“Miss Bamber! You need to get away from here!” he shouted to her above the noise of the crowd.
“I need to get to the mill!” Prudence answered, but she was beginning to think she would never reach it. Afraid of being unable to push through if she dismounted, she was grimly clinging to the reins and urging Scarlett forward.
The foreman pushed his way through the throng and reached her side. “Trying to get through this crowd is madness!” he scolded her.
“I agree! But I can’t turn back now,” she insisted. “Would you take care of my horse if I carried on by foot?”
“It’s not safe,” he said. “They are wanting someone’s blood, and it could get serious very quickly. It’s only going to take a spark, and it will turn nasty. Let me lead you to the mill. I need to get you away from here.”
Taking hold of the reins, the foreman pushed and cursed his way through the crowd. Prudence had doubted that he would have more of an impact than she would on a horse, but he did. It probably had more to do with the fact that most people knew him and responded to his cursing.
Eventually, they reached Bamber Mill, and he stepped to the side. “Take some advice Miss Bamber. Don’t leave the mill until the crowds have completely dispersed. It is not safe, and when we lose the light, goodness knows what will happen.”
He rattled the gate, and the watchman came from his brick building at the side of the gate. He looked astonished to see Prudence but quickly unlocked the large iron structure and allowed Prudence and the horse entrance into the quiet mill yard.
Prudence turned to thank the foreman for his help, but he had already disappeared into the crowds. Feeling more unsettled than she ever had, she quickly dismounted.
“Please tell me my father is here and not at the other mill,” she said.
“He’s here, Miss Bamber. The looms are quiet though. Never known it like this ‘afore.”
“No. Nor I,” Prudence admitted before taking Scarlett into the part of the yard in which the horses and her father’s carriage were stored. She helped the coachman settle the horse and warned him they would not be leaving for some time. Securing Scarlett, Prudence gave her a pat and apologised for her mistreatment on the journey.
Walking into the mill, which was eerily quiet she took off her gloves and hat. Heading straight to the office, her footsteps echoed across the empty, still room. The looms were suspended mid-action, where they had ceased working when the power had ceased.
Mr. Bamber looked up in surprise when she opened the office door without knocking.
“Prudence, what the devil are you doing here?” he demanded upon realising who was coming into his office.
“Mr. Huxley had to turn back on his way in. He told me of the crowds and the strange behaviour of everyone. I had to come to you,” Prudence said.
“And put yourself in goodness knows what danger?” The normally amiable gentleman was furious.
“I had to make sure you were safe.”
“I was a lot better off when I knew you were secure in Stretford, well away from all this trouble!”
“I am sorry, but I would not have been able to rest.”
“Prudence, I’ve no idea when this is going to pass over. We could be here all night.”
“At least this way, I know you might be uncomfortable and hungry but not in any danger. My imagination would have kept me worrying if you had not returned. I am even more convinced that, for me at least, I made the right decision.” Prudence sat on one of the wooden chairs. “Why has this escalated so quickly?”
“The workers and the jobless have decided to march to show their displeasure at the low wages, lack of jobs, and prices of goods. I do not understand the willingness for whole families to lose at least a days’ pay when they are already struggling to feed themselves, but then I am not in their position,” Mr. Bamber explained.
“It seems so unfocused an activity when I was travelling through the streets. Are they aiming for somewhere specific?”
“Any open spaces where speakers can make rallying speeches, I think. Some of the other mill owners have threatened that they won’t have the workers back if they return to work tomorrow.”
“And you?”
“If I see any trouble-makers causing problems or delays to the production lines, they will be dismissed, but so far I will accept a day strike. They want to make a point, and as long as there is no damage, there will be no harm done.”
“It will cost you though.”
“Aye, it will. It will not cripple us quite yet, so there’s no need to worry.”
Prudence smiled. “As you are the most astute businessman I know, I am not worried in the slightest.”
“I am honoured. You are on first name terms with most of the mill owners in this town. You obviously know what talent there is out there.”
“Which just shows how much faith I have in you.”
A noise outside drew them both to the window, which overlooked the yard and the gates. They watched in silence for a few moments as the crowds continued to surge and occasionally the gates rattled in protest.
“If they get inside the yard, there will be mischief,” Mr. Bamber said.
“Will the gates hold?”
“I hope so.”
Prudence felt the first stirrings of unease. She had been so confident making her way in, arrogantly presuming that, as the daughter of a respected master, nothing untoward would happen to her. Doubts had started to crowd in on her when she had been outside until she was rescued by the foreman. Having felt safe in the familiar surroundings once inside the mill, hearing the uncertainty in her father’s voice suddenly made her feel insecure in their position.
Gathering her courage, she turned and smiled at her father. “I shall make tea on your fire. Do you have anything to eat? If we are to stay here tonight I hope you have, or we shall be reduced to toasting one of your ledgers!”
“Fortunately for my paperwork, I always bring a parcel of food from home. One never knows when one will become peckish, and the shops around here probably make their bread with more brick dust than flour.”
“It’s a blessing that you come prepared.” Prudence busied herself. The parcel her father handed her contained enough bread, ham, and cheese to split it for an early meal for them. She put some on one side. “I will take this to Mick at the gate and Fred in the stables. They must be equally as worried about what’s going on and hungry too.”
“It will take a lot to upset Mick,” Mr. Bamber said. “Quite a few people have been shown off the premises by Mick, and they haven’t dared to threaten him. He is very handy with his fists when needed.”
“Good to know. Although I hope that won’t be necessary.”
The pair ate their repast, and then Prudence took portions out to the two workers still on the site. Fred was more than happy to remain with the horses.
“They are used to the noise of the mill. No crowds will disturb these beauties,” he said, accepting the bread and cheese gratefully whilst answering Prudence’s questions.
“Good. As soon as we can, we’ll return to Stretford, but it will probably be dark by the time we leave.”
“I will be ready in the shortest time. We will get home safe and sound. Don’t worry, Miss Bamber.”
“I have every faith in you,” Prudence said, before leaving the stable and walking over to the gate.
The amount of people passing had not let up. She smiled grimly at Mick as he came out of his small office. “I didn’t think there were so many people in Manchester,” she admitted.
“I have been listening to them passing,” Mick said. “I don’t think they are all from around here, which isn’t good.”
“No loyalty?”
“No, Miss. There will be trouble ‘afore the night’s out,” Mick warned.
Giving him the food, Prudence did not hang around near the gate. She found the situation unnerving. Hurrying back to her father’s office, she wrapped her arms around her middle. The sooner they co
uld return home, the better.
Chapter 22
Of all the days for a thick yellow fog to curl its way through the streets of Manchester, today was not the one for it to happen. Unfortunately, the weather failed to comply with what the populace would have liked it to do, and fog snaked its way down every road and alleyway, enfolding everyone on the streets in its thick choking smog.
Some of the strikers decided that they had had enough of an adventure and did not wish to struggle through the fog any longer, and they started to return home. Mick had reported that there seemed to be a surge of people travelling in the opposite direction, clearly seeking out their homes, in which there would be an escape from the dark, damp air.
Prudence had been worried that she had no longer been able to see the gate clearly, but Mick had sent Fred up to reassure them that there was the possibility of a ceasing of activity.
Fred returned to the stables, but then it seemed that there was a roar outside the mill gates and some sort of commotion. He joined Mick, and they both tried to peer through the mist to work out what was going on.
Some folk grabbed the gates and rattled the metal, begging to be allowed into the yard.
“Be off wi’ thee!” Mick shouted. “T’mill’s shut!”
“Let us in, or we’ll be crushed!” more than one voice appealed.
“We’re not daft. You will get up to no mischief here tonight. Be gone!”
The noise seemed to increase. Shouting, running, and shoving was taking place. More and more people were being pushed against the gate, and Mick looked in alarm at Fred. “Best get the master. I don’t think they’re funning. Looks like they’re being pushed up against the gates,” Mick said quietly.
Fred set-off at a run into the mill and up the stairs. Arriving breathless he repeated what Mick had said.
“What the devil is happening out there?” Mr. Bamber demanded. “Come on Fred. Let’s go and have a look.”
“I am coming with you,” Prudence said, immediately standing.
“Oh, no you are not, Missy,” Mr. Bamber said pausing mid-step. “You are going to promise me that you will remain here and lock the door behind me.”
“But I―”
“No buts, Prudence. I do not know what is going on, and I am not letting you go headlong into a scrape. I accept you would have been more worried sitting at home, but in this instance you will listen to me and do as I say,” Mr. Bamber said, all his usual mildness gone.
“Fine, but you must promise to return as soon as you can,” Prudence acquiesced.
“No following me?”
“No. I promise. I shall lock the door the moment you leave the office.” She would be troubled the whole time he was out of the mill building but knew she had to obey his wishes. It was not fair for him to be worried about her.
“Good.”
Mr. Bamber left the office with Fred, and Prudence did as she promised. She stood at the window but could see hardly anything, the fog was so thick. When the footsteps of the two men had died away, she was left to listen to the ticking of the clock. Time was going to drag until her father returned.
Mick seemed relieved to see his master arrive at the mill gates. Mr. Bamber did not need to ask what was going on; he could see and hear enough to know there was a problem outside the mill.
Pleading voices begged him to let them into the yard.
“Open the gates,” Mr. Bamber instructed Mick.
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes. Otherwise, people are going to get crushed. I have no idea what’s going on, but I do know these people are in danger.”
Mick reluctantly released the lock on the gates and had to step back quickly to get out of the way of the surge of people who stumbled into the now unrestricted space. Dozens of people filled the yard, with more following.
“What’s happening?” Mr. Bamber asked one of the men he recognised.
“There’s rioting started, sir. Some mischief makers from across the Pennines have come to stir up trouble,” the man explained. “They have been charging at mills and causing all sorts of damage. The cavalry are driving them back, but that just means that we at the back were being pushed farther and farther back into smaller places. Thank you for opening the gates.”
Mr. Bamber looked around. It would not be long before the mill yard would fill if people continued to pour in as they were still doing. “You need to return home.”
“We can’t turn everyone around,” the man said. “There are some at the back still wanting to reach the fight at the front. It’s madness.”
“Damn it,” Mr. Bamber muttered half to himself. He turned to Mick. “When the yard is full we close the gates again. I am not letting it overfill, and we just cause a crush in here instead of outside.”
There was some shouting out of the gate, and a group of men rushed into the yard. “Up the workers!” they shouted, waving arms and batons in the air.
Starting to strike anything they could, a few others began to follow them. Mr. Bamber and Mick rushed at the original group but were thrown off in their attempts to stop any damage to the property in the yard.
A hard baton struck Mr. Bamber between his shoulders as he fought with one of the ring leaders. “I stopped you being crushed!” he gasped as the pain ripped across his back.
“You’re making money while your workforce starves,” the man in front of him snarled and brought the baton down on the side of his head.
Mr. Bamber fell to the ground.
*
Fitzwilliam charged along with his fellow cavalrymen. The order had been given to try to disperse the crowd without causing injury. It had been a vain hope.
Since his arrival at the barracks in which they were housed, he had been desperate to get a message to the Bambers or to see Prudence. Unfortunately for him, his late arrival had meant that, as soon as he had been brought up to date with what was happening, he was sent out on duty.
That had been yesterday, but today things had changed.
He had been moving closer to Bamber Mills with the crowds and the cavalry. He had been told that most places were closed for the day, the workers going on strike, but he was uneasy as to whether Mr. Bamber was in the mill. He knew the man’s work ethic and did not think he would have willingly taken a day off work.
When the fog descended it was as if the whole atmosphere of the people changed. During the afternoon it had been tense ― a sort of uneasy stand-off between the uniformed horsemen and the workers, but they had continued on their way whilst the cavalry had just watched them.
Then the fog had started to swirl, and the mostly good-natured singing and some of the rallying speeches had taken on another tone completely. All of a sudden there were cries demanding action by the gathered mob and yelling, stirring a ripple of unrest and unease.
A small charge from the front of the crowd caused chaos, some people trying to escape, some to turn back, and others to push forward. All the time shouts were ringing out.
Then the clubs and chains came from underneath coats and out of pockets. That was the moment they had been instructed to try to disrupt what could easily turn into a major riot.
Fitzwilliam had surged forward, trying to cause confusion in the crowd and separate who they had seen as ringleaders. There was a mass of men and women, even some children, all intent on avoiding the snorting horses in their midst.
He had no idea how they found out, but one of the men called out that the mill gates further down the street had been breached. Fitzwilliam’s stomach lurched at the news, and he urged his horse forward. He had to get to Bamber Mill to make sure all was well.
Kicking anyone out of the way who aimed a club in his direction, or using a baton of his own, he surged forward. He knew that many would be innocents caught up in an activity they would probably be regretting by now, so he was careful not to cause unnecessary injury. He was a just man, and although set against the ones who were armed, he could not just trample over the ones who were trying t
o reach safety.
It seemed like an eternity before the large opening to Bamber Mills loomed out of the fog. If a mill was awe-inspiring during a clear day, it was haunting encased by fog. Unfortunately, Fitzwilliam did not have time to appreciate the monster building engulfed in swirls of smoke. He was too intent on making sure Mr. Bamber was not present.
Seeing the gates open, Fitzwilliam cursed that this had to be the mill that was breached. People were still inside, but his entrance caused some to push their way through the opening and back onto the street. He could hear the smashing of glass and looked around wildly to see if there was anyone he recognised.
As he pushed forward, he noticed a crouched form and shouting out, he caused the man to move slightly.
“Dear God,” Fitzwilliam uttered before flinging himself out of the saddle. He strode over to where Mick was crouched over Mr. Bamber’s prone body. “Is he alive?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Mick answered.
“Thank God for that! We need to get him inside. Is there no one else to help?”
“Fred is protecting the animals. All the rest of the workforce is off. Mr. Bamber was only stopping them being crushed against the gates, sir. He was helping them, and they started to cause damage,” Mick babbled, clearly shaken by what he had seen and trying to protect his employer from swarming bodies who had shown they did not mind attacking a lone man.
Fitzwilliam looked at the building. He could not see clearly but he could hear the sound of windows being broken. He needed to get Mr. Bamber away, but there was something making him pause in lifting the injured man onto his horse.
The sound of shattering glass made Mick wince, and he looked at Fitzwilliam. “Sir. Miss Prudence is in the mill.”
“What?” Fitzwilliam almost shouted at him.
“She’s locked in the office,” Mick said.
Feeling sick to his stomach, Fitzwilliam drew out his sword from the hilt on his belt. They had been given strict instructions. No swords out.
Damn that to the devil.
The woman he loved was in a building that was being ransacked.
The Colonel's Spinster: A Regency Romance (Tragic Characters in Classic Literature) Page 17
