The Rope Carrier (2 page)

“Leave be, the pair of you, and get yourselves sorted out, or we'll all be feeling the flat of Mother's hand.” Netty punched at them both, but it didn't hurt. Netty's punches never hurt.

Both Minnie's sisters were strong, well-built girls, plump in all the right places. It was all the fashion to be fat like that and Minnie hated them for it. Netty was sixteen, and she was kind. Sally was fourteen, and she wasn't. Minnie was nine years old, skinny, and small for her age, but she was strong too, in her own determined, wiry way.

Netty grabbed Sally by the arm and pulled her through the door hole, holding aside the woven curtain that served as a door.

“Shape thee'sen, Sally. Mother'll be mad if we aren't on the ropewalk ready for the light.”

Minnie crept back into the bed, pulling the blanket over her head, trying to sleep again, but suddenly Annie's voice was calling out, “Minnie, Minnie. Are you up, my darling?”

Then came the rattle of the wooden bowls being set out on the window-sill. Minnie dragged herself to the edge of the mattress and began pulling her woollen bedgown on over her petticoat and fastening her apron over the top to keep it fixed. She grumbled and growled to herself at the stupidity of calling it a bedgown when it was what you put on to go out in, and at the dreadful unfairness of having to be up in the morning when you'd been working at night while others were sleeping.

“Minnie, Minnie. Are you up, child?”

Minnie sighed, and reached for her cloak. She wrapped it tight round her shoulders and fastened it at the front.

“Minnie, Minnie. Fetch the water will you, child, and some more sticks for the fire. Come on, my lass, there'll be no porridge for anyone until you've done.”

Minnie emerged yawning from behind the curtain and went to lift the earthenware pitcher.

“Some folks were up late last night. Some folks were working while others slept. Some folk might be weary.”

Her mother smiled as she shoved the spinning wheel out in front of the cottage and turned to fetch her stool.

“Ah, well, some might I daresay, but not my Minnie, not my darling girl.”

“Huh!” Minnie hunched her shoulders and carried the pitcher down the path between the cottages, past the ropewalks to the river. She lowered the pitcher into the water that ran fast and clear and ice-cold through the cave. As she turned back and climbed up through the ropewalks and then past the cottages, there was noise and busyness on both sides. Fires were stoked and the clatter of pans rang out. Soot and smoke puthered out of chimneys, up towards the roof of the cavern, as long fingers of grey light came creeping inside from the round eye of the entrance.

Her sisters were already starting their work on the top Dakin terrace. Netty had fastened a twist of hemp to one of the hooks on the spinning wheel, and she was beginning the long backwards walk, pulling out the hemp from the bundle that she'd fastened around her waist. She had to stop and shout at Sally to get her to pay attention and turn the wheel steady, instead of flashing her eyes and calling out to the Whittingham lads who were beginning their work two terraces below.

Minnie thumped the pitcher down beside Annie's cooking pot.

“Whoops, sorry,” she muttered as the water slopped over the top.

“I'll give you sorry,” Annie grinned, threatening to clout her ears. “Now off you go and fetch me fresh sticks to set in the stack to dry. A great armful I want to see. Arms so full they're breaking. Off with you.”

Minnie blinked and yawned when the bright morning light hit her face as she emerged from the cave and onto the pathway, with the fast river running along beside it. She put up her hand, shading her eyes as she turned to look along the steep sides of the ravine and up at the ruined castle perched high on the top, as she did every morning.

“Yah,” she yelled, startling and scattering the rooks who nested on the trees that grew out sideways from the steep rockside. Then, giggling at their fright, she set off to cross the small bridge into Castleton village and climb up the wooded hillside where the best small firewood sticks could be found.

When Minnie returned, so laden with sticks that they would keep dropping, she found a young man in good clothes standing at the end of the pathway, looking up at the great archway that led into the cave.

Minnie had seen others standing there before, with the same expression on their faces. The man stared up at the great opening with dread and suspicion. Tall wooden posts stood in front of the cave. Small crossbars and supports were nailed over the tops, giving the posts the look of spindly gibbets. Gibbets for cats, they'd have to be.

“Stretching posts they are,” Minnie told him. “See the ropes slung over them weighted with those stones? Gives our ropes a good stretch that does. Our ropes will last for ever, so my father says.”

“Ah.” The young man nodded his understanding and stood back to let Minnie pass.

Rich visitors often came to wonder at the marvels of the cave. Sometimes they spoke in loud disgusted voices, calling the cottages, “hovels” and passing rude remarks about the rope makers' living conditions. Annie was always quick to reply that they'd fresh air, clean water, plenty of space and the constant plodding exercise of the ropewalks. She'd tell how the Whittinghams and the Dakins and the Marrisons all had folk who'd lived to be very old, and never stopped work till the day they died.

“In this cave,” Annie would say, “if you live to be five, you'll live for ever.”

The young man touched Minnie's arm as she passed him. “Er, can you help me, missy? I'm looking for a guide.”

“Oh, aye. My sisters can do that.”

“Your sisters?”

“Yes, sir. Grand guides my sisters are. You come inside and speak to my father.”

The man hesitated for a moment, then followed her. He touched her arm again.

“Here, let me carry tha sticks.”

Minnie smiled and looked at him again. “You'll get your fine clothes all messed up.”

“Not my clothes,” he said, “my master's clothes, though I wear them. Only mine until next hiring fair.”

He hesitated again, then stopped. The fear had come back into his eyes. “'Tis not for me this guide I'm after, 'tis for my master. I would not wish to enter such a God-forsaken hole as this.”

Minnie laughed, somehow feeling cheeky and confident with this ignorant young man. “Come on. Come a little further. There now, look.”

The man moved forward, then stopped again. His mouth dropped open as he saw the cottages and the ropewalks, and little Maud Whittingham come charging along with the pig that they shared with the Dakin family. Minnie's sisters were well into their work now, moving faster to warm themselves.

“See,” said Minnie. “There's nowt to be afraid of.”

“Why, 'tis like a little underground town.”

“Aye, that it is. That's Dame Whittingham's, she brews fine ale and runs the inn. And that's Marcus the weaver, just setting up his loom. We have all we need in here, and a lot more besides. Tell me your name, sir, and I'll fetch my father to you.” She winked and smiled the way she'd seen Netty and Sally do, for she liked the look of him.

“Josh, Joshua Eyre.”

“Ah well, Mr Joshua Eyre, will you please follow me, and stop that peeking at my sisters.”

She thumbed her nose at him and led the way to their cottage, shouting to her father to come and see the gentleman, giggling at his embarrassment, forgetting completely that she'd heard the devil's laughter in the night.

JOHN DAKIN STUCK
his head out from behind the curtain that covered the cottage doorway. He guessed the purpose of this young man's visit and reappeared pulling on his woollen waistcoat.

“'Tis a guide you're looking for?”

“Aye, for my master, Dr Frazer, from Sheffield.”

“Well? When does your master wish to visit?”

The young man seemed not to hear.

“Oh . . . I beg pardon, sir. What did you say?”

Minnie clapped her hand to her mouth to cover her giggles, for it was clear that the man could not take his eyes from the ropewalk where Netty made her return journey, round strong hips swaying in a steady walking rhythm, holding the rope yarn at tension, while Sally talked ten to the dozen to Ben Whittingham as she wound the rope onto the reel.

John Dakin smiled, and repeated his question. He was used to the distracted looks of those who stepped inside the cave for the first time.

“Pardon, sir. Dr Frazer wishes to visit the cave today if that's convenient to thee. He's staying at the Castle Inn, but he must return to Sheffield tomorrow.”

The arrangements were made and the young man strode out into the bright daylight again, giving many a surprised and puzzled glance back behind him. Minnie was sent to help her mother dish out the porridge.

“Did he ask for singers?” Mrs Dakin demanded.

Minnie pulled a face. “He did not.”

“Never you mind with your sour face, my lass. Singers is what he'll get, or rather, one sweet angel singer is what he'll get, and that will be my little Minnie, for I can't spare Sally as well as Netty. Now call them in to sup, then set yourself to carding that basket of hemp and practise your warbling, my love. If he pays well there may be a farthing coming to my Minnie.”

Minnie wrinkled up her nose but she knew better than to disobey her mother, so she called in the girls. Then, pulling her cloak tight around her, she lowered herself down onto a tuffet of rotting straw that was heaped beside the basket of raw hemp. She picked up the carding comb and worked away fast, trying to get herself warm. She sang out loud and raucous,

Her mother stuck her head out of the window hole. “Like an angel. Like an
angel
, I said.”

Minnie stopped for a moment, comb in the air, then began,

The young man returned with his master, a fat-bellied man dressed in a black frock-coat with a high collar and expensive pearl buttons that only just fastened around him; they looked as though they might pop at any moment. His legs were skinny sticks, and Minnie wondered how they could manage to hold up his great round body. The fashionable shoes that enclosed his small feet were the buckled type, dainty as any lady's, and altogether unsuitable for exploring the deep tunnels. The Dakin family stared down at such fine footwear, but nothing was said.

“This is my daughter, Netty,” said Mr Dakin. “I'd take you myself, but there's some rope needed urgent for one of the mines and I must get it finished. Our Netty is as good a guide as any you'll find.”

Dr Frazer looked surprised, but grunted his approval as Netty dropped him a curtsey and turned to lead the way down to the river that ran through the cave.

“There's only one way through to the great cave, sir, and that's along the river. You must get into the boat, sir, and you must lie down on your back, if you please. Fetch the candles, Minnie.”

When Minnie returned with the lighted candles, she found the gentleman lying in the straw in the bottom of the boat, his mountainous stomach almost touching the roof of the tunnel. His shaved head bare, he clutched his powdered wig across his chest. Terror showed on his face.

“Is there no other way but this?”

“There's no other way, sir,” Netty replied. “None but a low rocky tunnel, only fit for a child to crawl through, full of rubble
and stones, and I fear, sir, you would never get your . . . never get through without ruining your fine coat.”