Harry looked at me. “I believe you, Tom,” he said.
“Mr. Swain had cloth stolen from his tenters,” I reminded him. “Has Sir Henry not discovered who was the thief?”
Harry was silent for so long, I feared I had vexed him.
“I did not mean that as a reproach to Sir Henry,” I said.
“Listen, Tom,” said Harry. “But mind, do not repeat what I say to you to anyone. Do you remember when we first quarrelled?”
“That I do.”
“What did we fight about, eh?”
“My father’s watch,” said I sadly, for as I spoke my former life and Lavenham and my father all came back to me.
“Just so. Now my father bought the watch from a reputable watchmaker in Bradford, who had bought it cheap from a countryman he did not know. The countryman cannot be traced. But it is thought that a man who would steal a watch from a drowning man would not scruple to steal cloth from tenters.”
“I never thought of that!” I cried.
“Well, think of it now. But keep your thoughts to yourself. Here comes the rain!” cried Harry suddenly, springing up. “We must get down to shelter.”
We were well soaked by the time we reached Upper High Royd. Mrs. Firth made a great fuss over Harry, drying his clothes, and—to be fair—she showed some concern over me, too. She persuaded Harry to stay for his dinner, and gave us a very good meal, at which Harry chattered and laughed and kept us all in a good humour—except Jeremy, of course, who sat silent and scowling and rather subdued.
“May Tom come out with me again sometimes, Mr. Firth?” said Harry as he made his farewells.
“Aye, so long as he doesn’t leave his work undone,” said Mr. Firth rather doubtfully.
“On Sunday afternoons perhaps?” suggested Harry.
Mr. Firth looked at his wife to see what she thought of this. To my surprise she nodded. As Mr. Firth said: “Very well,” he seemed rather surprised too.
Mrs. Firth was a little kindlier in manner to me after that day. Partly because she was pleased to have Sir Henry Norton’s son dining in her house and I had brought him there, but partly, I think, for a better reason, namely that Harry set me laughing and chattering with the rest, so that I was more my natural cheerful self than the silent and perhaps morose lad she had previously taken me to be.
But Jeremy’s ill-will towards me seemed continually to deepen.
On the very next Saturday after Harry’s visit he gave me a real fright. Mr. Firth was off long since to market when Josiah came in with a woven piece. Jeremy sent me down to attach it to the hook as I had done before, and threw the wrapping cloth with the rings down out of the taking-in place with such force that had I been under it (as I nearly was) my neck could well have been broken. Vexed and startled, I began to get the wrapping round the piece, thinking to myself that Saturdays, when Mr. Firth was absent, were really very disagreeable days at Upper High Royd. In the porch Mrs. Firth was arguing sharply with Josiah as she paid him.
I knew why she was vexed. Getting a piece dried on the tenters in time for Saturday market was always an anxious matter because of the uncertain weather, so the earlier in the week a piece was fulled in the fulling-mill down in the valley, the better for the clothier. A custom had therefore grown up among the Barseland clothiers of taking pieces to be fulled on Sunday. This was quite illegal and Sir Henry disapproved of it, but Jeremy was all for it and Mr. Firth was inclined to be led by the other clothiers. Mrs. Firth disliked the custom strongly—nothing like that, of course, had ever been done at her father’s—and so it vexed her when Josiah brought a finished piece on Saturday because of the temptation it offered Mr. Firth over this Sunday fulling. So she snapped at Josiah in her shrill voice till (luckily for me) Gracie tired of it and ran into the yard to be out of the way.
For just as I grasped the big hook in one hand to put it through the rings, there was a sudden violent jerk and I found myself swinging in mid-air. Jeremy had hauled on the rope. I brought my other hand to the hook quickly, and held on; I had no desire to fall ten feet, especially with those iron rings below me.
“Jeremy! Let me down!” I cried.
I had thought, of course, that this was just a spiteful joke, very uncomfortable for me but not meant to be dangerous, but as I looked up into Jeremy’s face I felt a pang of fear; such a look of hatred, of evil will, I had never seen in any man’s eyes before. Moreover, he now wound the end of the rope round its staples in the workshop wall, so that I was held in mid-air; and then, reaching out, he began to sway the rope from side to side, and twist it, so that I spun round. I felt sick and dizzy, and tried to make up my mind to jump, while Jeremy’s sneering face seemed to swing back and forward above me, when Gracie screamed suddenly:
“Mother! Mother! Come quick! Mother!”
A scream from Gracie always brought everyone at Upper High Royd to her at the run. So now Mrs. Firth came rushing round the corner, Josiah lumbered after, and Harriet (Josiah’s daughter) followed gaping with a broom in her hand.
“What are you about, Jeremy? Let the boy down at once! Josiah, hold him up! Help him down!” shrilled Mrs. Firth, while Josiah shouted:
“Jump, lad! I’ll catch thee!”
Gracie broke into loud sobs. Harriet said: “Eh! I never!” and they all stood gazing up at me, their open mouths and upturned eyes giving a comical effect.
Jeremy writhed his face into an expression of surprised consternation, loosed the rope and let me down with a bump. I fell into Josiah’s arms and knocked him over, and we rolled together in the yard.
I own I felt shaken, and did not resist when Mrs. Firth, calling me “Poor lad”, led me into the house and put me into a chair by the fire and brought me a mug of dandelion beer to drink. Jeremy came down and laid his hand as if fondly on my shoulder, with many expressions of regret and explanations how he had not seen me on the hook, he thought it was the piece he was hauling up, and so on. But these were all lies and I shrank from him.
He was very solicitous about me for the next few days, the more so as Mr. Firth, who had doubtless heard all about the hook affair from Mrs. Firth and Gracie, was decidedly ill-tempered with him. To distract Mr. Firth’s attention from the matter, as I thought, Jeremy began to be urgent with him to weave broadcloths instead of kerseys. A kersey is usually about a yard (thirty-six inches) wide, whereas a broadcloth is fifty-four inches at least, often more. Broadcloths, of course, command a bigger price than kerseys, not only because they have more stuff in them but because it is easier to cut suits and coats from broader cloth—tailoring from narrow cloth is very wasteful and needs more seams. A broadcloth must be very evenly and closely woven, lest it sag, but as Jeremy kept saying, with Mrs. Firth’s fine, even yarn and the good, close weaving of himself and Mr. Firth, he was sure that Upper High Royd broadcloth could soon become quite renowned.
Mrs. Firth could not but be flattered by all this, and pleased, because at her father’s they wove broadcloths; and Mr. Firth seemed to be coming gradually round to the idea.
“After all, why keep an apprentice and make no use of him?” urged Jeremy.
“True. Dost think tha could do it, Tom?” said Mr. Firth, who was apt to become more Yorkshire in his speech when he was out of his wife’s hearing.
“He has done it for his father many a time, isn’t that so, Tom?” said Jeremy smoothly.
“Why, yes,” said I.
The point of this lies in the different widths of the two cloths. With a narrow kersey, the weaver sitting before the loom can slide the shuttle, which is pointed at both ends, through the threads with his right hand, and then slide it back the other way with his left hand. But a broadcloth is too wide for one man to reach both sides, so an apprentice sits at one side of the loom and throws the shuttle at that side, to help the weaver.
“We’ll try it. Set a broadcloth up soon’s this kersey’s finished, Jeremy,” said Mr. Firth.
It was promotion for me to be allowed to have anything to do with the weav
ing, and in a way I felt glad, but somehow the pleased gleam in Jeremy’s eyes made me uneasy.
It was in the night before the broadcloth was to be begun—Jeremy had done the warping and looming-up very neatly and skilfully, that day—when I suddenly started awake with a pang of terror. It seemed to me that all of a sudden I saw the true reason for Jeremy’s insistence on the broadcloth. I told myself my thought was a coward’s thought and I should feel shame for it, but I could not get it out of my head. I could hear voices from the housebody below, so Mr. and Mrs. Firth were still downstairs, and after some tossing and turning I suddenly took my resolution and rose up and drew on my shirt and breeches and went downstairs.
Mrs. Firth was rolling up her knitting, Mr. Firth stood in the open doorway, looking out at the night, which was moonlight and very fine.
“Why, Tom!” said he. “What’s up, lad?”
“Mr. Firth,” I said in a rush. “I am afraid to weave at the broadcloth with Jeremy.”
“Afraid? Nay, Tom!”
“I knew a lad in Lavenham, an apprentice, that was blinded by a shuttle, weaving so; he was not quite quick enough, he did not catch the shuttle, it flew into his eyes. Mr. Firth, Jeremy does not like me. I am ashamed to say it, but I am afraid.”
“Well,” said Mr. Firth. His face hardened; he stood very still. Mrs. Firth had come up behind us and was leaning against the door jamb. They exchanged a glance. “Tha did right to speak to me, Tom,” said Mr. Firth. “Tha’s no need to fear.”
Next morning, when Jeremy had put a spindle of yarn into a shuttle and was just “kissing the shuttle”, as weavers say, to draw the thread through the hole, ready to begin weaving the broadcloth, Mr. Firth came into the workshop.
“Now, Jeremy,” he said. “Just beginning broadcloth, eh?”
“That’s right,” said Jeremy smugly.
“Sithee, Jeremy,” said Mr. Firth—this is a Yorkshire expression meaning see thee, that is, look—“sithee, if any harm comes to this lad Tom through t’broadcloth, or in any other way, i’ my house, I shall hold thee guilty.”
Jeremy started and his sallow face flushed.
“That’s not fair, master!” he cried.
“Happen not,” said Mr. Firth. “But I mean it, Jeremy. I’ll take thee to th’assizes if any harm happens Tom. So think on and watch out.”
I came to no harm over the broadcloth.
5
Mr. Daniel Defoe
It was now summer. The heather on the moors came into bloom, so that when I went out one Sunday afternoon with Harry, as had become our habit, I was amazed by the great stretches of purple which rolled away on every hand. The cotton grass was out too, clustering in the moorland hollows, the white silky heads dancing in the wind on their slender stems; the green bracken on the middle slopes was almost head-high.
For there was plenty of wind and rain; it was a poor, cold summer. This vexed Mr. Firth, for the season had so far been good and the oats and hay were both well advanced and ready for harvest. However, he and Josiah at length mowed the hay and carried it into the barn, with Mrs. Firth and me and even little Gracie helping to turn and fork it. Jeremy would not lift a hand to help; he said he was a journeyman weaver and had naught (“nowt”, as he said) to do with crops. Mr. Firth was put-out by this at first, but was glad enough that there was a piece ready for him to take to market on Saturday. He got a good price for it too, for it seemed all clothiers were busy harvesting so there was a scarcity of cloth for sale. Presently he and Josiah harvested the oats together; what with helping in these works and spreading lime on the fields, for some three weeks I was out of doors all day, and what was even better, away from Jeremy; so I grew quite tanned and cheerful.
Then we began to thresh the oats on the threshing floor beside the barn, and it was here that the accident happened which made me so wretched.
It was a cold, gusty morning, and, though still August, the summit of the highest hills around had a thin covering of snow. Mr. Firth and Josiah and myself were all threshing, that is, banging a flail down on the oats to separate the grain from the husk, so that the wind could blow the light husks away. It is warm work, and in spite of the cold wind I had left my jacket in the house and rolled up my shirt sleeves. Josiah and Mr. Firth were exchanging reminiscences about harvests when Mr. Firth was a boy—Josiah, it seemed, had been apprenticed in those long-ago times to Mr. Firth’s father. I was swinging the flail with a will when suddenly with a sharp crack something hit the tip of my elbow. I gave a yelp of pain, for of all places in the body the tip of the elbow is the most sensitive to a blow; my arm went numb, and the flail flew out of my hand. I was bent over double, rubbing my arm and exclaiming at the pain, when I heard a roar from Mr. Firth, who was hopping about and then clinging to the side of the barn, his face distorted with pain and rage; my flail had flown through the air and come down heavily on his foot. Josiah and I both ran to him and held him up, for he could not put his foot to the ground.
“I am sorry, master,” I cried. “Something hit my elbow.”
“Dang thee for a daft clumsy blockhead!” he shouted. “Wherever tha goes, summat goes wrong!”
He struck at me with the back of his fist, and the blow fell on my cheek.
“You’d best carry me to the house,” he said. “I can do no more here.”
Josiah and I crossed hands beneath him and he put his arms round our shoulders, and so we carried him, roaring and swearing. In the yard we met Jeremy, whose look of consternation gave me a grim pleasure; he had not meant to hurt Mr. Firth, I judged, when he threw the stone at me.
We seated Mr. Firth in his armchair by the fire and Mrs. Firth ran to him and pulled off his shoe and stocking; she felt his foot with some skill, and said she thought that though it was severely bruised, no bones were broken. But Mr. Firth did not believe her.
“Josiah, be off down the valley and fetch me the surgeon,” he said.
“Shall I go, master?” I suggested timidly.
“No! You’d get lost or bring me the blacksmith,” snorted Mr. Firth. “Ill luck attends owt you do.”
Josiah set off, and I went back to the threshing floor.
I own I felt very wretched and also resentful. There on the ground lay the stone which had made me loose the flail; a nasty sharp-pointed piece of millstone grit, as they call the very hard stone round here. That Jeremy had thrown it I did not doubt. I was grieved and troubled over Mr. Firth’s foot. But although I knew his quick fiery temper, and knew too that his first angry responses were often belied by his second more kindly thoughts, I could not help resenting his blow. It was not so much the pain of it, though my cheek stung; it was the indignity. There is something about a blow which insults a man. A boy feels insult as much as a man, I thought; more perhaps. It is wrong for a man to strike an apprentice, who has not the right to strike back. Besides, it was not true that things went wrong wherever I was; what had gone wrong since I came to Upper High Royd? All those tales of Jeremy’s, of me mislaying tools and so on, came to my mind, and it struck me for the first time that Mr. Firth had believed them. But even so, a blow! So I went on, turning the thing over and over in my mind, my resentment continually growing.
Presently the surgeon, as I supposed, came riding up the lane, clutching his hat in a sudden gusty shower of hail; shortly after he left again, and then Gracie came running out to me, with some bread and cheese for me in her hand.
“Father’s foot is not broken, only badly bruised and swollen,” she said.
“I am very glad of it,” I said in a sulky tone.
“But stay out of his sight, Tom, till he has recovered his temper and forgotten your carelessness,” she said.
“It was not my carelessness,” I said angrily. “A stone hit my elbow and numbed my arm. Here is the stone. Who threw it you may guess if you wish.”
Gracie said nothing, but stood weighing the stone in her hand thoughtfully. Then all of a sudden she ran off towards the house, carrying the stone with her.
I had finished my bread and cheese and was hard at work again—for I determined not to be accused of neglecting my duty—when I heard a sound of jingling bits and horses’ hoofs, and then the barking of a small dog. I looked up, and saw a company of five coming up the lane on horseback, two of them by their dress servants, the leader holding within the breast of his coat a small young spaniel dog, which was yapping at Sandy, who lay along the top of the tentercroft wall in the sheltered corner, with his paws tucked in, half asleep. I was astonished by so much company in this remote place, the more so as none of them had faces which I knew. Sandy awoke and looked at them wearily, ready to be off if the dog struggled free, but his master held him firmly and ruffling his head bade him be quiet.
“Now, my boy,” said this man in a friendly tone to me: “Tell me, if you please, are we in the right way for Halifax?”
“You are hardly in the right way for anywhere up here, sir,” said I. “Halifax lies over there.” I pointed.
“Kindly direct me to the right way, then,” said he.
He spoke so pleasantly, with such easy assurance and cheerful friendliness, that I quite took a fancy to him. Though rather slight and spare in build, with a brown complexion and a large mole at the left side of his mouth, he somehow dominated his companions; and this was because of some quality in himself rather than owing to his full-bottomed wig and his good dark grey suit, though this went well with his keen grey eyes.
“I would not presume to do so, sir,” I said, hesitating. “But if you would come into the house, Mr. Firth could tell you.”
“What! Live within sight of a town and not know the way to it?” said one of the other men, laughing.
“The boy is a stranger to the place; can’t you hear he does not speak with a north-country voice?”
“Aye, you’re right, Mr. Defoe,” said the man who had laughed at me. “As usual. Take us to your master, lad.”
“Where do you come from? Lavenham! I have been in Suffolk. How long have you been in Yorkshire? Why did you come? Are you an apprentice? How long are you bound for? What trade are you learning?”
The Adventures of Tom Leigh Page 6
