‘And then we start again,’ Harry said as he carried on working several rows, but at a much slower rate than the knitters normally worked. ‘The best knitters can work forty-two rows a minute,’ he told her.
At last he stopped and swung his legs over the seat. ‘Right, now you have a go.’
Her palms were clammy as she wriggled on to the seat.
‘If you can’t reach the pedals, we’ll have to get you your own seat made.’ He gave a short bark of laughter. ‘That’s if you shape up, lass.’
Licking her lips, Eveleen put her hands and feet where she had seen her uncle place his on the machine.
‘Take it steady and I’ll tell you what to do.’
She followed his instructions carefully and when the first row of loops fell to form a new row, she felt a thrill of achievement.
‘And again,’ Harry said, and repeated his instructions.
Again and again, row upon row, until cramp seized the back of her calves and her thumbs ached from pressing on the metal plates, but Eveleen kept on.
There were no words of praise from Harry, but there was no criticism either. And that, for Harry Singleton, was praise enough.
Gradually, he stopped repeating every single move, just giving a reminder now and again, until finally he fell silent and watched her steady, rhythmic flow of movements and the rows of neat, perfect knitting.
Eveleen went on until the yarn ran out on the bobbin. Then she turned to the man still standing at her side. He gave a brief nod and said, ‘Tomorrow night I’ll show you how to take off the finished strip and thread it all up from scratch. Leave it for tonight. No one will touch this machine tomorrow. Come along, now, Rebecca will have our supper ready.’
Eveleen swung herself off the seat. She staggered a little as she stood up and found her legs were trembling. Her neck and shoulders burned with pain and, as she stumbled after her uncle, she rubbed her aching thumbs and wrists.
But her physical discomfort was nothing to her for she was filled with exhilaration and hope.
Harry paused at the top of the stairs. ‘You’ve got the hang of it now and all you need is practice. Come up here every night and in a week I’ll see how you’re shaping. You can use that old yarn there.’ He pointed to a basket of hanks lying in the corner. ‘It’s below standard, but it’ll do for you to practise on.’
‘Thanks, Uncle Harry,’ Eveleen said, sounding a little breathless after the exertion it had taken to operate the heavy machine.
He nodded and, as he turned away and clumped down the stairs ahead of her, she heard him mutter again, ‘Pity the lad’s not like you.’
Twenty-Three
‘What did they say, Uncle Harry?’
Eveleen had not been able to keep still but had paced up and down outside the row of cottages. It was a week since Eveleen had sat in front of the frame for the first time and her uncle was asking the workers now, this very minute, if they had any objection to his niece working alongside them. Eveleen felt as if her future – the whole future of her family – depended upon their answer. She pictured each of the men in turn, trying to guess whether they would be for her or against her. The younger ones, Andrew Burns among them, would be on her side. They would laugh and tease her, she knew, but she couldn’t for one moment imagine them objecting. It was the older workers who worried her. They didn’t like change. They didn’t like going against tradition. A woman’s place was in the home, not in the workplace. A young lass like Eveleen should be occupied within the home or sent into service. That was their thinking, she knew.
As she paced, she wrapped her arms around her, the pit of her stomach churning with nerves. She wished she dared to creep up the stairs and listen to what was happening, but she did not want to risk being caught eavesdropping.
As she reached the end house and turned to walk back again, she heard a sharp tap on the window and turned to see her grandmother beckoning her inside. She opened the door and stepped into the warm living room.
‘For Heaven’s sake, child, stop pacing up and down like a caged lion,’ the old lady grumbled, easing herself back into her chair beside the fire. ‘You’re getting me all of a dither just watching you.’
‘But, Gran, it’s so important to me. I’ve tried so hard.’
‘I know you have. Harry’s been telling me.’
‘He has?’ Eveleen still could not sit down, but moved restlessly about the room.
‘Oh aye. Singing your praises, he was.’
‘He was? Really?’
‘Yes, really. And that’s rare. Harry’s not one to hand out praise, not even when it’s due, I can tell you.’
Eveleen bit her lip to stop herself blurting out what she had overheard previously. She sat down opposite Bridget and leaned forward. ‘What did he say? Tell me.’
‘Said you’d surprised him by the way you’d stuck at it. He knows how tough it is and he didn’t think you’d even manage to operate the machine, but you’re stronger than you look, he says. And you’ve got a will of iron.’ Bridget laughed. ‘He said it was a pity the boy isn’t the same as you.’
Eveleen pulled a wry face but said nothing even though, silently, she was forced to agree. She didn’t want to be disloyal to her brother but Jimmy was giving her increasing cause for concern. He’d taken to going out every spare moment, hanging about with the other village lads, especially Andrew Burns. Eveleen wasn’t sure that Andrew was a very good influence on Jimmy. But then she sighed. She had no illusions about her brother at all and if she were to be absolutely honest, she had to admit that Jimmy was more than likely the bad influence on Andrew.
At that moment the door opened and Harry came in, his huge frame filling the small room. Eveleen, her gaze on his face, rose slowly to her feet, her heart thudding painfully.
She could tell nothing from his expression. It was as stern and unreadable as ever.
‘Well?’ Bridget said sharply. ‘Don’t keep this poor lass in suspense any longer.’
Harry nodded. ‘They’ve agreed to give you a try. Mind you, some of ’em weren’t keen.’
Eveleen gave a cry of delight and flung herself against Harry, throwing her arms about him. ‘Oh thank you, thank you, Uncle Harry.’
Harry pushed her away. ‘Now, now, there’s no need for such unseemly behaviour. If you’re going to act like that . . .’
At once, Eveleen stood back. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle. It was – it was just that I’m so relieved, so thrilled.’
He nodded and said gruffly, ‘Well, all right, then. But remember, you must keep yourself to yourself in the workshops. I don’t want any goings-on with those lads. Especially that Andrew Burns. He’ll chase anything in skirts. Why, he’s even dared to cast his eyes at Rebecca.’
Eveleen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Poor Rebecca, she thought, not allowed even to speak to boys. Kept at home as a drudge, her only outing on Sundays to the chapel just across the road. Though she must respect her uncle’s wishes, at least for the time being, there was no way Eveleen was going to allow herself to be treated in the same way.
She could guess who the objectors in the workshops had been without them being named and her mouth tightened with determination. I’ll show them, she thought. I’ll just show them. But she did not voice this, knowing that her uncle would not take kindly to such bravado. Instead, with pretended meekness, she said once more, ‘I won’t let you down, Uncle.’
‘Well, lass, time will tell,’ was all he said this time. Eveleen’s heart sank. She could see in his eyes that he was still doubtful about her.
As he left the cottage and she made to follow him, Bridget hissed, ‘You’ll show ’em, lass. You’ll show ’em.’
Heartened, she bent and kissed the old lady’s cheek. ‘Oh, go on with you,’ Bridget flapped her away but not before Eveleen had seen the pink tinge of pleasure that suffused the wrinkled cheeks.
Andrew Burns was there to greet her early the following morning when Eveleen presented herself for her first day. Weari
ng her plainest, most shapeless dress and with her wayward hair tied firmly back beneath a headscarf, Eveleen considered she was hardly likely to inflame the senses of even the most flirtatious male in the workshops.
But there he was, waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, grinning widely. ‘I’ll look after you, Eveleen,’ he said, bounding up the stairs ahead of her. ‘Any trouble and you just let me know about it.’
‘Thank you, Andrew, but—’
Before she could say any more, he stopped suddenly, turned and bent down towards her to whisper, ‘I’ve made you your own seat. Come on, I’ll show you. It’s just for you and you take it with you wherever you go.’
Eveleen stared at him blankly. ‘How do you mean?’
Patiently, he explained. ‘You know the seats made with leather straps stretched across pieces of wood?’
She nodded.
‘Well, everybody has their own, made to measure, if you like, and if he moves frames, he takes his seat with him so that it’s just the right size and shape for ’im to be comfortable. You need to be comfortable, Eveleen, if you’re going to sit all day long at a frame.’
Now she understood. She had only operated the machine for a few hours each evening when all the men had gone home. Even then, she had found her arms and legs aching when she stumbled down the stairs.
‘Only,’ Andrew was saying, ‘yer’ve got to help me in return.’
Standing on the step below him, Eveleen gaped up at him. ‘Me help you? How?’
‘You can help me to get to see Rebecca wi’out her dad knowing.’
‘Rebecca!’
‘Shh.’ He glanced fearfully up the stairs, but already the clatter of machinery was drowning their conversation from eavesdroppers. ‘Her dad mustn’t know. If he finds out, he’ll sack me.’ He grinned. ‘Or worse.’
Eveleen shook her head, ‘Oh, Andrew, I’m sorry. I’d love to help you, but I can’t. My uncle’s been very good to me – to all my family. And now he’s giving me this chance, I can’t do anything behind his back.’
The young man’s face fell but then he shrugged philosophically. ‘Oh well then. But you won’t tell ’im, will you? You won’t give us away?’
Eveleen shook her head. ‘No, I won’t do that. But I’d rather not know anything about it.’
‘Fair enough.’ He started back up the stairs, but then hesitated once more. ‘There is something you could do for me though.’
‘What?’
‘Keep that brother of yours away from Rebecca. She’s mine.’ Then he turned and hurried up the rest of the stairs, leaving Eveleen staring after him in astonishment.
Jimmy interested in Rebecca? Oh no, surely not. He was only a boy.
No, he wasn’t, Eveleen reminded herself. He was seventeen now and he’d been working since the age of twelve.
Already her little brother would think himself very much a man.
Eveleen’s first day in the workshop did not go well.
She was nervous of the other men’s reactions towards her and consequently overanxious. And now she had another worry on her mind. A worry put there that very morning by Andrew. She would have to watch Jimmy and Rebecca for herself. She could not allow a liaison between them. Her uncle would be appalled and she didn’t think even her grandmother would condone it.
The work she produced that day was a mess with uneven stitches and broken threads that she would have to darn by hand.
Harry stood over her. ‘You’ll have to do better than that. And you’ve a needle broken there. It’s missing a stitch.’ He pointed to the ladder-like line of missed stitches. ‘Didn’t you notice?’
Mortified, Eveleen shook her head.
Harry gave a grunt and turned away, sounding every bit as if he now thought he’d made a grave mistake in giving her a trial.
Andrew was at her side. Close to her ear, he whispered, ‘Don’t worry. Stay behind tonight and I’ll show you how to put a new needle in. We have to do minor repairs to the frames ourselves.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘He won’t employ a framesmith unless it’s something really serious.’ He winked and grinned. ‘That’d cost too much for that old skinflint.’
When she left the workshop that night every muscle in her body seemed to be aching. It was the longest period of time she had worked at the machine. As she stepped into the cottage, more trouble awaited her. Mary had lapsed into one of her moods of depression and was sitting by the fire, a shawl drawn around her shoulders, while Rebecca scurried between the kitchen and the parlour, hurriedly laying the table. It was a job that Mary normally did.
Eveleen sighed and closed her eyes, thinking to herself, This is all I need. Then she went to lay her hand on her mother’s shoulder and shake it gently. ‘Come on, Mam, it’s suppertime.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t want any. I’m not hungry.’ She raised a tearful face, reached up and clung to Eveleen’s hand. ‘I want to go home, Eveleen. Take me home. I hate it here.’
‘Mam, hush . . .’ Eveleen began, but too late, Harry had heard his sister’s words as he came in from the scullery after washing his hands.
‘If that’s how you feel, Mary, then you’d better leave. We’ve put ourselves out for you and that’s how you repay us. The ingratitude, Mary. And don’t forget . . .’ He wagged his forefinger at her. ‘Don’t forget, we could be letting the room you and your children are occupying to proper rent-paying lodgers. And they’d be better workers than either your son,’ and he added with pointed emphasis to remind Eveleen that she had not fared well that day, ‘or your daughter.’
‘She doesn’t mean it, Uncle Harry,’ Eveleen said swiftly. ‘We are grateful to you. You know we are. But she’s missing Dad.’
‘She’s not the only one to lose someone. Don’t you think I still miss my Rose every single day? But my faith carries me through.’ He nodded towards Mary. ‘You’d do better to pray to the good Lord for His help, Mary, than sitting there wringing your hands, wallowing in self-pity and being ungrateful to those who’ve taken you in.’ Then he added with the bitterness that even now he could not quell, ‘Even against their better judgement.’
Mary dropped her head into her hands and wailed aloud. ‘Oh, you’re cruel, Harry. Cruel and heartless. You were twenty years ago and you haven’t changed.’
‘I am what I am, Mary, and I’ve no intention of changing.’
Eveleen looked at her uncle, torn between sticking up for her mother against his unforgiving attitude and trying to keep the peace between them to safeguard their future. Common sense prevailed. With a supreme effort to hold her temper in check, she said, ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Harry.’ Then turning to her mother she said, ‘Come along, Mam. If you’re sure you don’t want anything to eat, let me take you to bed.’
She eased her mother up and helped her climb the narrow stairs, Mary moaning and complaining every step of the way. ‘I want to go home, Eveleen,’ was all she would say, over and over again.
An hour later, when Eveleen wearily descended the stairs to eat her cold supper, it was to find Jimmy and Rebecca in the scullery, whispering and giggling with their heads close together, while Harry snored in his chair by the fire in the parlour.
The following day, Eveleen determined to put all her other worries out of her mind and concentrate on her work. If she didn’t make a good showing today, then her uncle would change his mind – and quickly – about allowing her to work for him. Her future was hanging by a very tenuous thread anyway. He had only agreed to train her because he didn’t like to see a machine lying idle and, at present, he could find no one better to operate it. Should a man, or even an inexperienced boy, come along, Eveleen knew she would be replaced at once.
She had to be twice as good as any man to hold on to her place at the machine.
So, as she strode down the brick path to the workshops, she was annoyed to see Andrew Burns hanging about in the doorway, watching for her.
‘’Morning,’ she said briefly and made to pass him to clim
b the stairs. Andrew caught hold of her arm.
‘Tell ’im to stay away from her,’ he hissed. ‘I know they’re cousins, but he’s not acting like a cousin towards her.’
Their faces only inches apart, Eveleen stared at him. ‘Whatever do you mean?’ she asked, trying to sound as if she couldn’t begin to guess, even though she had more than an inkling now about what was going on between her brother and Rebecca.
‘They were out here in the yard last night. In the dark. And he was kissing her.’
Eveleen gasped. Now her surprise was genuine. Things had gone even further than she had thought. She glanced fearfully up the stairwell, hoping no one had overheard Andrew. ‘I’ll speak to him,’ she muttered and pulled herself free.
‘You’d better.’ His threat followed her as she ran up the stairs. ‘Else I will.’
At least there was one good thing about it, Eveleen thought as she slid on to the leather straps forming the seat in front of the frame. It’s not me that Andrew Burns is interested in.
She was unprepared for the sudden shaft of jealousy that ran through her. It wasn’t that she was attracted to Andrew Burns or that she wanted him to court her. It was just the thought that her life stretched before her, empty and lonely.
But that is the way it has to be, she told herself firmly. I’m never going to let another man hurt me the way Stephen Dunsmore did. Besides, I’ve a promise to keep, she reminded herself.
But the thought brought her no joy and the burden of the vow she had made settled even more heavily on her young shoulders.
Twenty-Four
‘Jimmy, it’s got to stop.’
Jimmy scowled and looked mutinous. ‘What?’
‘You know very well “what”. Your carryings on with Rebecca, that’s what,’ Eveleen muttered as they walked down the path towards the cottages at the end of the day.
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