by Leah Fleming
Why was there no comfort in her words for me? If only I had her gift of quiet determination. If only I could be more like Ellinor and not be this tormented soul, turned this way and that. Why were the promptings of my inner heart so misguided? Did we not believe everyone had their own path to God? If only there was a sign like the milestones on the moors pointing a finger to the next destination. I heard the rightness of what she was saying with my head but not my heart. Those longings were pulling in the opposite direction altogether.
On the morning of the cloth market I was up before dawn at my duties, still struggling with the decision to go or stay at my post, for it was but six days since my admonition. I must not leave without permission.
Zeph was about his business, ordering which yards of cloth were to be rolled and carried to the market stalls. He was both a buyer and seller and knew the exact timings of this short journey, making sure Samuel the journeyman did not loiter around the alehouses until the first bell rang, sipping ale shots to keep himself warm.
Sometimes he carried a pack of small offcuts of irregular cloth to distribute among the poor families, lengths suitable for child’s britches or jackets made from fents of rough wool, not perfectly finished off. There might be burls and flaws in a piece. Seeing the package on the floor gave me an idea and I kicked it out of sight under the table so it lay forgotten as I dished out some porridge and warm ale to see them on their way in the first light. The children were still abed and Tabitha had not yet banged for me to attend her.
I waited until they were out of sight and then made a great play of finding the sack and running after them as if there was some urgency. No one would begrudge me my absence on an errand of mercy. Zeph would be grateful and forget that I was not allowed to leave the houseplace until tomorrow. If I timed my arrival to the sound of the first bell then I would have every reason to saunter through the market unnoticed, along the sidelines while the merchants were about their business.
There was no time to examine how sly and cunning was my deceit or how there were wings on my feet at the thought of seeing Miles Foxup again. I hurried down to the stone bridge with the pack on my shoulder for it was heavier than I had first thought.
It was a fine market morning, the trestles were assembled before me with the long boards that acted like counters right along the wide bridge.
The seven o’clock bell was ringing and the clothiers suddenly appeared from all directions with their cloth, out of the inns and the side alleys off the Briggate, placing their wares at their appointed places, lined up side by side like long logs of every forest hue; rough kerseys, broadcloth, finer coloured woollens.
Everyone was standing to attention in silence as custom decreed, waiting for the merchants to saunter down the gangways in search of a good purchase at a fair cost, stopping to examine a piece with their fingers, nodding and leaning over to whisper what was the asking price; a shake of the hand and the deal was done without anyone in earshot knowing their business.
Zephaniah strolled down in his dark sombre jacket. He paused to acknowledge other men from the meeting but no one spoke. My eyes were flitting nervously through the crowd to see if Miles was among them. I was getting ever closer to Samuel and Zeph. I tapped him on the shoulder.
‘You forgot the fents,’ I panted. ‘I thought you might need them today.’
Zeph turned, surprised to see me, putting a finger on his lips. ‘Shush,’ he whispered. ‘That was a kind act but a wasted journey, Joy. Today there is no fent sale.’
Everything fell silent, not a cough or a laugh as the parade of merchants along the ranks of stalls continued; back and forth some of them went, not wanting to miss anything before the final bell rang.
Someone bought Samuel’s cloth and pointed to where it must be delivered. Up and down like a silent dance they went and still no sign of Miles. Had he forgotten? Was all this deception for nothing? Then the bell rang for business to halt. Trading was over for the day. The merchants melted away as silently as they had come and Samuel set off to deliver the sale.
‘I will go back now,’ I whispered, still unsure of when to speak normally. ‘I’m not supposed to be here.’
‘Aye, lass, on thy way rejoicing but thee must take the fents back for another time. I want to catch Friend Houldsworth. There are matters to discuss.’
There was now a throng of clothiers and packmen with rolls of cloth on their shoulders bumping into each other, men busy taking down stalls and the sun was rising high; a bustle of people about their business, no one would notice if I lingered on the Brig a little longer. I tried to look busy strapping on the sack of offcuts whilst searching the crowd, my heart in my boots and then he was there, stepping out of a doorway.
‘So you came then?’ he smiled and my heart leapt to see him standing tall over me.
‘I can’t stay. I was forbidden to leave the house . . . What news?’ My voice was trembling with relief that he had come.
‘Nothing much so far but there is an investigation going on. We hope to catch them at their trade,’ he replied.
‘That’s good! I was worried in case there was trouble,’ I replied, knowing I must keep only to this subject matter.
‘Trouble?’ His eyebrow raised in a query. There was something charming in that gesture that made me want to smile. ‘Why the smile?’ he asked me.
‘Nothing,’ I said, ‘I feel uneasy, that’s all. Your Master, does he know of this matter?’
‘No, but Justice Moorside soon will for I wrote him a long letter explaining the search for the first boys in our township. I told him you are well served in your placement.’
‘I doubt he’ll be interested in me.’ I had not thought that news would reach Scarperton so soon.
‘He’s an old man, you didn’t make it easy for him to warm to you,’ he said. ‘You can be so icy and unbending.’
‘I have taken a risk in coming here. The Websters don’t hold with worldly conversations.’
‘What are you talking about now?’ he snapped.
‘I am not free to mix with those not of our calling.’
‘So why did you choose to meet me this morning?’
‘To find out about the Crankes, that’s all.’
‘But I’ve told you nothing, so we’ll have to meet again.’
‘I will write to the Moot Hall, to your Master’s office. We can keep in touch by letter. It is for the best.’ I made to go but he stepped into my path.
‘What have I done wrong now? Don’t go. I would like to see you again.’
‘I have to go. I’m sorry, this was not a good idea. We must keep within our own company or there’ll be trouble.’
‘There you go again, always trouble, trouble, just for talking together as old acquaintances. It’s not as if I’ve come a-wooing,’ he laughed. ‘Don’t take everything so seriously, Joy. We’re far too young to think of anything else. Did you think I was after your hand?’
‘I’ve got to go, please. When there’s news let me know how I can help. That’s all. Good day.’
‘At least let me carry the sack, it looks heavy,’ he offered.
‘No, I can manage. I brought it here and I’ll carry it unaided.’ My cheeks were on fire with rage and frustration but most of all with disappointment.
He saw me only as a silly miss, a plaything to tease and taunt but he was not going to see my hurt. All this fuss and deceiving for a few minutes of pain and misunderstanding. I sighed, staggering under a burden far heavier than the cloth bits. Ellinor was right. There was only humiliation in continuing this torment.
My back was sore rushing over the bridge with my load and down towards Meadow Lane. I hurried, knowing there would be havoc awaiting me and lengthy explanations to endure but I was secure. Zeph would vouchsafe my errand and my honest intentions to Tabitha. No one knew about this meeting.
Lies have never sat easy on my soul. There was no reason to tell Ellinor about them either. I didn’t want to see the look of sadness on her face whe
n she found out that I was not taking her advice, sound as it was. Better she was ignorant of my wayward heart. It had a will of its own that would not be thwarted.
14
I have never been patient when waiting for news or for events to unfold. Every journey into town, I lingered around the Moot Hall hoping to catch a glimpse of Miles about his business. To my fevered mind it seemed he was keeping his distance from me as some punishment. The fact that he might have no news to bring was a mere bagatelle compared to the importance of seeing him again. There was nothing holy in my need to be by his side. I was like some famished dog ravenous for a feast, hungry to be under his gaze, breathing his very breath. Sometimes the very thought of meeting him sent me into a tizzy of desire and I would take the basket on any excuse to put myself in a place where by chance I might encounter him. Such a passion is hard to recall when bones are old and flesh is dry. It was as if I were under some witching spell that drew me against myself.
If Ellinor sensed my restless spirit, she said nothing. She was full of her own hopes to be given permission to go abroad preaching around the wider district. For this she would need the support of the meeting and the consent of her ailing father.
When she rose to speak on First Day, slowly and with modesty she addressed the assembly with gentle words that stung like whipcords into my disobedient heart.
‘Let not duty and reason be at war within thee. There is no peace in worldly business, only in holy conversation. Beware of this infection, cut out the diseased flesh. Repent, for the day of judgement is nigh!’ Her words were brief, not like some who liked the sound of their own voices.
It was then I knew however long I lived I would never have the contentment and peace of a true Friend like Ellinor. I was too wilful, too selfish in wanting my own way in all things. Always there was this restlessness in me when I tried to sit still, my mind flither-flathering across the room, wandering afar from the silence into a world of my own, thinking of the river that haunted my dreams, broad and blue, the river I had yet to find where I would meet the girl with long braids and give the glove tokens.
I had not thought of the gloves for weeks; not since I rescued them from Dora’s clutches. They were packed away in my wooden box out of sight. I had not shown them to anyone else. There was something shameful in their extravagant detail that the Webster family would not understand. Friends did not possess such luxuries. They were unnecessary to our beliefs. Yet again, there was another disobedience in my hiding them. Out of sight, out of mind they were, until something happened to jolt their presence to the fore.
How can a day begin so fine and end so darkly? The heat of late summer shimmered, the meadow flowers were afire with colour and the tenterfields were flagged with a cloth rainbow of many hues flapping like banners. It was a joy to be out and about on such a fine morning, sweeping out, opening casements, helping the Mistress get ready for the day knowing that she could hobble on sticks and supervise my tasks with her eagle eye. Even little Will was stronger in the warm air, watching the noisy comings and goings of his brothers and sisters from his propped-up seat.
I was about my baking, elbow deep in flour paste when there was a commotion in the yard and suddenly a constable at arms stormed into the houseplace.
‘Are you the servant, Rejoice Moorside?’
‘Who is asking?’ I replied, calmly scraping the paste from my fingers.
‘Answer the question,’ he snapped.
‘What’s all this about, Stephen Fletcher?’ said Tabitha who was about her tidying up. ‘Come to relieve us of another bolt of cloth for a fine?’
‘Not this time, lass,’ he said. ‘I have a warrant for the servant, Rejoice to accompany me to the Magistrate. There are charges to be read.’
In my innocence I was not taking in his words or why he was addressing them to me.
‘What is this to do with me? What have I done wrong?’
‘That’s for the courts to decide. Come along now, there’s a good lass.’ I was so stunned that I followed him meekly to the door. There had to be some mistake.
Tabitha hobbled behind him shouting for Hiram up the stairs. ‘Fetch your father and sharp . . . She must not go unescorted!’ Hiram dashed down the stairs and out into the yard.
‘Aye, you Quakers should know the ways of justice enough by now. It’s about time we called on you all,’ he laughed. ‘We’ve been a bit busy of late but watch your doors of a night. If there’s more than five inside, it’ll be another fine and the worse for you. I don’t know why you don’t just give up and go to church like the rest of us.’
‘This girl has no moneys of her own. She is our responsibility.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Tabitha Webster,’ he said, eyeing me up and down as if I were a common criminal.
Zeph was blocking the entrance gate with Samuel. ‘What’s all this about? What can the child have done that is so amiss, other than be a Seeker of Light?’
‘Ask her about a pair of gloves she stole from Scarperton Hall. Ask her why she made a sharp exit there without permission. Ask her what she keeps hidden in her box that has a value of many pounds and would keep this family in cloth for weeks. Go on, see what she has to say to that!’ He was staring at me but still it did not register what was happening.
‘Rejoice, is this true?’ Zeph’s pale blue eyes looked down at me, puzzled.
‘Nay! Well yes . . . I can explain. I never stole the gloves. They are mine,’ I stuttered.
‘That’s what all thieves say,’ said the constable. ‘You are charged that on or after Yuletide you, being in service there, did wilfully steal from Scarperton Hall some lady’s gloves to the value of ten pounds or thereabouts.’
‘That’s not true. There’s some mistake. Who tells such lies?’ I cried, suddenly very afraid.
‘Are these gloves in thy possession, Rejoice?’ asked Tabitha, stepping back to examine my response.
‘Yes. You can find them wrapped in my box, away from moths.’
‘They are hidden, I take it?’
‘The gloves belonged to my grandmother, Millicent Moorside, wife of the Justice Elliot Moorside. They were given as a peace offering to my mother. How many times do I have to explain, my father was Matthew Moorside, the prisoner, and sufferer.’
‘What’s a Justice’s granddaughter doing as a serving maid . . . a likely yarn. It’s what they said you would say. Come on, let’s be having you and bring the gloves with you,’ said the constable, impatient to be off.
Suzanna was sent into my closet to search my box and bring the package into the light for everyone to inspect. How they sparkled in the sunshine, the bright gold lace and the soft doeskin as fresh as the day they were given.
‘Just as I expected, a pair of old wedding gloves, braided and cuffed, decorated with seed pearls and fancy work. Come on, you have some explaining to do. No one wants a liar and a thief in their house, not even a Quaker,’ he laughed.
‘In the name of all that’s precious, they are my gloves. I’m telling the truth.’
‘Then happen you’ll have to swear an oath before the Magistrate to the very same; but we all know how you Quakers love to swear oaths, don’t we? I’d take a cloak, lass, it’s cold in them cells of a night.’ His words were harsh and mean but I sensed some doubt creeping into his voice.
‘I’ll go with thee, child,’ said Zeph, putting on his hat but his eyes looked hurt and unsure for a second. He was doing his duty but uncertain of the outcome. It was in such moments that you found your true friends. He had yet to be convinced.
We walked slowly and every step I was trying to figure out why this charge was laid on me. Was the Justice punishing me for disobedience? Was this his way of making me return the gloves? Did Miles Foxup’s mother, Priscilla, know of these charges? I would soon find out who my accuser was, surely.
What I did know was that for such a theft there was only one outcome. I would be hanged from the gallows on the edge of the city and perhaps my head would be
placed on an iron pike, like those poor men on the Moot Hall. My legs crumpled under me with fear at such a fate. There was only one man who could help me now.
‘Sir, you must speak with Miles Foxup, late of Scarperton Hall. He can vouchsafe my kin to the Justice. I am no thief. These gloves are precious to me, being a gift to my mother. She would never have worn such worldly tokens, as I will never do, but they are a gift of love. You know Ellinor’s father, Friend John Holt. He met with my mother and my father in York prison. There are others who knew of them both. Please speak to Miles . . .’
‘Is this Foxup man a true Friend who attends a meeting?’
‘No, no, but he’s the son of the housekeeper at Scarperton Hall. She can explain my position there and why I left the household in haste. The Justice was angry with me. I offered him the gloves and he nearly threw them on the fire. I had to save them . . .’
‘Calm thy voice, child,’ Zeph replied. ‘The truth will all come out in the end. We did not expect you to keep such stuff in a box. It could be sold to help the poor or keep our preachers on the road spreading the good news from town to town. Friends do not value such worldly decorations.’ There was a stern admonition in his voice.
‘I know, but they have a special meaning for me. I have a dream that one day they will be passed on . . . in a place I know not where . . .’ I was sharing my deepest dream with him but to no avail.
‘Thee talks such fancies, I have worried about you a long while, but no matter. We must find someone to speak on thy behalf.’
‘Where are we going?’ I asked, seeing we were passing the Moot Hall.
‘To the cells where you can sit and think on your present situation and see if you can come up with an honest explanation,’ said the constable, waving the gloves in my face. ‘These will go into safe keeping until they go back to their rightful owners.’
I felt so sick and shivery as the lock-up gates came in sight. There was no time to waste if I was to convince Zeph of my honesty.
