The Master of Liversedge (6 page)

SIX: THE PROMISE

She stared at him for a moment while the colour ebbed from her face, and her knees felt oddly weak. Presently, she rallied a little, her protective instincts aroused by his abject terror.

‘Take no notice,’ she whispered, catching his arm in hers. ‘Whoever it is will most likely go away, if no one answers.’

He shook his head. ‘N-not if it’s them. They — they — ’

He abandoned the struggle for words, and moved towards the window, extending a shaking hand towards the shutter.

‘No, don’t!’ cried Mary, sharply.

‘Must see — who it is,’ he gasped. ‘Might make — disturbance — ’

He unfastened the shutter and pulled it back. With difficulty, Mary stifled a scream. A hideous caricature of a face was pressed close to the window; the mouth was a great gash, and the staring eyes looked straight into hers.

‘It’s — all right,’ stammered her cousin, in evident relief. ‘It’s George — ’

This information did nothing to reassure Mary.

‘Don’t let him in,’ she whispered. ‘Send him away.’

John shook his head. ‘He’s my friend — he won’t harm us. I must see what he wants.’

She saw it was useless to argue, and watched apprehensively while her cousin gestured to the apparition outside. When he moved over to the back door, and silently shot the bolts, she retreated to the far end of the kitchen. She was afraid, yet determined to stand her ground.

The man who entered a moment later was big and muscular, with jet black hair. Mary saw at once why his face had appeared so horrible; it was smothered in soot, so that his eyes and mouth stood out in startling contrast.

He said nothing at first but strode to the window and closed the shutter. His movements put Mary in mind of a panther, silent but powerful. He turned on John who was bolting the back door.

‘Who’s this?’ he growled, pointing at Mary.

‘My cousin, Miss Lister.’

George Mellor advanced across the room towards her. She backed slowly away from him, until she was touching the wall, and his blackened face was within inches of hers. She longed to cry out, but pride kept her silent, though she was trembling.

‘Miss Lister, eh? Tha’s t’ governess up at Arkwright’s, eh?’

Mary nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. Then John came quickly across to her side, and took her hand in his, facing Mellor defiantly.

‘You’re not to frighten her, George. You’ve nothing to fear from her — ’

‘Tha’s ower free wi’ names, lad,’ replied the other, continuing to stare fixedly at Mary. ‘Well, Miss Lister, dost reckon tha’ll know me again, if ’appens we should meet, eh?’

She shook her head, trying to find her voice. ‘No — the — soot disguises you — ’

She was dismayed at the thin sound that came from her own lips, in marked contrast to the harsh, guttural tones of Mellor’s voice. She made a conscious effort to steady her breathing, telling herself that she must keep calm, for John’s sake.

‘Listen, lass.’ He seized her suddenly by her thick plait of hair, twisting it in his grasp so that the tears started to her eyes. He drew her closer, staring down into her face with the concentrated glare of a wild animal. ‘Tha’d better not know me, think on — not if tha wants to live an’ do well. Bein’ young Booth’s cousin won’t help none, if tha should forget. Think on, I warn thee.’

She tried to appear calm, but her bosom rose and fell tumultuously, in betrayal of her effort. The grim, blackened face was so close to hers that she could detect the rough stubble beneath the thick covering of soot. Body and spirit flinched from the contact, but she managed to give no sign.

‘George!’ John took hold of the man, but it was as though a pygmy strove to move Colossus. ‘Leave Mary be, I say! She is as trustworthy as I am myself — you shall not hurt her — she is like a sister to me — she will never betray you!’

‘ ’Appen not.’ The big Mellor stared thoughtfully at his victim for a moment, then abruptly released his hold on her hair. ‘Best to mak’ sure, though, eh? Get rid o’ t’ lass now. I’ve things to talk about.’

‘What kind of things?’ asked John apprehensively.

‘Private things.’ Mellor’s glance at Mary was significant. ‘‘Op off, lass.’

Still trembling, she turned obediently towards the door; but stopped suddenly, halted by John’s expression of helplessness.

‘No!’ she exclaimed, summoning all her resolution. ‘I’ll not leave at your bidding — not until my cousin asks me to go.’

Mellor laughed hoarsely. ‘Ho, so it’s got spirit, ’as it? It’s ’andsome, too — always a sign o’ spunk when there’s a dash o’ red in t’ hair — ’

‘You’ll not insult my cousin, while I stand by,’ retorted John, turning pale.

Mellor laughed again, and clapped John heartily on the back so that the boy staggered and all but fell. ‘I’ll not tak’ on the both o’ ye,’ he said, with rough good humour. ‘All right, let t’ lass stay. It’s nowt so secret, after all — though I’ll thank thee, ma’am’ — for a moment, the former grim expression returned to his face — ‘to keep them pretty lips o’ thine shut, or else — ’

Mary nodded, not trusting herself to answer this threat.

‘There’s something we want thee to do,’ said Mellor, ignoring Mary and talking to John.

‘No!’ John’s lips trembled, but his voice was firm enough. ‘I’ve told you I’ll have nothing more to do with any of you, after what happened to Ben Turner — ’

‘That was an accident,’ replied Mellor. ‘Dost reckon we aim to hurt our own folk? Don’t be so daft, lad.’

‘Daft or not, I want no part in any of it from now on,’ continued John, a note of rising hysteria in his voice. ‘I can’t altogether clear my conscience of some complicity in that poor fellow’s murder — yet God knows all I’ve done so far has been innocent enough!’

‘Tha talks like a loon,’ Mellor said, contemptuously. ‘Why tha’ didn’t even know about t’ attack on t’ waggons, leave alone — ’

‘You don’t understand — a man can be guilty of a crime without actually taking part in it — or even knowing of it — ’

‘Pah! Tha rattles that brain-box o’ thine too ’ard. What I do understand is that soon tha’ll need to mak’ up thy mind which side o’ t’ fence tha’s on. Won’t be long afore them as bain’t with us’ll be reckoned agin us. Tha’d better be twisted in, lad, and have done.’

‘No — never! I’ll not swear to aid and abet deeds of violence!’

John was almost shouting now. Mary started towards him, but stopped as Mellor took his arm.

‘Easy now,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Tha’ll rouse t’ household.’

‘Don’t you think,’ said Mary, grasping her courage firmly, ‘that you’d better be going? It’s late — my cousin is overwrought — ’

‘Hold tha tongue, or get out,’ Mellor said, without venom. ‘This bain’t for women.’ He turned once more to John. ‘There’s no harm in what we want thee to do, lad. It’s about Sam Hartley, see?’

John shook his head, not understanding.

‘Arkwright’s given him t’ push this morning,’ explained Mellor. ‘Tha knows Sam’s no ’ope o’ finding work hereabouts, and ’im wi’ a family o’ five already, and another expected any day. We reckon we’ll not stand for it, see? If anyone’s turned off, it should be yon chap from Manchester — he was last to come, and he’s a foreigner besides — ’

He looked at John, but the boy said nothing.

‘T’ lads are goin’ to see Arkwright about it,’ continued Mellor. ‘But they’ll need a leader — someone eddicated, who can fathom ’
is
way of talking, an’ find t’ reight answers. For ’e’s sharp, is Arkwright — give t’ devil ’is due ... what dost say, Jack? Art willing?’

John still hesitated. Mary opened her lips to say something, but checked as Mellor gave her a hard look.

‘Why — why not ask Nick Bradley?’ John said, at last. ‘He’s got — got influence with Arkwright — ’

George Mellor spat expressively. ‘Nick Bradley! Tha knows full well he’ll do nowt agin “young Maister”, as he calls ’im. We’ve tried Bradley already — he told us as Arkwright knows ’is own business best. Nay, lad, there’s nobbut thysen, for tha’rt only chap can stand up to yon fiend in argument — an’ that’s what we mean to try — at first.’ He clapped John on the back with what was intended as encouragement. ‘Come on, now, look sharp — I haven’t all night — wilt do it?’

‘I think,’ said Mary, speaking very slowly and carefully so that she might not betray her nervousness, ‘it would be a bad time to undertake such a venture. Mr. Arkwright told — told me this morning’ — she swallowed as Mellor stared at her — ‘he gave me a warning for John. If he finds him meddling, he said, in dangerous matters — ’

‘Ay,’ interrupted Mellor fiercely, taking a step towards her. ‘Ay — what’ll he do?’

‘He — didn’t say — precisely — but he did say that he was determined — ’

She stopped, conscious that what she was about to say might serve to inflame the black giant.

‘Do I have to shake it out o’ thee?’ threatened Mellor, advancing.

She clenched her hands to still their trembling. ‘No. But you won’t like it. He said that he meant to weed out all the Luddites, root and branch.’

To her relief, the giant threw back his head and laughed. ‘He did, eh? It’d tak’ more than Arkwright, I reckon! We’re a match for ’im, never fear. We’ll see ’ow he deals wi’ us ower this business — then let ’im look out, that’s all!’

‘I think — he means well — ’ ventured Mary, encouraged by his good humour.

‘ ’Appen t’ devil means well, too — it’s actions, not thoughts, as mak’s or mar’s folks’s lives,’ returned Mellor, gruffly. ‘But I’ve no time to stand in idle chat wi’ thee, lass. Art goin’ with t’ lads then, Jack?’

‘Who else is going?’ asked John, hesitantly.

‘Only Arkwright’s men — oh, ay, we’re none so daft as to send outsiders. There’ll be half a dozen on ’em, includin’ Sam’s brother Jack — who’s no friend o’ ours, as tha knows well, but who won’t see ’is own brother starve for lack o’ askin’ for ’is job back. We couldn’t get more support — t’ others be in Arkwright’s pocket, an’ a lily-livered set o’ swine besides. Reckon they’ll all come to see it our way fast enough, one day. We’ll bide our time.’

‘Then it will be — just a peaceable deputation of some of Arkwright’s own workmen?’ asked John. ‘And simply to ask — beg — Arkwright to give Sam Hartley back his job for the sake of his wife and family? No more? No — no threats of violence, or — or — ’

His sensitive face worked as his mind turned swiftly back to Ben Turner’s death.

‘Ay; tha’s hit t’ nail on t’ head,’ replied Mellor, watching him. ‘Well? What dost say?’

‘There seems no harm,’ said John, slowly. ‘Poor Sam — there’s nothing hereabouts for him, I well know. He might get agricultural work in the summer — but he’s got to live until then, and a young family at that.’

He paused, thinking. In the uneasy silence, Mary was unreasonably conscious of the ticking of the grandfather clock which stood against one wall. She wanted to rush over to John, and urge him not to have any part in the scheme. Fear of the giant, great though it was, would not by itself have deterred her; but in her heart she knew that this youth, though both sensitive and timid, could never be deflected from what he considered to be his duty. Alone with her, he might have yielded to her persuasions as to where that duty lay: with Mellor present, there could be only one outcome.

‘That’s fixed, then.’ Mellor showed little sign of the satisfaction he was feeling; instead, he treated John’s assent as if he had expected it. ‘They’re meeting outside t’ mill at three o’clock tomorrow — or today, whichever way tha looks on ’it. They’ll go straight up to Arkwright’s ’ouse.’

‘On the Sabbath?’ asked John, wonderingly.

‘Better t’ day, better t’ deed,’ Mellor answered, laconically. ‘ ’Tis only day they bain’t at work, and only time they be certain o’ catchin’ Arkwright at ’ome.’

Mary wondered how her employer would relish having his one day of rest interrupted, and tried to catch John’s eye in warning. Mr. Arkwright had seemed to her to be neither a patient nor a particularly understanding man, in spite of the fact that Nick Bradley had spoken well of him. Moreover, he had warned Mary specifically against her cousin’s meddling in matters of this kind.

It was useless, however. She could see that John was powerless to resist the appeal of a fellow creature in need.

Dismayed, she heard him give his word to George Mellor; and knew that nothing she could say thereafter — indeed, nothing on earth save death itself — would suffice to make him break it.

SEVEN: A DEPUTATION TO MR. ARKWRIGHT

Standing silently beside her cousin and Mrs. Duckworth, the housekeeper, in the narrow, wooden pew, Mary glanced covertly around the little village church. A fair-sized congregation was present, composed for the most part of croppers and their families. Their patient, submissive faces gave no hint of the feelings which had given rise to the violent happenings of the last few days. They stood quietly enough now, their work-worn hands gripping the rail in front of them as they waited for the service to begin.

She saw the Arkwright family approaching down the aisle, and she quickly turned her head to the front. They entered the opposite pew, so that she had ample opportunity to study them if she wished. Her glance lingered particularly on Caroline, whom so far she had not met. She liked what she saw: the eager, vital face promised intelligence, and there was warmth in the smile which the girl turned from time to time on her stepbrother. William Arkwright himself stood stiff and unsmiling beside Caroline and her mother, who was finely dressed in a fur-trimmed black velvet pelisse and an over-elaborate purple bonnet with ostrich plumes. Mrs. Arkwright looked plump, contented and of a different cast of mind from her young daughter. Mary hazarded a guess that if Mrs. Arkwright alone had been in charge of Caroline, the girl would have been sadly spoilt. She glanced again at her employer, and decided that as long as he kept the reins in his hands, there was little fear of such an outcome. Indeed, the trouble might be that someday the liveliness of the girl would run counter to her stepbrother’s autocracy. Who would win, then, Mary wondered? Physically, they were much alike; but she had yet to discover if they shared the unyielding disposition which she had already noticed in William Arkwright.

Her uncle’s sermon was commendably short, for he knew the difficulties of housewives who wished to do justice to the one meat dinner of the week which they could afford to put before their families. His exposition of the text from Corinthians ‘Be of one mind, live in peace’ was scholarly, but made no reference to the recent violations of peace in the neighbourhood. He had always been an unworldly man, Mary reflected, and of course his deafness served to isolate him somewhat from the troubles around him; but surely he could not really be as unaware of them as he appeared to be? She glanced at John, sitting soberly beside her; and wondered if he, too, found his father’s sermons out of touch with the harsh realities which surrounded them. In his father’s place, could John have found words which would have whipped expression into the polite, blank faces of the congregation, and found an echo in their hearts?

She caught Mrs. Arkwright’s eye upon her, and looked down at the hymn book which was clasped in her hands, a faint blush rising to her cheek.

The service over, they all filed slowly out of church into the cold, fitful sunshine, some standing for a while in small groups, idly chatting. Mrs. Duckworth was soon pounced upon by a neighbour, and Mary and John were left for a moment standing together in the middle of the path. She started to say something, but stopped as she noticed that his gaze was fixed in another direction. Her eyes followed his, until they came to rest on a figure standing at some distance away among the gravestones, half concealed from view by a dark yew.

Something in the build and stance of the figure made her catch her breath in sudden, unreasoning fear. She knew who this man was, although she could not recognize his face even had she been close enough to discern the features.

She felt John move, and put out her hand to stop him.

‘No!’ she whispered, urgently. ‘Don’t go.’

‘I must, Mary,’ he replied, and shook her gently off.

He began to thread his way through the small groups which surrounded them. She started in pursuit, but had taken only a few steps when she felt a touch on her arm, and, turning, saw Mr. Arkwright there.

He bowed curtly. ‘Good morning, ma’am. I want you to make my sister’s acquaintance.’

She had no choice but to follow him down the path to the spot by the lych-gate where Mrs. Arkwright and Caroline were awaiting him. Mrs. Arkwright was deep in conversation with an acquaintance, but she detached herself as her step-son came up, and greeted Mary kindly, if somewhat effusively.

‘Are you feeling more the thing today, Miss Lister? You looked proper poorly die other night, and no wonder, poor thing, after what you’d just been through — but you look much stouter today, I assure you, and I am very glad of it. I said to Will, “That poor girl,” I said — ’

‘Caroline,’ interrupted Arkwright, ‘this is Miss Lister, your new governess.’

‘How d’you do, ma’am?’

The girl bobbed, and directed a quick, shy smile at Mary. Her lively eyes searched the governess’s face, looking for some sign that they were to be friends. Mary tried to forget her sudden anxiety about John and the sinister figure in the churchyard. She gave an answering smile, charged with warmth and reassurance. She watched the slight tension die out of the girl’s face as she gave her quiet response.

‘I think you have something to ask Miss Lister,’ Arkwright prompted his stepmother, with a slight smile.

‘I? Oh, yes, to be sure!’ Mrs. Arkwright started, for she had been watching closely to see how her darling would receive the new governess. ‘Will thought — that is to say, I would very much like you to come and take a dish of tea with me this afternoon, if you are not doing anything else, you know. It would be a splendid opportunity for you and Caro to get to know each other, before you start your lessons together tomorrow, don’t you agree, Miss Lister? Though I am sure you will go on famously; for the minute I set eyes on you I knew you would be more suitable than that Miss Mercer, who was a dear, good creature, poor soul, but so dreadfully prim, as though she had been at least a hundred years old, which Caro thought she most likely was!’ She paused for breath, but was on again before anyone could stop her. ‘Though to be sure, I did wonder if perhaps you might not be just a bit too young for a governess — but Will thought you capable, and he’s always right, you know — ’

‘You give me a depressing character,’ interrupted William Arkwright, lightly. ‘What time would be convenient to you, Miss Lister?’

Mary hastily named three o’clock, and then wished that she had not done so. She recollected only too well that it was the hour appointed for the deputation to meet at Liversedge mill. What perverse fate had made her employer ask her to be at his house this afternoon? Yet, in a way, she wanted to be close at hand when her cousin paid his call.

She parted from the Arkwrights as soon as she could, and, making her way back along the path, started across the grass towards the spot where she had seen the man standing. Little as she wished to meet him again, she did not intend to leave John in his company. No one was there now: both he and her cousin were gone.

*

Mary was admitted to Mr. Arkwright’s house by Nell, who automatically adjured her to wipe her feet, then hastily apologized.

‘Oh, I beg pardon, ma’am! But everyone’s in and out, and ’tis so dirty underfoot, now t’ snow’s clearing.’

‘It is indeed,’ replied Mary. ‘I’d like to change my boots for these slippers, if I may.’

Nell ushered her into a small cloakroom on the ground floor, and good naturedly helped her to remove her half boots.

‘There’s company, besides yoursen,’ she gossiped. ‘Pretty little Miss Grey’s here with Miss Foster — they came not much above a half an hour since. You’ll mind seeing Miss Grey t’ other night, when that awful business happened — Maister Will’s not going to get over that in a hurry, mark my words. He’s taking it hard, poor lad.’

The freedom of speech of the North country domestics always struck strangely on Mary’s ears after a long absence. Farther South, manners were more guarded; but she warmed to the personal touch that always greeted her in Yorkshire.

The housekeeper shepherded her along a passage which led to the parlour, and, tapping on the door, announced her.

Mary walked into the room: she was not feeling completely at ease, which was only natural in the circumstances. Her feelings of diffidence were increased, however, by the sudden silence which greeted her arrival; and by the long calculating stare bestowed on her by Miss Grey.

It was true that she had seen Lucinda Grey before, on the night of the Luddite attack; but she had then been too fatigued and upset to take much notice of her. Now, as her troubled brown eyes met the contemptuous blue ones across the room, she realized with a shock that here was one of the loveliest women she had ever known. The cherry red gown that Miss Grey was wearing accentuated her fair skin, and gave added lustre to her rich golden curls. She turned her head with a languorous movement, and Mary noticed that William Arkwright’s eyes were reluctant to leave her face.

Mary was just beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable when her employer rose, and came towards her, drawing her into the circle. Mrs. Arkwright, too, who had been busy picking up some dropped stitches in her work, sat up and gave her a friendly, if verbose, greeting.

‘May I present Miss Lister?’ said Arkwright to the others. ‘Miss Grey — Miss Foster.’

Miss Foster managed a quiet ‘How d’ye do’, but Lucinda Grey contented herself with a cool nod. Mary felt the colour rising in her cheeks, and despised herself for the weakness.

‘Come, sit by Caro and let her entertain you,’ said Arkwright, setting a chair for her beside his stepsister. His tone was kinder than any he had so far used towards her, and she felt disproportionately grateful for it.

She began to talk to Caroline, and in her attempts to draw the girl out, soon forgot her own diffidence. After a while, they were chatting happily together as if they had known each other for years. Mary noticed presently that Mr. Arkwright had transferred his attention from Miss Grey for the time being, and was an interested listener to the conversation between Caroline and herself. This brought on a return of her former self-consciousness, and some of the spontaneity went out of her remarks.

‘Show Miss Lister some of your drawings, Caro,’ suggested Arkwright, suddenly.

As the girl rose to obey, Mary glanced quickly at his face, trying to read its expression. Could she be mistaken, or had he noticed her shyness, and was trying to find a way to set her at ease again? She would not have judged him to be a man who was either perceptive or careful of the feelings of others. She did not know what to think, and his countenance told her nothing.

The sketches did the trick, however: in looking, commenting and occasionally laughing over them with Caroline, Mary quite recovered her poise.

When tea was brought in and conversation became general, the sketches were passed round.

‘Do you draw, sir?’ asked Miss Grey, turning towards Arkwright with one of her languorous movements.

He shook his head. ‘I received scant encouragement as a boy — the only portrait I ever executed was done in chalk on the blackboard. The subject — one of my masters — took an instant dislike to it. The memory of that early effort is so painful that I’ve never tried my hand at drawing since.’

‘I should like to try a likeness of your sister and yourself,’ said Miss Grey, with the slight drawl which gave something of a sneer to all her remarks.

Arkwright bowed. ‘You honour us, ma’am; but I fear we should be poor subjects, though for different reasons; I rarely find time to sit still, and my sister is quite unable to do so.’

Mary fancied that Miss Grey’s lovely face showed signs of pique, but she shrugged carelessly.

‘As you please, Mr. Arkwright. But all work and no play, you know — ’

‘That is just what I am always telling him!’ interrupted Mrs. Arkwright, triumphantly. ‘He works day and night without pause, and rarely stops long enough to eat his mutton with a neighbour, leave alone take part in any of the evening parties and occasional balls in the neighbourhood — for I would not have you think, Miss Grey,’ she said, earnestly, turning to her attractive neighbour, ‘that we don’t have anything of that kind hereabouts, just as much as you do in York! Though, of course, we don’t have Assemblies, exactly, but still — ’

‘It’s no good, ma’am,’ interrupted Arkwright, seeing the boredom in Lucinda Grey’s eyes, ‘you will never convince Miss Grey that Halifax is a tolerable substitute for York. As for me, I realize that I’m a dull dog, and there’s an end of the matter.’

‘Dull?’ exclaimed Caroline, jumping to her feet, her face indignant. ‘I should just like to hear anyone say so to me, that’s all!’

‘There, my love, Will was jesting,’ said Mrs. Arkwright, soothingly. ‘I am sure he knows that we do not really think — ’

‘You have a staunch champion, sir,’ drawled Lucinda, eyeing Caroline mockingly.

The girl flushed, and subsided like a pricked bubble. Mary darted an indignant glance at Miss Grey: she could not like anyone who would unnecessarily wound a child’s feelings, and Caroline was at a particularly vulnerable age.

‘I have need of one,’ declared Arkwright. ‘Only Caro will put up with me, isn’t it so, my love?’

His deep tones gave a rich meaning to the casual endearment. Caroline looked up, her eyes shining with renewed confidence.

Mary began to wonder if she had misjudged her employer; he certainly seemed to show a more human side within the family circle. Or was it Miss Grey’s presence which influenced him?