to be a lie. They both wanted the same thing – Edmund to be in full control of the factory.

By God!
they were each thinking.
Then we’ll see things happen.

‘This letter,’ Josiah went on, holding out the piece of paper, ‘seemed to upset him. It’s from Goodbody. About the Francis girl. It seems your father wrote to him to make
enquiries. At the girl’s behest.’

Edmund dropped his feet to the floor with a thud and sat up. ‘Did he, b’God?’

‘It seems,’ Josiah went on smoothly, ‘that the mother died only a few weeks after Francis came here. And – um – nobody seems to have thought to let us
know.’

‘I see.’ Edmund’s eyes narrowed as he regarded his clerk thoughtfully. Josiah licked his lips before saying carefully, ‘I think your father was reluctant to tell the
child. Didn’t want to distress her further. She . . . she’s a trifle wilful, I believe.’

Edmund snorted and took another mouthful of the burning liquid. ‘She’s trouble. I’ve a good mind to send her back to the workhouse and let her stay there.’ He was silent
for a moment, thoughtful. Despite the trouble Hannah had constantly caused, Edmund was no fool. The girl was a good worker. Scarsfield had said so. Soon, she would be capable of carrying out an
adult female’s work at no extra cost. Besides, he was confident that the Bramwells or Scarsfield fined or punished her appropriately for her misdemeanours. And now, she was truly an
orphan.

Josiah’s humble tones cut into his thoughts. ‘If you’ll permit me, I’d like to make a suggestion, Mr Edmund.’

‘Eh?’ Edmund roused himself from his thoughts. ‘Of course, Roper.’

Josiah licked his lips again. ‘I’ve been thinking over the problem, sir. You see, if the girl finds out her mother’s dead, she could do anything. Cause a riot amongst the
apprentices, run away. She might,’ he emphasized, ‘even take the matter to the authorities. Anything . . .’

Edmund’s eyes narrowed. ‘So – what is your suggestion?’

‘That we don’t tell her.’

Edmund pulled a face. ‘But won’t she go on asking? Won’t she try to run away again to find out for herself? Just like she says she did the last time?’

With smooth deliberation, Josiah said, ‘Not if she starts to receive regular letters from her mother.’

‘Eh?’

‘If I may be so bold, I believe your – er – relationship with Mr Goodbody is such that the man would be prepared to participate in a little harmless deception. I say harmless,
sir,’ he hurried on, ‘because, after all, we have the child’s best interests at heart, don’t we? We want her to be happy and settled in her work. And I’m sure she
would be, Mr Edmund, if she were to receive a letter every now and again from her mother telling her to be a good girl and not to even think of running away.’ Warming to his theme, Josiah
hurried on. ‘She’d be reassured that her mother was in good health and . . . and I think she’d be obedient to her mother’s wishes as expressed in the – er –
letters.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It seems, sir, that the girl’s mother cannot read or write and would have to ask someone to write for her. So, there is no chance, you see, that
she’ll question why someone else has written in her mother’s stead.’

Edmund stared at the man in front of him. ‘Well, well, well, Roper. What a devious mind you have.’ His eyes gleamed and he smiled. ‘But a clever one, even I have to admit. And
yes, you’re quite right. Goodbody will do whatever I ask him. I’ll write to him. But not a word to my father, mind.’

‘Of course not, sir,’ Josiah said with a little bow. He laid the letter on the desk in front of Edmund. ‘If there’s nothing else, then I’ll bid you goodnight,
sir.’

‘Goodnight, Roper,’ Edmund murmured absently, as he picked up the letter from the master of the workhouse and began to read it for himself.

The following week, Josiah Roper sent for Hannah.

‘Come in, girl, come in.’ He beckoned her forward and motioned her to stand in front of his tall desk.

‘Mr Critchlow has asked me to tell you—’

‘Has he heard from Mr Goodbody? Is my mother all right?’

Josiah frowned. ‘If you’ll give me time, girl, I’m getting to that.’

‘Sorry, Mr Roper,’ Hannah smiled at him winningly, but her prettiness was lost on the cold-hearted man.

‘Mr Critchlow – Mr Edmund Critchlow, that is – has asked me to see you. His father is unwell at the present time and all correspondence is now being dealt with either by Mr
Edmund or – myself,’ he added loftily. He was deliberately dragging out getting to the point. He was enjoying the girl’s agitation. She was hopping impatiently from one foot to
the other and pressing her lips together as if to prevent further questions bursting forth.

Slowly, he held up a piece of paper. ‘This letter purports to be from your mother, child. Mrs Goodbody, I understand, has been kindness itself in undertaking to write to you on behalf of
your mother.’

Joseph believed that in matters of deceit, the nearer the truth one could keep to, the better the chance there was of the lies being believed. Mrs Goodbody had indeed penned the letter, but
under the instruction of her own husband, who’d explained tersely the necessity of keeping on the right side of Edmund Critchlow.

Hannah sprang forward and snatched the sheet of paper from Josiah’s bony fingers. She scanned it eagerly and, as Josiah watched closely, a smile spread across her mouth. There were tears
in her eyes as she looked up at him.

‘Oh, thank you, Mr Roper. You don’t know how much this means to me. Please – will you thank Mr Critchlow for me? I don’t know how I can ever repay him.’

‘You can repay him, girl, by working hard and keeping yourself out of trouble. And no more thoughts of running away, eh?’

‘Oh no, Mr Roper.’ Her bright blue eyes were glowing with a happiness that had been missing for weeks, ever since Jane’s death. She’d never forget her little friend and
she would always carry the feeling of guilt. But with news she believed to be from her mother, Hannah could allow herself to look forward again.

‘Fall for it, did she?’ Edmund demanded, opening his door as soon as he heard Hannah leave the clerk’s office.

Josiah smiled maliciously. ‘Oh yes, sir. She fell for it.’
And so
, he thought as the young master’s door closed again,
have you
.
Another Critchlow secret in my
keeping.

At that moment, Hannah was skipping down the stairs back to her work, the precious letter clutched against her breast and, for the first time since Jane’s tragic death, she was singing at
the top of her voice.

But the next day, a rumour flew through the mill that struck dread into the heart of each and every worker. Mr Nathaniel Critchlow had suffered a serious seizure. For days, his life hung in the
balance, but when the news came that he would live, there was little rejoicing. The man was paralysed and would never again sit behind the desk in the mill office. From that moment, Mr Edmund was
in full control of Wyedale Mill, and there was only one person who revelled in the news.

Josiah Roper.

As the months and years passed, Hannah moved from job to job in the mill, working as a bobbin winder and then as a drawer.

‘I could leave you on the mule with Mrs Martin,’ Ernest told her, ‘but you’re a quick learner and I want you to learn as many jobs as you can. Then, if I’m short
anywhere, you can always fill in for me, lass.’

Hannah beamed at him and nodded. She always found a new interest in her work, always found something to sing about. On alternate Sundays, she, Luke and Daniel climbed the hills above the mill,
to breathe in the fresh air and taste freedom, even for only an hour or so. When it snowed and the hillsides were clothed in white, they still climbed, slipping and sliding and clinging on to each
other, laughing and shrieking in delicious enjoyment. Most weeks they called to see Mrs Grundy, Hannah taking a few of her hard-earned coppers whenever she could. Slowly, the debt was being
repaid.

And still the letters that she believed were dictated by her mother to Mrs Goodbody arrived regularly. Hannah could imagine her mother speaking the words aloud – she could almost hear
Rebecca’s gentle, loving voice exhorting the girl to be good and to stay at the mill.

‘
Don’t be trying to come to see me
,’ the letters always said. ‘
I’m well and happy to know that you are too. You are so fortunate in your position. It was
so kind of Mr Goodbody to arrange it all for you and we don’t want to upset either him or Mr Critchlow, who has been so good to you too, do we?
She signed all her letters,
Your loving
mother
, and this was followed by an untidy cross.

Hannah would hold the place where she imagined her mother’s fingers had touched the paper against her face, close her eyes and pretend that her mother was tenderly caressing her cheek.

‘Mrs Goodbody must write them all for her,’ Hannah told Luke and Daniel as the three of them stood on the top of the hill overlooking the dale. She showed them the growing bundle of
precious letters from her beloved mother that she carried in her pocket.

‘They’re all in the same handwriting.’ She paused and then added wistfully, ‘It’s lovely to hear from her and know she’s all right, but it’s not the
same as being able to see her and talk to her and . . . and hug her.’

With one accord as if pulled by the same string, the two boys turned and Daniel began to run down the hill, slipping and sliding in his haste to get away. Luke paused for a moment to look back
at her.

‘At least you’ve still got a mam,’ he said harshly and then he ran after his brother.

Hannah stared after them, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Oh, how stupid I’ve been. How unkind. I never thought . . .’

At suppertime, she sought them out. Never one to shirk doing the right thing, she stood in front of them. ‘I’m so sorry. It was thoughtless and hurtful of me to keep going on about
my mother. You helped me so much at first when I was so worried about not hearing from her that I hadn’t realized every time I talk about her it must remind you of . . . of . . . Well,
I’m sorry.’

The two boys glanced at each other and then looked at her with identical grins on their cheeky faces. ‘’S all right,’ Luke said. ‘We were being daft an’ all.
It’s not your fault we’ve no mam and dad.’

‘And we are glad for you that your mam’s all right,’ Daniel added.

‘Friends then?’

‘’Course,’ the twins chorused.

Summer came round once more, Hannah’s fourth in Wyedale. Letters from her mother came spasmodically, but Hannah wrote faithfully every month. On alternate Sundays,
whatever the weather, she roamed the hills or walked beside the river with Luke and Daniel, and her friendship with Nell, too, deepened. Ernest Scarsfield had noticed how well the two girls worked
together, so when it was time for them to learn yet another job, he put them together once more.

‘We’re to learn to be throstle spinners,’ Nell told her excitedly. ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to do that. We’re to work on one of the machines that produces the
warp thread.’ Nell hugged her. ‘We’re going up in the world, Hannah. Just like Mrs Riley said we would. You’ll see. I must remember to be specially nice to . . .’ She
broke off. ‘Come on, let’s go and find your Luke and tell him.’

‘
My
Luke,’ Hannah laughed.

‘Oh yes.’ Nell’s face was serious. ‘He’s in love with you. Hadn’t you noticed?’