Pauper's Gold (47 page)

‘Come on,’ he said getting up and hauling her to her feet. ‘It’s time you were getting home, and next Sunday I’ll come and whitewash those two rooms for you.
Sunday’s the only time I get. A right couple of slave drivers, me auntie and uncle are.’

It wasn’t true about the Grundys, of course, but Ted’s words reminded Hannah of the difficulties to come. Difficulties that arose because of the struggle half a world away to free
those bound to real slavery. Despite all the hardship that might result because of it, she couldn’t help but be sympathetic to the cause. And now, having unburdened herself to Ted and knowing
that she still had his friendship, she returned home with a light heart and her resolve to save the mill and all its workers strengthened.

By the time Hannah gave birth, her hair had returned to its natural golden colour. She had cut it short and all trace of the dyed hair was now gone. But her baby son was born
with wisps of black hair, and eyes that would soon become the dark brown of his father and his grandfather.

‘What’re you going to call him?’ Lily demanded, the first of a surprisingly long line of visitors to the bedroom in the apprentice house where Hannah lay with her son in her
arms.

Smiling down at the sleeping child, Hannah traced a gentle finger around the shape of his face. The baby slept on. ‘I don’t know. I . . . I’d like to call him Luke, but . .
.’

‘Best not. If Adam comes back one day, it’s hardly fair, is it?’

‘No,’ Hannah murmured. ‘No, it isn’t.’ She sighed. ‘But I don’t want to call him after any of the Critchlows, nor,’ she added with an edge to her
tone, ‘my own father.’

‘Well, just choose a name that doesn’t mean anything. Just a name – the little chap’s own name.’

‘Well,’ she said tentatively. ‘I was wondering if . . . if Ted would mind if I called him after him. He’s been a good friend – a real friend to me – these
past weeks and . . . and he doesn’t seem to have any hard feelings about . . . well, about what happened. And I . . . I’d like him to be one of the godfathers.’

Lily laughed. ‘He’ll be thrilled.’

‘Then will you tell him?’

‘You should ask him yourself, but I’ll tell him you want to see him.’

Two days later, Ted stood at the end of her bed, twirling his cap through his fingers in nervous embarrassment, but beaming. ‘I don’t know what to say, Hannah. I’ve never been
asked to be a godfather before. What do I have to do? I mean –’ his face clouded for an instant – ‘are you sure you want me? I’m only an ordinary chap.’

‘You’re just the sort of chap I want.’ Hannah laughed. ‘You’re a good friend, Ted. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me. All you have to do is come to
the christening and make some promises and then see that I bring him up properly.’ Her eyes became sad. ‘If Adam doesn’t come back, then you’re just the sort of man
I’d like my son to have in his life.’ Huskily, she added, ‘I can’t think of anyone better.’

Ted puffed out his chest. ‘Then I’d be honoured.’

‘And we’ll call him Edward?’

Ted nodded enthusiastically, but now he was unable to speak for the lump in his throat.

As soon as Hannah was well enough, she wrapped the baby in warm clothes and a copious shawl and set off up the hill to the Manor.

It was time that Edmund Critchlow met his grandson.

He was sitting in the huge window of his study overlooking the river. Like his bedroom, from here he could see the mill. The butler showed her in and as Edmund turned in
his chair to look at her, she could see a vast improvement in him since the last time she had visited. The side of his face was no longer dragged down, and even in the simple act of turning in his
chair, she could see that he had so much more movement in his limbs. And he no longer sat with a rug over his knees like an invalid.

His gaze was fixed upon her and the child in her arms as she crossed the room towards him. She stood before him and then bent down and placed the baby in the crook of his arm.

‘I thought it time that you saw your grandson. His name is Edward. Edward Critchlow.’ Deliberately, she emphasized the surname.

Edmund looked down at the child and Hannah was sure that his features softened.

‘He’s only three weeks old. So he’s very tiny still,’ she went on, ‘but he’s healthy and strong and he eats.’ She laughed wryly. Her breasts were sore
from her demanding son, but she didn’t mind. She would put up with any discomfort for his wellbeing.

Edmund looked up and stared at her for a long moment. ‘Please – sit – down.’ He had fought hard to regain his speech, and though his words came out haltingly and a little
slurred, he could at last make himself understood.

‘Thank you,’ Hannah murmured, drawing her chair close. Though she was determined to introduce Edward to his grandfather, adamant that Edmund should accept the child, she was still
unsure of the man’s reaction. But Edmund was holding the baby quite easily and tenderly. A slow smile spread across his face and he parted the shawl with a gentle finger to take a better
look.

‘He’s – got – dark – hair.’

‘Yes, just like you and Adam,’ Hannah said.

‘Sleeps well?’

Hannah grimaced. ‘In between his feeds, every four hours round the clock.’

‘You must – be tired. Have you – help? A nursemaid?’

Hannah shook her head and said softly, ‘No. I want to care for my son myself.’

‘Then a – maid – to do housework?’

Again, Hannah shook her head.

‘Take – Sarah – for a while. Just – just to help you.’

Hannah stared at him. He was making a gesture – she knew that – a gesture towards some kind of reconciliation.

‘Thank you,’ she said graciously. ‘I would appreciate that.’

He nodded, but his eyes were still on the child.

They sat together for almost an hour, not speaking much, but there was no tension between them, no anger now. At last, the child began to stir and whimper, and Hannah rose and reached out for
him.

‘He’s getting hungry. I’d better go.’

He let her lift the child out of his arms, but Hannah could read the disappointment on his face. As she settled the baby in her arms, she looked down at Edmund. ‘Would you like me to bring
him to see you again?’

‘Please.’

‘Very well then. In a few days.’

‘Tomorrow?’ His tone was pleading, no longer demanding.

She smiled. ‘Very well. Tomorrow afternoon.’

As she turned to go, he said, ‘The mill . . .’

She glanced back and waited, her heart beating a little faster, expecting the worst. But to her surprise and delight, he said, ‘A good job – you’ve done a – good
job.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled.

‘Roper – comes. Tells me – what’s happening.’

‘Yes, I know. I arranged that he should come up every week, show you the books and keep you informed.’

He nodded. ‘Thank you – Hannah.’

They stared at each other and between them there passed a kind of truce. As she left the house, Hannah kissed her baby’s forehead and murmured, ‘You’re a little miracle worker,
my darling little Eddie, that’s what you are.’

Life settled down to a comfortable routine. Hannah recovered quickly from the birth of her child; she was young and strong and healthy. Sarah came as her housemaid for a few
weeks, but when Hannah told her she could return to the Manor, the girl burst into tears. ‘I don’t want to go back there. Cook’s a tartar and Beamish, the butler, he’s never
a kind word for anyone. And if I have to see the master, I shake from head to foot. Oh, madam, can’t I stay here? I’ll look after little Eddie. I love little ones and . . . and I am
good with him, aren’t I, madam?’

‘You are,’ Hannah agreed. She’d left the child in Sarah’s care a few times whilst she went to the mill. She was quite happy that he was in safe hands.

Hannah was thoughtful. It would be a boon to have the girl work for her permanently. It would enable Hannah to resume her place at the mill. Since Eddie’s birth, Josiah Roper had come to
the house every Friday afternoon on his way back from his visit to the Manor, to lay his books before her and report on the week’s activities at the mill. Ernest Scarsfield, too, came often,
but he did not visit Mr Edmund.

‘I’ll leave that to old Roper, if you don’t mind, Hannah. He’s Mr Edmund’s right-hand man.’ He chuckled wickedly. ‘I could think of other names to call
him, but I won’t be vulgar. Not in front of the little chap.’

Hannah laughed. ‘I don’t think he’s quite ready to pick up bad language yet, Ernest.’

Ernest moved to the crib and tickled Eddie under the chin. ‘By, he’s like Master Adam, Hannah. Spitting image of him at the same age, he is. I remember his mother bringing him to the
mill when he wasn’t much older than this little feller.’

‘Ernest – what happened to Adam’s mother?’

‘She died. About two years after Adam was born, I think it was. In childbirth. Little girl, but the poor little mite died too. Nice woman she was.’ He glanced at Hannah. ‘Too
good for the likes of Edmund Critchlow,’ he added in a low voice.

‘He’s changed. This illness seems to have – I don’t know, what’s the word? – cowed him.’

‘Huh!’ Ernest gave a wry laugh. ‘Don’t you believe it, lass. That one’ll never change. Oh, he might not be able to shout and storm about the place like he used
to.’ His face was grim as he added, ‘At least the girls at the mill are getting a bit of peace just now, but mark me, Hannah, he’ll not have changed. Not in here, he
won’t.’ He smote his own chest.

‘But he seems to have taken to Eddie. He’s quite upset if I miss a day taking him up there.’

‘Oh aye, he will be. Eddie’s his grandson. His eventual heir. He’ll want him all right. And whilst the child’s very young, he’ll need you. But you watch out,
Hannah. If ever he regains his health and strength, he’ll be just like he always was. He’ll want the child – oh yes, he’ll want the child. But as for you – well, like
I say Hannah, watch out.’

After Ernest had left, Hannah was thoughtful. She had thought that Edmund had mellowed, but like Ernest said, it could just be the debilitating illness that had curbed his ways. But he was
recovering now. Hannah could see improvement almost daily.

And once Edmund Critchlow got his strength back, well, who knew what might happen then?

‘Looks like he really has deserted you, then? That husband of yours?’ Daniel was waiting to waylay her in the yard as she left the mill one evening, hurrying home
to her baby.

‘So it seems,’ she said tartly.

‘Luke wouldn’t have done that.’ He stood in front of her, barring her way. She was not afraid of him – not physically – but every time she met him, she was reminded
so sharply of Luke.

She swallowed hard, gritted her teeth and said, almost haughtily, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a baby to feed.’

‘Oh yes, your son.’ His face darkened. ‘The child that should’ve been my nephew.’

She lifted her head and met his resentful eyes. ‘Yes, Daniel,’ she said, softening. ‘He should’ve been. He should’ve been Luke’s child. And I promise you, he
would have been if . . . if . . .’

‘If your husband’s father hadn’t killed him.’

‘Oh, Daniel. Let the past go. Don’t live your life with bitterness.’

‘I’ll never forgive and I’ll never forget. And I thought better of you. I admired you, the way you were planning revenge on the Critchlows, but now, you’re giving in to
them.’ His lip curled. ‘Just like everyone else. Well, I won’t. The only reason I’ve stayed here all these years is because of Luke. I can’t leave him. He won’t
rest until he’s been avenged.’

Suddenly, there was a strange look of madness in his eyes as he vowed never to forgive and forget. Hannah shuddered. They were the same words that Josiah Roper had used. They made a good pair,
she thought.

‘I must go,’ she muttered, side-stepped around him and hurried away. But the conversation had left her feeling unsettled and strangely afraid.

Hannah did not forget either Ernest’s dire warnings nor Daniel’s continuing resentment, but there was one person who, surprisingly, did seem to have changed. Josiah Roper was in his
element. It was what he’d always dreamed of: holding a position of authority, his talents recognized at last. He, in turn, was courteous and mindful of Hannah’s position, silently
grateful to her that she was treating him with the credit he believed he deserved. And between Josiah and Ernest, who’d always disliked each other, there grew a mutual respect.

One Friday afternoon in March when they met in the inner office, both Josiah and Ernest entered to greet Hannah with glum faces.

‘What is it?’ she said at once. ‘What’s happened?’

They sat down and glanced at each other solemnly. ‘Things are getting worse, Hannah,’ Josiah began. ‘As you know I was in Manchester yesterday. They say that the mills there
are on short time.’

‘Several have had to close,’ Ernest put in, ‘and workers are seeking public relief.’

‘We’ve been lucky until now. We had a fair stock of raw cotton, but that’s running low now and the price is rocketing,’ Josiah went on. ‘Since last October the
brokers have been demanding one shilling and more a pound for the type we used to buy for eight pence. And prices are still rising. We can’t absorb all of it and still make a
profit.’

‘Profit be hanged, Mr Roper. All we need to do is break even.’

Josiah raised his eyebrows and smirked, but Ernest laughed out loud. ‘Well said, Hannah. Well said.’

‘Mr Edmund won’t like that.’

‘Mr Edmund will have to lump it, if we’re to save the mill,’ Hannah said, grimly determined.

‘We could ask the workers to take a cut in wages,’ Josiah suggested, but Ernest snorted derisively.

‘You’ll have a strike on your hands if you do.’

‘Was there
any
cotton to be had?’ Hannah asked. ‘What about Indian cotton?’

Josiah shrugged. ‘Some, but only very inferior quality to what we normally use and the price of that has risen too.’

‘But these aren’t normal times,’ Hannah said, trying to hold on to her patience. It seemed as if Josiah was loath to accept change. But change there would have to be if they
were to survive. She turned to Ernest. ‘Could we use inferior cotton?’