The Master of Liversedge (7 page)

She did not have long to ponder the matter, for at that moment Nellie appeared to say her master was wanted.

‘Who is it?’ asked Arkwright, frowning.

‘Some o’ t’ lads from t’ mill,’ answered Nellie, awkwardly.

‘The mill, do you say?’ He came quickly to his feet. ‘Nothing wrong, is there?’

‘Nay, don’t tak’ on — it’s nowt like that,’ said Nellie, hastening to reassure him. ‘They just want a word wi’ thee, that’s all.’

‘Indeed.’ He sat down again, his face stiff. ‘Tell them I shall be there as usual in the morning. Anything they may have to say will keep until then — I am occupied at present.’

He nodded in dismissal, but she still lingered.

‘I’ve told ’em so, already, but they’ll not tak’ no for an answer. Young John Booth’s with them, and he insists — ’

This time, Arkwright stood up so abruptly that he nearly knocked his chair over.

‘Insists? John Booth, eh? We’ll see about that.’

He strode purposefully from the room.

Mary looked after him, a wave of apprehension sweeping over her. She had realized last night how little chance the proposed deputation had of succeeding in its object; but it could scarcely have picked a worse time for calling on Arkwright than when he was enjoying the company of a fascinating visitor. She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap, and could take no further part in the conversation which was going on around her.

Meanwhile, William Arkwright found the deputation awaiting him in the hall, where Nellie had marshalled them, after a great scolding and enforced wiping of boots. All but John Booth looked hangdog, and even he was plainly ill at ease.

Arkwright swept them with a contemptuous glance and wasted no words.

‘Well, what is the meaning of this intrusion?’

For a moment, it looked as though he was to receive no answer and then John Booth spoke.

‘We are sorry to interrupt your day of rest,’ he began, in a propitiatory tone. ‘But we have something to ask which cannot w-wait for — for — a more suitable t-time.’ His stutter started as he saw the frown deepen on Arkwright’s brow, but he stuck to his guns. ‘Yesterday, you turned Sam Hartley off — a man who’s served you f-faithfully for — for — many years, and who has a f-family of young children to — to — support — ’

Arkwright cut him short ruthlessly.

‘May I ask how this concerns you, Booth?’

It was Jack Hartley who answered that. ‘Nay, Maister, ’t were our notion to ask t’ lad to speak for us. ’E didn’t want to do it, neither — it’s only goodness of heart on ’is part.’

‘He would do better to cultivate goodness of judgment,’ replied Arkwright, dryly. ‘And that’s true of all of you. Take your grumbles to Nick Bradley — he’ll know how to answer them. There is no shortage of labour hereabouts, let me remind you.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘That’s all. I don’t want to see you here again. The mill is one place — my house is quite another. Is that understood?’

He looked round grimly. For a moment, the men were overawed into silence. Again John Booth spoke up for them, his face pale, but determined.

‘No.’ His mouth worked. ‘No. Mr. Arkwright, it’s not all — Bradley is under y-your orders — he can do nothing in this. It is your responsibility — yours. Where else’ — he struggled painfully for the words — ‘where else can they go to get their wrongs redressed — ’

‘I’ll hear no more of this.’ Arkwright strode to the door, and flung it wide. ‘Do you think to question what I see fit to do in my own mill? That sounds like Luddite opinions to me, and I warn you once for all that I’ll make war to the death on all Luddites.’ He pointed towards the open door. ‘Any man who is not outside this house within the next minute, will find that he, too, is without work tomorrow.’

One or two of them muttered mutinously at this, but there was nothing to be done: there were wives and families at home to be thought of. They began to slink out one by one, avoiding their employer’s scornful eye. Eventually they all stood outside the house, a forlorn little group shivering in the cold wind which swept across the drive.

Only John still remained in the hall, his face working with emotion, but his attitude one of defiance. Arkwright turned on him.

‘Well, Booth. Do you go of your own accord, or do I put you out? The choice is yours!’

John glanced wretchedly from Arkwright’s stern countenance to the dejected faces of the group outside. Jack Hartley raised his head, his eyes meeting John’s in a desperate appeal. Courageously, the boy braced himself to answer it.

‘No, sir.’ His voice took on the note of hysteria which it often held in times of crisis. Sitting in the parlour, her hands gripped tightly together, Mary could hear every word that followed. ‘No — listen to me — ’

‘NO?’ repeated Arkwright, his teeth coming together with a snap. ‘Then by God, I’ll throw you out neck and crop, puppy!’

He advanced upon John menacingly; the boy retreated a little, words spilling incoherently from his twitching mouth.

‘You must listen t-to me — s-sir — Sam Hartley — he c-can’t find another j-job in — in these p-parts — he — he’ll s-starve — his f-family — ’

But Arkwright seized him by the scruff of the neck, and began to propel him towards the open door.

‘Stop!’

The mill-owner halted in surprise, and turned his head. Mary Lister was standing in the hall, the parlour door closed firmly behind her. She came forward quickly.

‘What is happening, Mr. Arkwright? My cousin — why are you treating him in this way?’

‘If you must know, ma’am,’ he replied grimly, ‘I’m teaching him to mind his own business. Kindly leave me to finish the lesson.’

She faced him defiantly though her lips were trembling a little. ‘I have no intention of going,’ she said, as firmly as she was able. ‘Whatever John has done, surely it can all be settled in a civilized manner?’

‘In a — ’ he stopped, astonishment momentarily robbing him of words.

‘I wonder, ma’am,’ he continued, menacingly, ‘if you can have sufficiently considered the possible consequences of answering me in that fashion?’

He released John, and shut the front door with a slam. He had no desire of an audience to this scene. When he turned to face Mary again, he saw that her face was pale, though she held her head high.

‘All I can consider, Mr. Arkwright,’ she replied, in a low voice, ‘is that my cousin is being handled roughly. I cannot stand by and see it — how can you expect that I should?’

He grunted, frowning heavily. ‘Your cousin is a young fool, and like to land himself in serious trouble if he continues in the way he’s going at present. If you’ve any real regard for his welfare, Miss Lister, you’d do well to dissuade him from embroiling himself in affairs that are no concern of his. Mark that well, both of you, for I shan’t give him another chance.’

He turned on his heel, and left them standing there in the hall.

EIGHT: THE STIGMA OF TRADE

Long afterwards, Mary was to look back on those early weeks of March as the calm before the breaking of a storm. At the time, she could only feel thankful that her life had settled into a more normal, peaceable pattern.

John did not mention the unsuccessful deputation again, although she sensed his disappointment and feeling of personal failure. Wisely, she refrained from forcing his confidence about George Mellor’s presence in the churchyard that day: he would turn to her more readily in need, if in the meantime she did not pester him with unwelcome questions.

Mr. Arkwright likewise made no further reference to the affair. He and Mary were seldom in the house at the same time; during the day he was greatly occupied over at the mill and it was usual for Mary to return to the Vicarage in the late afternoon.

There were occasions, however, when he would walk into the house unexpectedly; and on one of these, he went up to the schoolroom.

Mary and Caroline were sitting together by the fire, Caroline reading aloud from a book in her hand. She looked up as he entered the room, and threw aside the book with scant ceremony.

He frowned. ‘That’s no way to treat a book, miss.’

‘I’m sorry, Will.’ She picked up the book again, inspecting it. ‘Still, no harm has been done, as you see.’

‘No thanks to you,’ he retorted, stretching out his hand. ‘Let me have it.’

She gave him the volume, which he scrutinized for a moment before passing it back to her.

‘Hm. Poetry, I see. What has become of that book which you were reading with the M — with Miss Mercer?’

She pulled a face. ‘Oh, you mean Mentoria, or the Young Ladies’ Instructor? I don’t know for certain, but I only hope the Mouse took it with her. It was the most dreary thing! Only think, Will, how you would like to read long conversations between two of the most stuck-up females you could ever imagine on such subjects as Politeness, or The Use of Grammar!’

‘It’s very necessary for you to have a knowledge of those subjects.’

‘Oh, yes, but Miss Lister has a much better way of teaching them to me! She does it without my knowing — at least — ’

She paused, crestfallen, as they both began to laugh. For a moment, she eyed them resentfully before breaking into laughter herself.

‘Oh, well, you know what I mean! We have cosy little chats about journeying through different counties, for instance; and I know that I am learning a good deal about the geography of England, but I don’t mind that, for it’s all so much fun!’

‘Hm!’ His expression sobered, and he glanced at Mary in a way she could not interpret. ‘So Miss Lister has methods of her own, has she? Let us put them to the test. Suppose you read to me from where you left off when I arrived?’

Caroline picked up the book, and found her place. She waited until he had settled himself in a chair before she began to read. He stared thoughtfully into the fire, listening to the sweet tones of the immature voice.

*

‘And was Jerusalem builded here

Among these dark Satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold,

Bring me my arrows of desire,

Bring me my spear, O clouds, unfold!

Bring me my chariot of fire.

I will not cease from mental fight,

Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,

Till we have built Jerusalem

In England’s green and pleasant land.’

*

He stopped her with a gesture of his hand. ‘That will do. You read very well, child, but have you any notion what it means?’

‘I think so,’ Caroline looked at her governess for confidence; Mary gave a slight nod of encouragement. ‘I think it means that the poet wants to make a beautiful place of England, just as it was meant to be.’ She paused, frowning a little in concentration. ‘But I don’t think he means only the look of the countryside, somehow’ She paused, searching for words.

‘He means people’s thoughts — and — and aspirations, too — ’

He nodded. ‘I dare say you’re right. I’m not a poetical man, myself. Run along to your Mama for a while, Caro. I wish to speak to Miss Lister.’

She hesitated. ‘You’re not — vexed, Will?’

He gave her a direct glance. ‘I shall be, if you don’t do what you are told. Off with you, now.’

She obeyed, with a backward glance at Mary.

‘What do you make of her?’ he asked, when the door had shut.

‘She’s an excellent pupil,’ replied Mary, warmly. ‘Lively, original and intelligent. Her only fault is a tendency to impetuosity — sometimes it leads her into careless mistakes. But that is rare,’ she added, hastily.

‘Mm.’ He tapped his fingers on the small table which stood close to his chair. ‘These methods of yours — they are somewhat unusual, I think. Where did you learn them?’

Mary considered for a moment before replying. ‘At home, I believe, with my own brothers and sisters. I found they were eager to learn, if only I could arouse their interest; and the simplest method was to weave all the facts into some kind of story that they could understand.’

‘Instruction without tears,’ he said, with a sardonic smile., ‘But I think you’ll agree, Miss Lister, that a child’s character must be trained, as well as its mind. If everything is to be made so pleasant, how will a child learn to face the oftentimes harsh realities of life? My chief concern for Caroline is that she shall become the kind of female who will one day make a good, dutiful wife.’

‘I cannot believe that pleasant instruction will prevent this,’ replied Mary, smiling. ‘She has a loving heart, and that will be her surest guide to her duty.’

‘Not at all.’ His tone was brusque. ‘Duty and love have little to do with one another. I should know that.’ He paused, staring into the fire. ‘Eight years ago, I did my duty by choosing to come here, and run my father’s mill. Had I consulted my feelings in the matter, I should have remained in the Army.’

‘But it was affection for your family that dictated your choice,’ protested Mary.

He shook his head. ‘No. I scarcely knew my stepmother and Caroline. I suppose that sounds odd to you, but I had been away for so long — first at school, then with my regiment in various counties. My family were almost strangers to me.’

‘Whatever you felt once, you would not go back now,’ said Mary, gently. ‘I have noticed — I could scarcely fail to do so — how fond you are of Caroline.’

He laughed shortly. ‘Yes, love is a kind of blackmail, isn’t it? But, in any case, there is no going back — that’s one of life’s little tricks, Miss Lister. One can’t have yesterday — ’

He broke off, brooding. She was silent, realizing that he was mentally reviewing the past, and had almost forgotten her presence.

‘I wouldn’t go back, if I could.’ The quiet words were tinged with bitterness. ‘I see now that I would always have remained something of an outsider. Oh, yes, I was popular enough — but there were the vague hints, the small but significant occurrences — the kind of thing that crops up when the Greys are here. At present, I can be useful in that quarter, therefore I’m being tolerated; but I’ve been warned not to get above myself.’ The bitterness was sharper now, so that the silent governess wondered how deep a hurt it revealed. ‘It was the same in the past — at school. Except that schoolboys don’t favour vague hints. But I was like Caroline in those days, ready to trust, to laugh, and to forget injuries. And I was young, of course — young enough to believe that a man could be accepted for himself, regardless of his parentage.’

Mary was startled into speech. ‘Parentage? But surely — ’

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. He seemed to have forgotten that he was talking to one of his employees, a female to whom he paid a pittance of twenty pounds a year.

‘Ay, parentage. Oh, nothing shocking, I assure you — at least, not to our way of thinking. But to gentlefolk, what can be more of a stigma than any connection with trade?’

A quick vision flashed across her mind’s eye of the schoolboy that he had once been, with Caroline’s dark curls and laughing face, and the bright eyes that looked eagerly out on the world. She heard in fancy the taunts he had suffered until he had learnt to check his homely Northern accent and avoid all mention of his father’s mill. He might have suffered greatly, that boy, under the subtle tortures that schoolboys know only too well how to inflict on each other. Was this dark visaged, grim man who stood before her now the natural outcome of all that had gone before?

He rose abruptly, and began to pace the room in a way she was coming to recognize. It was as though he tried to keep pace with his thronging, urgent thoughts.

‘One day they’ll have to accept us,’ he said, his eyes kindling. ‘This is no longer a country given over solely to agriculture: and the possession of land which has been handed down from generations back will — in time — count for less than it has done in the past. The manufactories are fast becoming the country’s life-blood, and we — the men who manage them — must eventually achieve social recognition.’

He broke off, pausing in his stride: his eyes held a far-off look.

‘What matters is that I should make a success of the mill,’ he muttered. ‘I cannot — must not — fail. Nothing must stand in the way — ’

She understood. The schoolboy had given place to the man, but still William Arkwright strove to prove himself. She turned her head away, ashamed to have penetrated so far into his hidden consciousness, a deep compassion stirring within her.

Suddenly he turned, fixing her with a look of full awareness and slight dismay.

‘Why the devil am I talking to you like this? You must think me mad.’

She shook her head. ‘Not mad — lonely, perhaps?’

‘Lonely, indeed. There has been no one — ’

He broke off, and gave a short bitter laugh. When he spoke again, his voice had changed.

‘I see you’re a dangerous woman. Miss Lister — unwittingly, you lead people on to confide in you. I shall have to be on my guard.’

Before she could answer, he strode from the room.

Throughout the rest of the day, Mary was unable to shake off the effect of this extraordinary conversation. She found herself returning to it again and again in the intervals between her lessons with Caroline. It was almost a relief to be able to ponder over it at leisure during the solitude of her short walk home through the gathering dusk.

Arrived at the Vicarage, she removed her outdoor clothes and went in search of the housekeeper. A fragrant smell of baking led her to the kitchen. Mrs. Duckworth, sleeves rolled up to her rounded elbows, was just placing a large pie on a shelf in the oven, which shone like polished ebony. A diminutive urchin was standing meekly beside the white-scrubbed table, his whole being in his round eyes as he stared hungrily at the trays of pies and tarts which had been set out to cool.

Mrs. Duckworth finished her task, shut the oven door, and turned to greet Mary. Then she took a fair-sized meat pie from one of the trays, put it on a plate, and set it before the boy.

‘There, lad! Get outside o’ that.’

He gabbled his thanks, seizing the pie in both hands and cramming it into his mouth as though the very process of eating took too long for the demands of his ravening appetite. But after a moment, he forced his hands to set it down again on the plate, while he groped for something in his pocket.

‘What’s up?’ queried the housekeeper. ‘Bain’t it to tha liking?’

He shook his tousled head vigorously, and produced a very dirty red kerchief.

‘It’s champion!’ he replied, earnestly. ‘Reight champion, thank ’ee, ma’am! But’ he hesitated — ‘there’s t’ others. Reckon I’ve had my share.’

She put out a plump, capable hand just in time to prevent him from wrapping the remainder of the pie in his handkerchief.

‘Nay, lad! There’s no occasion for that. Eat up, do. I’ve these for t’ rest of t’ family.’

She indicated the contents of one large tray.

His eyes goggled, but his mouth was too full of pie for speech to be possible. Mary looked inquiringly at the housekeeper.

‘It’s Sam Hartley’s eldest lad,’ explained Mrs. Duckworth. ‘Works at a mill over in Huddersfield — he’s just got back from work. I asked him to call in on his way home, for Sam’s that independent, I daren’t put my nose in t’ cottage with any food. T’ lad will find a way to sneak it in, somehow, without his father finding out. But them poor brats are clemmed, leave alone Bess, who’ll be brought to bed wi’ another any day, now. Sam can get nowt, though he’s tramped all over, asking for work. He’s been out a fortnight, now, think on, Miss Mary. Things are bad there — very bad.’

She shook her head, and began to parcel up the food for the boy. Mary studied him; he was not an attractive child, but she did not notice this. What she did see was the pallor of his face, accentuated by the effect of a pair of large eyes which were dark-ringed with weariness; and the frail body to which too little nourishment was offered in return for too much effort.

‘How old is he?’ she asked, unsteadily.

‘Eleven, I think,’ replied Mrs. Duckworth, expertly tying her parcel. ‘He don’t earn much, of course, but it’s all they’ve got coming in.’