The Rope Carrier (9 page)

She took Netty by the arm and led her into the cottage. Minnie followed awkwardly, finding her legs turned into wobbly sticks that threatened to snap.

Jack hovered behind them. As they began to climb the stairs, he made a strange mumbling sound which they could not hear clearly.

“Missus,” he said. “Please, missus. Will I be sent off now, what with no Josh here?”

They all turned to look at him, his dirty face smudged clean and pale where he'd wiped away tears.

“Why no, of course tha'll stay with us,” said the Dame, almost fierce. “Tha'll stay with us, come what may, Jack. Set out tha bed and get some sleep. Minnie must get to bed, too, for tomorrow both of you must start to fetch and carry to the debtors' jail. You must take him food and clothes and file blanks, for Josh must try to carry on his work inside that foul place, and we must rack our brains to see how we may manage. God forgive me,” she whispered to herself. “I shall never speak up for that vicar again.”

Minnie woke early next morning and for one lovely moment she thought she must have dreamed that Josh was in prison, but the sight of Netty up and struggling clumsily to dress herself brought back reality.

“What are you up to?” Minnie asked. “'Tis me and Jack that's going up there, not you.”

“Oh, but I am,” said Netty, all trace of last night's weakness gone. “There's things that must be done. He needs his food, and we must take kindling and clothes. Then we'll have to pay the garnish money, though I cannot think how.”

“What?” said Minnie, rolling herself out of bed. “We must pay still more?”

“Aye. Rich debtors are kept in the high court rooms at the prison. They're not so bad, but you have to pay a lot. My poor
Josh will have to be kept in the low court, that's the filthiest place, and we've even got to pay garnish money for that.”

“But we've got no money. What happens if we cannot pay?”

“Haven't you heard of the debtor's song? They sing it as each new prisoner is brought in. Well, not so much sing it as growl it. The Dame told me, it goes:

“No!” Minnie was horrified.

Netty nodded. “We must find some garnish money, or my Josh shall have no coat to his back.”

“Don't take on, Netty.” Minnie hugged her. “Don't make thee'sen sick with it all. The Dame will get us through it, I think.”

“I don't know how, little sister. I don't know how.”

A tall man with the round shoulders of a file cutter was talking to the Dame when Minnie followed Netty downstairs. His face was grim, but Dame Eyre looked relieved. She held her hand out to Netty; in her palm lay twelve shilling pieces.

“Look, Netty. 'Tis Jem Kilner from the Filesmiths' Benefit Society. I always called our Josh names for bothering with that, for I never thought there could be any use in it.”

“Why bless you, sir,” said Netty. “At least we can pay the garnish, and we need not starve.”

“Don't give me thanks, 'tis but your due. I wish we could do more. There's plenty of our members right angry at this treatment of a good craftsman like Josh. He's not the only one by a long way.”

“Aye,” said the Dame. “I never thought to hear myself
agreeing with Joe Mather, but I start to understand him now.”

“Something must be done,” said Jem, “but we cannot see what, or how to do it. It seems that every way our hands are tied.”

All their arguments could not put Netty off, and so she puffed her way up the hill to Pudding Lane jail, trailing behind Minnie, who was loaded with cutting gear, and Jack, who complained all the way at the weight of the lead resting-block.

It took a while for them to find Josh, such a wild, stinking jumble the whole place was, and they spent a good few of their precious pennies paying for the information.

They found him at last in the lower court, close to the file-cutting stocks where he'd asked to be, and shackled by the ankle. He was dirty and hollow-eyed but glad to see them, and he and Netty clung together and cried. Minnie and Jack stood by awkwardly, looking hopelessly for space to stack Josh's food and file blanks in safety. So cramped and crowded it was, that Minnie could scarce stand still without being shoved and grumbled at from all directions. She was desperate to relieve the aching in her arms from carrying Josh's hammer and chisel and she longed to clamp her hands around her nose, for the smells of miserable humanity were worse than she'd imagined.

Josh gently pushed Netty away from him and held her at arm's length.

“Tha must never come here again.”

Netty shook with sobbing.

Josh turned to Minnie. “Thank you, little sister,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Tha's brought what I need. Now I can set about my work.”

He took the stuff they'd brought and stashed it as best he could behind the stocks. A skinny hand reached out at once for the bread. Josh grabbed a loaf and thrust it inside his shirt, then threw the rest towards the beseeching hands.

He took hold of Netty by the shoulders.

“Never come here again,” he said with anger. “Promise me.”

This time Netty nodded her head, but she couldn't say the words.

“Get thee'sen off now. Minnie, take her home.”

Minnie somehow pulled her sister away and back through the dreadful crowd, leaving Jack to help Josh with his work and gather up the finished files, for anything would be seized upon and stolen if it were left for a moment, such was the desperation there.

The next weeks were harder than any that had gone before. Each morning Minnie and Jack toiled up the hill to the jail, fetching and carrying whatever was needed. Jack complained bitterly that he might as well be in prison himself, but Minnie told him smartly to hold his tongue and be grateful that he came back to the Eyres' cottage each night.

“They've stood by thee, daft 'prentice boy. Cannot tha stand by them?”

Jack hung his head.

“Aye,” he said.

As soon as Minnie had seen the two of them sorted for their work at the prison, she would go back to the cottage for Marianne and the buckets. The water-fetching job was worse than ever for the month was July and there'd been no rain for weeks. It was mid-morning by the time they joined the queues and the hot sun warmed the tempers of those who had to wait. The 'prentice lads whined and fought like puppies, their lips cracked and faces ripe with sores.

Minnie would often look out for John Bennet, the big man. If he was there, he'd smile and wave, and let her into the queue behind him. None dared to protest.

Sometimes, as they shuffled slowly towards the trickle of
precious water, Minnie would let her mind drift away from the noise and squalor, remembering the cave and the clean deep river. This was the growing time. The steep ravine that led to the cave would be lush with the green leaves of trees which grew out sideways – impossibly, it seemed – from the rocky walls. Red campions and bluebells would be in flower, clinging to the lower slopes, and the calls of rooks and magpies would be echoing across the gap.

Late one Friday afternoon, though she ached to the bones with the to-ing and fro-ing, Minnie persuaded the Dame to let her walk up to The Bird in Hand inn, for she knew that Chapman Barber would be fetching in his pack-horse train there. She took Marianne, who was wild for every fresh scrap of information she could glean about Rope Dolly's cave. They stole a fine fresh carrot from beneath the snout of Elsie Duckett's porker to take as a treat for Chalky.

Though Minnie was cheered by the sight of Chapman's familiar face which linked this hard city with her home, it was a sad exchange of information that took place. Minnie related all that had happened with Josh, while Chapman had to tell how Sally's baby had been born too soon and never lived, and how it was only Annie's determined skill and care that was slowly bringing Sally back to life.

ONE HOT SUNDAY
morning, when Minnie returned to the cottage from fetching water, she heard slow uneven tapping coming from the workshed. She frowned, for it was unlike Jack to be trying to work on the one day that he was free and the Dame had gone off early to the Methodist Chapel. It was the one thing that took her from home, and she never missed.

The children had ceased their playing and stood round-eyed and quiet in the yard. Minnie stepped into the kitchen to find that Josh's father had pulled himself up from his pillow, distressed and shaking his head, though she could not understand the words he tried to speak. He pointed to the workshed and shook his head. The tapping stopped and a low moan followed. Minnie dumped the water down quick and hurried out to the shed. Jack was there, white-faced and scared, but it was not him at the cutting stocks. It was Netty, a hammer and chisel in her hands.

“I tried to stop 'er, honest I did. I said it weren't right.”

“What is it?” Minnie ran to her. “What have you done?” She looked for blood on Netty's hands but could see none.

Netty's face was screwed up tight. Her hands gripped the tools rigidly.

Minnie hugged her, trying to give some comfort. “What is it, Netty? Has't hurt thee'sen? There's no blood that I can see, love.”

“Aah,” Netty let out her breath and her face relaxed, leaving her pale and sweating. “I fear I've set the little 'un off.”

“What? The baby?”

“Aye. Set it off coming far too early and not even a cradle to put it in now.”

Minnie stared hopeless and horrified.

“I'm feared I've harmed it to swing this damned hammer so,” said Netty. “'Twill not live, like our Sally's.” She gripped Minnie's shoulders tight, her body suddenly taut again.

“Sh-shall I run for t'old woman?” Jack stammered.

Minnie nodded frantically at him.

“I'll fetch her . . . now.” Jack backed away from them, towards the cottage, but much to Minnie's relief the Dame herself then appeared in the doorway, still in her Sunday clothes, aware that something was wrong.

“Off to bed, my girl,” she said, firmly taking charge. She told Jack to sit downstairs with her husband and mind the children who just stared, distressed to see their mother bundled up the stairs, stiff with pain.

Between them, the Dame and Minnie managed to manoeuvre Netty onto the bed.

“'Tis all wrong,” Netty sobbed. “'Tis not like the others. I've set little 'un off wrong, and it's coming too fast.”

The Dame knelt down beside the bed, leaning right over towards Netty so that her face, too, was on the pillow. Minnie didn't know whether to giggle or weep.

“Now see here,” said the Dame, forcing Netty to look at her. “This child will come when it wants. There's many a fine baby comes both quick and early. You keep up your hopes, and with God's help we'll have a fine healthy child to show our Josh when he gets home.”

“Aye,” Netty nodded, biting her lips as she was drawn back into the pain.

There was no time to stop and worry now, with the baby coming so fast. Minnie rushed about trying to do as the Dame told her. She'd helped before, when Annie had attended a
birthing, but there'd always been plenty of women around, fussing and elbowing in and handing out advice. This was different, frightening, with just the two of them and no time for fetching more help. This was her own Netty in great distress and losing blood. Dame Eyre gave her instructions clear and fast. Just as well, thought Minnie, for as soon as they'd got the bed covered, and the knife set in the fire, the baby was on its way with the head starting to show.

A low painful groan filled the house. This time, the sound had not come from Netty. The Dame looked at Minnie.

“Canst manage for a moment, child?”

Then, without waiting for answer, she was off down the stairs to see to her husband. Netty gave a sharp growl of pain, and out into Minnie's hands slithered a small, struggling girl-child, spotted with blood and covered in the creamy sludge that protects the early-born.

Minnie stared, panic rising, her heart thudding fast. The arms waved and the tiny fists clenched, but mouth and nostrils were blocked. Minnie pulled up the hem of her soft cotton petticoat and, with her hands trembling, she gently wiped around the nose and mouth. Still the child failed to breathe. Minnie pinched her nostrils firmly till she could see that they were clear.

“Does it live? It makes no sound . . . it's as I feared.” Netty tried to heave herself up. The baby took a faltering breath . . . and howled. Netty flopped back onto the pillow, relieved. Minnie stooped to wipe around the eyes and was rewarded by a fierce glare, from eyes as steely-grey as her own.

The Dame's footsteps came hurrying upstairs at the sound of the child's cry.

“Tha's done well,” she said, when she'd examined the baby. “Now fetch the knife, and thy father's twine, and we'll get this little 'un clean and wrapped.”

Minnie soothed the child while the Dame saw to Netty, and at
last it seemed that their work was done. Netty had fallen into a deep sleep of exhaustion.

“You see to the mester now,” said Minnie. “I can watch this little 'un.”

“Aye. You are right, Minnie.”

It was the first time that she'd called her by name. “You are right. I must see to him now . . . for he died as the child was born.”

Minnie's mouth dropped open. She forgot to say that she was sorry.

“Like me,” she whispered, looking down at the baby, her arms tightening around it.

“What can tha mean, child?”

“Like me. Born in the moment of death.”

Minnie followed the Dame downstairs, carrying the baby still. She offered to help with the work of laying out, though she dreaded doing it.

“Nay. Sit thee'sen down and rock that little 'un, and watch the others while I get done. Fetch me that linen sash down from yon peg, Marianne. That's it, the one I fasten my gown with.”