Pauper's Gold (11 page)

‘And when we get a machine of our own,’ Hannah asked Dorothy, ‘might we get paid then?’

‘You should do, but now
he’s
running the mill, he’s put a stop to all that. Ernest told me himself. He’s mad about it an’ all, but there’s nowt he can
do. Sorry, luv.’ Hannah pulled a face, knowing Dorothy was referring to Mr Edmund. ‘Ah well, what you never have, you never miss, eh?’

Dorothy laughed. ‘So they say, but I’ve never quite believed it myself.’

Hannah had settled in quickly to her new work and, whilst she still sang, no one else could hear her now above the noise of the machinery. Hannah sang on, hopeful every day
that word would come from her mother. But the days and weeks turned into months, and still no answer came to her letters. At last, worried out of her mind and longing to see Rebecca, Hannah made up
her mind to go back to Macclesfield to the workhouse and find out for herself.

‘Oh no, Hannah, don’t do that. You’ll get into such trouble.’ Jane’s eyes filled with tears and she clutched Hannah’s hand. ‘They put children who run
away into that awful room for a week. And they might beat you.’

Hannah wished she had not confided in the younger girl.

‘I know you must want to see your mam,’ Jane went on. ‘But she wouldn’t want you to get into such trouble. You know she wouldn’t.’

Hannah bit her lip. That much was true, but she was so worried about her mother now. Why had she not heard from her? Something must be wrong. After the conversation with Mr Edmund three months
ago now, she’d written four letters, dutifully taking each one to the office and handing it to Mr Roper. She was not to know that, as with the first, moments after she’d left the room
her loving letter lay in shreds in the bottom of Mr Roper’s waste paper basket.

‘I have to go,’ was Hannah’s simple answer to Jane. ‘But forget I ever told you. And don’t tell anyone else. If they ask, you mustn’t tell them
anything.’

Miserably the younger girl nodded. ‘I wish you hadn’t told me,’ she whispered.

So do I
, Hannah thought, and vowed not to tell anyone else.

‘Coming for a walk this afternoon?’ Luke asked her as the apprentices trooped back from the schoolroom one Sunday morning. The service was not just for the
apprentices, but for the whole village. Sometimes a man who lived in the village led the worship, and sometimes they had a visiting preacher. Hannah’s favourite was the local doctor who lived
in the next village. Dr Barnes was a portly figure with a round, red, beaming face and bushy side-whiskers. He was a benevolent preacher, gently exhorting his congregation to try to lead a
blameless life. He didn’t make Hannah feel sinful by just being alive like some of the other preachers did, thumping poor Mr Jessop’s desk and shouting at the cowering youngsters in a
thunderous voice that echoed to the rafters.

‘I’d like to, Luke,’ Hannah said, ‘but I’ve got something else I have to do this afternoon.’

‘What?’

She grinned at him. ‘Never you mind.’

‘I do mind. I thought you was my girl. You meeting some other feller, then? It’s that Joe, I bet.’ His jealousy was real. If an adult had overheard them, they might have roared
with laughter at such a conversation taking place between two children. But the twelve-year-old boy (the twins had had a birthday since their arrival at the mill, though, like Hannah’s, it
had passed unnoticed) and the thirteen-year-old girl, working as hard as they did in the mill, considered themselves more grown up than others thought them.

‘I talk to everybody, haven’t you noticed?’ Hannah said saucily.

He grinned ruefully. ‘Yeah. All right, you do.’ He paused and then asked, ‘What’s so important then that you won’t come out, though? Got my socks to darn,
’ave yer?’

Darning socks was one of the many tasks Hannah had to tackle in Mrs Bramwell’s sewing class. Strangely, the woman turned a blind eye if some of the girls did not present themselves in the
kitchen every Sunday afternoon. It was the only occasion on which she showed leniency. Earlier that morning she’d called Hannah into her sitting room. The girl had stood in front of her,
sighing inwardly and raking through her mind to think what she was in trouble for this time. But Ethel Bramwell was smiling. ‘I don’t mind you going out on a Sunday afternoon, Francis.
In fact, if I’d my way, you children ought to be encouraged to walk out on a Sunday afternoon.’ She sighed. ‘But I have my orders as I’m sure you know.’

It was the closest the superintendent would come to criticizing their employers to one of her charges. But for some reason, Ethel Bramwell trusted this girl. She couldn’t explain why.
Maybe it was the girl’s spirit that refused to be cowed or her open honesty. Whatever Hannah did, she would always own up to it and take her punishment cheerfully. She had even been known to
take the blame for something someone else had done – if that someone was one of her close friends.

‘But,’ Mrs Bramwell was saying, ‘you’re one of the neatest workers I’ve got. Your darning is as good as mine. The simple truth is, Hannah, I need your
help.’

Hannah, noticing the woman’s use of her Christian name, knew her words were sincere and her praise genuine.

‘So,’ Mrs Bramwell went on. ‘How about you and I strike up a bargain? You come to my sewing classes on alternate Sundays and you’re free to go out into the hills on the
other days.’

Hannah beamed, delighted that, for once, she was not going to have to break the rules.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ she said simply, and vowed to work twice as hard as anyone else on the days she tackled the piles of mending that Mrs Bramwell laid in her lap.

Now, Hannah punched Luke playfully on the shoulder for his impudence. Impulsively, and breaking her promise to herself, she turned to face him. ‘Luke, don’t tell a soul, but
I’m so worried about me mam. I’ve written four times and not a word’s come back. I have to go and see her.’ Her words came tumbling out. ‘I went to see Mr Critchlow
– to ask permission – but there was only Mr Edmund there and he wouldn’t let me go.’

Luke shook his head. ‘The old man wouldn’t’ve done either. Don’t do it, Hannah. Please. It’s not that bad here if you behave yourself, but they’re devils if
you don’t.’ He was still remembering the beating he’d had.

Anguished, Hannah cried, ‘But what else can I do? I’ve got to know if me mam’s all right.’

Luke bit his lip, thinking. ‘Why don’t you ask Mrs Bramwell to see if she can find out for you?’

Hannah shook her head. ‘She’d only say the same as Mr Edmund. “If we do it for one, they’ll all want it.” That’s what he said about letting me go to see
her.’

‘Oh.’ Luke had run out of ideas. He bit his lip worriedly. ‘So – what’re you thinking of doing then?’

‘Going anyway,’ she said firmly.

‘What? This afternoon?’

‘No – I was going to see Mrs Grundy. See if she’ll help me. She might know if I can get a ride to Buxton . . .’

Luke shook his head. ‘It might make things awkward for her.’

‘How . . . how do you mean?’

‘She’ll know we’re not supposed to run away. She wouldn’t help you do something wrong like that.’

‘She’s nothing to do with the mill, is she?’

Luke shrugged. ‘They supply the milk and other food. The Critchlows might cause trouble for her.’

‘Oh,’ Hannah said. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

They walked on in silence.

‘Look,’ Luke said. ‘We could still go and see her this afternoon. I’ll come with you. We could sort of bring the talk round. Tell her you’re that worried about yer
mam. She might think of something.’

Now Hannah stopped and turned to face him. ‘You really mean you’ll help me? You’ll not try to stop me going?’

Luke regarded her solemnly. ‘I don’t think you should go. You’ll get caught and brought back here and punished. You might not even get as far as the workhouse to see yer mam
and then it’ll have all been for nothing.’

‘But I’ll have tried, won’t I?’

Luke nodded. ‘Yeah, and I can’t blame you for trying. If I was in your shoes, I’d do exactly what you’re doing.’

Hannah squeezed his arm in gratitude.

‘Hello, my dears. This is a nice surprise. Come away into the warm. Blustery old day even for October, isn’t it? Winter’s coming early this year, I reckon.
There’s a nice piece of beef and roast potatoes left from our dinner.’ Lily Grundy reached out and pinched Luke’s cheek playfully. ‘You must have known there were
leftovers.’

She chuckled as she ushered them into her warm kitchen and sat them at the table. Though the fare at the apprentice house was adequate, it was never enough to assuage growing appetites, and the
two youngsters fell to eating the food she placed in front of them with gusto.

‘Where’s the mester?’ Luke asked, his mouth full and gravy oozing out of the corner of his lips.

‘In the front room fast asleep. Just like he always is on a Sunday afternoon. You’ll see him later,’ she laughed. ‘If you can stay long enough.’

‘He works very hard. I ’spect he deserves a sleep on a Sunday,’ Luke remarked, popping another loaded forkful into his mouth.

‘This is wonderful, Mrs Grundy,’ Hannah said. ‘I haven’t tasted meals like this since – since . . .’ Her voice faltered and for a moment tears filled her
eyes. She blinked them back hastily, but not before both Luke and Mrs Grundy had noticed.

‘It’s because of Hannah we’ve come to see you,’ Luke rushed in. ‘See, her mother’s still in the workhouse we came from, but Hannah’s never heard word of
her since we left. She’s worried about her.’

Mrs Grundy’s face sobered and she looked first at one and then the other anxiously.

‘Hannah asked for permission to go and see her mother,’ Luke went on. ‘But—’

Mrs Grundy’s generous mouth pursed as she finished his sentence. ‘They won’t let her go.’

‘I asked Mr Edmund,’ Hannah said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘But . . . but he said no.’

‘Huh! Him! He would!’ Mrs Grundy’s tone was scathing and there was a bitter note to her words. She sighed heavily and sat down at the table, resting her arms on its surface.
‘I don’t often talk about this, but you both seem nice enough young ’uns.’ Her glance roamed over Hannah’s face as if assessing her.

Hannah dropped her gaze in embarrassment. Not so bashful, Luke grinned. ‘We are.’

Mrs Grundy gave a faint smile, but it faded as she went on. ‘We’ve never been blessed with children, me and the mester, but we’ve nephews and nieces. My brother’s got a
boy and a girl, but they live away. Right down south, so we don’t see much of them. But Ollie’s sister lives up the hill.’ She nodded her head in the direction of Millersbrook,
the village perched on the hillside above the mill. ‘She’d a lad and – and a little lass.’ She paused a moment and wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron. ‘The
lad – Ted – works here on the farm with Ollie. He’s a good boy and – because we’ve no family of our own – this farm’ll be his one day.’ For a moment
she pressed her lips together to stop them trembling. ‘But their Lucy, she went into the mill.’ She paused again as if the telling of this tale was painful. ‘She was apprenticed
and, just like you are I expect, she was given all the rotten jobs to start with. She had to crawl under the machinery. One day, there was an accident and her lovely hair got caught.’ The
woman closed her eyes, screwing up her face as she relived the agony. ‘Tore it off her head, it did. Scalped her.’

The two youngsters stared at her with absolute horror. ‘Did she – I mean – was she . . . ?’

Mrs Grundy nodded and her voice was a whisper. ‘Yes, she died. Poor little mite. Only twelve, she was.’

There was silence between them, the only sounds the singing of the kettle on the hob, the settling of coal in the grate and a sudden flurry of sparks up the chimney.

At last Mrs Grundy cleared her throat and, her voice stronger now, said, ‘So, if you want any help, Hannah, any time, you come to me and Ollie. We’ll help you. We’ve no time
for them at the mill. No time at all.’

‘But . . . but I thought you supplied the milk an’ that?’ Luke asked.

Mrs Grundy’s mouth was grim. ‘We do. It goes against the grain, in a way, but we argued it out. One,’ she ticked the reasons off on her fingers, ‘it’s business.
We’ve a living to make. Two, we’ve nowt against the Bramwells. In fact, I’m quite friendly with Ethel Bramwell, and Ollie has a drink in the Wyedale Arms with Arthur. They were as
upset as anyone over the accident. And three, we reckon if we supply the house, then we know you youngsters are getting good food. We . . . we reckon it’s what our little Lucy would’ve
wanted.’

There was logic in their reasoning, Hannah supposed, though she thought she’d have been hard put to have anything further to do with the place if that had happened to one of her relatives
or someone she cared for.

She said nothing as Mrs Grundy repeated, ‘So, we’ll help you whenever you need it – if we can.’

Luke spoke up for Hannah. ‘She wants to go and see her mother. She knows that she’ll probably be caught and punished, but she’ll risk that, if she can just find out if her
mother’s all right.’

Mrs Grundy eyed Hannah. ‘So, what do you want to do exactly?’

For a moment, Hannah gazed at her. Could she really trust this woman? Would she and her husband really help her or would they take her straight back to the apprentice house where she’d be
locked in the punishment room? Luke, sensing her misgivings, reached across the table and touched her hand. ‘It’s all right, Hannah. Go on, tell Mrs Grundy.’

The woman’s eyes softened. ‘It’s all right, dear. We won’t let you down, I promise.’

‘I . . . I thought if I left late one Saturday after work and walked through the night to Buxton, I could maybe get a lift on the carrier’s cart from there. But I don’t know
the way. I know we came from Buxton to here, but I don’t know which road to take to get back there.’

‘All them corners and hills, I ’spect you lost your sense of direction,’ Mrs Grundy said.

Hannah wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but she nodded.

‘’Course,’ the woman went on, musing aloud. ‘If you was walking, the best way is up through the village and go by the country roads. But a little lass, on your own and
in the dark, you could easy get lost.’