House of Angels (22 page)

Once those first fragile weeks were behind her, Livia knew she must contribute something to the household for her keep and asked Jessie to teach her how to knit, to spin and to weave.

‘Nay, tha doesn’t want to do that,’ Jessie had protested. ‘There’s no money in weaving these days, nor in the knitting. It’s all dying out.’

‘Surely it can’t ever die out, though I accept things might change.’

‘Mebbe, but there’s no money in it any more. We pay through the odds for the yarn and get paid nobbut a few coppers for labouring all day over a pair of stockings for the soldiers or sailors. And with no wars on, for which we are truly thankful, there’s not much call for them right now. Nay, you find yourself a better job, lass. You could walk into one of a dozen.’

But Livia found that she couldn’t. Employers either demanded references or were highly suspicious of why the eldest daughter of the town’s most prominent
businessman and present mayor was in need of such common employment. They assumed it was either a
put-up
job and she was being sent to spy on them, or Livia was simply seeking to amuse herself, which wasn’t quite proper with her sister dead. No one would take her on. So by way of payment for the meals and care her friends offered her, she set about learning these skills herself. She wanted to share in their labours as they knitted, or treadled their loom. It was a long hard road she trod, and Jack would often laugh as she became frustrated with her own clumsiness and silly mistakes, or if Jessie apologetically rejected the piece she’d laboured over for so long, making her unpick it and start all over again. The work had to be of top quality or it wouldn’t be accepted; bad work wouldn’t sell.

The knitting stick seemed to have a life of its own, so often disgorging all the stitches she’d so painstakingly put on. Then Jessie would tighten her toothless mouth and shake her head in mock despair before patiently helping her to put it right. Livia hated to be a trial. Time and yarn was money. This wasn’t some foolish game they were playing. This was all about survival.

‘Na then, it’s not like ordinary knitting where you use two needles, you has to let yer body move with it. It’s a bit tricky but you must persist if you want to learn the rhythm, lass.’

‘Oh, Jessie, I can but try. Maybe I should learn something else, the weaving, or the spinning. Is that any easier?’

‘Find me some raw wool that doesn’t cost a small
fortune and I’ll show you how to card and spin it. We buy the yarn from the hosiery company, which is expensive. And the weaving doesn’t pay as well as it did.’

‘I see. Yes, of course.’

The factories of Lancashire and Yorkshire could do it better, and far cheaper, with their steam-operated power looms. The folk of Fellside had mostly been employed in weaving linseys, and Jessie could remember the days when it was common to see men carrying home the huge bundles of yarn to be woven into the fine woollen cloth. But all of that was gone now.

Jessie would often reminisce about the good old days. ‘I learnt all I know from me mam. She’d sit rocking to and fro on her stool, swaving she called it, using this very same crooked pin and knitting sheath that I use to this day. See, me da carved them rose petals and leaves in the wood the day he wed her.’ The old woman wiped away a tear. ‘I miss them still, bless their dear hearts.

‘Mam would allus let us childer do a bit, the welt happen, or a thumb in a glove, same as I do wi’ mine. And when I were a bairn she used to tie a bit of string round her ankle so she could rock me cradle while she treadled the loom, and still work her bobbin back and forth. Me da would read his poetry from a book propped up against the frame. Eeh, it’s all changed now. I never thought to see the death of such a busy industry.’

‘It’s not dead yet,’ Livia protested.

‘Near enough. Hodson doesn’t need us now,’ Jessie mourned. ‘Not now that factory of his is doing so well.’

She was right. Henry was the one ultimately responsible
for the workers’ situation. He had again increased the cost of the yarn he provided to a prohibitive sum, yet had reduced the price he paid for finished goods.

The yarn for the stockings was normally handed out either by hosiers, agents from the military – of which there were very few at the moment, as Jessie pointed out – or a local woollen firm. Henry owned one of the largest in town and greedily swallowed up most of the profit. He’d started by putting out work to hand-knitters only, hundreds of them in Kendal alone. Now that method of operating had largely disappeared and he was more interested in machines. They were cheaper, faster, and he had greater control over the workers as they were all under one roof, in his factory.

They slaved from six in the morning till six at night, Jack included. They were given no share in the profits, were merely wage-earners with very little say over pay and conditions. And if they complained about the long hours, they were sacked.

But for those who wished to continue knitting in the traditional way, times were even harder.

‘I’m sorry to say that your father has put our rent up yet again,
and
we’ve been threatened with an eviction notice. It’ll be the workhouse for us soon,’ Jessie mourned, starting to cry. ‘We’re done for.’

‘Not yet we aren’t,’ Livia said through gritted teeth. ‘Not if I’ve anything to do with it.’

She couldn’t put it off any longer. It was long past time she confronted her father and made him see sense, perhaps even issued a few threats of her own.

But before she was able to make her move, Jack got word that Mercy had been found, walking with a friend on the road into Kendal. The pair were apparently hungry, wet and cold, but otherwise well.

‘Thank goodness,’ Livia gasped. ‘That’s the best news we’ve had in months. Perhaps things are starting to look up for us at last.’

Josiah sat sipping an excellent whisky, smoking a fine Havana cigar which Hodson had offered him, listening with careful attention to what he had to say. There was a great deal of what Josiah could only term ‘flannel’. How reluctant Henry was to pull the plug, how he’d put off the moment for months, mindful of Josiah’s grief. How he regretted their friendship reaching this pretty pass.

Josiah allowed the young man to prattle on for a good ten minutes or more. It always did take him an age to get to the point. By then he’d heard enough.

‘So are you telling me that you are no longer interested in marrying my daughter?’

A short, startled silence. Henry, standing on his own hearth rug with his back to the fire, floundered a little, as if he’d been caught out in a secret desire, lusting over an unattainable prize. ‘No, indeed, I – I’m not saying anything of the sort, but I can’t keep waiting indefinitely. It isn’t fair,’ sounding very like a petulant schoolboy.

Josiah snorted his disdain. ‘Never give up, boy. Never give up. But I’m hardly likely to help you win her, am I, if you make me bankrupt and take over my business?’

Henry scowled. ‘I doubt there’s much chance of
that happening now. I – I’d rather given up hope, to be honest.’

‘Nonsense, there’s generally more than one way of killing a cat besides drowning it.’

Hodson shuddered at the analogy, but his interest was alerted nonetheless. ‘So what do you suggest?’

Josiah sucked on the cigar for a second or two longer, as if considering. He had to hand it to the boy, he possessed excellent taste. This was a first-rate Havana. ‘Have you considered force?’ The suggestion was calmly offered as if using violence on a girl was a perfectly normal way to set about persuading her to marry you.

Hodson’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, exactly, by force?’

‘There are always ways and means of bringing a woman to heel,’ Josiah commented, drawing deeply on the excellent cigar. How he would enjoy seeing that
high-minded
daughter of his brought low. Serve her right for being so full of herself and causing him so much bother. ‘It’s important, I believe, to show a woman who is boss right from the start. And most are gagging for it, in any case. Just remember there’s one thing they fear above all else, and that’s the loss of their reputation. It wouldn’t be the first shotgun wedding, would it? Get the girl with child, Hodson, isn’t that the phrase? She’ll marry you fast enough then.’

Hodson stared at the older man, at first aghast and appalled by the suggestion, but then, as he considered how it would feel to carry it out, with the added benefit of a successful outcome, he began to see positive advantages.
Yet he could see one or two possible problems. ‘How do I charm my way into her bed when she’ll barely remain in the same room as me for more than twenty minutes? She’s barely spoken to me since that stupid riot.’

Josiah gave the younger man a measuring look, one lip curled upwards into a sneer. ‘What has charm got to do with anything? You tried charm and that didn’t work. I expect you to be a man. I don’t care how you do it. I’ll help if you like by setting the lure. But, not to put too fine a point on it, you get the lass pregnant with or without her permission. Am I making myself clear? She’ll make a dash for the altar fast enough once the job is done.’

Henry looked blank-faced for a moment and then smirked, the idea was becoming more attractive to him by the minute. ‘And the price for your assistance in “setting the lure” for this bit of chicanery?’

Josiah eased himself back in Hodson’s comfortable leather chair, pretending to contemplate this knotty problem while he allowed the younger man to savour the pleasure of his intended prize a little longer. ‘It would be a quite straightforward exchange, as we’ve agreed from the start of this mission. You cancel my debt, consider the loan paid off.
I
agree that you can take my daughter, with my blessing, any way you choose, but
you
must agree to keep your grasping hands off my business.’

A small silence while Henry walked over to the side table to refresh his whisky glass and refill Josiah’s. He’d already put the squeeze on Livia’s so-called friends by dropping the price he paid for finished woollen goods. Hodson was aware that he’d always paid less than
any other manufacturer or hosier in Kendal, but he’d tightened the screws even more lately in the hope she’d finally buckle and come to him begging for help. So far she’d obstinately resisted and he’d grown irritated and impatient, and finally lost heart altogether.

Now, this new plan was most definitely growing on him. He rather relished the prospect, in fact. How could he not? Willing or not, he was certainly man enough to take her. He carried the refreshed whisky glass over to Josiah.

‘So how do we set this lure when Livia deliberately avoids my company?’

‘I believe I could persuade Lavinia to return home for a short visit, on the pretext that her sister is coming. Do we have a deal?’

Henry paused for only a fraction of a second before leaning forward to clink glasses. ‘We do.’

Jessie was like a mother hen when one of her chicks has been lost and found again, clucking and fussing with feverish excitement. The poor girl had looked close to collapse when Jack first brought her into the loft, together with a young man who said his name was George. But a dish of Jessie’s soup had already begun to banish the bruises beneath her eyes as well as the hunger pains from her belly.

Mercy was soon relating the tale of their escape and how they’d stolen a ride in a farm cart, eventually reaching the Langdales where they’d very nearly starved in those first few weeks of freedom.

‘We gave up at one point and set off back to Kendal, but then George found himself a job as a farm labourer, and the farmer’s wife took me on as a dairymaid. They offered us a room over the stables so we pretended to be man and wife.’

‘Not that we were sharing a bed.’ George, who until now had been sitting quietly sipping his soup, making no attempt to interrupt, finally spoke up.

Mercy gave a philosophical wag of her head. ‘George slept curled in a blanket on the floor, so I had a big comfortable bed all to meself. I argued about this decision at the time, saying I really wouldn’t mind in the least if he joined me in it, that I trusted him implicitly and didn’t he need a decent night’s rest as much as I did after a long day’s work?’

George smiled. ‘I made sure I treated her proper, like. Mercy had suffered enough without me taking advantage.’

This had been a great disappointment to Mercy at the time, as she’d thought George wonderful. Her hero! He was lively and cheerful, cheeky and fun, and she’d absolutely adored him.

‘Then we had a sort of tiff and I stalked off and left him.’

‘And I chased after her.’

Everyone was smiling as she cast George a shy glance from beneath her lashes, and he gallantly finished the story for her.

‘Aye, well it all turned out fine and dandy because the farmer held us jobs open for us. Mebbe I’ll tell you
the full yarn one day, but what I will say is that it serves me right for being such a daft cluck with me practical jokes. No wonder she thought the worst of me and I nearly lost her. Anyroad, it all ended happily, thanks be praised.’

They looked into each other’s eyes and everyone sighed at the sight of the undeniable love between them.

‘Aye, so we made up quick, and I decided it were high time I did the honourable thing by her.’

Jessie gasped. ‘You’re married?’

Mercy was blushing now, her cheeks a delightful rosy pink, and George was grinning from ear to ear. ‘I’d’ve asked her sooner, only I wanted to have some money saved afore I declared meself.’

There were cries of ‘aaah’ all round, and Mercy finished the convoluted tale by assuring her friends that since she’d no family left, they’d felt no reason to wait so had married in a little church out on the fells. ‘God knows where.’

‘But we had a real vicar, and there was a proper congregation, hymns and everything, so it were all done right and proper. The farmer helped me get the licence and make all the arrangements,’ George assured them. ‘He were very good about it.’

Then Mercy was blushing again as she remembered that first night when George had at last joined her in the big bed, and offered full proof of his manhood.