Pauper's Gold (7 page)

‘You’ve missed some bits there, Millie,’ she pointed out.

The girl looked up at her, her dark eyes flashing anger. Her lips twisted as she said, ‘Oh, got a boot-kisser here, ’ave we?’

Hannah gasped. ‘How dare you? I was only trying to help.’

‘I’m supposed to be the one helping you – not for you to come in here trying to lord it over me. Reckon you know better than me how to do it, d’yer?’

Hannah nodded towards the pieces of raw cotton the girl had put on the heap that was supposed to have been cleaned. ‘If that’s the way you do your job, then yes, I do.’

The girl leaned towards Hannah. ‘Well, I can make your life a misery in here – and in the house. No one likes a bootkisser.’ She smiled maliciously. ‘That’s what
I’ll call you. “Boot”. And if anyone wants to know why, then I’ll tell ’em.’

For a moment Hannah stared at her. The years rolled back and once again she was a bewildered little five year old standing in the street near her home, being taunted with cruel names. Only at
that time she hadn’t known the meaning of the names they called her. But she recalled how she had learnt to deal with the insults.

She threw back her head and laughed aloud, amused at the look of confusion on Millie’s face. Then Hannah began to sing, but this only incensed the other girl further. She shook her fist in
Hannah’s face. ‘Aye, go on sing. Sing your heart out, girl, ’cos when you’ve been here a bit, you won’t feel like singing. I promise you that.’ She flung a
handful of cotton in Hannah’s face. ‘And since you’re so clever, you can do all the scutching on yer own. I’ll do the blending and spreading.’

Hannah’s only reply was to sing louder than ever.

About mid morning, the door to the preparation room opened and three men came in. Hannah knew two of them: Mr Critchlow and the overlooker, Ernest Scarsfield. Her gaze rested
briefly on the third. He was a tall, handsome man with dark curly hair, his age about forty or so, she guessed. He walked with a graceful ease and held his head in a proud manner. Expensively
dressed in a maroon frock coat, fawn trousers and matching waistcoat, he had high cheekbones above a firm, square chin and thick, black eyebrows that shadowed his dark brown eyes. He had neatly cut
side-whiskers but, though his mouth was well shaped, there was a discontented downturn to his lips.

For a brief moment their eyes met, and Hannah saw his eyebrows draw together in a frown. He strode towards her, his face thunderous.

‘What’s all the noise? Concentrate on your work, girl.’

Ernest was beside her at once. ‘She’s new, Mr Edmund. Only arrived yesterday.’

‘That’s no excuse. She should know her place, and her place is attending to her work, not singing.’

‘I’ll see to it, Mr Edmund.’

‘Mind you do, Scarsfield.’ He was about to turn away when his glance rested on some of the raw cotton that Millie had been working on. He picked up a handful. ‘And what’s
this? Supposed to be finished is it?’ He flung it at Hannah. ‘You’d better learn to do your work a lot better than this, else you’ll be back to the workhouse. And Goodbody
will
not
be pleased to see you. Scarsfield, you’re to stop her a shilling from her pay—’

Hannah’s blue eyes flashed. ‘How can he stop money out of my pay? I don’t get paid.’ She pointed her finger at the older man. ‘Mr Critchlow said so.’

There was a breathless silence whilst everyone in the room stared at her.

The tall man stepped close to her, glaring down at her from his superior height. He grasped her chin with strong fingers, forcing her head backwards. He held her like that for several moments,
gazing into her eyes, his glance roaming over the whole of her face.

‘Answer me back would you, girl? We’ll see what a night on the floor of the punishment room will do for you.’

He released her suddenly so that she staggered backwards. He turned away. ‘See to it, Scarsfield. No supper and you can take a shilling from the money she brought with her.’

Hannah opened her mouth to protest, but she caught Ernest’s warning shake of his head. The angry stranger brushed imaginary fluff from his jacket and strode into the room next door,
followed by Mr Critchlow.

‘I’ll see you later, Francis,’ Ernest said before he hurried after them.

Spreading out the cleaned cotton fibres into a flat sheet, Millie smiled triumphantly. ‘Serves you right. You should know better than to cheek Mr Edmund.’

So, Hannah thought as she picked up the cotton he had flung at her, that was Mr Edmund Critchlow. The man she had been warned about.

A little later, Ernest Scarsfield came back alone. He stood with his arms akimbo, glancing between the two girls. ‘Now, which of you two was supposed to have scutched that piece of cotton
the young master found? Come on, I want the truth.’

Hannah met his gaze fearlessly, but she said nothing.

‘It weren’t me, mester,’ Millie whined. ‘I’ve put ’er on the scutching. I’m doing the blending and the spreading now.’ She cocked her head on one
side and smiled winningly at the overlooker. ‘If that’s all right with you, Mr Scarsfield. See, you ’ave to know what you’re doing with the blending, don’t you, Mr
Scarsfield? We don’t want all different qualities mixed up together do we, sir?’

Shocked, Hannah gaped at the girl. Millie was lying quite blatantly. She pressed her lips together and shot the girl a vitriolic glance, but still she said not a word.

‘Hmm,’ Ernest said thoughtfully, stroking his moustache. ‘Very well then, but you’d better both mind what you’re doing. I don’t want any slacking else
I’ll have to fine the pair of you.’

With a stern glance at each of them in turn, Ernest Scarsfield left the room, banging the door behind him.

Once she was sure he was out of earshot, Hannah turned on the girl. She grasped her arm and swung her round to face her. ‘Don’t you dare tell lies about me again. I don’t tell
tales on others and I always tell the truth about meself. If it’d been me that’d sorted that cotton, I’d’ve owned up.’

Fear flickered in Millie’s eyes. ‘Le’ go, you’re hurting my arm. I’ll tell—’

‘No, you won’t. You hear me. You won’t tell any more tales about me – or anyone else – and if I hear you have . . .’ Her grip tightened until the girl cried
out in pain. Then Hannah released her grasp, flinging Millie away from her. ‘If it’s anyone slacking around here, then it’s you.’

Hannah returned to her work. Not another word passed between them for the rest of the day. And Hannah was too angry to sing.

Sunday was the only day of the week when the mill workers were allowed any time off. The adults who worked there mostly lived locally and had the day to be with their families.
They were expected to attend the Methodist service held in the schoolroom at the mill, but afterwards there was time for the younger men and women to go courting.

The apprentices, though, were still under Mr and Mrs Bramwell’s authority. They too had to attend the morning service, but afterwards there was more schooling and household tasks for them.
Pauper apprentices, it seemed, had no free time at all. Even in the workhouse, Hannah thought truculently, there had been exercise time. Though they were not allowed outside the confines of the
workhouse walls without permission from the master or the matron, at least all the inmates went out each day into the fresh air to walk, to chat or just to sit in the sun on warm days.

‘You know you asked me to go walking with you on Sunday afternoon?’ Hannah said to Joe as they fell into step on their way to work the following morning.

Joe grinned at her. ‘Yeah.’

‘Well – how? Or when? We don’t seem to be given any time off.’

Joe shrugged. ‘We just go.’

‘And end up in the punishment room when we get back, I suppose?’ Hannah had spent an uncomfortable night there. Given no supper, she had lain on the bare floor with only one blanket
to wrap herself in. She had hardly slept and this morning she was both tired and ravenously hungry.

‘We can either sneak off after the service – there’s an hour or so before dinner – or we can go after.’

Hannah pulled a face. ‘Mrs Bramwell says she teaches the girls sewing on a Sunday afternoon.’

He grinned. ‘And that’s going to stop you?’

Hannah laughed. ‘Not really, no. I’ll risk it.’

‘Tell you what, we’ll just have a short walk between chapel and dinner.’ He winked at her. ‘Don’t want you moving into the punishment room permanently.’

Hannah pulled a face. ‘Me neither.’

‘I don’t want to come, Hannah,’ Jane said, when told of the proposed outing with Joe Hughes as they came out of the schoolroom after the service on the
first Sunday morning. ‘I’m so tired I could cry.’ Indeed, tears of exhaustion filled the young girl’s eyes. ‘I just want to go home and sleep.’

‘I know.’ Hannah hugged her. ‘You go on then. I’ll wake you up for dinner when I get back.’

‘Where are you going?’ Jane asked worriedly. ‘You’ll be in trouble again.’

‘Only for a little walk. Joe’s promised to show me the waterfall behind the mill.’

Jane returned her hug fiercely. ‘You don’t mind me not coming,’ she said, her voice muffled against Hannah’s shoulder.

‘’Course not.’

They pulled apart and smiled at each other. ‘Besides,’ Jane said, coyly, ‘I think that Joe Hughes wants you to himself.’

‘Eh?’ Hannah was startled, then she laughed. ‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not.’ Jane yawned, already thinking of their bed in the dormitory with longing. ‘I reckon he likes you.’

‘Don’t be daft, he . . .’ Hannah started to say, but Jane was already walking away from her, too tired to stand talking any longer.

‘There you are!’ Joe came towards her, walking with a swagger, his hands in his pockets. ‘Just walk slow, so we end up at the back. Then, when we get to the bottom of the hill,
there’s a little path that runs at the back of the mill just below the cliff. If no one’s watching, we nip through there.’

Hannah nodded, her eyes shining at the thought of an hour or so of freedom.

‘Hey, Hannah, wait for us.’

‘Oh no,’ Joe muttered. ‘Not that pair.’

Hannah turned and saw Luke with Daniel trotting close behind him.

‘Off for a walk, a’yer?’

‘How did you know?’ Joe said belligerently.

‘Heard you ask her the other day.’ Luke grinned.

‘Yeah. I asked her,’ Joe glowered. ‘Not the whole blooming lot of yer.’

Hannah laughed and slipped her arm through theirs. ‘Oh, come on, let’s all go. It’s too nice a day to argue. Let’s just enjoy ourselves while we can.’

‘I’m tired, Luke,’ Daniel muttered. ‘I want to go home.’

Luke glanced at his twin. ‘All right. See you later.’

Daniel blinked. ‘What – what do y’mean?’

‘You go and have a sleep. I’m going with these.’

Daniel glanced from his brother to Hannah. He and his brother were never apart. They went everywhere together. But now, Luke was choosing the company of others rather than him. Daniel
didn’t like it, and he was blaming Hannah. She could see it in his eyes.

‘All right,’ he muttered sulkily. ‘I’ll come an’ all.’

‘No, you go back if you want to—’

‘I don’t,’ he snapped back. ‘Not on me own.’

Joe was disgruntled too now. He’d wanted to walk out with Hannah on his own, not have the twins tagging along. Joe was older than the other three. At fourteen, he fancied himself old
enough to start courting. He liked the look of this new girl whose blue eyes sparkled when she laughed. She’d left her long blonde hair flying loose this morning, cascading down her back in
golden waves and curls that glinted in the sunlight. She was lively with boundless energy and she laughed often. And sing! He’d heard singing in the room next door to where he worked in the
carding room. In the service that morning, her voice had risen, clear and pure, above all the others. She was a bit young yet, but she’d grow, he told himself, and he reckoned she’d
grow into a beauty an’ all.

‘Come on then. Here’s the path . . .’ He caught hold of Hannah’s hand and was elated at the look of fury on Luke’s face.

They skirted the base of the cliff on which the row of houses containing the school and the apprentice house stood, and came to a place where a stream ran under the path to the waterwheel, whose
power turned all the machinery in the mill.

‘They call this the “head race”,’ Joe told them importantly. ‘They constructed this to run from the mill pool down to the wheel.’

Hannah’s gaze followed the line of the man-made stream that surfaced beyond the path and ran towards the paddles of the great wheel, which stuck out like sharp, hungry teeth. The wheel was
silent today.

‘So how do they stop the water,’ Luke asked with boyish curiosity, ‘when the mill’s not working?’

‘There’s an iron hatch at the top of the race where it leaves the pool. When they want the wheel to work they just open the hatch. The water flows down the race to work the wheel and
then it comes out the other side and flows down the tail race back into the river.’

‘But where does the water go when the hatch is closed?’ Now Daniel took up the question.

‘There’s a weir out of the pool straight back into the river. I’ll show you.’

A few paces further on they came to where the River Wye widened out into the huge lake that Joe called the mill pool. Then, walking to the left, they stood a moment on the narrow footbridge
watching the white foaming water cascading over the edge of the weir and rushing on down the rocky riverbed. Ahead of them was a steep climb up rocks to the hillside above.

Joe, still holding Hannah’s hand, began to climb, pulling her after him. ‘From up here you can see all the mill and some of the village.’

They climbed, puffing and panting, until they gained a narrow path running along the hillside overlooking the mill. Far below them now, it seemed small. They walked on along the sheep tracks,
climbing higher.

They stood a moment to catch their breath.

‘That way,’ Joe waved to their right, ‘is up to the Wyedale Arms.’

‘We saw that the day we came,’ Luke said.

Joe ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘And the other way,’ he pointed in the opposite direction, ‘leads to another mill about a couple of miles away.’