The Rope Carrier (5 page)

“Watch thyself, young Charlie,” she shouted. “Keep your eyes on the wheel. How else can tha see what tha's up to?”

But Charlie could only stare past her at the pack-horseman, who'd never before left his mules behind at the Castle Inn and come right into the cave. Minnie turned around and jumped, not so much at the surprise of seeing him there as at the miserable look on his face.

“What is it? Is it our Netty?”

“It's thy father I should speak to, lass.”

“Father,” Minnie yelled, dropping the horsehair polisher.

“Charlie, run quick and fetch him. Oh no, she's never dead is she, like our Sarah?”

“No, she's not dead, but she's with child again, and she's sick.”

John Dakin came leaping down the terraced ropewalks.

“Your Netty is ailing, I fear,” said Chapman, “and the family
is in distress. Josh came up to see me and he begs that you will send young Minnie to help them out. The whole family is hard-pressed to make ends meet. The mester is dying, and the old woman has all she can do to nurse her husband and Netty, and feed the three little ones. Josh says he dare not stop his work for they've all got to eat. He says that Netty insists she can work, but she's not fit to be out of her bed and he thinks that she'll lose the little one and harm herself if they cannot find help.”

“I'll go, Father. I'll be glad to go.” Minnie's heart lifted at the thought of it, even though she knew she'd have to work. “Chapman will take me, won't thee?”

“In four days I'll be back,” said Chapman, “and setting off for Sheffield again. I'd take good care of her and see her safe to their cottage – if you can let her go, that is.”

John Dakin shook his head.

“Her mother will not have it.”

Annie refused at first.

“Not Minnie, not my Minnie. Not Grandma's special girl who's learnt the secret knots.”

But Minnie herself was determined. This was her chance. She'd see the world beyond her own valley.

“It cannot be Sally. She's already growing big with her first child, and it's taken her long enough. It must be me. I will not have our Netty die like Sarah did.”

Annie stood silent and miserable, but at last she nodded, unhappy, but seeing that there was no choice.

The next three days were spent in preparation. Annie packed up soft sheep's wool blankets for the children, and into a pouch she crumbled dried burdock, comfrey and angelica, the strengthening herbs which Minnie could use to make healing possets for Netty and the old man.

It was only when the evening came and all her parcels were
ready that Minnie was suddenly overwhelmed by fright and loneliness at the thought that she was leaving her cave. She crept down the ropewalks by herself and sat still and silent, close to the edge of the river. Just once, just once more before she went, she wanted to go through the tunnel into the huge darkness of the inner cavern. Just once more she wished to hear that strange pattering music from the constant sprinkle of water that fell in Roger Rain's House. She took the tallow candles, steel and flint from the cottage and then, without telling anyone, she unfastened the boat tub and stepped in, wobbling a little, and lowered herself into the straw at the bottom. She steadied one lighted candle on her chest while she pressed her other hand up on to the roof of the tunnel and nudged the tub along.

The scraping sound and shuddering of the tub told her that she'd got through, and she climbed out at the other end onto the gravelly beach. Feeling for the sloping cave side, she climbed until she found a small ledge, where she put down the tallow and left it burning while she stood back. It gave very little light in the great vast darkness of the cave, but gradually her eyes picked out the well-known shapes of the rocks and her ears accustomed themselves to the delicate music of Roger Rain's House.

Minnie caught her breath as she heard splashing from inside the tunnel and saw the glimmer of another candle reflected on the glistening rock walls. The dark water swirled white from the tunnel and her mother's anxious face appeared, her gown soaked to the waist. When she saw her daughter and her stillness as she crouched beneath the faint light, she stopped. She watched her without speaking. Neither of them knew for how long.

It was Minnie who suddenly shivered and broke the silence.

“I'm going to miss my cave,” she said. “I'd got so used to it that I never stopped to wonder before. I never got to see what a marvel it is. What is our cave? Where does it go to? Why do the gypsies think it so special and come so regular every Christmas?”

Annie went over to her and held her hand. She shook her head.

“Aye, it is a mystery indeed, my girl, and I cannot give thee a clear answer. All I know is that Queenie's gypsy gang have been a'coming here for their Christmases more years than anyone can recall. They'll tell you stories till kingdom come about Old Nick and the robbers, but Queenie says as it's the shepherd boy that got it right.

“The shepherd boy?” That's always been my favourite story.”

“Don't we know it. We wore ourselves out with telling it to thee, when tha were a little 'un. But not Marcus, he always had the patience to tell it thee over and over again. Well then? What
did the shepherd boy find in the cave?”

“Lovely fields of corn, and reapers gathering it in. Ah, yes: a blessing on the land.”

“Now you've got it. It's an old belief. A visit to our cave brings rain and sun, and golden corn. A blessing on the land. I have got my own blessing to ask for today. Well, we've come a-visiting, haven't we, you and me? Now let me think, how shall I say it? Ah yes, I've got it.”

Minnie pushed her arm through her mother's, smiling at her, waiting to hear what she'd say.

They both laughed at the last line, but their laughter echoed strangely around the cave and the deep tunnels. Minnie shivered.

“Oh, Mam, I need that blessing, for though I want to go, suddenly now, I'm feared.”

“Ah, my Minnie, you have naught to fear. You have the blessing of the cave on you, and don't forget that you have your grandmother's special blessing. You'll be back, my girl.”

“Oh, yes,” Minnie whispered. “I'll be back, Mam.”

They stood together for a moment more, then Minnie shook herself and became aware of her mother's dripping skirt.

“I've never known you to get your dress wet before. Not without reason.”

Annie laughed. “Reason enough, when my Minnie is going far away. But get yourself back all dry, my lady. I can't be sorting out your soaked petticoats before daybreak. I shall have to wear my Sunday best now, to see my daughter on her way to Sheffield.”

A CHILLY WIND
blew down from Mam Tor as the first signs of daybreak lifted the darkness and the mules gathered, clattering their hooves and snorting, outside the Castle Inn.

Annie fussed about the cold and insisted that Minnie should have her best woollen shawl. Minnie herself was hot with the excitement of it, though she wrapped the shawl around her and promised to pass it on to Netty when she got to Sheffield.

“Little lass can ride up at the front on Chalky, if she likes, so long as she can stand the jingling of his bells,” said Chapman. “Steady as you like is Chalky.”

Her father laughed as he threw her up to perch in front of the packs of wool that Chapman was carrying on to Sheffield from Manchester.

So Minnie rode out of Castleton at the front of the pack-horse train, feeling like a fine lady indeed, leading twenty mules loaded with panniers and baggage, with the bells on Chalky's collar jingling in her ears; leaving with scarcely a glance at the mother mountain, or the church tower where there'd soon be a new garland hanging, waving till she'd disappeared from sight. Her stomach pulled tight with pleasure as she got used to the steady lurching rhythm of the mule and her eyes were bright on
the road ahead as they clattered along towards the village of Hope, which she knew well from market days. They crossed the River Derwent then went on to Hathersage, where Chapman brought her a mug of ale and bread and cheese from the inn. He and his lad then set about feeding the mules. They laughed at the stiff-legged walk that was all Minnie could manage when she'd bumped down from Chalky's back.

“Aye, tha's not used to it, lass, and tha's bound to feel it at first. It might be best if tha walks a bit now, for we've a steep pull up the hillside before we get to Ringinglow and the mules will have all on to get themselves and baggage up the slope.”

So, when the mules were once again muzzled and moving, Minnie set off walking beside Chalky's jingling harness, enjoying the blood racing around her body again with the stretching of her legs and the swinging of her arms.

They slowed as the hillside became more mountainous, and Minnie struggled to keep up with Chalky. The mules snorted and brayed, flicking their ears in protest and rolling their eyes. Despite their complaining, though, they followed Chalky's lead doggedly, while Chapman shouted at them from the back to get a move on. The climb became sharper, and Minnie was worn out. The mountainside began to feel threatening. There were few trees up on the higher ground and only heather and shale under foot, but the view was blocked in all directions by huge, strange-shaped rocks and boulders. Grand places for robbers to hide behind, thought Minnie. They could climb up easy onto those ledges and hide in the crevices, ready to jump down onto poor, weary travellers and threaten their lives.

A cold wind that carried a spitting of rain blew straight into their faces and the sky grew dark with grey clouds. Minnie walked close to Chalky's steaming side, wishing that she'd never left her home.

“Is tha feared, lass?” Chapman came up close behind her. “Take hold of that rope that's tied to his bridle, and Chalky
shall pull thee as well as his load.”

Minnie caught up the rope in her hands and clung to it, the familiar feel of it bringing comfort.

“Is this my father's rope, then?”

“It is that. And all the packthread that's on these loads. Who else's rope could I rely on but John Dakin's?”

So, stumbling and hopping to the side to avoid the clopping hooves, Minnie reached the end of the steep climb, grateful to Chalky for the extra pull. Once they were over the brink of the hill the sun came out, and the mules picked up speed. The land was still bare and rocky but flatter. The path ran on towards a bridge crossing a small brook in the distance.

“Upper Burbage bridge, then through White Moss. Ringinglow's not far now,” Chapman said, pointing ahead.

Minnie, still clutching onto the bridle rope, felt suddenly cheered. Her excitement returned and with it came new energy. Carry a rope and walk for ever. Wasn't that what her grandmother had said? It wasn't wrong to leave the cave after all. There was the rope in her hands, and she knew that she could walk forever. It was right, this travelling to Sheffield. It was meant to be.

“Tha can ride ag'in now, little lass,” Chapman called.

“Nay,” Minnie smiled at him. “I can walk.”

“The bounty of nature on Sheffield town smiles,

Yet could other trades work if we did not make files?”

Alexander Stephens, late eighteenth century.

THEY COULD HEAR
and see the wide turnpike road at Ringinglow long before they reached it. It was busy with traffic. Minnie had never seen a road like it. A fast four-in-hand went sweeping past, showering the slow-moving carts and wagons with dust. There was the jingling and braying of other pack-horse trains, and the shouting of the jaggers. Solitary chapmen with one or two tough skinny ponies ambled along, heavy laden.