by Diane Allen
Archie flew into the kitchen of his home and looked at the sombre group sitting around the coal fire drinking tea. He said nothing, but ran through the room with the doctor close behind him and pounded up the stairs to the bedroom, where his dead wife and baby lay.
The group sobbed when a terrible wail was heard throughout the house. Archie’s world was broken, along with his heart. Lucy rocked the baby boy Daniel, who knew something was wrong and started to bawl his heart out, along with the adults. Little did he know that his mother’s love and hugs had gone forever.
‘Jethro, can you go home and tell Mr Dawson what has happened here today? I’ll stay the night. Mr Atkinson will need a friend. Return for me in the morning.’ Charlotte sobbed and looked across at the stable lad, whose cheeks were running with tears. ‘I can at least help look after baby Daniel, and help Rosie’s parents with their grief, if nothing else.’ She stifled her tears and opened the door for Jethro to leave.
‘Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell him. But do you think you should stay?’ Jethro questioned her judgement, for he knew it would not suit his master.
‘Mr Atkinson is my oldest friend. If Mr Dawson doesn’t understand why I’m staying, then he’s not worthy of being called my husband,’ snapped Charlotte.
‘Yes, ma’am, I was only thinking . . .’ Jethro stopped.
‘You were only thinking it wasn’t proper for me to stay, with a friend who has just lost his wife? Don’t worry, I’ve plenty of chaperones. Not that I will need one, under the circumstances. Now go, and return in the morning.’ Charlotte knew what Jethro was thinking: that Joseph would not take the news kindly. But surely even he wouldn’t deny Archie a friend in the circumstances?
‘I’ll be back first thing, ma’am.’ Jethro doffed his cap and wiped the tear stains from his grubby face. He was thankful to leave the grieving house, but dreaded telling Joseph Dawson that he had left his wife with the man everyone knew to be his rival. He was going to get a hiding, if nothing else, for leaving her there.
‘I loved her, Lottie. I know folk thought Rosie wasn’t right for me, but I loved her. What am I going to do? I’m left now with the baby. How’s he going to be brought up, with no mother?’ Archie sat with his head in his hands, his body shaking with grief.
‘She loved you too, she told me so with her dying breath. She wanted you to be happy and to take care of baby Daniel. Mrs Cranston and Rosie’s parents will help you, and then, when someone else comes along to take Rosie’s place, these dark days will soon disappear.’ Charlotte placed her arm round Archie and looked at the pain in his eyes.
‘I will never, ever forget my Rosie, and no one will ever replace her. Don’t you dare say that again.’ Archie trembled.
‘I didn’t mean any harm by my words. It might seem as if life has come to an end for you, with the death of Rosie and the baby, but it will go on. Baby Daniel will grow up, and he too will find someone to love. Life is a circle – one is never alone.’ Charlotte looked around them and listened as, above them, Rosie’s parents said their goodbyes to their daughter. Her thoughts flitted to memories of her father, and how she missed him. But she was right: once you loved someone, they were never forgotten; their memory lingered on and you were never alone. She wiped a tear away from her eyes. Her dear father: no one would ever replace him.
‘Oh, Lottie, what am I going to do?’ He broke down and sobbed.
‘I don’t know, Archie. I don’t know what either of us is going to do. Life’s not good to either of us at the moment, but we’ve not to lose hope. Things will change, of that I’m sure.’
It was a sorrowful sight as Rosie’s family clung together on the wild skyline of the chapel’s burial ground at Keasden. The late-spring wind blew through the new growth of the rushes, making them rattle together, and the lapwings and curlews echoed their cry out over the dale and over the body of Rosie and her child, as they were lowered in the coffin into the ground. Archie looked out over the grave that held his wife and bairn, and around him to the distant hills and dales. The wind whipped his blond hair against his cheeks as if chastising him for his slowness in getting aid for his wife. He was lost. A wave of sorrow washed over him and he fought it back, as the parson tried to console him.
He looked over to Charlotte and Joseph Dawson as they placed a handful of earth on the coffin. Had Joseph felt this way when he’d lost his first wife? He doubted it. That bastard felt nothing for nobody. How Charlotte lived with him, Archie didn’t know. The next day after losing Rosie, Joseph had been on the steps of the house as soon as the sun had risen, to claim his wife back. A wife everyone knew he didn’t love. Poor Charlotte, she was as lost as he was, stuck in a worthless marriage with a bairn on the way. What was life about?
Archie looked across to the dark shape of distant Ingleborough and watched a shower of rain as it skirted around the hill’s dark flanks. ‘Aye, go on, ya bugger rain, you might as well do,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Bless my lass, before she’s covered in the ground.’ It was the least God could do, seeing as he’d taken her away from him.
18
Is thy cruse of comfort wasting?
Rise and share it with another,
And through all the years of famine
It shall serve thee and thy brother . . .
Scanty food for one will often
Make a royal feed for two.
For the heart grows rich by giving;
All its wealth is living grain;
Seeds that moulder in the garner,
Scattered, fill with gold the plain.
ELIZABETH RUNDLE CHARLES
A week had passed since Rosie’s funeral and Charlotte had no other choice than to throw herself wholeheartedly into helping the situation that was evolving at the mill.
‘Are we right, Lily?’ Charlotte looked around the kitchen of Windfell and waited for her maid.
‘Aye, I’m coming, ma’am. There’s another lot of dough rising in the dough trough, and Mrs Batty’s going to bake it for when we return.’ She hurried to her mistress’s side with her basket full of warm, crusty bread. The smell of the baking dough had filled the kitchen of Windfell all morning and made everyone feel hungry.
‘Jethro’s ready with his horse and cart. We’ll go to the mill gates and then walk on to the mill cottages at Langcliffe Locks.’ Charlotte lifted her basket and waited for her maid.
‘You will take care, won’t you, ma’am? Some of those workers can be loutish,’ Yates worried, as he held the door open for the pair, with their good intentions.
‘You worry too much, Yates. How can they be loutish if we are filling their bellies?’ Charlotte smiled.
‘They are proud Dales folk, ma’am, and don’t believe in charity. And, ma’am, should you be sitting up there? It doesn’t look that comfortable for you.’ Yates watched as Lily and her maid climbed up next to Jethro.
‘It isn’t charity; it’s part payment for their hard work,’ Charlotte shouted as Jethro flicked the reins and set the horse into motion.
‘Yates is right, ma’am, you shouldn’t be sitting up here on the cart, not in your condition.’ Lily looked at her mistress.
‘And if I went in the carriage, what would they think of me then? Better the cart – more down-to-earth. Besides, these are my own people. I’m no better and no worse.’ Charlotte smiled at the concern on her maid’s face. ‘Don’t worry, Lily, I can handle a bit of bad feeling, and I’m sure there will be some. After all, their wages are down and, with the uncertainty of future work, they probably think it’s all Joseph’s fault. They little thought that politics in America would enter into their lives and cause such upset.’ She patted Lily’s hand. ‘As for baby here, he’s quite content. The morning sickness that I had for a few mornings early on in my pregnancy has thankfully passed and I feel well.’ Times were hard, but Charlotte was determined to do her bit for the people employed at the mill.
She gripped Lily’s hand as they reached the cobbled path that led down to the high locked gates of t
he mill yard. Workers were gathered there: the men with their flat caps and worn jackets, and the women with their shawls and long skirts, all waiting in anticipation of the large gates opening to summon them for another’s day work, with the assurance of pay.
‘It’ll be alright, Lily. They’ll know we mean well. Jethro, try and get as near as you can, and then we’ll get down and walk with our baskets.’ Charlotte smiled at the two people by her side as they looked worried. Truth be told, she didn’t know how the offer of a meagre loaf of bread would go down, but she had to do something to help the workers of her husband’s mill.
‘Good morning, how are you? Would you like some bread? It was baked fresh this morning. It’s free!’ She smiled at the astonished faces of the mill workers, as she and Lily mixed in with the waiting workers.
The first few workers looked at her as if they didn’t believe what she was saying. Then Sally Oversby spouted up, ‘Don’t mind if I do. After all, it’s your husband that’s taking it out of my baby’s mouth – it’s the least you can do. Come on, you lot; it’s for nowt and it’s from the big house.’ Sally took a loaf out of Charlotte’s basket and passed it back through the crowd, and then passed more to the bustling onlookers, so that soon both Charlotte’s and Lily’s baskets were empty.
‘We’ve more, in the back of the cart,’ Charlotte shouted, watching as the workers clambered around the cart, where Jethro stood passing out a loaf to each allotted employee.
‘So, you are feeling sorry for your working classes. Give them bread and it’ll keep them quiet. It takes more than that, missus. We have a right to work, and to have pride in our work, and we don’t expect handouts from the big house.’ Sally put her hands on her hips and looked at Charlotte square-on.
‘I don’t mean to insult anyone. I just thought a loaf of bread might help – it’s the only way I could think of helping. Times are hard for everyone and it is nobody’s fault. It’s just that there is not enough cotton for you all to work the hours you used to.’ Charlotte looked at the straight-talking woman and admired her bravery in saying her bit.
‘Christie down at Bridge End at Settle is still working twelve-hour days. He doesn’t seem to have the same problems, and he hasn’t cut his mill workers’ hours.’ Sally stood her ground.
‘It’s early days yet. Sorry, I don’t know your name?’
‘Sally, if you must know.’
‘Yes, Sally, its early days, and the war in America could go on for years. Our cotton in America is being blocked from getting to us by the Yankees in the north, because they don’t want the southern states to keep slaves, to pick the cotton. They believe all men to be free. Now isn’t that a good thing? But it could go on for years, so Christie may be in trouble, if he can’t get his hands on new supplies,’ Charlotte explained and watched as Sally took in the information.
‘So it’s all about folk who don’t get paid and don’t have a say in their lives? And folk are trying to stop it, just like they did with the slaves over here,’ said Sally.
‘Partly, Sally. There’s other factors as well, but that’s the main one. I know I shouldn’t say so, but I hope the Yankees win.’ She smiled at Sally.
‘So do I, ma’am. And thank you for your bread. God bless you, ma’am, ’cause no man should be a slave. Although I’m a slave to that bloody mill bell!’ Sally picked up her skirts and strode off as the mill bell sounded out around the yard and the huge gates opened. She stopped and looked back, then shouted at Charlotte, ‘But I hope that bell keeps ringing.’
Charlotte smiled. At least she had won over one worker. She watched as everyone raced into the mill to get into work on time, most of them with a loaf of bread under their arm.
‘Well, ma’am, I think that went down well, or a lot better than I thought.’ Lily stood next to Charlotte and watched the workers filing into the mill.
‘Yes, I think it did. At least I got the chance to explain why this is happening. The woman I talked to will let everyone know why there’s a problem with the cotton supply, and hopefully they won’t look at Joseph in such a bad light from now on.’ Charlotte patted Lily on the back. ‘Thank you, Lily, for your help. I know it was above and beyond your duties as a lady’s maid, but I have to help my husband keep his mill and his staff. After all, we all depend on him.’
‘It’s Mrs Batty you need to sweet-talk. Did you see her face? I thought she was going to burst, with the heat from the kitchen.’ Lily smiled.
‘Yes, perhaps baking that much bread once a day is a bit too much to ask. We’ll make it once a week, I think. We just need to show we care, which we do. Those poor people. Their lives are in the lap of the gods – as well as ours – if the mill doesn’t keep working.’
‘It’ll not come to that, ma’am, I’m sure,’ said Lily.
‘I don’t know, Lily. Things are bad, and the trouble is there’s nothing anyone can do about it.’
Charlotte knocked on the door of the last cottage in the row of Langcliffe Lock cottages and waited for a reply.
‘I wouldn’t go there, ma’am, she’ll not be in.’ Gertie Potts, who was on her dinner break, waited and watched on the doorstep, clutching the loaf of bread for which she was more than thankful. She knew damn well that Betsy was otherwise employed in her lunch hour, with Charlotte’s husband. ‘She doesn’t deserve one anyway.’
‘What do you mean? She works at the mill, doesn’t she?’ said Charlotte.
‘Aye, when she can be bothered to.’ Gertie instantly regretted interfering with the charity work of the big house, and decided to listen and watch from the safety of her lace curtains, as she heard the bolt on Betsy Foster’s door being pulled.
‘Yes. What can I do for you?’ Betsy came to the door and looked at the woman she knew was her lover’s wife.
‘Are you too ill to work today?’ Charlotte asked, looking at the state of the woman’s undress as she propped herself up against the doorway.
‘Aye, you could say that. Going to that mill often makes me feel worse for wear nowadays.’ Betsy looked Charlotte up and down. The poor bitch hadn’t got a clue.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. You must really be feeling the pinch, with illness and a shortage of hours. I’m just delivering my husband’s workers a loaf of bread each. It’s our way of helping in these hard times. Would you like one?’ Charlotte offered Betsy one of the newly baked loaves and waited for a reply.
‘That would be grand, thank you very much.’ Betsy took the loaf quickly and started to close the door.
‘I hope you feel better shortly,’ Charlotte shouted after the door closed in her face. Closing the garden gate, she saw the next-door neighbour’s curtains twitch. Nothing would escape that one’s eyes, but she couldn’t be that good a neighbour if she was so callous about her ill friend. She shook her head. It took all sorts to make a world. She walked towards Jethro, who was standing patiently next to the horse and cart at the bottom of the lane leading to the locks.
Betsy placed the loaf of bread on her kitchen table and then climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
‘Now, where were we, before your wife so rudely interrupted us?’ She giggled. ‘Poor cow, she thought I was ill.’ Betsy leaned over Joseph, her breasts enticing him to play.
Joseph caught her by her hair and twisted it. ‘You don’t call my wife a cow, and you show her some respect. She’s ten times the lady you will ever be.’ He had been thinking for some time that the moment to stop visiting Betsy for his pleasures was upon him. She was beginning to think she could do what she wanted, and was starting to take advantage of being his whore. ‘Get bloody well dressed. Your brother will be back for dinner, and I’ve squandered too much time lying in this filthy bed.’ He pulled on his clothes and looked out from the low-set cottage window. ‘This will be the last time I’ll be coming for a while, as the mill needs my attention.’
‘Ah, don’t take on so. I was only jesting about your wife.’ Betsy lay on her bed and watched as Joseph smoothed back his long dark hair. ‘You kn
ow you’ll miss me.’
‘I’ll not miss you, Betsy, because you’ll be in work, like every other one of my employees – unless you want to starve, like half this dale will, before this cotton famine is over.’ He looked at his watch: twelve-thirty, dinner time at the mill. He had to make his escape now, before the other mill workers came back for their dinners. ‘See you tomorrow, Betsy, eight o’clock, and don’t forget that pay is only three-quarters at the moment.’ He ran down the stairs and out of the door, slamming the garden gate behind him.
‘The bloody cheek of the man. Him in her bed, and his wife on the doorstep handing out bread.’ Gertie Potts shook her head and pulled back her net curtains. Just wait until her Stan came back for his dinner; he wouldn’t believe his ears.
‘I think our offering of bread went down well, Joseph. Did anyone say anything at the mill today?’ Charlotte sat in the parlour across from her husband, watching him close his eyes in the flickering candlelight.
‘Sorry, what did you say? I’m sorry, I’m so tired this evening. The worry and pressure of having so many to provide for are taking their toll on me, I’m afraid.’ Joseph tried to look interested in the conversation his wife was attempting to make.
‘Did the bread go down well?’ asked Charlotte.
‘Yes, indeed it did. Bert Bannister said I must congratulate you on such a splendid idea. He’d heard a girl called Sally, in carding, singing our praises, so it’s definitely done us some good. What else have you done with your day?’ He yawned.
‘Go to bed, if you are tired. It makes a change for you to be at home. Are there no meetings, or friends to drink with, tonight?’ From the small table at her side, Charlotte reached for the letter she had received earlier in the day.
