Pauper's Gold (24 page)

‘Inmates? Is that what they called you?’

Hannah smiled. ‘Mm, but it wasn’t so bad in a lot of ways. If you were young and strong and could work, you were all right.’ Her face clouded. ‘But if you were ill or
old, it must’ve been terrible to think that you were going to spend the rest of your days in there.’

‘Bit like the mill, then?’ Ted was referring to the Critchlows’ mill – the only one he knew. ‘That’s what they all say about the mill. Once you get in there,
there’s no way out.’ He was silent for a moment, before he said seriously, ‘I do know how lucky I am that me uncle’s given me a job. And he’s promised me the farm.
He’s got no kids of his own, you see, and auntie’s no family to speak of. I think she had a brother but he lives down south and they’ve lost touch. Sad, that, isn’t it? So,
there’s only our family. Uncle Ollie is me mother’s brother.’

Hannah nodded. ‘I know. It was your sister that . . . that—’

‘That got killed in the mill? Aye, it was.’ Ted’s voice hardened in just the same way that Lily Grundy’s tone always did when she spoke of the mill. ‘Poor little
Lucy. She was a lovely little kid. Bright and merry – you know – real fun to have around. We still miss her.’

‘I know how you feel. I expect you heard about my little friend, Jane?’

Ted glanced at her. ‘Yeah. Same thing that happened to our Lucy, weren’t it?’

Hannah nodded and they travelled for a while without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts.

‘I suppose you had a rough time when they caught you that time you tried to go to see yer mother,’ Ted broke the silence at last.

‘He beat me.’

‘Never!’ Ted was scandalized.

‘And then I was put in the punishment room for a week. Mind you, it wasn’t so bad. Luke sent food up to me on a rope.’

‘Luke. Who’s Luke?’

Tears sprang to her eyes and the sudden lump in her throat stopped Hannah answering for a few minutes.

‘He . . . he was my friend. My . . . my very
best
friend.’

‘Was?’ Ted prompted, but his tone was gentle.

‘Mmm,’ Hannah nodded. Tentatively, at first, but then with a growing need, she confided some more in this friendly young fellow, ending, ‘I thought your auntie would’ve
told you.’

Ted shook his head. ‘We don’t talk about the mill in our family. Not unless we really have to because of the business side.’

‘I’m sorry, Ted. Here I’ve been rattling on. I never thought. I’m so sorry. I didn’t stop to think how painful it must still be for you.’

‘And you, too. You’ve had a rotten time there. Losing your friends, an’ all.’ He glanced at her. ‘And I don’t mind you talking about it, Hannah. Not if it
helps you.’

Gratefully, she touched his arm. ‘Thanks. You’re kind. Just like your auntie and uncle.’

The young man felt a warm flush rise in his neck. ‘Go on with you,’ he said, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I’m just nosy. Me auntie’s always telling me to keep me nose out
of other people’s business else I’ll get it chopped off one of these days.’

Hannah laughed and their mood lightened. With every stride of the horse’s long strong legs, she began to feel safer. As the sun rose higher in the sky, Ted glanced up. ‘I don’t
know about you, but I’m hungry. Shall we stop for a bit? It’s time the horse had a rest and a nosebag or a graze on the side of the road.’ He glanced at her, reading the anxious
look that flitted across her face. ‘We’re far enough away now, I reckon.’

Hannah nodded and climbed down. ‘Yes,I’m hungry too and I could do to nip into that field behind a bush.’

Ted laughed and covered his eyes. ‘I promise not to look.’

‘You’d better not,’ Hannah said spiritedly.

It was a warm, bright day for October and later, having eaten, they lay back in the grass and dozed a while. When they aroused, they had no idea of the time, but Ted squinted up at the sun.
‘Must be nigh on midday, I reckon. Come on, we’d best be on our way, if I’m to get back home tonight.’

‘How much further is it?’

Hannah had only travelled this road once before and she’d no memory of the distance. She hadn’t even known on that occasion exactly where they were going. It saddened her to realize
that of the four of them that had travelled together that day, two were already dead and the remaining two were left with the bitter taste for revenge.

‘Not far.’ Ted interrupted her thoughts.

Just over an hour later, they reached the outskirts of the town.

‘Where is it you want to be? The railway station?’

‘No. Your auntie said I’d best find a carrier or a coach. She’s given me some money to pay someone.’

‘There’s often market traders travelling between the two places, I’ve heard tell. There’s a chap who travels here from Macclesfield every Monday morning, his cart loaded
with goods. He stays the week and then goes back at the end of the week and loads up ready to come back on the Monday morning. He might be leaving today. If we could find him . . .’

Hannah’s expression was doubtful, but Ted was full of bright ideas. ‘If we ask at some of the shops in the town, mebbe someone will know him – know where we might find
him.’

Hannah didn’t hold out much hope, but she supposed it was possible. ‘All right then. Where do we start?’

‘Town centre, that’s where,’ Ted said, slapping the reins. ‘Come on, we’ve a man to hunt down before it gets dark.’

Hannah had not believed it possible, but they found the man, a Mr Dawkins, who lived in Macclesfield, but who travelled between the two towns just as Ted had said. It took
an hour of trekking round several shops but at last they met someone who knew him.

‘Aye, tha’s right,’ the burley shopkeeper said. ‘Bin here less than half an hour ago. He’s tekin’ a load back to Macclesfield for me. Me son’s got a
shop there and we often use old Dawkins to take stuff back’ards and for’ards for us. Only just missed him, you ’ave.’ At the sight of the two youngsters’ crestfallen
faces, the man laughed. ‘But I can tell you where he is. In the pub, that’s where. Likes to wet his whistle before he travels home on a Friday night. Reckon that horse of his knows the
way home better ’n he does.’

‘Come on,’ Ted said, grabbing her hand. ‘Thanks, mister.’

‘Don’t mention it, lad. Want him to tek summat for yer, d’yer?’

Ted grinned. ‘This lass needs a lift to Macclesfield and I remembered hearing about this feller. D’you think he’d take her?’

‘Should think he’d be glad of the company of a pretty young wench.’ He winked at Hannah. ‘But don’t worry, luv. He’s a good family man, is Dawkins, with
lasses of his own. He’ll look after you all right.’

They found him sitting in the corner of the smoky tavern, a kind-faced man in his forties.

‘Aye, that’ll be all right, duck,’ he said at once. ‘You just wait outside whilst I finish me pint and me bit of baccy and I’ll be with you. We’ll be
travelling through the night, but you can bed down in the back of the cart under the horse blanket.’ He laughed. ‘That’s if you don’t mind the smell.’

As they waited outside, Ted said, ‘Now, are you sure you’ve got enough money? ’Cos me auntie’d box me ears if I let you go without enough. I can lend you a couple of
shillings, if that’d help.’

‘You’re very kind, but your auntie’s already given me some. I’ll be all right.’ She touched his arm. ‘But thanks all the same.’ Her face clouded.
‘It’ll be finding somewhere to stay that’ll be the problem. I daren’t go to the workhouse, and apart from that I don’t really know where to start.’

‘I’ll tell you where. The police station.’

Hannah’s eyes widened in sudden fear. ‘The . . . the police station. But . . . but wouldn’t that be dangerous? I mean – if the Critchlows have reported me running
away.’

Ted threw back his head and guffawed. ‘The Critchlows report you? Not likely. They’ll not want the police sniffing around. Making inquiries.’ As Hannah looked mystified, Ted
went on. ‘Look, we’ve always reckoned that the Critchlows and that fellow at the workhouse . . .’

‘Mr Goodbody.’

‘Yes, that’s him. Well, we reckon they had a good thing going between them, but maybe it wasn’t exactly legal, if you know what I mean.’

Hannah shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘All them little pauper apprentices coming to the mill. Well, years ago it was a common practice with all the mills, but not lately. With all the changes in the laws, it became too
expensive. Yet the Critchlows kept the system going. Now, why do you suppose that is, eh?’

Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Somehow, they were making themselves a bit of money. I reckon Critchlow was paying Goodbody to provide him with cheap labour.’

‘Cheap labour? How do you mean, cheap labour?’

‘You were signed up for so many years, when you got to the mill, weren’t you? I bet he made you sign a paper, didn’t he?’

Slowly Hannah nodded. ‘Yes, I was bound to him for six years.’

‘Thought so. And I bet he doesn’t pay you anything – still being an apprentice – even though you’ve been there over three years.’

Her eyes widened, as realization began to dawn.

‘
And
I dare bet you’re doing an adult’s work now, aren’t you? Same as some of the women from the village that work there?’

Hannah nodded and now her lips tightened.

Ted shrugged. ‘There you are then. Cheap labour, ’cos he’ll have to pay the women. But you’re an apprentice and will be for the six years. And even then, you’d be
lucky if you could get him to give you a proper wage. ’Specially now Mr Edmund’s in charge. So, like I said, go to the police station. They might be able to tell you where to find a
lodging house. And if they can’t,’ he grinned suddenly, ‘they might let you sleep in one of their cells.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ Hannah laughed.

‘No, I’m serious. A mate of mine got stuck in Manchester one night and couldn’t get home so he went to the police and they let him sleep in one of their cells – just for
the night. Honest,’ he added as he saw Hannah’s sceptical look. ‘And besides, they wouldn’t want a young lass like you roaming the streets at night.’

‘Yes, well, I’ll see.’ Hannah was doubtful but his suggestion sounded sincere enough. And, after all, the police were supposed to be there to help you. They weren’t just
about catching criminals.

‘Besides,’ Ted went on, warming to his theme. ‘They might be able to help you find that long-lost neighbour of yours.’

But that, it seemed, was beyond the burly policeman who stood behind the desk in the station. He scratched his head as he looked down at the slim young girl standing before him.

Hannah had enjoyed the ride through the spectacular countryside, passing from Derbyshire into the county of Cheshire. She’d slept for the first part of the way, but in the early hours of
the morning, the cold had woken her and she’d clambered up to sit beside the carter. They’d chatted amiably but she’d not been drawn to confide much in him. All she’d told
him was that she was returning home after some years, but that her mother had died and she needed to find a place to stay until she could find work.

‘Ted – that’s the young feller who brought me to Buxton – reckoned I should ask at the police station. Do you think that’s a good idea?’

‘I do, duck. They’ll know of reputable lodgings for a young ’un like you. They might even know if there’s jobs going somewhere.’ He sniffed. ‘Surprising what the peelers on the beat know. A mite too much sometimes.’
He paused and then asked, ‘Where did you live before?’

‘That’s just the trouble, Mr Dawkins,’ Hannah said. ‘I don’t know. I
ought
to remember, but I just can’t.’

As they came down the last hill, Hannah was fascinated by the sight of the town spread out below them. A feeling that she was coming home flooded through her as her gaze took in the huge, square
buildings and tall chimneys, church towers and spires and the roofs of hundreds of houses. She sighed as she swept her arm in a wide arc. ‘I used to live somewhere down there – if only
I knew where.’

Beside her, Mr Dawkins laughed. ‘Well, I don’t reckon it was anywhere near us, duck. I’m sure I’d’ve remembered a pretty little thing like you. But your friend had
the right idea. The police’ll help you. I can’t take you right there – it’s up the hill, near that church with the square tower – St Michael’s. See?’ He
pointed with his whip. ‘But I’ll show you how to get there.’

They travelled another half a mile or so in silence until Mr Dawkins asked, ‘Recognize anything yet?’

Hannah bit her lip and shook her head. She was disappointed. She’d so hoped that once she saw the town again, her memories would come back. But nothing looked familiar.

‘Do you remember the railway?’ Mr Dawkins asked. ‘Or the Bollin? The river?’ he explained when she looked puzzled.

‘No.’

‘We’re just passing over the Bollin now, but you can’t see it. It was covered up along here when they built the railway. There’s still places where you can see it though.
Now, this ’ere’s the Waters. It’s where I live.’

She looked at the wide open space surrounded by houses and larger buildings with tall, smoking chimneys. In the centre stood a square public house with a sign outside – the Cross Keys. A
coach, drawn by two horses with prancing hooves, rolled by. Men on horseback clip-clopped past and two men driving four cows tipped their caps to Mr Dawkins, who waved in return to their
greeting

‘Why’s it called the Waters?’

Mr Dawkins pulled a face. ‘Place floods from time to time. It’s by the river. If we get heavy rain, this whole area’s like a lake.’ He laughed and pointed at the Cross
Keys. ‘I remember a few years back, before the railway came, the pub getting flooded. Lost all their barrels of beer in the cellars, they did. A right to-do there was.’

Hannah frowned. She couldn’t remember anything like that happening in her childhood.

‘But we’re used to it,’ he went on, grinning like a man completely happy with his lot.

Pulling his cart to a halt at the bottom of a long flight of stone steps, he said, ‘If you go up these, duck, you’ll come out near the church, and the police station is on the other
side of the church in the basement of the Town Hall. You can’t miss it.’