by Anna Jacobs
As she watched him leave Tibby thought what a good-looking young man he was and yet how gentle his smile was. It wouldn’t do for him to get too friendly with her maid, however, for the girl’s sake.
Emmy watched Jack go. ‘I didn’t think he’d speak to me in front of everyone.’
‘He seems a very nice young fellow. Clean and decent, though he could do with a new jacket. He’s growing out of that one. What did you say his name was?’
‘Jack Staley.’
‘Now where do I know that name from ... Oh, my! It was a man called Staley who was killed in those dreadful riots in April. You don’t suppose that was his father, do you?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am.’
Tibby abandoned her speculations, looking round with a weary sigh. ‘Well, my dear, shall we make our way home now? I’ve enjoyed the service, but I’m feeling rather tired. I’ve been talking to our new Parson’s wife. I thought I recognised her face. Mrs Bradley is the cousin of a lady I used to know when I was a girl and ...’ Talking gently, she led the way home.
She didn’t say that Prudence Bradley had tactfully raised the matter of Emmy’s parentage and that Tibby had told her firmly that she was a good girl, not to be blamed for her mother’s behaviour, and was the best maid Tibby had ever had, so cheerful and hard-working.
She sighed. She had felt a bit out of place among the congregation in the churchyard until Mrs Bradley had come over to speak to her. She had seen some ladies she used to know glancing scornfully at her shabby clothes and making no attempt to renew their acquaintance. Well, the Lord didn’t care whether you were rich or poor, only whether you were a good person or not, and Tibby didn’t intend to stop coming to church now that she had plucked up the courage to start again. It would be something to look forward to, because the choir was indeed a good one and so was the new organ old Mr Rishmore had donated in memory of his wife. As for the sermon, dear Mr Bradley had chosen an interesting topic which would give her something to think about during the following week.
If only her poor, dear James hadn’t been so trusting with his savings. If only some dreadful person hadn’t robbed him in the street, hitting him over the head so viciously he had died there before anyone found him. And James had had hardly had any money on him, only his old silver watch and chain. She still wept at night sometimes thinking of that, and still missed her old home and comfortable life.
Then she looked down at the clear-eyed child walking beside her. Well, at least she wasn’t lonely any more. You had to count your blessings, indeed you did. The two of them could help one another because from what the child had let fall, she had led a very lonely life.
4
1826-8
In September Jack came home from the mill one day to find his sister cooking the evening meal, banging the dishes about and looking furiously angry. ‘Where’s Mam?’
‘Gone to see our Tom.’
He couldn’t take it in for a minute, just stood there holding out his chilled hands to the fire and frowning at her. He was bone weary after a particularly frustrating day and soaked to the skin because it was pelting down outside. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, she’s sold her wedding ring and gone off to see our Tom in Lancaster.’
‘Sold her wedding ring?’
‘Can you do nothing but repeat what I say, Jack Staley?’ Meg yelled. ‘She said to tell you she had to see him again or it would kill her. She left our Joey an’ Ginny with Mrs Farron next door an’ just up and went.’
He closed his eyes and sagged down into his mother’s rocking chair. ‘She must have been desperate to sell that ring. She’s always stroking it and saying it’s all she has left of Dad. Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘Because she knew you’d persuade her out of doing it. I only found out this morning after you’d left, and when I told her not to waste her money, she clouted me round the ears. He’s allus been her favourite, Tom has. An’ I’ve allus been the one she doesn’t like.’
He ignored her last remark because it was true, though he could never understand why. Meg was a bit sharp-tongued, but she was a good, hard-working lass. ‘I should go after Mam.’
‘What with? She’s taken all the housekeeping money, too, ’cept for what she paid Mrs Farron to look after the little ‘uns, so I hope you’ve got something tucked away or we’ll all go hungry.’
He looked at her in shock. ‘She took all the food money?’
His sister nodded.
‘The savings too?’
Another nod.
‘But how did she think we’d manage?’
Meg shrugged. ‘I asked her that. She said she’d be sleeping in cheap lodging houses an’ at least we’d be warm an’ comfortable.’
‘Eh, I hope she’ll be all right.’ He looked out of the window. ‘She’ll be soaking wet and cold.’
‘It’s her own fault.’ Meg looked at him and her mouth trembled for a moment. ‘I hope our Tom’s not - suffering.’
He nodded, wishing desperately that he could have gone to see his brother, too.
They could do nothing but wait for three long days, coming home each night hoping to see their mother but finding the house empty. Jack borrowed some money from Mr Bradley for food and Meg grudgingly prepared the evening meals. Shad, who was eleven, had a job at the dye works now, fetching and carrying for one of the men there. It didn’t pay much, only two shillings a week, but everything helped and the man he worked for gave him something to eat at midday as well as teaching him about dyeing. Ginny, who was eight, kept wondering aloud where their mother was, but Joey was very quiet, sucking his thumb and cuddling up to his big brother when offered the chance.
Remembering his own childhood and the boisterous caresses and play from his father, Jack always tried to show his little brother as much affection as possible. Their mother had changed a lot since their father’s death and didn’t like anyone to touch her any more, and Meg went out whenever she could to get away from the constant nagging and slaps.
Worry over how his mother was managing was eating away at Jack and he wondered whether to ask Mr Bradley’s help and advice. Maybe he should go and look for her? Only how was he to manage that? They had no money and nothing of value to sell. Besides, he didn’t dare put his job at risk by taking time off. Old Mr Rishmore had been very short-tempered since the loom-breaking.
However, just as Jack felt he could bear the worry no longer, he came home from the mill one night to find his mother sitting slumped in the rocking chair, looking grey and exhausted, her clothes crumpled and dirty. She smelled sour. Normally she would have washed herself as soon as she got in, but today she hardly seemed to be aware of what was happening around her. He went to kneel beside her and chafe her hands. ‘Eh, Mam, why didn’t you tell me what you were planning?’
She stared at him as if she didn’t recognise him, then blinked and reached out to touch his hair fleetingly. ‘He wept when he saw me, Jack. Our Tom. Stood there skriking like a babby.’
He swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine his confident older brother weeping.
‘Don’t be angry at me, son. I had to go. I just had to see him again!’
She suddenly began to cry, keening in a shrill tone, rocking to and fro, so consumed with anguish that he didn’t know how to help her, could only hold her in his arms and make shushing noises.
When her passion was spent she slumped back in the chair with her eyes closed. ‘I’m that thirsty. Do we have any tea in the house?’
‘Aye.’ He went and brewed her some from the dust and leaves at the bottom of the tea caddy, making it extra strong and hang the extravagance. He watched her slurp it down thirstily, then poured more hot water on to the same leaves to make a weaker second brew. ‘How does Tom look?’ he asked at last.
‘Thinner - and dirty. They don’t keep them clean in those places, you know.’ Netta pressed her hands against her chest, her head bowed for a minute, then went on, ‘His eyes are that sad, Jack. You’d think he w
as forty year old, not nineteen. An’ he sent you his special love, said he was sorry you’d been left with everything on your shoulders.’ She looked at him, her eyes brimming still. ‘What if they hang him, Jack? I think it’d kill me.’
‘Mr Bradley’s going to write and ask for clemency, ask them just to transport him. He said Tom would have got off more lightly if he hadn’t thumped a soldier when they tried to capture him.’
His mother began to sob again. ‘I shall never see him again, I know I shan’t.’
They sat together for a little longer, with her holding his hand tightly, then Meg came in and peace was at an end.
‘So you’ve come back, have you, Mam? You should remember you have other children as well as Tom! How did you think we were going to eat when you took all the money?’
‘Meg, don’t!’ Jack begged.
His sister ignored him. ‘How could you do it? Every week you take nearly every penny I earn, and I’m dressed in rags, and then you go an’ spend all that on seeing our Tom.’ She stared defiantly across the room. ‘Well, from now onwards I’m keeping some of what I earn for mysen.’
‘Meg, that’s not fair!’ Jack rebuked.
‘Life’s not fair. Haven’t you realised that yet? And she isn’t fair to us, neither.’
‘Don’t talk to Mam like that.’
‘I’ll talk any way I want. I’m one of the breadwinners here an’ I have a right to my say. You may want to spend your life looking after her an’ the other kids, but I don’t.’
Jack took a hasty step towards her, furious that she would behave like this when their mother was so upset.
‘Don’t!’ Netta grabbed his jacket to hold him back. ‘Let our Meg keep some of her own money. You’re only young once and it doesn’t last. Soon as the childer start coming it’s a struggle just to put bread in their mouths. I could maybe do a bit of scrubbing or get a day’s washing every now an’ then at one of the big houses. I’m not going to be such a burden on you from now on - as long as you’ll keep your promise an’ stay with us.’ She looked at him with haunted eyes. ‘I couldn’t do it on my own, Jack, I just couldn’t. Some women manage all right when they lose their husband, but I’m not one of them.’
‘You might find yoursen another fellow,’ Meg tossed at her. ‘That’d be a big help to the rest of us.’
Netta shook her head and for a moment her eyes were blind with memories. ‘Nay, I want no other after your dad. I couldn’t love another fellow like I loved my Jem. Eh, he was that good-looking when he was younger, I thought I was set for life when he wanted to wed me.’ She sighed. ‘No, I just couldn’t bear anyone else to touch me.’
Jack could not gainsay her. ‘I’ll keep my promise, Mam.’ Though he knew well enough that her memories of her husband were flawed. Well, let her think that way if it gave her comfort.
‘Funny way you two had of showing your love, then. You did nothing but quarrel. An’ as for you, our Jack, you’re a soft fool to give in to her,’ Meg snapped and whisked out of the house, banging the door behind her.
It was weeks before the final trial would take place. Mr Bradley had explained to Jack about the others being just committal hearings and having to wait for the Assizes before a judge could make a final decision on such a serious case.
Watching his mother fret and worry, Jack wondered if these rich folk realised how hard it was on the families of the accused who had to wait such a long time to find out what would happen to their loved ones. His mother looked years older since his father’s death and his sister’s tongue had never been so sharp, while he felt weighed down with sadness and responsibility - and terror that they would hang his brother.
Even if they only sentenced Tom to transportation, he would be lost to them and that was a hard thing to face.
Near the time for the trial, the Parson came round to tell his mother that Mr Samuel was to attend it and put in a plea for clemency. He would take Constable Makepeace with him to give evidence. Since it was his family’s property the men had attacked and he who had been bashed, there was hope that this would sway the judge to be lenient. But apparently old Mr Rishmore was angry about what his son was doing and had washed his hands of the whole business.
‘Will it really make a difference if Mr Samuel does that?’ Jack asked quietly as he showed Mr Bradley out. ‘I want the truth, please.’ He was the one who would have to deal with his mother.
‘He thinks so. It’ll still be transportation for your Tom, his lawyer thinks, and the Rishmores will be satisfied with that as punishment.’ He patted his young companion’s shoulder. ‘If you ever need someone to talk to, lad, my door is always open.’
Jack nodded but knew he wouldn’t take advantage of this offer. What good would talking do now? No one could help Tom’s family face their loss, and Jack missed his brother’s cheerful presence and his father’s solid warmth every single day. But the Parson was a kind man and it had been a good thing for the town when he took up the living. His wife was exactly the same, always helping folk in trouble.
When Mr Samuel came back from the trial he called Jack and the others who had family members involved into the mill yard and told them gravely what sentences their sons, husbands and brothers had been given. Only Tom had been sentenced to transportation, because he had used violence against a soldier, and he would be sent to the hulks in London. He would stay in one of these rotting old ships, which were used as extra jails, until he left for New South Wales, never to return.
All Jack could do was write a letter to Tom, find out from Mr Bradley where to send it - and lie awake at night wondering how his brother was and where he was now. He did a lot of that.
His sister’s friend Sam Repley had been let off with only a fine and some uncle had come forward to pay it. His sister was missing Sam greatly, he knew, more than Jack had expected her to, since he agreed with his mother that at fifteen she was too young to get wed. But Sam had gone to live with the uncle, not returning to Northby when released from jail. Well, there wouldn’t have been a job here for him any more, would there? The uncle had a farm, it seemed, with work for his nephew. But if he’d really cared about her, Sam should have come and said goodbye to Meg, or at least sent her a farewell note. She had wept over him several times, Jack had heard her in the night.
He sighed as he went about his work. He seemed to be beset by worries on all sides since his father’s death.
As the months passed Jack continued to act as head of the household and to work at the mill, doing all sorts of odd jobs in the evenings and on Saturday afternoons as well to earn extra pennies. Mr Samuel occasionally stopped to speak to him in the mill yard and would then walk off looking smug, as if it pleased him to see Jack bobbing his head and saying, ‘Yes, sir. We’re all grateful for your help, sir.’
Charity was a heavy burden to bear, though, and if Jack ever could he’d leave Northby and find a job where you didn’t have to kow-tow to anyone, a job where there wasn’t all that noise beating at your ears from dawn till dusk from those metal monsters which wove the cloth better and faster than men ever could.
He thought it must be wonderful to have a little shop and that became the dream into which he escaped sometimes. Life would never get boring, there’d be so many different things to do, and you’d be in charge of how you worked, which must be wonderful. They had shopped in the town centre before his father’s death, but things were cheaper down at the far end of Weavers Lane, so they walked the extra distance now. He would watch Grandma Hickley serving the customers in her little shop when he bought things for his mother. The old woman was slow and clumsy, and didn’t keep things as clean as he’d have done. Eh, he could have done everything so much better.
He mocked himself. Fine dreams these were! He was stuck in that bloody weaving shed for life, he reckoned. And that was if he was one of the lucky fellows who were kept on.
The only good thing about going to Grandma Hickley’s shop was that he sometimes saw Emmy Carter on his way back. She�
�d be working in the garden of the cottage or helping her mistress take a short stroll in the evening. The sight of her always brightened his day. She was so pretty and her smile was warm and friendly.
He didn’t attend the Bible reading classes any more, because he had grown too skilled to need them, but he was still in the church choir and that was his only real escape from his mother and her never-ending complaints. It was hard going out to rehearsals after work, because he didn’t finish till eight o‘clock at night and had to be in the mill at six o’clock sharp the next morning. But he looked forward to the singing, which seemed to lift his heart.
One Sunday Mr Bradley took him aside after church.
‘Do you think you could help out at the Sunday reading classes, Jack? We’re to have several classes now and we need another teacher for the beginners. Mr Samuel himself suggested you for the boys. He’s very keen for the young people of the town to learn their letters and wants my wife to start a girls’ class now as well.’
Jack sighed. This would eat further into his precious spare time. He had been thinking maybe on fine Sundays he could get out on the moors after church. That surely wouldn’t be considered breaking the Sabbath?
‘We can pay you two shillings a week if you do, Mr Rishmore says.’
Jack looked down at his wrists, caught by a sudden fancy. They wore shackles in prison, but he had shackles, too, invisible ones that kept him dancing to a rich man’s wishes. That made him wonder whether Tom had arrived in Australia yet. He didn’t even know how long it took to get there. ‘Yes, I’ll do it, sir. It’ll mean I’ll be able to pay you back more quickly.’ For he had borrowed the money from Parson to redeem his mother’s wedding ring and then had a big argument with Mr Roper the pawnbroker about the price he should pay for it. Only his threat to ask the Parson to intervene had made Mr Roper stop trying to ask twice what he had given Jack’s mother for it and be content with a smaller profit.
