“Does Mr. Firth employ other weavers to weave for him, then?” I asked.
“Only one,” said Jeremy with contempt. “He likes to call himself a clothier, but he’s not much more than a common weaver to my mind. Now I’ve worked for a man who was a right clothier, a right manufacturer, as they call them nowadays; he had twenty weavers in his pay.”
“I wonder you left him,” said I.
My tone was rather sarcastic, for I disliked to hear good Mr. Firth diminished; besides, I thought that a man who had a cow and a horse and a field of oats and a journeyman weaver and an apprentice in his house and one cottage weaver weaving for him was more than a mere weaver. Jeremy gave me one of his evil glances.
“It’ll be long before you’re a weaver, or anything at all beside a pauper nuisance,” he said. “Get on with your carding.”
Presently Josiah left and Mr. Firth came up, and there was a long discussion between him and Jeremy, in which I was glad to see Mr. Firth assert his authority. Jeremy wanted to take Josiah’s piece down to the fulling-mill in the valley—where it would be beaten upon in water by the great wooden stocks, to bring the threads together—that morning, but Mr. Firth said his own piece was nearly finished, and he would take the two pieces down by horseback tomorrow. Jeremy argued this beyond the limits of civility, I thought, but Mr. Firth would not give way, so Jeremy returned to his loom with an ill grace. He was threading the threads of yarn through the healds and the reed with a hook—always a delicate job—when Gracie suddenly bounced into the workshop, her hair a ball of fire in the sunlight.
“A pedlar’s come and mother says will you please come down to him, father,” she said.
Mr. Firth groaned, but threw his legs over the loom bench and rose, obediently.
“What a woman can spend wi’ a pedlar is nobody’s business,” said he ruefully as he left the room.
To my surprise Jeremy threw down his hook and glided after him. I went on carding for a minute or two, but then my curiosity got the better of me and I followed them. Again I was surprised, for at the turn of the stairs I almost crashed into Jeremy, who was crouched down behind the balustrade, watching unseen. I crouched down myself beside him. Jeremy gave me an evil glance but said nothing.
The pedlar had come inside the house and taken off his pack, and was standing by the door with his tray in front of him, slung by a leather band about his neck. He was giving one of those quick, glib speeches which all pedlars seemed to abound in, praising his goods to Mr. and Mrs. Firth and Gracie, who all stood in front of him gazing at his tray; Mrs. Firth seemed quite enthralled.
“Ribbons, buttons, hooks and eyes, scissors, gloves, tapes, caps, aprons, all of the very best quality. Ah, madam, now there you have some of the finest silk on the market,” he said, as Mrs. Firth fingered a patterned piece of stuff. “I salute your taste. Woven in London—pure silk—came overland from far Cathay. Costly, as is natural—” here Mrs. Firth dropped the silk—“but very fine. Or would little Missie like a ribbon for a knot? Hard-wearing—delightful blue—just the colour for Missie’s golden hair.”
He put out a hand and made to stroke Gracie’s head, but she shrank back, for which I was glad, as, for what reason I know not, I did not like this pedlar. Yet he was a handsome fellow enough in his way; a pale plump face very clean and closely shaven, a sparkling eye, a good tie wig, well curled and tied in a neat black bow, a short round body, a well-shaped leg, and a very fresh-looking suit of bright green cloth with brass buttons. His stockings were scarlet and his shoes had big square buckles. He did not speak with a Yorkshire voice, but to me he seemed too smooth and mincing in his talk, even for one of his trade, who are noted for their eloquence.
“Now those mittens you are holding, madam,” he went on, “I might have known you’d pick out those—they are, I assure you, the very best of their kind. Knitted in Dent, in the north of Yorkshire—I’m sure you’ve heard of Dent, madam, it’s noted for its stockings, gloves and mittens. Pure wool throughout. Two colours, as you see. Handsome pattern. Or, if you prefer, madam, I can order you a special pair, with the initial letters of your name knitted in at the wrist. M.F. that would be, would it not?”
At this moment Jeremy sprang up, dragging me with him. We made quite a clatter between us, and drew the pedlar’s eye. His glance swept over us, cold as a snake’s. Mr. Firth looked up, too.
“Well, come down if you wish, don’t stand poking about in a corner up there,” he said crossly. “If you want to buy owt, Jeremy, get it bought quickly and get back to your work. As for you, Tom, you’ve no money to buy owt with, so be off with you.”
“An apprentice has no need to buy owt, master,” put in Jeremy in an agreeing, obsequious tone.
“Well, you can stay for a minute if you like, Tom,” said Mr. Firth, whose second thoughts, as I had already discovered, were always kinder than his first, particularly if someone had agreed with him.
I followed Jeremy down the stairs.
“I had the good fortune to see your honoured father yester evening, Mistress Firth,” said the pedlar.
“Indeed?” cried Mrs. Firth in a flutter. “You were at Clough End? You saw my father? How is he?”
“Mr. Sykes is well, madam, and commends himself warmly to you,” said the pedlar.
Somebody gave a sigh as of relief, but I could not tell from whom it came.
“I am glad to hear that, very glad,” said Mr. Firth heartily. “My wife has been anxious, and over there by Almondbury, right beyond Huddersfield, you know, is quite some distance away, so it’s not easy for us to get news. I am obliged to you, pedlar, for your message. Come, wife, buy something. What do you fancy, eh?”
“I wouldn’t mind a pair of mittens,” said Mrs. Firth in a shy pleased tone.
“Aye, to be sure, have some mittens, love.”
“Have some knitted for you with your letters on,” urged the pedlar. “Then you can choose your own colours. I shall be back with them in a week or two.”
“Well—grey, with a brightish blue, then,” said Mrs. Firth.
“Grey with a bright blue, from Dent, it shall be.”
“Father,” said Gracie in a pleading tone, clutching at his hand, “will you buy me something?”
“Of course I will, lovey. What do you fancy?”
Gracie stretched up towards him and he stooped to her and she put her arms round his neck and whispered in his ear.
“Well, well,” said he, laughing. “It shall be so. Child wants to buy summat to give to Tom,” he said to Mrs. Firth.
The pedlar, scenting custom, at once stooped down to bring his tray to the level of Gracie’s eyes.
“She’s not called on to do any such thing, that’s certain,” cried Mrs. Firth, vexed. “I never heard anything so nonsensical.”
“He saved my cat when Jeremy kicked him,” said Gracie.
She stuck out her underlip and looked ready to cry, and Mrs. Firth yielded.
“Well—choose something sensible, then,” she said. “A few buttons, maybe, or a reel of thread.”
But Gracie had already seized upon a small pair of scissors.
“These,” she said.
“Pure Sheffield steel,” said the pedlar at once.
Mr. Firth looked a trifle daunted, for doubtless the scissors would be of more price than he wished to pay.
“Why do you choose these, Gracie?” he said reproachfully.
“They’re like yours, Father,” replied the child.
“She is right there, master,” put in Jeremy. “They are real clothier’s scissors, with square ends—no points to pierce the cloth.”
“Well, take them, child,” said Mr. Firth, putting his hand into his pocket for silver. “And you, Tom, see you guard them carefully.”
“I will, sir,” I said. “Thank you, Miss Gracie.”
I spoke strongly, for though I was embarrassed I was indeed touched by the gift. Gracie took the scissors and laid them in my hand, and the touch of her soft little fingers seem
ed to soothe my sore heart. I could easily have kissed the child as she looked up at me, for she was a sweet little thing enough, her blue eyes kind and smiling, her hair all red-gold in the sun; but with Mrs. Firth looking down her nose at me with an offended air I did not venture to do so.
“Let it be a sign to you that you’ll be a clothier one day, Tom,” said Mr. Firth. “Now, then! Us must get back to us work.”
Upstairs, I put the scissors in the inner pocket of my coat where they fitted as if it had been made for them, and I made up my mind I would keep them there always. The morning passed pleasantly enough, for even Jeremy seemed in a better mood than I had so far seen him.
That night as I lay in my bed I heard a faint mew at my door. At first I disregarded it, but the mew came again, and this time there came a scratching too.
“It is Sandy again,” I thought, amused.
I could not help but be pleased though a little concerned, when, as I opened the door, Sandy sprang past me, leaped on my bed and buried himself in the coverlet. I had to move him a little to get myself comfortable, but though he mewed rather pettishly he did not withdraw but adapted himself to my shoulder, and we slept side by side. What Mrs. Firth would have said to this I did not like to think, but I was glad of his company. From that time on he often shared my bed, and indeed his presence was one of the small pleasures of my life.
Indeed, I would have liked my life at Upper High Royd well enough, save for the one matter of Jeremy. Of course I was always hard at work. I helped Josiah to dye the wool in the little round lead house across the yard—a bright blue was the usual Upper High Royd colour, and I wore my old ragged clothes on dyeing day. I carried wool out to the women who did carding and spinning for Mr. Firth in their cottages, and I brought the spun yarn back to Upper High Royd for Mr. Firth and Jeremy to weave, or took it out to the cottage of Josiah, and I helped Jeremy when he was warping, and I helped tread the pieces in human water when they were woven, so as to get the grease out of the wool. I hadn’t my full strength as yet, so I couldn’t carry a piece of cloth down to the fulling mill in the valley or back up the long hills, but I helped to stretch it out on the tenters when it came back dripping water. The pieces from Josiah had to be fulled and tentered too. Then there was the horse to feed and groom, and the cow to milk; and whenever I had nothing else to be busy with I was set to carding. Sometimes Gracie was set to carding too, and when the weather came more summery and warm, we sat side by side in the porch at this task. Sometimes we fell to laughing and talking, and sometimes Mr. Firth would shout down the stairs to us: “Less noise, you two!” But he was never vexed with Gracie for long. It seemed from what I heard from Jeremy that Mr. and Mrs. Firth for long had no children, Mrs. Firth being of a somewhat delicate disposition, and so they cherished Gracie, when she came, particularly.
Meanwhile Mrs. Firth was busy spinning at her wheel; she was indeed a notable spinner, the yarn she spun was very fine and even. Mr. Firth preferred his wife’s yarn to any other, so he had Josiah’s daughter come to the house to help his wife with domestic tasks, so as to give her more time to spin.
Every Saturday Mr. Firth went to Halifax to market. It was a great business getting him off very early, grooming and saddling the horse, laying the piece of cloth across his saddle-bow. Mrs. Firth laid out his market clothes the night before, with his good wig and his newly-starched neckcloth, and I had to polish his riding-boots and Bess’s harness—Bess was the name of our sturdy little mare. I could not see why he had to set off so exceedingly early, but it seemed the Cloth Hall, where the cloth was sold, opened punctually at six with the ringing of a bell, and in a few minutes all the cloth for sale was brought in, the merchants entered and the doors closed again, and in an hour or so all the cloth was sold. I wished very much to see this market and the town of Halifax, and one Friday plucked up courage to ask Mr. Firth to let me go next day. I could set off very early on foot, and meet him at the inn where he put up his horse.
“It’s a goodish walk, Tom,” said he, “and you don’t know the way.”
“I could easily find it if you gave me directions, master,” I said eagerly.
“Aye. And there are signposts,” put in Jeremy.
I was surprised by this support from Jeremy, as he usually crossed my wishes if he could, and next time we were alone together I thanked him. He gave me one of his sneering smiles.
“You’ve a mind to run away and think to slip off in the Halifax crowds, eh, Tom?” he said.
“No!” I replied indignantly. “I am bound apprentice, and shall keep my time. Where could I run to, in any case?”
“Aye, that’s true. Where could you run to?” said Jeremy thoughtfully.
My hopes for the morrow were dashed at supper time, however, by Mrs. Firth, who, when the project was mooted by her husband, asked crossly why I should miss a day’s work to no purpose.
“And there’s his dinner at the inn, and wear and tear of shoe leather. What are you thinking of, husband?”
“I could take some bread and meat with me,” I suggested.
“Disposing of your master’s goods now, are you?” began Mrs. Firth, tossing her head. “At my father’s nothing of that sort would have been allowed.”
“Enough, Meg!” said Mr. Firth. “Don’t put yourself about. I shall not take the lad tomorrow.”
I was keenly disappointed, as I had longed for this treat, and I think Mr. Firth was sorry, for next day he very kindly brought back from Halifax market a blanket to go on the bed which he and Jeremy had made for me. With summer coming I did not need this extra covering so much, but I should be glad enough of it in the winter. For in these Pennine hills the wind blows often and it is cold.
As to this bed I must say a word because it played its part in the theft story.
As a baby Gracie had slept in a little cot in her parents’ bedchamber, but only the year before, Mrs. Firth had put her into a little room of her own, and Gracie was proud of this and did not wish to leave it. Jeremy slept in a largish room at the back of the house, where there was space for another bed, and Mr. Firth took it for granted that I should sleep there. But this prospect was hateful to me, and luckily Jeremy disliked it also. He expressed his opposition to sharing a bedchamber with me in terms so opprobrious and insulting that I could have struck him, but since his wish coincided with mine, I held my peace and stood motionless, though I know my face was scarlet with fury. The only sleeping-place left open to me was the workshop. Mrs. Firth objected strongly to this at first, but on my promising to open door and window as soon as I rose in the morning, at length agreed.
One very pleasant thing happened to me during these months. One morning there was a knock at the house door, and on my running down to answer it, Mrs. Firth having her hands in pastry at the time, I found Harry Norton standing there. Of course I showed him in, though Mrs. Firth was a good deal flustered at being caught in her apron, pastry-making. I went up to fetch Mr. Firth from the workshop, but was soon called down again. By this time Mrs. Firth had recovered her composure and was laughing with Harry, who sat in Mr. Firth’s chair by the fire, drinking a glass of milk and eating oatcake with a plate of butter beside him.
“Well, Tom,” said Mr. Firth cheerfully. “Here is Master Harry Norton come to ask you to spend the day with him on the moors. Wouldst like to go, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” I said eagerly. “If you can spare me.”
“Why, to oblige Sir Henry I would do a much greater thing,” said Mr. Firth. “It seems Sir Henry is away on public business, and Mr. Harry’s tutor is away to see a sick relative, and so he is alone.”
“I have brought some provisions,” said Harry.
“Go up, Tom, take off your apron, and brush your clothes,” said Mr. Firth. “We don’t want wool blowing all over Master Harry off you. Wife, put up some meat for Tom. Now, if it should rain, Master Harry, and from the look o’ t’sky it well might, don’t you hesitate to come back to Upper High Royd. We can give you a bite of dinner, you kn
ow.”
So we two lads went off together. First we scrambled down a very steep path to one of the valleys, then we climbed up a lane on the far side, up and up, till we passed all the houses and left fields and walls behind, and were right out on the open moorland. Rough grass, sombre heather, dark peaty soil, and everywhere little brown becks tumbling downward over rocky beds. The wind blew, the sun shone; larks sang overhead, lapwings (their green backs so dark they looked black, their undersides white) somersaulted in great swift curves overhead; Harry fell to singing and I joined him, and we were happy.
When we stopped to eat our meat in the shelter of a dip in the moor we were so high that we could see for miles around, a landscape of rising and falling hills dotted here and there with homesteads, with Halifax lying on a slope in the distance. From here the hill on which Barseland stood, high as it was, lay far below us. The air was so clear we could see the Fleece Inn, and the cluster of trees and bushes which hid Sir Henry’s mansion, and Upper High Royd, and even the tenters in the tentercroft beside the house, a piece of blue cloth on them bright in the sunshine. I pointed it out to Harry.
“Aye, I see it,” he said. “Of all the daft customs, this of leaving cloth out on the tenters all night is the daftest. My father is away to Halifax this morning to confer about it. For the past five weeks there has been cloth stolen in the neighbourhood every week. But for heaven’s sake,” he added hastily, “do not, I pray you, mention it to Mrs. Firth while I am with you. I do not fancy a woman in a screaming fit, and Mrs. Firth is nervous and somewhat given to emotions.”
“Yes—but for all that Mrs. Firth is a good and kind woman,” said I. “Her bark is worse than her bite, as they say.”
“You’re content at Upper High Royd, then, are you?”
“I should be well content,” I said, “if it were not for Jeremy, who loses no chance to work me ill.”
“He looks a sullen sort of chap,” said Harry.
“He is always mislaying things and blaming me to Mr. Firth for it, and complaining that I am slow and idle. I am not idle, Harry,” I said firmly.
The Adventures of Tom Leigh Page 5
