The Adventures of Tom Leigh

by Phyllis Bentley

  Harry offered me his hand frankly, and I took it, and we both grinned and I think he felt as friendly as I did.

  “Shall I take Tom to clean up before he comes to court?” said Harry.

  “Aye, you had best. He is not fit to appear before the law in that condition,” said Sir Henry severely.

  He moved away into the house, limping a little and leaning rather heavily on his cane. The rest of us followed, Harry and I of course coming in last.

  Indoors, Harry touched me on the arm to show that I was to follow him, sprang away up the wide shallow staircase and led me along the passage to his bedchamber. I was amused and rather relieved to find that it lacked the neatness of which Sir Henry would have approved. Coats were strewn over the chairs, splashed riding boots stood beneath; a Latin grammar lay open, face downwards, in the hearth as if it had been thrown there in disgust, a whip leaned in a corner, and some gloves, handkerchiefs and neckcloths lay in a confused heap on the dressing-table. I wandered to the windows. The room lay to the side of the house, and looked up over banks of bushes towards a steep hill.

  “Here you are, Tom,” said Harry, pulling me towards a washstand on which stood a handsome rose-patterned ewer and basin. “There’s water in the jug; take off your jacket and have a good wash.”

  I was glad of the change and felt better when I had sluiced my face in the cold water.

  “Hurry, now, or my father’s temper will mount,” said Harry.

  He bustled me into my jacket and seized my arm and rushed me downstairs and along a narrow passage, and paused in front of a half-open door.

  “Knock and go in,” he said, giving me a push. “Good luck, Tom.”

  I entered soberly. The room, small and cold, was clearly kept for Sir Henry’s business. It was very bare, furnished only with a big table drawn along one side, with two handsome carved chairs behind and some plainer ones disposed about the room. On the table lay writing materials and a pair of scissors. I did not presume to sit down, but stood by Mr. Gledhill. The other two gentlemen seated themselves at the side of the room.

  “Well, come, Gledhill, begin. Make your application,” said Sir Henry testily.

  Mr. Gledhill stood up and gave my name and age and the tale of my coming to Yorkshire. It seemed to me they had all heard it before and listened impatiently. While he droned on I had leisure to look at them. Sir Henry was the first man I had seen in Yorkshire wearing a full-bottomed wig—the others all wore short cut wigs—so he appeared very dignified and handsome; his face was lean and serious and his dark eyes keen. I gazed at the other two men in trepidation, wondering which was to be my master. Their appearance was very different: one a stocky, sturdy man with a round florid face, big hands and a rather quick-tempered look about him; the other pale and tight-lipped and dry.

  “Are you willing to take Thomas Leigh as your bound apprentice, Firth?” said Sir Henry.

  To my great relief, the stocky florid man stood up; the tight-lipped man must be the other Overseer of the Poor for Barseland, Mr. Gledhill’s colleague.

  “Well—I’m a bit put out by his fighting, and that’s a fact, Sir Henry,” said Mr. Firth. “He won’t have to do no fighting at my place, I warrant you.”

  “The lad is right enough; my son struck him first; any boy with spirit would hit back. Come—yes or no?”

  “Well,” said Mr. Firth, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “It’s my wife, you see. An apprentice means more cooking, like. And if she thinks he’s a fighting cock, well!”

  “Of course if you’d rather pay the ten-pound fine for refusing,” snapped the tight-lipped Overseer.

  “I could do that without any help from you, John Swain!” cried Mr. Firth, the hot colour rushing into his face.

  “There’s a two-pound bounty,” began the tight-lipped man, but Sir Henry spoke over him, drowning his words.

  “Now, Firth,” he said, “I shall not talk about fines and bounties. To a warm man like you they make little matter.”

  “That’s right,” muttered Mr. Firth, glancing angrily at the Overseer.

  “I shall ask you to think of the lad himself. Here he is, a pauper through no fault of his own; no mother, his father dying strangely in our own township. He is friendless and alone. Suppose it was your Grade in such a case.”

  “My Gracie will be well provided for.”

  “Let us hope so,” said Sir Henry gravely.

  “I’ll take him if you don’t want him,” said the tight-lipped man.

  For the life of me I could not help a start of anguish, and I gazed imploringly at Mr. Firth. I met his eyes, and it seemed to me he wavered.

  “Well” he began.

  “He’s a healthy lad and not ill-looking,” put in Sir Henry.

  “He can read and write and card—his father was a weaver, think on,” said Mr. Gledhill.

  “In that case I’ll take him,” said Mr. Firth.

  It seemed to me, however, that my accomplishments were only an excuse, a reason for him to give his wife, which he was relieved to have; he took me really from mere warmth of heart, and perhaps a little to spite the tight-lipped Overseer.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  Mr. Firth snorted. “But no fighting,” he said. “And no mention of fighting, lad. My wife wouldn’t sleep in her bed if she thought you were a fighter.”

  I thought I saw a gleam of amusement pass between Sir Henry and Mr. Gledhill, and I wondered what Mrs. Firth could be like; but I kept my face very solemn and said: “No, sir,” very respectfully.

  “Have you prepared the indentures, Gledhill?” said Sir Henry. “Come, come, get them read; I can’t be about this business all day. I’ve something else to think of.”

  A frown crossed his face as he spoke, and Mr. Swain burst out angrily:

  “I’ve had cloth stolen from my tenters in the night.”

  “Nay! Never!” exclaimed Mr. Gledhill and Mr. Firth, looking very grave.

  “Aye! A whole piece!”

  “Well, come along, Gledhill, come along,” said Sir Henry testily. “Get those indentures read, then we can discuss this wretched theft.”

  Mr. Gledhill drew out a large scroll of paper and unrolled it and read from the document. (I have Mr. Firth’s part of the indenture here before me, so I can give the words exactly.)

  “‘This Indenture made the twenty-third day of April in the Year of Our Lord 1722, between William Gledhill and John Swain, Churchwardens and Overseers of the Poor of the township of Barseland in the West Riding of the county of York and Thomas Leigh, a poor child of the said township of the one part, and Stephen Firth of the same township of the other part; witnesseth, that the said Overseers of the Poor, with the consent of two of His majesty’s Justices of the Peace for the said Riding, put, placed and bound the said Thomas Leigh as an apprentice to and with the said Stephen Firth, with him to dwell and remain from the day of the date hereof, until the said apprentice shall attain the age of twenty-one years. During all which term the said apprentice well and truly shall serve, his secrets shall keep, his commands (being lawful and honest) at all times willingly shall perform, and in all things as a good and faithful servant shall demean himself towards his said master and all his family. And the said Stephen Firth—’”

  “Wait a minute, Gledhill,” said Sir Henry. “Do you understand all that, Tom? That is what you are promising to do.”

  “I understand, sir,” I said. “But seven years seems a very long time.”

  “It is the law, Tom,” said Sir Henry. “Go on, Gledhill. Now, Tom, we’ll hear what Mr. Firth promises to do for you.”

  “‘And the said Stephen Firth,’” resumed Mr. Gledhill, holding the scroll well out in front of him and reading very loud and clear, “‘doth promise to the said Overseers and his said apprentice, that he will educate and bring him up in an honest and lawful calling, to wit the mystery of a weaver—’”

  He paused and looked at Mr. Firth, who nodded and said:

  “That’s right.”
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  “‘—and in the fear of God. And that he will find, provide for, and allow unto his said apprentice sufficient, wholesome and competent meat, drink, washing, lodging, apparel and other necessaries meet for such an apprentice, during all the said term.’”

  “Do you agree to that, Firth?” said Sir Henry, rather sternly.

  “Aye, I agree,” said Mr. Firth. He sighed ruefully and shook his head. “A lad like that’ll be always eating, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “‘And at the end of the said term—’”

  “What, is there some more?” grumbled Mr. Firth.

  “‘—at the end of the said term he shall find, provide for, and deliver unto his said apprentice double apparel of all sorts—’”

  “Double apparel! For heaven’s sake,” wailed Mr. Firth.

  “‘That is to say,’” boomed Mr. Gledhill, “‘one good and new suit for the Lord’s days, and another for the working days, of linen, woollen, hose, shoes, and all other necessaries meet for such an apprentice to have and wear.’”

  “It’s a costly business, is an apprentice,” said Mr. Firth. “However, he’s well clad at the start, that’s something.”

  “He’ll be very useful to you, both about the house and in the loom-chamber,” said Sir Henry.

  Mr. Firth gave a subdued snort.

  “‘In witness whereof, the said parties to these presents have hereunto interchangeably set their hands and seals the day and year above written.’”

  “Is that all?” demanded Mr. Firth.

  “Aye, that’s all.”

  “Well, it’s enough. Unless he was to take the whole of Upper High Royd, there isn’t much more the indentures could give him.”

  “Now, Stephen,” said Mr. Gledhill soothingly.

  “Where do I sign?”

  “Here and here.”

  The scroll was laid out on the table. Mr. Firth signed it twice, once halfway along its length, once at its foot. Then Mr. Gledhill and Mr. Swain signed twice, and then Sir Henry likewise signed twice.

  “I have already obtained the necessary signatures from a second magistrate,” he said.

  “Do I not sign?” I asked. It seemed to me that when seven years of my life were being given away, I ought to sign the agreement myself.

  “You cannot sign anything till you are twenty-one,” said Mr. Swain shortly.

  “Canst truly write, then, Tom?” said Mr. Firth, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave me a smile and a kind of wink which seemed to say: Don’t take too much notice of all this to-do, we shall be well enough when we are alone together. My heart warmed to him, and I smiled, though rather faintly, in reply.

  “That’s better,” said he. “Cheer up! I cannot abide anyone sullen about me.”

  “Scissors, scissors, where are the scissors?” Sir Henry was saying impatiently.

  “Here, sir,” said I, picking them out from under the indentures.

  He took them in his hand and to my amazement began to cut across the indentures at their halfway. He cut, too, in such a wavy, pointed, up and down kind of line, I was really horrified.

  “Listen, Tom,” said Sir Henry, smiling. “I cut these indentures like this so that only these two halves will fit into each other. The line where they are cut is indented, and that is how indentures get their name. Mr. Firth keeps one half and the Overseers keep the other half. So if either of them wanted to write new conditions and pretend they were the original ones, the other could say: ‘Tit your paper into my paper.’ If the papers did not fit, one of them was not the true one. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, though I was astonished.

  “Here is a leather apron, Tom, the sign that you are apprenticed; it is the gift of the Barseland magistrates. Put it on.”

  I tied the apron sadly round my waist.

  “Well, that’s all, I take it, Sir Henry? We can leave now, eh?” said Mr. Firth, rolling his half of the indenture and stuffing it in his pocket.

  “Yes, that is all. Give me your hand, Firth. Now you give me yours, Tom Leigh. A good master and a good apprentice. I hope you will spend happy years together.”

  We both mumbled our thanks, feeling a trifle embarrassed, and then we were out of the house and in the April wind. A shower of light rain was falling softly to the earth.

  “Spoiling the druft,” said Mr. Firth crossly.

  “Druft?” said I, perplexed.

  “The drying of the cloth,” said Mr. Firth, impatient.

  We turned up a very steep, stony lane.

  “The house is high on the hill?” I said.

  “Well, it is called Upper High Royd, so you may guess,” said Mr. Firth, laughing.

  So I left the Barseland poorhouse, and began a new life as an apprentice.

  3

  The New Apprentice

  We climbed steadily for some fifteen minutes. Suddenly Mr. Firth halted and cried out:

  “What the hangment is Daisy doing down here?”

  I looked at him in astonishment, for how he could describe the place where we stood as “down” I could not imagine. The hillside ahead of us sloped up steeply, to be sure, but all around us were hilltops, plunging sharply to valleys between. Nor did I perceive anyone to be referred to as Daisy at first, till hearing a loud “moo” near by I looked over the wall and saw a brown and white cow. Mr. Firth leaned over the wall and rubbed her forehead, which she seemed to like.

  “Canst drive a cow, Tom?” said he, laughing.

  “Yes, sir, I think so,” said I. I had never in fact driven a cow, but I had met them outside Lavenham, and I wanted to show willing.

  “Over the wall with you, then,” said he. “And get her into that field up there and shut the gate. How it can have been left open passes my comprehension.”

  I climbed the wall—all the fields, as I have said, are divided by stone walls in the West Riding, not by hedges as in Suffolk—and approached Daisy. But giving me a reproachful look and moo she swung aside and stumbled off up the hill, so I had only to follow her.

  I own I looked with great curiosity at Upper High Royd, as the house came into view round the fold of a hill. Mr. Firth had signed to a promise to teach me to be a weaver, so he must know that trade himself. But in Lavenham the weavers mostly lived in very small cottages, or sometimes just in one garret room. Upper High Royd was a solid stone-built house, old-fashioned in style, long and low with a stone porch and a couple of gables and rows of mullioned windows, and a barn and a small round building and a threshing place across the end of the yard. Behind the house rose up a great stretch of moorland, a dark brown in colour, with outcrops of rock, one very high rock in particular jutting out against the sky like a man’s head. A beck—as they call their streams in this county—came tumbling down from this moorland into a stone trough in the yard and then tumbled on again down the hillside. In front of the house there was a small sloping field, of oats I guessed, just showing green, and another small field of grass where Daisy was to pasture, already occupied by a quiet brown mare; at the side, open fully to the sun, a long wooden fence stretched twenty yards or so. As I drew nearer I saw that it was not really a fence, for it had but two rows of bars across its uprights, one near the top, one near the bottom; besides, it seemed to stand by itself, its ends not touching any other fence or wall. I was perplexed what could be its use till I drew near and saw a man kneeling beside it, fastening the edge of a wet piece of blue cloth to a row of nails which stuck up along the top bar. I shut the gate on Daisy and approached, and stood watching while I waited for Mr. Firth. As the lane took a bend to avoid some of the steepness, while I had come straight up the fields, he would be a minute or two behind me. The wind blew strongly, but the shower was over and the sun was pleasant.

  “Well?” said the kneeling man sharply, without turning. “Never seen a tenter before, lad?”

  “Is that what they’re called? No, I haven’t,” said I.

  The man stood u
p and turned to me.

  “Who are you, then?” he demanded. He was tall, very thin and stooping, wearing his own dark hair long and tied back with a shabby dangling bow, and he had a sallow, bad-tempered, frowning face, with a pair of small, mean black eyes. I disliked his person and his face and his voice at once, and have not since changed my opinion. However, I answered politely.

  “I’m Thomas Leigh, Mr. Firth’s new apprentice,” I said.

  He started, and gave me a look of fury, his black eyes really sparkling with rage.

  “In that case you can do some work,” he snapped. “Get down on your knees and help me. Stretch the cloth down and fasten it like this.”

  He pulled the lower edge of the fastened part of the cloth down and fastened it on the lower row of nails (which bent downward) so that the fabric was stretched between the two bars. I knelt down and tried to do the same, but it was not easy, as the cloth had to be pulled upon quite heavily.

  “Nay, take your coat off, or you’ll soak your fine cuffs,” he sneered.

  I threw off my coat and turned up my sleeves and tried to pull the edge of the cloth on to the nails.

  “You’ll never make a clothier, that’s plain,” said he with a satisfied air as he watched my efforts.

  He gave a sneering laugh and walked away beside the tenter, and continued attaching the cloth to the top row of nails. This action naturally jerked the whole length of the piece, so when the cloth ceased to move of course I noticed it and looked towards him. He was standing sideways to the tenter with his back towards me, waving his arms about above his head in most extraordinary gestures. I thought these gestures must have something to do with the cloth and the tenter, and watched carefully to learn them, so I was caught with my eyes on him when he dropped his arms and turned round.

  “What are you staring at me for, you young spy?” he cried in a rage, and he threw a few rough epithets at me with which I will not spoil this paper.

  I was spared the necessity for a reply by the arrival of Mr. Firth.

  “Now then, Jeremy!” he said. “No bad language either in house or tentercroft, if you please. This is Tom Leigh, my new apprentice.”