Pauper's Gold (21 page)

Gently, Luke said, ‘Hannah, you didn’t get a letter last year for your birthday. You were upset about it then.’

Hannah stared at him. ‘You’re right. But I got such a lovely one a week later that I forgot all about it. I . . . I just thought that . . . well . . . being in there, she’d
lost track of the date.’ Her voice trailed away, her heart aching at the thought of her mother still imprisoned in the workhouse.

‘Have you written to her?’ Luke prompted.

‘Yes. Twice – but she’s not written back.’

They walked on in silence. Luke couldn’t think of any useful suggestion, and though Hannah was busy with her own plans,
she had no intention of telling Luke what they were. It had been two months since Nell had disappeared so suddenly and Hannah still didn’t know what had happened to her, and now she wanted to
find out why the letters from her mother had stopped. And so, despite her declaration that she tried to avoid Mr Edmund, there were now two very good reasons why she needed to seek him out
deliberately.

‘May I see Mr Edmund, please?’ Hannah asked Josiah Roper politely.

‘What about?’

‘I – it’s a personal matter.’

The man’s mouth twisted slyly. ‘’Bout you and young what’s-’is-name, is it? Want to get married, do you?’

Hannah gasped and couldn’t stop the flush rising in her face. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, I think you do. You’d better be careful. If Mr Edmund gets wind of it, that lad’ll be out on his ear, indenture or no indenture. He’ll be gone.’ His impudent
glance raked her from head to toe. ‘Mind you, he’ll not sack you. Oh no, he’ll likely keep you for himself.’

‘It’s nothing like that. There’s nothing between me and Luke—’

Josiah raised his eyebrows. ‘So you do know who I was talking about then?’

Hannah’s blush deepened. ‘Stop trying to put words in my mouth,’ she cried angrily. ‘Is Mr Edmund here – or not?’

‘No, he isn’t.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. She turned to go. As she pulled open the door to leave, Josiah said airily, ‘Not had a letter lately, have you?’

Hannah stopped in her tracks and looked back at him. ‘What . . . what do you mean?’

‘Oh, nothing.’ He paused and then added, calculatingly, ‘I expect Mrs Goodbody has got sick of writing. It can’t be easy making up lovey-dovey letters, pretending to be
your mother.’

‘Whatever do you mean?
Pretending
to be my mother?’

Josiah’s lip curled. Still harbouring bitterness at Mr Edmund’s decision to pass him over and bring home a mere youth to be manager of the mill, he said, ‘Those letters
aren’t from your mother, girl. Mrs Goodbody wrote them all. Every last one of them.’

Hannah was still puzzled. ‘My mother can’t write herself, but—’

‘Of course your mother can’t write now – even if she ever could. She’s dead.’ Hannah clutched at the door to steady herself as Josiah continued vindictively,
‘She’s been dead for three years. Ever since a few months after you came here.’

Hannah felt the colour drain from her face, and felt her legs tremble weakly as if they would no longer support her. ‘But . . . but Mr Edmund . . . ?’

‘He deceived you. Him and Mr Goodbody wanted to keep you here. Keep you happy. They cooked up the little scheme of Matilda Goodbody writing to you – just so you’d think that
your dear mama was still well and happy.’

Hannah gasped. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re a wicked liar, Mr Roper.’

Josiah shrugged. ‘Think what you like. It doesn’t bother me. But what would I have to gain by telling you lies?’

She stared at him for a long moment, her thoughts in turmoil. ‘I . . . I . . .’ she began, but she could think of nothing to say, so she turned and ran. Ran to find Luke, all
thoughts of the second reason for her visit to the office – to ask about Nell – driven from her mind.

It was not Luke she found, but Adam Critchlow.

Running wildly across the yard towards the gate, she ran smack into him and would have lost her balance and fallen had he not caught hold of her.

For a moment he held her close and then, when she was steady on her feet, though gasping for breath through her sobbing, he held her a little from him and looked down at her. His eyes darkened
as he saw her distress.

‘Hannah, what is it? Whatever’s the matter?’

‘You – you and your family. He’s . . . he’s lied to me. All this time, I believed him. I’ve been loyal. I’ve worked hard – and all I get in return is
lies and deceit.’

‘Whatever do you mean? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’

‘My mother’s dead. And he never told me. He’s lied to me. Kept me believing she was alive and well and . . . and happy and all the time . . .’

She broke into fresh, hiccuping sobs.

‘No! I don’t believe it. My grandfather wouldn’t do something like that.’

‘It wasn’t your grandfather – it was your father.’

‘My
father
?’ His look was incredulous.

Hannah nodded grimly. ‘It was all a plot hatched up between him and the master of the workhouse to keep me quiet.’ Her voice broke and she sobbed afresh.

‘You’re saying my father did that?’ Adam asked slowly.

‘You don’t believe me, do you? Why will no one ever believe me?’ she cried passionately. She realized he was still holding her and she tore herself free. ‘Let me go! Let
me go! You’re – you’re all the same.
You’ll
be just the same.’

Adam’s face blanched. ‘No, I won’t. I promise I’d never do anything like that.’ She could still hear the doubt in his voice. He couldn’t believe such a thing
of his own father.

Her eyes blazing now, rage drying her tears. ‘Oh yes, you will. You’ll be just like him. You won’t be able to help yourself. When you have us all in your – in your power,
you’ll be as bad as him. He’ll
make
you just like him. There’s a lot you don’t know about your father. You’ve not been here to see it. But things are very
different for us workers since your grandfather was taken ill. Very different.’

Then she ran. Out of the gate and up the steep slope, not stopping until she’d rushed into the apprentice house and slammed the kitchen door behind her. She leaned against it, sobbing and
breathless.

‘What on earth . . . !’ Ethel Bramwell began angrily, but when she saw the state of the young girl, she laid down her rolling pin at once and, wiping her floury hands on her copious
white apron, she hurried forward. ‘Oh, my dear, what’s happened? Don’t tell me there’s been another accident.’

She led Hannah forward and pushed her into a chair near the kitchen range and then poured a cup of tea from the huge teapot sitting in the hearth. ‘There, there. Tell me all about
it.’

The story flooded out and even Ethel Bramwell, who’d worked for the Critchlows for years, was astonished.

‘Mr Critchlow? Old man Critchlow?’ Her tone was disbelieving. ‘He was party to this?’

Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. It was Mr Edmund mainly and Mr Roper was in on it too. It . . . it was always him who gave me the letters an’ . . . and posted
mine. If he ever did post them,’ she ended flatly. It didn’t matter now whether he had or not. Her loving letters would never have reached the person for whom they were intended
anyway.

Mrs Bramwell sighed. ‘I don’t like to think the old man knew about it. I’d’ve thought better of him.’

Hannah’s face hardened. Her blue eyes turned cold. ‘They’re all the same. Every one of them. Master Adam’ll be just the same, when he’s older.’

Once, Ethel would have leaped to the young boy’s defence. But now she could think of nothing to say.

‘So, you’re causing trouble again are you?’

Early the following evening, Hannah was making her way round the back of the mill along the path towards the waterfall where Luke would be waiting for her. The mill was still working, the
millhands trying to catch the last of the daylight. The huge wheel thundered round and round, the water rushing along the race to feed its hungry teeth. Suddenly, a figure loomed up out of the
shadows, and before she could step around him, Edmund Critchlow had grasped her arm in a vice-like grip. ‘You need teaching a lesson, girl.’

‘You’re hurting.’ She tried to twist herself free, but he held her fast.

‘Oh, I’ll hurt you girl. I’ll give you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry. Now Nell’s no use to me, you can take her place. I fancy me a young tender piece . .
.’

Hannah struggled, trying to free herself, trying to get away. She twisted and lashed out at him with her free hand, but he caught hold of that too. Then she kicked out, catching him on the shin.
He let out a yelp of pain, but instead of releasing his hold, he gripped her even more tightly. She screamed, but no one could hear her cries above the roar of the churning water. Edmund raised his
hand and dealt her a stinging blow to the side of her face. She reeled and would have fallen if he had not still been holding her. ‘You little bitch,’ he snarled.

The last vestige of her resistance was almost gone; he was too strong for her. And then suddenly, miraculously, a figure hurtled towards them, waving his arms and yelling, ‘Let her go.
Leave her alone.’

‘Oh, Luke, Luke,’ Hannah sobbed thankfully.

He’d been standing on the path leading to the waterfall, watching for Hannah and had seen it all. Now he stood a yard away from them, his hands clenched at his side, every sinew in his
body poised, tensed to spring, but he did not touch either Hannah or Edmund. Instead, his steely eyes bored into the older man’s. ‘Let – her – go,’ he yelled.

Edmund threw back his head and laughed. ‘And who’s going to stop me?’ He pointed at Luke with a derisory gesture. ‘You?’

Luke took a step towards them. ‘Yes. Me.’

He was not as tall as Edmund or as strong. He was still only a youth, but at this moment he was defending the girl he loved. And his anger lent him strength.

For a brief moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Edmund’s face, but then it was gone and he was once more the master, the powerful owner of the mill who ruled all their lives. But in
that brief moment, Hannah had felt the tiniest relaxation of his hold on her and she twisted herself out of his grasp.

‘Run, Hannah,’ Luke ordered. ‘Go home – to the house and stay there.’

‘No – I—’

‘Go!’ Luke’s tone was a whip crack, demanding obedience.

Hannah went, running along the path and up to the house. ‘Oh, please, please come and help Luke,’ she cried as she fell into the kitchen, panting and breathless.

‘What’s to do?’ Arthur Bramwell strode towards her and grasped her arms to steady her.

‘It’s Luke and . . . and Mr Edmund. Fighting,’ she gasped.

‘Fighting?’ Arthur Bramwell was incredulous. It was unheard of – an apprentice fighting with the master. Even strong Arthur Bramwell quailed at the thought. He released her and
rushed from the house. Several of the boys and a few of the girls followed, chattering excitedly. ‘A fight. There’s a fight between Luke and the master.’

Hannah followed, pushing her way through them to get there first.

There were other figures, looming out of the shadows coming from the mill to stand watching – and waiting. But no one moved forward.

‘He’ll be for it, fighting with the master.’

‘Where’s Mr Scarsfield? He might be able to—’

‘Mr Bramwell’s there. Look.’

‘He’ll not step in. This is mill business.’

‘But the lad’s from the house.’

‘Help him,’ Hannah begged. ‘Please – help Luke.’

But no one moved.

‘We’d like to, lass,’ one of the men murmured. ‘But it’s our jobs – our homes. We daren’t.’

‘He’s right,’ another muttered. ‘I’d like to give that Mr Edmund a taste of his own medicine. Been wanting to punch him in the face for years, but I’ve me
wife and young ’uns to think of.’

‘I’m sorry, lass. The lad’s on his own.’

Hannah cast about wildly, but no one moved. No one went to Luke’s aid. But there was one who she knew would come running.

‘Where’s Daniel?’ she cried.

‘Working. He’s on the late shift. Best leave him, Hannah. If you fetch him here, he’ll be in trouble too. Luke wouldn’t want that. He’ll deal with this on his
own.’

She tugged at Mr Bramwell’s arm. ‘Stop them. Oh, please, stop them.’

The big man shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t. It’s out of my hands.’

Hannah bit her lip and a sob escaped her. She stood with her hands over her mouth, watching the scene with terrified eyes.

‘Oh, please, Luke, don’t,’ she cried.

The muttering fell silent as the onlookers watched the two figures stalking each other like a pair of fighting cocks.

‘Taking wagers, are we?’ someone murmured, but no one took him up on the suggestion. No one spoke. All eyes were riveted on the two men. This was a serious business.

Edmund, six inches taller than Luke, looked down at him disdainfully. Above the roar of the water, he shouted, ‘Go on, then. Hit me. If you dare.’

Luke’s eyes were glittering with hatred and loathing. He would’ve liked nothing better than to smash this man’s face to a pulp. Yet he held back. He had rescued Hannah. That
was what mattered. They’d have to think what to do next – after this – but for the moment, she was safe.

‘I’ve no wish to hit you, sir, but you’ve no right to touch the girls. Specially not my Hannah.’

Edmund laughed humourlessly. ‘Oho, your Hannah, is she? Well, well. We’ll have to see about that. Fornication in the apprentice house? Dear me. The Bramwells have been neglectful in
their duties. They’ll be out on their ear—’

‘There’s been no . . . no fornication. I love Hannah.
I
wouldn’t hurt her.’

Edmund thrust his face close to Luke’s. ‘You won’t get the chance. You’re sacked. You’ll be on your way back to the workhouse before this night’s out. Back
where you belong. You and your mealy-mouthed brother.’

It was the insult to his twin that finally tipped Luke over the edge. He swung an ungainly right hand at Edmund’s chin and caught him a glancing blow as Edmund ducked. Though a big man,
Edmund was quick and light on his feet. Rumour had it that as a young man at university he’d indulged in all the raffish pursuits: drinking, gambling and a little bare-knuckle fighting. And
anyone who’d had a wager on Edmund Critchlow to win had always gone home a happy man at night.