The Girl from the Mill

by Chrissie Walsh

  When the military jeep pulled up outside the door, Nathan held Lacey close and stared into her face, as if memorising every detail. Lacey held his gaze, seeing in his eyes a love so deep she felt as though she was drowning. Her parting kiss imbued all the passion she could muster. ‘I love you, Nathan Brearley. I always will. Come back soon.’

  The jeep drove off. A gang of children, unused to seeing army vehicles in Garsthwaite, chased after it, their arms raised to hold imaginary rifles, their voices imitating the sound of gunfire. Their childish actions jarring her nerves, Lacey watched the jeep disappear from view.

  25

  ‘By, but this weather’s fit to freeze you to death.’ Joan pulled the thick shawl draped over her head and shoulders all the tighter.

  Lacey glanced up at the leaden sky. ‘Aye, we didn’t have much snow before Christmas but it’s made up for it since.’

  Their steps precarious on the icy footpath, they were making the early morning journey to the Mill, two women of similar nature but with different agendas; one trying her utmost to simply earn a living, the other unwavering in her determination to improve both their lives.

  ‘Here, link me; we don’t want you falling in your condition.’

  Lacey slipped her arm through Joan’s. Three months into her pregnancy she was taking great care, the baby she was carrying a manifestation of her love for Nathan and his for her. This child was Nathan’s son or daughter, God’s precious gift. She only hoped its father would live to see it and be there to watch it grow, unlike Stanley, whose son James would never know him.

  Since Stanley’s death, Joan was coping as well as could be expected. Even so, thought Lacey, as they entered the Mill yard, she’ll never again be as happy as she used to be; but then, what woman could be once she’d lost the man she loved?

  ‘I hope there’s a letter from Nathan when I get home,’ said Lacey, then immediately felt guilty – Stanley would never write to Joan again – but she needed to talk about him if only to allay her fears. Letters affirming Nathan was alive and well renewed Lacey’s faith in God.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ said Joan. ‘Whenever I got one from Stanley it always made me feel close to him.’ She bit down on her bottom lip at the memory.

  ‘I don’t even know if Nathan’s received my letter telling him he’s going to be a father. I wonder if he’ll be as shocked as I was when I first found out.’

  Joan gave a laugh. ‘I don’t know why you were shocked; it’s not as though you weren’t doing owt to cause it. The last time he was home on leave you spent most of it in bed, or so you told me.’ This time it was Lacey’s turn to laugh.

  *

  Shadows lengthened, the thrash and beat of looms racing their way to the end of the working day. Out of the corner of her eye, Lacey saw Joan darting from one of her looms to the other. She didn’t see Joan’s feet skidding on the greasy floor, but she heard her screams rising above the noise of the machinery as she pitched forward into a thrashing loom. Its mechanism impeded, the loom automatically stopped, but not before it had entangled Joan’s turban and a bloodied mop of blonde hair into warps and wefts.

  Lacey knocked out her own looms and dashed across weaver’s alley, yelling at the top of her voice for assistance. Like a broken rag doll Joan sprawled against the loom, unconscious. A dark patch, devoid of hair and skin, oozed blood from the horrendous wound to her scalp.

  A deathly hush fell over the weaving shed as one by one the women stilled their looms. Fear of suffering the same fate gripping them all, they watched as panic-stricken managers sent for help. Lacey sat on the greasy floor, Joan’s head resting in in her lap and blood seeping through her overall, forming a puddle between her thighs. Someone produced a length of clean white cotton cloth and as Lacey gently used it to staunch the flow of blood she willed her cousin to live and the ambulance to hurry up.

  *

  Joan lingered at death’s door, drifting in and out of consciousness, the shock to her system more serious than the damage to her scalp. Whenever she woke she suffered terrifying flashbacks, her hands clawing feverishly at her bandaged head as she screamed and thrashed about in her hospital bed. More often than not, Lacey was at her bedside and when she wasn’t there she was relieving May, who was caring for James. She wasted no time in bringing Joan’s serious injuries to the attention of Jonas and the Union, refusing to accept that they were caused by Joan’s own negligence rather than an overburdened workload and a greasy floor.

  Gradually, as Joan’s scalp wounds began to heal, her spirits were strengthened by Lacey’s devotion. She held her when she sobbed for the loss of her glorious blonde curls and made her laugh by drawing pictures of the ridiculous hats she might make to cover Joan’s disfigurement. She paid the rent on Joan’s house and cared for James as though he was her own, all these small kindnesses giving Joan the will to get better. And throughout it all, Lacey continued to fight for Joan’s right to compensation.

  *

  ‘I’m so glad Joan’s wounds are healing nicely,’ said Felicity, as Lacey brought in the jug of cocoa they would share before the car came to take Felicity back to Fenay Hall. They had just returned from visiting Joan in the Royal Infirmary in Huddersfield, Lacey thankful for Jonas placing his car and chauffeur at their disposal and grateful to May and Joan’s sister, Elsie, for babysitting.

  ‘The surface wounds might be healing but it’s the hurt inside that worries me,’ said Lacey, handing a mug to Felicity then sitting down with her own.

  They talked about Joan for some time until Felicity changed the topic of conversation by gesticulating at the pile of garments on Lacey’s sewing table. ‘What’s all this?’ she asked.

  ‘Everyone wants their clothes altering these days, and I want to get these out of the way before the baby comes. Ivy Vickerman tells me you can never be sure when a first baby might arrive,’ said Lacey.

  Felicity grinned. ‘Fancy, Nathan a father. I’m sure it will be a boy, a son to carry on the Brearley name. Jonas will be delighted if it is.’

  ‘And the day you present him with a grandchild he’ll be absolutely cock-a-hoop.’

  Felicity frowned. ‘Isn’t that a bit premature. I’ve yet to find a husband.’ She gazed dismally into her empty cocoa cup.

  Lacey set down her own mug and gazed thoughtfully at Felicity. ‘I’ve never asked but I’ve often wondered why a lovely young woman like you has no man in her life.’

  Felicity gazed back at Lacey, her expression wary. Then, as though measuring the depth of their friendship she heaved a sigh and, carefully weighing her words she asked, ‘Can you keep a secret?’

  Lacey widened her eyes. ‘You know I can.’

  Felicity smiled gratefully. ‘You know I was in Switzerland at about the time you and Nathan first met?’ Lacey nodded, her curiosity agog. ‘Well,’ Felicity continued, ‘I met someone and fell in love.’ She paused, fingers twisting in consternation. ‘I’m still in love but it’s a hopeless cause, and that being the case I don’t suppose I’ll ever marry.’

  Felicity looked so miserable, Lacey’s heart ached for her. ‘Why is it hopeless? Does he not love you?’

  Felicity pressed her lips into a sad little smile. ‘He says he does and I believe him, but he can’t marry me. He’s already married.’

  Lacey, who had always considered her sister-in-law to be a carefree young woman, was astounded to learn that Felicity harboured an impossible secret love. Words failing her, Lacey took Felicity’s hands in hers and held them tight. Felicity smiled wanly and shrugged. ‘I don’t think I could ever love anyone else therefore I’ll be an old spinster aunt to this little one,’ she said, releasing her hands to pat Lacey’s bump.

  ‘Tell me about him,’ Lacey begged, thinking it would comfort Felicity if she talked about her mysterious married man. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Stefan; he’s a doctor. He married his childhood sweetheart when they were both very young. Her uncle paid for Stefan to go to medical school so he’s obligated in m
ore ways than one.’ Felicity’s shoulders drooped as she related the sorry tale. ‘Apparently Maria was a sickly child and now she’s an ailing woman. I’ve met her. She’s bitter and vindictive, self-obsessed. The marriage satisfies neither of them.’

  ‘Do they have children?’ Lacey asked, her thoughts struggling to come to terms with Felicity’s confidences.

  Felicity heaved another great sigh. ‘Goodness, no! I wouldn’t have pursued the relationship had there been, but Stefan is so unhappy and I love him so much I saw no harm in bringing a little joy into his life. Eventually I had to walk away, the futility of it all too hard to bear. But I can’t forget him or he me. My love life is conducted on scraps of paper winging their way to and from Switzerland.’ She essayed a smile. ‘Mama and Pa think I correspond with an old friend from my finishing school, and I let them believe that.’

  ‘I’m sad for you,’ Lacey said, genuinely affected by Felicity’s unhappiness. ‘I won’t say cheer up, you’ll meet somebody else, because that’s foolish, but I’ll be here for you whenever you want to share your thoughts and feelings.’

  *

  Lacey stood in the smoke filled room to the rear of The Black Bull, the Union meeting about to start. Requesting permission to speak, she asked, ‘What progress has been made on Joan Micklethwaite’s compensation claim?’

  ‘None as yet,’ Harry Clegg casually replied. ‘Brearley says it wa’ Joan’s own carelessness as caused the accident, an’ her injuries aren’t such as she can’t return to work.’

  Seething inwardly at Harry’s dispassionate reply, Lacey cried, ‘Joan Micklethwaite nearly lost her life. She’s terrified of going back to the Mill. That accident will haunt her for the rest of her days. She needs compensating for loss of earnings.’

  That Joan’s injuries had occurred at a time when the Unions throughout the industry were fighting for compensation for injured workers and sick pay for those unable to work because they were suffering from an industrially related disease, made it all the more pertinent. However, the mill owners were reluctant to comply with Union demands. Some mills had their own health schemes, but Brearley’s had none.

  ‘You bloody women are never satisfied,’ grumbled an elderly, disgruntled weaver. ‘You got your extra two bob for your pieces, now you’re asking for money for them what’s too bloody idle to turn in for a shift. You make trouble for everybody. Afore you know it bosses’ll be docking our wages to cover t’costs of a health scheme.’

  ‘Aye, yer right there,’ a bull of a fellow agreed, his bald pate glistening under the light of the gas mantle above his head.

  Lacey gave him a withering glare. ‘You might not object to being bald as a coot but Joan Micklethwaite does.’ Several members tittered. Ignoring them, Lacey continued. ‘It was nature stripped you of your hair; Joan lost hers in an accident that shouldn’t have happened. And when accidents or ill health prevent anyone of us from working we should be compensated.’

  Lacey left The Black Bull thoroughly disheartened.

  The next morning, Lacey arrived at the Mill earlier than usual. Jonas was in his office. ‘Can I have a word?’ Lacey asked, stepping into the small, cluttered room. Jonas looked up, surprised. ‘Aye lass, what is it?’

  ‘It’s about Joan Micklethwaite. I promised myself never to abuse my position as your daughter-in-law by discussing work issues outside the Mill and I’ve kept that promise. I left it to the Union to raise Joan’s case but it appears you turned them down.’

  The friendly face that had greeted Lacey was now that of an astute employer, but Lacey remained steadfast, ignoring the hooter’s blast calling her to start work.

  ‘Right now, Joan needs money to pay rent and put food on the table. She daren’t go back to the weaving. She’ll never get over the shock of losing her hair, or the terrible pain she suffered. I thought you might compensate her until she finds alternative employment.’

  Jonas’s expression softened. ‘Lacey, lass, it’s not that I don’t feel sorry for your cousin but she caused that accident by her own carelessness. If I compensate her I’ll be bankrupt in six months. That lot out there will be tripping over baskets, banging their heads on beams an’ getting up to all sorts to make me pay up. I daren’t do it for fear they’ll take advantage.’

  ‘Yet you know it’s wrong,’ said Lacey, exasperated. ‘Joan didn’t injure herself on purpose. An accident is exactly that, only the circumstances are to blame. You say Joan was injured because of her own carelessness, but that’s not true. Minding two looms means we’re watching out for twelve thousand ends—’

  ‘I do know the technicalities, lass,’ Jonas said dryly. ‘I own the Mill.’

  ‘Well, in that case you’ll know that the floor in that shed is thick with grease,’ Lacey fired back, ‘that’s why Joan fell. We’ve complained about the floor umpteen times but nowt’s been done about it.’

  Jonas stared implacably.

  Softening her tone, Lacey employed a different approach. ‘I understand your fears but it will be up to you to use your judgement when a claim is made. If it was a deliberate act of self-harm then I agree you shouldn’t have to pay, but Joan’s was an accident.’

  ‘Not in my opinion; her mind wasn’t on the job, so I’ve been told. Now you might be my daughter-in-law and the mother of my first grandchild but I’ll not have you interfering in Mill business. I know what’s best for this place.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, as far as profits are concerned. You’re not a bad employer, Father Brearley, in fact you’re better than most but don’t let profit outweigh humanity. One of these days you’ll have to pay compensation, the Unions will eventually force all mill owners to do that. Don’t wait to be forced; do it out of the goodness of your heart.’ Lacey turned on her heel and walked out.

  Back inside the weaving shed, Lacey walked up and down the alleys speaking to each worker in turn. Heads nodded affirmatively, eyes bright with defiance. Lacey went back to her looms, Isabella Ormston Ford’s words running through her head: persistence must prevail.

  Throughout the shed, bit by bit the thrashing faded, the noise diminishing to an eerie calm, heddles and shuttles immobile, the looms at rest, the women as motionless as their machines.

  ‘Come on, lasses, what are you playin’ at?’ Clem Arkwright, tolerant as usual, hurried between the alleys gently coercing the silent women.

  Arthur Allbright, a man with a decidedly acerbic temperament, was less forbearing. ‘Get to bloody work the lot o’ you before I send for Mester Brearley,’ he roared, dashing like a madman from one end of the shed to the other.

  Lacey’s voice rang out clear and resolute. ‘We’re not working until Joan Micklethwaite is compensated. We all know she wasn’t to blame. Any one of us could slip on this floor and end up in a loom. Scalped!’

  A rousing cheer rattled the rafters. Lacey scanned their expectant faces, a wide smile wreathing her own. ‘Now ladies, if you’ll follow me.’ Lacey leading the way they marched out into the Mill yard to stand silently, as Lacey had instructed.

  Arthur Allbright scampered over to the offices, his expression a mixture of rage and fear. Clem Arkwright shook his head despairingly then went and stood with the women. Two minutes later Jonas blustered out of the office, his cheeks reddened, his eyes flashing. ‘What’s the meaning of this? Why aren’t you at work?’

  Lacey stepped forward. Jonas reared his head. ‘Oh, I might have known you’d be involved in this. What are you up to now, lass?’ His eyes strayed to her distended belly; that was his grandchild in there.

  ‘It’s with regard to Joan Micklethwaite’s accident, sir. This is not an official Union strike but we women in the weaving shed feel so strongly about this injustice that we will withdraw our labour as and when we choose until we have a guarantee that genuinely innocent injured parties will be compensated for loss of earnings.’

  Jonas gazed into the unswerving green eyes. By rights I should have sacked her the first time she stood up against me, he thought, at the same ti
me attempting to quell the sneaking admiration he felt. Was he forever to be plagued by this fiery young woman who stirred up long forgotten memories each time she embarked on a mission?

  Jonas looked at the women, their faces determined yet hopeful. Unexpectedly, he felt warm admiration for them. It was their sweat had helped make him the successful businessman he was now. These women, some who had toiled for him for years, were like family. He knew their joys and fears: a marriage, the birth of a child or the death of a loved one. He could count the ones who had been widowed in the past two years and now he felt like a benevolent father. He smiled and nodded understandingly. ‘You’ve made your point. Leave me to deal with it as I think fit.’

  *

  Lacey’s pregnancy had brought the Brearleys and the Barracloughs closer, Edith and Joshua occasionally visiting Constance and Jonas and they reciprocating. That Constance Brearley visited Netherfold amazed both Edith and Lacey. ‘I can’t believe she’s the woman who was so disparaging when she first met me,’ Lacey remarked after one of Constance’s visits. ‘She’s changed beyond recognition.’

  ‘If she’s owt like as thrilled as I am, being a grandmother will change her even more,’ said Edith. ‘It’s best bit o’ news we’ve had in a long time.’

  However, the news alienated Alice and Violet to such an extent that, one evening in Fenay Hall, they openly abused Lacey. When Constance made reference to the expected birth, to everyone’s astonishment Alice asked, ‘Is it Nathan’s?’ and to compound their incredulity Violet added, ‘With Nathan away so often the baby could be any Tom, Dick or Harry’s.’

  The rumpus that followed these outrageous remarks resulted in Alice and Violet’s instant dismissal, Jonas bellowing as they hastily departed, ‘Never darken my door again. I’ve put up with you for years and bailed you out more times than enough. Now, I’m done with you, so sling your hook.’ Alice had looked to Constance for support but receiving none she and Violet had scuttled out. Nothing had been seen or heard of them since.