Pauper's Gold (49 page)

Hannah broke the silence and, laughing, turned towards Ethel. ‘You see, all your teaching did stick.’

And, suddenly, they were all laughing.

*

‘Soup, that’s what we need,’ Ethel Bramwell said firmly. ‘We can make enough soup to feed the whole village.’

The railway line had been finished and opened in the summer of 1862, but it didn’t help the people of Wyedale unless they wanted a trip to Buxton, and now few had the money for the fare.
But it was fascinating to see the engines steaming through the dale and hear the shrill whistle as they disappeared into the tunnel. The months passed and now another year on they were facing
winter again. There was little work at the mill now but the whole community had pulled together with remarkable spirit. Even those who were not directly connected with the mill willingly became
involved. The surrounding farming community, led by the Grundys, supplied food and took on workers whenever they could.

‘Can’t see folks starving,’ one burly farmer delivering a cart load of potatoes to Hannah’s door said gruffly. ‘Can’t sleep in me bed at night with a full
belly whilst other folks is going hungry.’

‘You’re a good man, Mr Earnshaw,’ Hannah said simply. ‘Thank you.’

The big man’s face reddened. ‘Aye well, that’s as may be, but as I hear it you’re the real heroine in all this. But for you, folks’d be turned out of their homes to
die on the streets.’

Now it was Hannah’s turn to blush. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that. We’re all pulling together.’

And indeed they were. The Bramwells’ return had been like a talisman, a lucky charm. Once they had rested, eaten some good, wholesome food and washed themselves and their clothes, it was
like they’d never been away. Arthur sought out Ernest, to be greeted like the old friend he was, and Ethel took over the running of the house once again whilst Hannah dealt with the pressing
problems of the decreasing workload at the mill.

‘I’ve heard all about what you’re doing here, lass,’ Farmer Earnshaw went on. ‘Set up sewing classes for the women to turn old clothes into whatever’s needed.
And the fellers are learning cobbling,’ he laughed, a great loud guffaw that made Hannah smile, despite her ever-present worries. ‘I’ll know where to come now when I wants me
boots mending, won’t I? Oh, I nearly forgot. There’s a bundle of clothes in the front of the cart. The missis has been collecting ’em up from all round the district.’

‘Oh, how good of her. These are wonderful – wonderful! Please, do thank your wife for all of us won’t you?’

‘Aye, lass, I will. Keep up the good work,’ he called, climbing back onto the front of his cart. ‘I’ll see you again – soon as I can.’

Hannah stood with her arms full of the clothes and watched him trundle away. His shape became indistinct through the blur of her tears.

How good people were.

‘So, how do we make this soup, Mrs Bramwell?’ Despite their closeness, Hannah could still not bring herself to call the woman Ethel or her husband Arthur, but gradually the names got
shortened to an affectionate Mr B and Mrs B.

Ethel picked up a piece of paper on which she had been writing. ‘Whatever meat we can lay our hands on. Beef is the best, if we can get it. Barley, split peas, onions and salt.’

‘My mouth’s watering already.’ Hannah laughed, but behind her laughter the constant worry gnawed at her. How was she to keep the whole village fed through the winter?

The war in America had been going now for over two and a half years, and hard times had come to the mill towns of Lancashire during the first year of the war. Yet Wyedale Mill had struggled on,
thanks to Josiah’s clever dealings and Ernest’s fair distribution amongst the workers of what work there was to be had. But now, the work had all but dried up and any meagre savings the
workers had were gone. Already, folks were burning whatever they could to try to keep warm. As yet there had been no deaths in the village that could be directly contributed to the hardship.

That winter of 1863 was tough for the people of Wyedale, but they struggled through it together, and with the spring of the new year came more available work on the land. Every spare piece of
garden or land was given over to growing vegetables. Every scrap of cloth that came from the generous donations of old clothes was carefully utilized. The wooded hillsides had been stripped of
every dead tree. Anything that could be burned to give warmth was carried home in triumph by the village youngsters.

‘You know, one thing surprises me,’ Ernest mused, stroking his moustache as he sat in the kitchen with the Bramwells and Hannah on one of his frequent visits. ‘We haven’t
had any thieving. I’d’ve laid money on it, if I had any, mind,’ he added with wry humour, ‘that we’d’ve had kids stealing from the orchards and fields
roundabout. But no, far as I know, nothing.’

‘There’d better not be,’ Hannah declared, ‘else they’ll have me to reckon with.’ She laughed out loud. ‘I’d have to think about reopening up the
punishment room.’

They all laughed, but more seriously Arthur said, ‘Well, I reckon if there is a bit going on, folks aren’t doing anything about it. Turning a blind eye, you might say.’

There was silence amongst them.

‘I hope no one has got as low as that, though,’ Hannah murmured, and to herself silently added,
not yet
.

‘I miss hearing you singing about the place,’ Ethel remarked one morning as she stirred a huge pan of soup. ‘It used to raise everyone’s spirits to
hear you, no matter how bad things got.’

Hannah sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, Mrs B, I haven’t felt like singing much lately. Not since Adam left, if I’m honest.’

‘No word from him, then?’ Ethel asked softly. She’d heard a little from Lily Grundy and surmised the rest for herself from the few words Hannah herself had said about him. But
they were few. It seemed as if the girl had locked away the sadness in her heart, buried her misery deep whilst she filled her days with helping others. ‘Hasn’t his father heard
anything?’

‘I never ask him,’ Hannah said shortly. ‘I don’t talk to him much if I can help it and then only about Eddie.’

Hannah still took her growing son up the hill to the Manor to visit his grandfather, though she never spoke of other matters to Edmund Critchlow – never discussed what was happening at the
mill. That she left to Josiah Roper.

Eddie was two years old now, a sturdy, bright youngster who climbed on his grandfather’s knee and chattered to him without inhibition or fear.

It amazed Hannah to see Edmund with his grandson. There was genuine love for the child in his face, she was sure of it. But the thought gave Hannah no comfort.

Instead it brought a chill of fear to her heart.

The day that Edmund Critchlow came back to the mill and took his rightful place behind his desk once more should have been an occasion for great rejoicing. But it
wasn’t.

They’d got through another spring and summer but now they all faced another hard winter, and how would Edmund Critchlow react to his silent mill and idle workers who were still living in
his houses but paying him no rent?

They were not long in finding out.

He sat in his chair with Josiah’s carefully written ledgers spread out on the desk before him.

On the opposite side of the desk, Hannah, Josiah and Ernest stood facing him. Ernest’s brow was creased with worry and he tugged self-consciously at his moustache. Hannah bit her lip
anxiously, but Josiah’s face was an expressionless mask.

‘So, I see that you three have all but ruined me . . .’

‘That’s not true,’ Hannah burst out. ‘We’ve saved the villagers from starvation—’

‘Pah!’ Edmund thumped the desk with his fist. ‘The villagers! Idle wastrels, living on my charity. Charity be damned! It stops here. You –’ he prodded his
forefinger towards Josiah – ‘you can go this very day and start collecting the rents again. And you’d better tell them I’ll be collecting every back penny they owe
me.’

Hannah gasped. ‘How d’you think they can pay? They’re not earning. Only a few shillings here and there when the farmers employ them.’

Edmund leaned forward. ‘They’ll pay or leave. The choice is up to them.’

‘And where do you suggest they go? To starve on the streets?’

Edmund laughed cruelly. ‘I couldn’t care less about what happens to the idle good-for-nothings. They’ve lived off me for years whilst I’ve been laid up. But I’m
back now. And you two,’ he pointed at Josiah and Ernest, ‘had better watch out. I’m well aware that you’ve been aiding and abetting this strumpet.’ He turned back to
glare at Hannah. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? You can go now. I’m back. You can go home and attend to your child.’

Hannah lifted her chin. ‘I see your thanks didn’t last long. You’ve no right to treat any of us in this way. We’ve worked well together. We kept this place running as
long as we could. Longer than a lot of places. But for us, you wouldn’t have a mill at all by now.’

Edmund’s grim smile was still a little lopsided. ‘I expect I’ve come back only just in time to save it from going under completely. What work is there, Scarsfield?’

‘Very little, sir. We’ve some Indian cotton—’

‘Indian cotton? Pah! That rubbish.’

‘There’s nothing else to be had sir and the prices of that are extortionate,’ Josiah put in.

‘Allow me to be the judge of that. You always were useless, Roper.’

‘That’s not true and you know it isn’t,’ Hannah cried heatedly. ‘It’s only thanks to Mr Roper’s clever negotiations with the brokers. He’s been to
Manchester and Liverpool and even abroad—’

‘Abroad? At my expense?’ Edmund was growing red in the face. ‘Is this true?’

‘Well, yes, sir. I was trying to find new suppliers, open up new markets. America is closed to us. The blockades—’

Edmund leaned back in his chair. It was as if he’d never been out of it. ‘So, I have you to thank, have I, for saving my mill? According to
her
,’ he jabbed his finger at
Hannah, ‘it’s all down to you and your wonderful negotiating skills.’ His tone was heavy with sarcasm and Hannah winced. She wasn’t bothered for herself, but Josiah and
Ernest deserved his gratitude for the way they had pulled together to save his mill.

Hannah glanced at Josiah. His eyes were wary. Smoothly, he said, ‘That’s kind of her to say so, sir, but it’s been the three of us. Scarsfield, myself and Mrs Critchlow. We
– Scarsfield and I – couldn’t have done it without her. She’s taken all the decisions, led the way in the improvements.’

‘Improvements? What improvements?’ Edmund gripped the sides of his chair and leaned forward.

‘We have a doctor visit regularly to look after the health of the workers and—’

‘A doctor!’ His face was growing purple. ‘How much is that costing?’

‘Well, before the work began to dry up, the workers contributed a penny each a week and we – I mean the company – doubled it. It covers the doctor’s visits and any
medicines he prescribes.’

‘You mean to tell me that we’re paying for their medicines?’

‘In a way, but like I said, the workers are all contributing too. Well, they were. Since the American war, the doctor has given his services for free. But presumably he’ll be hoping
that we’ll revert to that system again once the war is over.’

‘Well, that won’t happen, I can assure you. And I’ll tell him so myself. You can’t be soft with workers. They’ll take advantage. Any kindness and they’ll see
it as weakness. Oh no,’ he shook his head. ‘This has to stop.’ He thumped the arm of his chair. ‘Now! Roper – see to it. And you, Scarsfield. You can tell the
workers.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Hannah spoke up. ‘They appreciate it. They—’

‘Appreciate it? Are you soft in the head, girl? They appreciate nothing. Employees need a firm hand. And, like I said, your presence here is no longer required. See to your child. You can
keep that girl – what’s her name? – Sarah. Ugly little thing, she is. Not the sort of girl I want around me. You’re welcome to her. I’ll make you an allowance and you
can live in the apprentice house. Take in lodgers – do what you like – but I don’t want to see you in the mill again. Clear?’

‘Very,’ Hannah said tightly. ‘But I’m afraid you won’t get rid of me as easily as that. Goodness knows why, but I care about the mill. Apart from the fact that
it’s my son’s inheritance, I enjoy being involved, I—’

‘I don’t want you here,’ Edmund interrupted. ‘And you can send those parasites, the Bramwells, packing, too, and if you’re not careful, you’ll not be far
behind them, though –’ he smiled maliciously – ‘your son would not be going with you.’

The blood drained from Hannah’s face and she swayed, but Edmund took no notice. ‘And you, Scarsfield, had better attend to the business of the mill. I’ll soon have the wheel
turning again, now I’m back. And as for you, Roper, you can go back to your pen pushing. No more fancy trips abroad for you at my expense.’

Josiah’s eyes narrowed and his thin lips pursed. But he said nothing. No word of protest or pleading passed his lips. But Hannah could see that the bitterness and resentment from the old
days were back in his eyes, one thousand fold.

Edmund Critchlow was making a mistake. A very serious mistake. He had revived all the enmity in Josiah Roper. And, when the news got around the mill, he wouldn’t be the only enemy Edmund
would make this day.

Banished to her home, Hannah paced the length of her sitting room waiting for Josiah and Ernest to arrive. It had been three days since Edmund’s rash ultimatum and,
hearing nothing, Hannah was fretting what was happening at the mill. So one evening after she’d seen Edmund leave to return home, she sent Sarah with a message asking Josiah and Ernest to
come and see her.

‘Please, come and sit down,’ she said as they came in. ‘Sarah, bring the gentlemen a tankard of ale each and a glass of milk for me, please. Now, tell me,’ she said
turning to the two men. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Chaos, Hannah,’ Ernest said, sitting down, placing his cap on his knee. ‘He’ll have a strike on his hands, if he doesn’t watch out.’

‘He’s stopped the doctor coming, even though the man is demanding no payment until the troubles are over. He’s ordered everyone to go back to work at once,’ Josiah
began.