He stole into the field that bordered the Farthingstone road leading south out of the village. In the dawning light, cows grazed peacefully around a grassy tumulus built by ancient hands for worship or burial, its purpose long forgotten. The beasts’ breath steamed as they pulled at the dew-laden grass. Crouching low and holding his arm folded across his chest to staunch the bleeding of his wound, Tobias left the safer shadows of the hedgerow and crept across the open ground towards the far side of the mound, where he would be out of view of the road and could make better progress. He cursed under his breath as the cows raised their heads to stare at him curiously and he hurried on, though the faster he went, the weaker he felt, his legs refusing to go where he intended so that he staggered a little like a drunken man. Just as he regained the hedge at the far side of the pasture, he heard the creak of the field gate.
He pushed quickly through the hedgerow and out of sight. Beyond the upward slope of the field in front of him, the road swept round in a great westerly curve along a ridge; he must get across it in front of the soldiers and cut through the valley on the far side to reach the cover of the Stubbs. He squatted and peered back through a gap in the twisted branches. A soldier was riding slowly along the margin of the field looking into the hedge and ditch bottom, stopping every now and then to scan the field. He held the reins in one hand; the other rested on his pistol. Shivering, Tobias stayed motionless until the soldier moved on. Then he worked his way up the incline, bent double behind the hedge. His breath came heavily, the extra effort of the climb slowing him down further. He half ran, half stumbled until he reached the road.
From the vantage point of the ridge he looked back towards the village and, in the growing light, saw another splash of red quartering the field on the other side of the road. So, two men working methodically to check every ditch and hiding place on either side of the road. He looked out over the valley on the other side of the ridge and the dark line of the woods at its westerly end. There were five fields lying between him and escape. He would need to creep along two sides of the square of each field, whereas they were checking all four, but then they were mounted … Could he outpace them? He would have to carry on, working his way in the lee of the hedges, taking a zigzag route towards the Stubbs and always keeping a field in front. But oh, how heavy every muscle felt and how his arm throbbed and his pulse beat in his ears! And soon the sun would be fully up. He stumbled on.
Jack paused for a moment as he reached the top of the ridge and surveyed the scene. The sun had cleared the curve of the earth and its pale disc shone upon the land and glinted on the sails of a distant windmill. Long shadows streamed across the fields from ash, elm and elder rising from the ancient hedgerows. Jack narrowed his eyes. If he were a fugitive, he would use those shadows. And if he had to hide, he would crawl deep into the hedge itself. In places the beech and blackthorn hedges grew six feet thick, a tangled mass of interlacing branches smothered in ivy, rooted in sandy banks. Yes, he would squeeze in between those roots, where the growth was thickest, like a rabbit gone to ground. He stared into the shadows, trying to accustom his eyes to the gloom, but all seemed still. Behind him, down in the cow pasture, he heard the sound of girlish voices, Clay’s voice joining them, laughter. The milkmaids were come into the field with their buckets and stools, no doubt, and Clay had stopped to dally with them. Jack let out an irritated sigh. He would have to have words with him yet again, but for now he would press ahead and cover the land between ridge and woods, hoping to cut off any miscreants from reaching them. If they made the trees he’d have lost them.
Tobias reached the foot of the valley and began to climb the other side but his legs felt like lead. He knew the soldier was gaining on him. Dropping to his hands and knees, he crawled a little way but he could feel a warm trickle down the inside of his arm and knew he couldn’t go much further. He glanced back. The soldier was unhitching the chain at the gate; he must hide now while he still had the chance. Ahead, an elm growing in the beech hedge cast black shade. He reached its sprawling roots and, just beyond it, found a badger run. Forcing himself through the narrow gap and into the centre of the hedge, he pulled branches down over the hole as best he could, curled himself up into a ball and silently prayed.
Jack almost missed the broken branches beside the old elm. He lost concentration for a moment, when the cawing of crows rising from the wood in a clatter of wings rung out over the valley. He walked Maisie on, watching the birds circling and wondering if a human interloper had disturbed them. As they settled again in the trees he realised that his thoughts had been distracted and he turned Maisie around to retrace his steps.
Tobias, shivering uncontrollably, his arms clutched around his knees, stared at the litter of dead beech leaves at his feet. Wisps of sheep’s wool were caught on the lichen-covered twigs around him and they shook in the easterly breeze. He had heard the soldier pass. He could smell his own blood and thought that if the soldiers had used dogs he wouldn’t have stood a chance. As he let his breath go, he heard the jangle of the horse’s bit and knew that the rider had stopped. Terror prickled his skin and turned over his stomach. The soldier was coming back. A sob rose in his throat and he held it there.
Jack slowly approached to look more closely at a place where a branch was broken – recently broken, by the pale colour of the wood. He drew his pistol. He leant from the saddle, parted the branches of the hedge and found himself looking down upon the slight figure of a boy, dressed in dun-coloured clothing that melted into the colours of woody trunk and old leaves. The boy’s face looked up at him: a startlingly pale face streaked with black marks, the eyes dark with fear. With a shock of recognition, Jack realised that he knew that face. He had seen him in the lane at Effie’s. The boy cowered back as if expecting a blow.
Jack said, ‘Tobias? Tobias Fiddement?’
Tobias nodded, speechless with fear.
Jack glanced around quickly to see if they were observed. A flash of red further back along the ridge told him that Clay had regained the road. He spoke urgently. ‘You must wait. Wait here until I send my sergeant out of the way. As soon as it’s safe, and my back is towards you, make for the woods. We’ll be searching no further than the fields.’ He glanced towards the road again, quickly sat straight in the saddle and turned Maisie to walk on up the hill once more. Without looking back, he said, ‘Tell Effie I sent you home,’ and resumed his even pace along the hedge.
As he went, he had the strong sensation that Clay’s eyes were on his back. Sure enough, as he turned the corner so that his path ran parallel with the road, Clay’s mounted figure was silhouetted darkly against the sky, waiting. Jack forced himself not to rush though he longed to spur Maisie into a trot. He chose a point to pause again and appear to inspect the ground and then carried on along the far edge of the field and back to the road, where Clay came to meet him and get further orders.
‘Any sign?’ Jack said.
‘Not a footprint, sir. Yourself?’
‘Nothing.’ Jack’s nerves made him brusque.
A strange expression flickered across Clay’s face. ‘But you found something to give you pause?’
‘Nothing of import: an old sack in one place and a cast horseshoe in another,’ Jack said quickly. He pointed to the far side of the road. ‘You continue down that side and we’ll meet at the edge of the woods. And if you happen upon any other maids from the village, no philandering along the way,’ he said over his shoulder as he rode away, nodding a curt dismissal.
Clay curled his lip but did as he was bid. He trotted his horse along to the gate on the village side and rode through. This field, full of sheep, had the new hawthorn hedges of enclosure, low and dense, and he worked his way around it and the next quickly. Instead of carrying on, he returned to the road and shaded his eyes to see where Jack had got to. Then he turned tail and trotted back to where they had spoken. He rode straight down to the tall elm on the left-hand side where he had marked Stamford turn back and stand so long. When he r
eached the spot he frowned. Branches were broken on both sides as though something large had pushed through. He slid from his horse and squatted beside the hole. In the middle of the hedge, leaves were squashed into the mud as if someone had been there for some time. He peered at them, reached in and picked up a handful of copper beech leaves. He smiled as he held them in his palm; their faded russet gold was spotted with a reddish brown that was still wet under his thumb as he passed it across.
He looked up quickly and scanned the fields. Nothing moved save for a few crows and a dot of red up towards the woods: Stamford quartering the last field. Clay looked thoughtfully at the handful of leaves and put them in his pocket.
When at length they met again on the ridge, Clay asked Jack if they were to attempt a search of the woods.
‘Insufficient manpower,’ Jack said. ‘We’d have no chance of success with only two men. I’ve ridden there before and the whole place is a tangle of fallen trees, briar and bracken, fit to hide an army. We’d be on a fool’s errand.’
‘As you wish, sir.’ Clay gave an unpleasant smile.
In the distance, from the direction of the village, a shot rang out. Clay turned his mount smartly towards it. ‘’Tis no matter. Once we have one we shall have all,’ he said grimly.
Effie and Beulah had woken to find Tobias gone.
‘Off rabbiting again with Saul Culley, I’ll be bound,’ Effie said crossly. Although his catch had often made the difference between dinner and a wakeful night with an empty belly, she had spoken to Tobias repeatedly about the dangers of poaching and forbidden him to go. There were gins and snares in the woods, designed to trap a man, keepers who would shoot first and ask questions later and justices who would string a man up for taking no more than a brace of pheasant.
Beulah, who would normally moan about her brother making her late, said nothing. She dragged her feet over getting dressed and appeared so quiet and peaky-looking that Effie asked her if anything was wrong. She shook her head. ‘Then you’d better eat up and set off without Tobias,’ Effie said.
Beulah glanced anxiously out of the window. Where was he? He was supposed to have been back before morning so that if there were a pursuit he, and all of them, would be found at their homes, abed as normal. He was supposed to be back so that they could walk to work together as they always did and arrive clear of suspicion. Something bad must have happened. She wanted to tell Effie but they had made her promise to tell no one. Jim Baggott had taken her aside only yesterday to glare into her face and tell her she must be silent as the grave. She returned to trailing her spoon through her porridge, making runnels of thin blue milk between lumpy greyish islands. ‘I don’t want to go without Tobias,’ she said in a small voice.
Effie, on her knees riddling the grate ready to re-lay the fire, said, ‘Best make a start, dearest. I’ll make him a piece to eat on the way and then he’ll soon catch you up.’
‘But what if he doesn’t?’
‘If he doesn’t, that’s his own fault. At least you won’t be late and get into trouble.’ She rattled the poker hard in the fire-basket.
Beulah slipped down from her stool at the table, lingered over wrapping her shawl around her and was finally shooed out of the door with a kiss.
An hour later, Effie was mixing soap and lye for the day’s wash when she heard the door latch squeak open. She turned, ready to berate Tobias once more about poaching, only to see him pulling the bar across the door. He tugged at it with one hand, the other arm held awkwardly across a shirt stained with blood.
‘Whatever’s happened?’ She dropped the whole packet of lye into the bowl and hurried over as Tobias leant his back against the door, his face grey and drained. She sat him down at the table and plied him with questions while she removed his jacket and shirt, poured a bowl of water and cut a bandage. The wound was a deep gash from his armpit to the underside of his upper arm, where the glass had sliced into the muscle. She washed it with muslin, padded it with cotton cloth and bound it tight to stop the bleeding, her face growing more and more anxious as he spoke.
‘… so, we’re to go to work as usual and hold our tongues so that the master will not know which of us had a part in it,’ he finished.
‘You can’t work like this – you’ll not keep that injury hid!’ Effie said in disbelief. ‘And there’ll be blood on the glass … in the cellar … Oh, Tobias! How could you be so foolish!’ She threw down the remains of the strips of cloth and paced to and fro in front of the hearth. ‘Even without that mishap, surely you must’ve seen how dangerous it was to do this and to write such a note? How many are there who know their letters? I’ll wager not more than two or three!’ She hurried to the window and peered out. ‘They’ll come for you. You mustn’t stay here.’ She went to the cupboard beside the mantel, took out bread and cheese, put half in front of him and wrapped the rest in a cloth.
Tobias looked at her with the face of a frightened child, unable to take in what she was saying. ‘Jervis said to do everything as usual,’ he said, ‘and none of us would come to any harm.’
She took his hands and looked searchingly into his face. ‘Think, Tobias,’ she urged. ‘Men have been hanged on slighter evidence than this and with less cause. Why, a boy your age was hanged for the stealing of a spoon! Jack’s given you a chance – you must take it.’
‘But where will I go?’ he said helplessly.
‘Head over the fields towards the locks at Braunston,’ Effie said. She reached up for the tin hidden on top of the cupboard, where she kept the money she’d been saving towards the family’s new home once she and Jack were married. ‘See if you can pick up work on the canals. Here …’ She shoved the tin towards him. ‘Use this to pay for your passage until your arm is healed.’
Tobias opened it and wondered at the weight of coin inside. Where had Effie got such money from and what was she saving it for? The soldier, he thought, and instantly felt distrust rise in him and a curse for all the agents of government. Yet the soldier had spared him, had saved his life. Confused, he emptied out the coins and thrust them deep into his pocket.
‘Head west on the canals and get as far away as you can. Make haste! They could be here at any minute.’
She helped him put on his jacket, easing the sleeve over his injured arm. ‘Travel light and fast. Send a message as soon as you can to let me know you’ve found a place and that you’re safe and well.’ She went to the door and looked outside. ‘Don’t say where you are, though, in case the message is discovered.’ She beckoned him forward and hugged him close. ‘Now, hurry,’ she said, ‘and go secretly and safely.’
She watched him cross the track and turn to raise his hand before slipping through the gate into the field beyond. Then he was gone from view.
She hurried up the ladder stair to the loft room where Tobias slept and quickly gathered his few belongings. She stuffed them into a pillowcase and straightened the bedcovers so that it would look an orderly, planned departure and not that of a runaway, leaving in haste. She took the pillowcase outside and hid it under an upturned bucket inside the chicken house, in fear all the while, listening for the sound of men in the lane. She must go about the business of washing as usual so that all looked innocent when they came. She must think of exactly what to tell them: that Tobias had been talking for a while of trying his fortunes as a weaver in Spitalfields and had left very early to be at the Watling Street in time for the cart traffic at first light.
As she re-entered the cottage, bandage, bowl and bloody cloth met her eyes, lying on the table in full view, and her heart leapt in her chest. What was she thinking! She threw the rags on the fire and took the bowl outside. She tipped it over a patch of nettles in the garden, the sun catching the pink stain in the water as it fell.
‘I don’t know where he is, sir,’ Beulah answered the master for the umpteenth time. He had made her stand on a chair in the middle of his office and had told her she would stand there until she told him the truth. Her legs and back ached as she sto
od, twisting her apron in her hands. Fowler walked around to the back of the chair and Beulah craned round to see.
‘Stand straight!’ Fowler roared at her and she snapped her head round again. He rested his hands on the back of the chair and spoke over her shoulder, his head level with her ear, his breath on her cheek. ‘Do you know what it is that’s burning in my yard?’ he asked her. ‘Do you know what that smell is?’
Beulah, barely perceptibly, shook her head.
‘It’s … my … money,’ Fowler said slowly. ‘My new frames that someone has seen fit to chop to matchwood.’
Beulah could feel the warmth of his body close to her, could smell the trace of snuff adhering to his bushy whiskers.
‘I will ask you again,’ he said softly, ‘and it will go better with you if you give me a truthful answer. Where is your brother and what was his part in this?’
Beulah held herself very still, fighting the urge to leap down from the chair and attempt to flee. She blinked. Effie had always taught her that lying was wrong and she’d also made a promise to the weavers to tell nothing. She repeated the only thing she could say that broke neither rule. ‘I don’t know where he is. God’s honest truth, sir.’
The Silk Factory Page 20
