The Master of Liversedge (19 page)

They said no more then, for they had arrived at the spot where the other mourners stood. Arkwright glanced covertly at Mary, a small, grey figure merging mournfully into the grey of the early morning light. A deep black band encircled her arm to speak of her loss. Only once did their eyes meet; on that occasion, it was as though she looked straight through him.

‘ — In Whom whosoever believeth shall live, though he die — ’

The words floated tremulously across the new-dug grave. Far above the bowed heads gathered round it, the first red streaks of the rising sun broke the dullness of the sky; and a lark’s song was clearly heard.

TWENTY: TO BUILD JERUSALEM

In the days that followed, Mary forgot her own sorrow in trying to bring comfort to her uncle and Mrs. Duckworth. She knew that presently they would recover their tranquillity in finding something to do for others; but for the moment she abandoned all idea of returning to her own home.

She had not forgotten her promise to John, and at the first opportunity visited the Hartleys’ cottage. A neighbour told her that the children had been taken in by Jack Hartley’s wife, who lived some distance away.

‘ ’Twill mean short commons, I reckon, ma’am, especially now poor Jack’s been taken afore t’ military on account o’ not firin’ on his own brother in t’ riot. They say Maister Arkwright’s to give evidence agin him at t’ trial — no wonder folks call him Bloodhound.’

A spasm of pain crossed Mary’s face. She asked to be directed to Jack Hartley’s dwelling, and found it was too far away for her to visit at that time. When she returned home, she settled with Mrs. Duckworth that they should both go there on the following afternoon.

‘Though I don’t quite know how I can help,’ she said, unhappily. ‘It’s money they need, and there I am powerless to assist. By the way, the woman told me that Sally — the eldest girl — has found a situation with the doctor’s wife.’

‘That will be one less mouth to feed,’ said the housekeeper. ‘I wonder who spoke for the lass?’

Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But it seems hard for a child of ten to be slaving away in someone’s kitchen — she should be in the schoolroom — ’

‘Labourers’ children lead different lives from them as you teach, Miss Mary. But
he
would’ve thought like that — ’ Her eyes filled with tears.

‘If I could find another post hereabouts,’ said Mary slowly, ‘I might perhaps be able to start a Sunday school, and teach some of the labouring children to read. He would have wanted that — ’

‘I thought you’d decided to go away? Not that your uncle and me wouldn’t bless the day, if you stayed on — ’

Mary coloured. ‘When I said that, I was only thinking of myself. I wanted to put as much distance as possible between myself and — and — ’

‘And Mr. Arkwright?’ hazarded the housekeeper shrewdly.

Mary nodded. ‘But now I wonder if there isn’t work for me to do here. John’s life must not have been in vain. The things he believed in — he said there was a purpose. Perhaps this is it.’

‘Happen you’d find something in Halifax. But you’d need a reference from your last post. I suppose Mr. Arkwright — ’

‘I shall ask no favours of him.’

On the following morning, Mrs. Arkwright called at the Vicarage, accompanied by Caroline. While her mother talked gently to the Vicar of his dead son, Caroline plied Mary with eager questions.

‘Why would you not return to us, Miss Lister? Will says he begged you to come back, but you would not.’

‘He did not exactly beg,’ answered Mary dryly.

‘Oh, that is just his manner! But I know he wanted you to, and so do I. I miss you dreadfully.’

‘I miss you, too, Caroline. But it would not answer — I seem to have a particular knack of annoying your brother.’

‘You don’t understand, ma’am — it’s because he likes you so much. I know he does sometimes fly into a passion, but he is the dearest, kindest creature at heart!’

Mary abruptly changed the subject by asking how Caroline was getting on with her music. The girl shook her head, and said it was difficult to make any progress without a teacher’s guiding hand.

‘I suppose you couldn’t — but no, of course I must not ask!’ she finished, with a guilty expression.

Mary pressed her to explain.

‘I was wondering if you could come and hear me play sometimes. Just now and then, you know — when Will isn’t there, of course — ’

Mary hesitated. She could never again enter Arkwright’s employment, but was there any reason why she should not visit his house as Caroline’s friend? The child had real musical talent, and it was a pity to neglect it.

In the end, she agreed, and found herself bound to an engagement for the very next morning.

As they were leaving, Mrs. Arkwright, with some evident embarrassment, pressed a package into Mary’s hand. Once they had gone, she opened it.

She found banknotes to the value of ten pounds, and a curt note from Arkwright indicating that this was six months’ salary in lieu of notice.

Her cheeks flamed. For a moment, she determined to return it all with a disdainful reply. Then she realized that she could not do this: she must give Mrs. Duckworth something for her board, and her own mother needed help, too. Besides, some of it at least had already been earned. Mature consideration decided her to keep this amount, and to give the balance to Sam Hartley’s family, whom she was visiting that afternoon.

She and Mrs. Duckworth found the cottage without difficulty, and were invited into a room crammed with children, many of them busy about simple household tasks. Mrs. Hartley seemed a sensible woman, but she was evidently in some distress at present. She explained that this was because her husband’s court martial had taken place today, and she was anxiously awaiting the result.

‘Maister Arkwright’s to bring word on his way back home, ma’am. He called in early this mornin’ afore he went, to tell me as he meant to put in a strong plea for mercy, things bein’ as they was, wi’ Sam Jack’s brother, an’ all.’

‘A plea for mercy?’ asked Mary. ‘That isn’t what we were told.’

‘There’s not many knows it; an’ I don’t mind tellin’ thee, ma’am, as it come as a surprise to me, too. My Jack won’t hear a word agin Maister Arkwright, but I’ve always reckoned ’im a ’ard man, an’ I made sure he’d stand out for Jack bein’ punished. But no — he said this mornin’ as Jack’s a loyal worker — which is no more’n t’ truth — so he meant to stand by him. Please God they’ll hearken to him, or what’ll become on us?’

This led Mary on to speak of the money. Mrs. Hartley said little, but the tears ran down her face as she accepted it. Mrs. Duckworth cautioned her to make it last, and congratulated her on Sally’s having found work.

‘Ay. ’Twas Maister Arkwright as spoke up for her there.’ said the woman, wiping her eyes.

‘He’s got a finger in most pies, seemingly,’ replied the housekeeper. ‘I hear they’re calling him Bloodhound roundabout.’

‘Ay — since t’ funeral. Poor young John Booth, ma’am — ’ she turned to Mary. ‘We were all very sorry — he was thought a deal of. But we don’t know what to mak’ on Maister Arkwright lately, an’ that’s a fact. Reckon he’s changed.’

There seemed nothing more to say, so they prepared to take their leave. As they stood at the door, they were startled by the sound of firing close at hand, and a moment later, a rider came at full gallop round the bend. He drew up at the cottage door, and slid from his sweating horse. They saw it was Arkwright.

‘Maister Arkwright! For Lord’s sake, what’s amiss?’ cried Mrs. Hartley.

‘Someone took a pot shot at me.’ Mary saw that there was blood streaming down his face. ‘Can you give me something to clean this up? Better not let your children see me in this state — I’ll go round to the pump.’

Mary had turned white, but she took the horse’s reins from him. ‘You’re hurt, sir. You’d best sit down while we see if it’s serious.’

He glanced keenly at her. ‘Nonsense — it’s only a graze, you know. Thank God he was a poor shot. I’ll see to it myself — some linen, please, Mrs. Hartley.’

A bundle of clean rag was provided, and in spite of protests he went alone to the pump at the back of the cottage.

When he returned, he had wiped the blood from his face, and wore his hat at a rakish angle to conceal his improvised bandage beneath.

‘All’s right,’ he declared. ‘At least I shan’t frighten my people out of their wits when I appear at the door.’

‘But who could have done it?’ asked Mary. ‘Will you try and find the culprit?’

‘I think not — he did his best to find me, and next time he might succeed. He’s armed — I’m not.’

He turned to Mrs. Hartley. ‘I’m sorry for the news I must bring. My plea was refused — Jack’s to be sent to the mill tomorrow morning to be flogged in punishment of his disobedience.’

The women cried out in horror, and Mrs. Hartley began to sob.

‘Don’t take on,’ he said gently, laying a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll find a way — trust me. I must go now.’

He took the reins from Mary’s hands, and swinging into the saddle, rode away.

*

When Arkwright arrived at the mill the next morning, he found a large crowd assembled. Although a public execution of the sentence had been ordered by the authorities, he had hoped that in fact few people other than the Militia, whose attendance was compulsory, would appear. He had failed to win a reprieve for the man, and must see that the sentence was carried out unless he wished to fall foul of the authorities himself. The only concession he had been able to win was that the severity of the sentence should be left to his own discretion. Not for the first time, he cursed the chance that had taken Colonel Grey to the mill on the night of the attack: without his presence there, this need never have happened.

The crowd continued to grow, until by the appointed hour it numbered several hundreds. Arkwright reflected that if riots should begin, it would not be easy to subdue them with the small force of military present. Moreover, there were no reserves, for they had been withdrawn to another part of the West Riding following the welcome peace which had fallen over the neighbourhood since the attack.

Prompt to the minute, the escort arrived with their manacled prisoner; a handful of them, in charge of a sergeant whose business it would be to carry out the flogging. They saluted Arkwright, and set about their business with military efficiency.

The crowd, which had frozen into immobility at the first appearance of the soldiers, now began to stir and murmur. Here and there, a barely perceptible signal passed round among them, and a few of their number slipped unobtrusively away. None of this was noticed by Arkwright and the military, as they were busy with the prisoner.

He was being stripped to the waist and tied to one of the gateposts. When he was ready, the sergeant stood over him and slowly raised the wicked-looking whip.

His first stroke had no bite to it: this particular man always took time to warm to his work. It fell about the prisoner’s shoulders almost as a caress.

But today he was not to be given time to get into his stride. Even as he drew back the whip to raise it for a second stroke, the order rang sharply out: ‘Stop!’

He paused, lowering the lash, a puzzled expression on his stolid face.

‘It is over,’ stated Arkwright, whose voice had shouted the command. ‘The sentence has been carried out. Release the prisoner.’

The sergeant opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, saluted smartly, and sprang to obey.

The crowd went mad. Hats were flung into the air, cheers rang out, and some started to dance and sing. Arkwright paid no heed, but went to Jack Hartley and helped him into his shirt.

‘I’d no choice, lad,’ he said. ‘It had to be done, but I’d the right to stop it when I chose.’

Hartley nodded, his face working. He could not have spoken, even had there been any chance of making himself heard in all that hullabaloo.

‘Get out of this into the mill,’ shouted Arkwright. ‘We’ll get you home after the crowd disperses.’

Hartley tried to obey, but the excited crowd pressed round him, trying to hoist him on their shoulders, in spite of his protests.

Arkwright turned away to dismiss the escort and the Militia. They went readily enough, the escort still looking as though they could not believe what had happened.

He then made one or two attempts to dismiss the crowd; but it was in high holiday spirits, and at last he gave up, pushing his way through in the direction of the mill door.

He had almost reached it when he felt a sharp tug on his sleeve, and turning, saw Nick Bradley trying to come close enough to him for speech. The overseer’s face was full of alarm.

‘Maister Will! Some on em’s gone to t’ house, to break in!’

Arkwright seized him roughly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve just heard tell — there’s some left here afore t’ flogging began — they don’t know tha stopped it, an’ they mean to avenge Jack! For God’s sake, mak’ haste! There’s Miss Caro an — ’

‘Come on!’

Side by side they fought their way ruthlessly through the crowd until they managed to win clear. They began to race along the path that led to the house.

The noise of the crowd gradually receded; as it did, other more ominous noises reached their ears. Shouts and jeers floated across the distance; as Arkwright made a last, desperate spurt and burst through the shrubbery, there was a sudden crash of breaking glass.

He paused for a second only as he reached the drive, surveying the scene. The attackers numbered about a score. Most of them were battering on the door of the house with sticks and other handy implements. They kept up a constant stream of abuse which was answered freely by the domestics from within. Arkwright identified easily the strident, defiant tones of Nellie’s voice.