Pauper's Gold (48 page)

‘We’ll have to.’

Hannah smiled. At least Ernest was of the same mind as she was.

By April, Wyedale Mill had only very poor quality yarn to work with and the quantity Josiah could acquire for an acceptable price was not enough to keep the whole mill running.
There was no alternative but to put the workers on short time.

Hannah called a meeting of all the workers. The warm, balmy evening mocked the grim faces. Some of the women were in tears. It was no more than Hannah had expected. The news from the cities and
the mills in Lancashire was desperate. Families were facing starvation. They had burned every stick of furniture they had in an effort to keep warm. New-born babies were dying for lack of
nourishment and children cried for food. And soon such hardship would reach Wyedale Mill.

Earlier in the day she’d walked down the lane to the Grundys’ farm. Sitting in Lily Grundy’s warm kitchen and sipping hot tea gratefully, she said, ‘This is what
I’m going to miss the most. Tea.’

‘Bad as that, is it, lass?’

Ollie and Lily sat opposite, their solemn faces turned towards her, as Hannah nodded. ‘I’m afraid it is and it’s going to get worse. I’ve called all the workers together
for a meeting tonight at the mill. We’re going to have to put them on short time, even lay a few off. I thought I should come and tell you, because it’ll likely affect you. You’ve
always supplied the village folk and . . .’

She saw Ollie and Lily glance at each other. Then Ollie cleared his throat. ‘Look, lass, me an’ the missis’ve been talking things over. The mill and the villagers’ve
given us our living for years. And a good living it’s been too. Oh, it’s not easy, farming. It’s hard work and –’ he smiled a little – ‘not many days off
in a year, I can tell you. But it’s a good life, a satisfying life. And now, we want to give a bit back.’

Hannah glanced from one to the other. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well,’ Ollie began, ‘for a start I can take some of the fellers on to work on the land. If they’re willing to do a few hours each, it’d help several families,
wouldn’t it. What I mean is, rather than take on one or two full time, they could sort of – sort of share the jobs out.’

‘But do you need any more help? You and Ted have always managed.’

Ollie laughed. ‘Mebbe we have, but that doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be glad of a bit more help.’

Tears sprang to Hannah’s eyes. Ollie, Lily – and Ted must be in on it too – were creating jobs for the out-of-work millhands.

‘With more help,’ Ollie went on, ‘we can grow more food for everyone.’

Hannah reached out and clasped their hands as the tears now flooded down her face unchecked. ‘Oh, how good you are.’

Now, as Hannah stood on a box before a sea of worried faces, with Josiah and Ernest on either side of her, she began to explain the situation. ‘We’re all in this together.’

‘You mean we’ll all be in the workhouse together,’ a voice from the back cried out.

Anger flashed in Hannah’s blue eyes and she shook her fist in the air. ‘Don’t let anyone mention the word “workhouse” in my hearing. No one –
no one
– from this village will ever go into the workhouse.’

There was muttering amongst the crowd and shaking of heads. They couldn’t believe her, however much they wanted to.

One of the men, Bill Ryan, who’d worked at the mill all his life pushed his way to the front to stand before her. He was tall, broad shouldered and strong. With a note of deference, he
pulled off his cap, but he still addressed her as ‘Hannah’. Now, they all knew exactly who she was, and whilst they were always courteous towards her, she herself had insisted that
everyone should call her by the name they always had. She didn’t want to be called ‘Mrs Critchlow’.

‘Hannah,’ Bill began, ‘we all know that you – and Mr Roper and Ernest here – have kept us going so far and we’re grateful. And we also ’preciate you
always being honest with us.’ A low murmuring confirmed his words, ‘But times is hard and they’re going to get worse. Whole families work at the mill – you know that. Most
of us have no other income except what we earn here, and soon we’ll not have bread to feed our wives and families.’ The proud man glanced around at his workmates and friends. ‘And
we’re not going to sit idle about the house watching our families starve. If you’ve got to put us on short time or reduce our wages, then . . . then we’ll have to look for other
work or go on the parish, lass. I’m sorry, but there it is. And we can’t even afford the penny a week for the doc no more.’

Hannah nodded. ‘I know and I understand, but first, let me tell you what we have planned. For one thing, Dr Barnes has agreed to keep coming even if he doesn’t get paid. “We
must all pull together,” he said.’

There was another murmuring, louder this time, at the doctor’s kind sacrifice.

Hannah went on, raising her voice to be heard. ‘I’m going to open up the schoolroom again. We’ll start reading classes and—’

Before she could say more, a shout came from the back and a fist was raised in the air. ‘That won’t put food in our bellies. Reading! Pah!’

‘
And
,’ Hannah went on as if uninterrupted, ‘there are to be sewing classes and shoemaking.’

The murmuring grew to excited chatter. Now they could begin to see the usefulness of the idea. Hannah stamped on the box for quiet. ‘The Grundys at the farm are willing to take on hands to
work on the land to help grow more food for all of us. And some of you might be able to find work on the hillside.’

The workings that Hannah had seen were for a railway that was to run through the dale all the way to Buxton. When she’d heard about it, Hannah had thought wryly,
It’s come a few
years too late for me. If there’d been a train then, Josiah might not have caught me.
Work on the track had been going on for months and it was rumoured that the line was due to open in
the summer. At her suggestion, she saw several men turn to one another and nod their heads.

‘And,’ she went on, and now she was smiling broadly for she knew her last piece of news would be the best of all, ‘whilst we are facing such difficulties, none of you will pay
a penny in rent.’

A gasp of surprise rippled through the throng and Hannah heard Bill Ryan’s deep laughter. ‘I dare bet Mr Edmund hasn’t approved that, Hannah.’

She smiled down at him. ‘No, Mr Ryan, he hasn’t, but we three have.’

She dared not look down at Josiah, for she knew he would be frowning. He hadn’t agreed to the scheme, but he’d been overruled by herself and Ernest.

‘We all have to make sacrifices,’ Hannah had told him determinedly. ‘Even the Critchlows.’

‘I daren’t think what Mr Edmund will say,’ Josiah had muttered, but then a sly smile had appeared on his face that, for the moment, Hannah hadn’t understood.

Late that evening, as Hannah was settling Eddie down for the night, she heard a knock at the back door.

‘Sarah, see who that is, will you?’ she called. ‘There, there, my little man,’ she crooned, her attention returning to her son. Distantly, she heard voices and then
Sarah’s footsteps running up the stairs.

‘Oh, ma’am.’ Her eyes were shining. ‘They’re back, they’ve come back.’

For a moment, Hannah’s heart lurched with hope. Adam! He’d come home. But then she realized that the girl had said ‘they’ not ‘he’. Her heart plummeted.

Levelly, she asked, ‘Who is it, Sarah?’

‘The Bramwells, ma’am. They’ve come home. You go down, ma’am, I’ll stay with master Eddie.’

Hannah picked up her skirts and hurried downstairs and into the kitchen. They were standing awkwardly just inside the doorway, each carrying a bundle of belongings. Hannah gasped and covered her
mouth with her hand, staring at them with wide eyes.

If Sarah hadn’t told her who it was, Hannah doubted she would have recognized them. Although she hadn’t seen them for several years, she was shocked by the change in them. Arthur was
thinner and stooped. He looked an old man, his grey hair straggling almost to his shoulders, unkempt and unwashed. A grizzled, untidy beard covered the lower part of his face and his eyes were
desperate. But it was the change in Ethel Bramwell that shocked Hannah the most. She was thin and gaunt, her cheeks hollowed, her skin sallow. Her eyes, sunk into dark shadows, were lifeless and
defeated. Her shabby clothes were little more than filthy rags. To see the once neat and particular woman reduced to such poverty tore at Hannah’s heart.

A sob escaped Hannah’s throat as she stretched out her arms and rushed across the room to them, trying to embrace them both at once. ‘Oh, Mrs Bramwell, Mr Bramwell. Come in, come
in, do. Sit down. Here, let me take your things. Sarah,’ the girl had followed her downstairs and was standing near the door, eyes wide with curiosity, ‘Sarah make tea for us
all.’

‘Tea, ma’am?’ Sarah hesitated. Tea was an even more precious commodity in these hard times. ‘Yes, yes, tea. You, too. We shall all have a cup to celebrate Mr and Mrs
Bramwell’s return. Oh, how good it is to see you both. Come and sit down by the fire.’ She urged them to sit close to the warmth, deeply anxious. They looked ill, both of them, but old
habits die hard and she couldn’t bring herself – not yet – to fire at them the questions that were whirling around her mind. To her, they were still Mr and Mrs Bramwell,
superintendents of the apprentice house.

As they sat together, sipping the tea, Hannah began tentatively, willing them to tell her themselves how they came to be in such straitened circumstances.

‘I heard you’d gone to Manchester after leaving here. Mrs Grundy told me.’

She saw them glance at each other, an awkward, embarrassed glance. Arthur cleared his throat. ‘It’s . . . it’s because of Lily Grundy that . . . that we’ve dared to come
back.’

Hannah raised her eyebrows. ‘Dared?’ She was surprised by his choice of word. Then her face cleared, thinking she understood. ‘Oh, there’s nothing to fear from Mr Edmund,
he’s . . .’ She stopped. Arthur was shaking his head.

‘It’s not him. It’s, well, you can see for yourself how we are.’ He gestured sadly towards his wife and himself and his voice broke as he said, ‘Little more than
beggars, Hannah.’

With shaking hands, Ethel placed her cup down and took up their sorry tale. ‘Mr Edmund dismissed us when he stopped taking the apprentices. There were only a few with their indentures
still running and he found lodgings for them in the village. Said there was no longer any need for the expense of the apprentice house. We begged to be allowed to stay, to turn it into a lodging
house, that we could run and pay him rent. But no, he wanted us out, Hannah. Said we’d been a thorn in his side for years with our soft ways towards the children.’ She faltered, her
eyes filling with tears.

‘Soft ways, he said,’ Arthur put in. ‘When I had to beat little lads for nothing except being normal, spirited youngsters and shut girls in the punishment room.’ He shook
his head. ‘Whatever’s happened to us, at least I’m glad I don’t have to do that any more.’

Ethel sniffed and took up the story once more. ‘We went to Manchester to try and get work in the mills there. We both used to work in the mills when we were young, so we weren’t
entirely without experience. We’ve been fine until . . . until this last year. They started by putting us on short time and then the mill closed and we were out of work.’

‘There’s no work to be had, Hannah. Not in Manchester. I tried road sweeping for a time – anything I could lay me hands to, but . . .’ His voice faded away, defeated and
hopeless.

‘We wrote to Lily, asking what was happening here. Whether it had affected the mill here. And she told us about you coming back and marrying Master Adam and then about Mr Edmund being ill
and all the wonderful things you’ve done here at the mill. We thought . . . we thought . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

Hannah put down her cup and reached out to them both. Her voice was husky as she said, ‘I’m so glad you’ve come back. I hadn’t realized it, but I need someone just like
you to help me. Oh, this is wonderful. Wonderful.’

The Bramwells glanced at each other, relief and thankfulness on their faces. Yet, their worries were not quite over.

‘We . . . we’ve nowhere to live.’

‘You’ll live here, of course,’ Hannah said at once and turned to Sarah. ‘Make up a bed for Mr and Mrs Bramwell.’ She laughed. ‘You’ll see some changes
in the house. We’ve made the dormitories into smaller, separate rooms now. We’d hoped to run it as a lodging house for workers at the mill, but, of course, with all the trouble, we
haven’t anyone yet.’

‘We . . . we can’t pay you,’ Arthur said hesitantly.

‘No need,’ Hannah said cheerfully. ‘You’ll be working for your keep.’ She laughed as she added impishly, ‘I’m not offering you charity, Arthur Bramwell.
You’ll earn your keep, believe you me.’

And with these few words she restored both hope and pride in the despairing couple.

‘But first, you need some rest. Sarah—’ She stopped as she turned to see the girl sobbing, the corner of her white apron lifted to cover her face. She put her arm about the
young girl’s shoulders. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

‘You’ll not want me now. You’ll send me back, won’t you?’

‘Oh, you silly goose. Of course I’m not going to send you back. I couldn’t do without you, you know I couldn’t. And Eddie certainly couldn’t. You might have to look
after him more, but you wouldn’t mind that, would you?’

Sarah uncovered her wet face, but now her eyes were shining. ‘Oh, I’d love it, ma’am. do . . . do you really mean it? You won’t send me back to work for Mr
Edmund?’

‘I give you my solemn promise that whatever happens, I will never send you back there.’

The girl laughed and flung her arms around Hannah. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you. I’ll work ever so hard for you, ma’am. And I’ll look after Master Eddie like he was me
own.’

‘I know you will,’ Hannah said, giving the girl a quick hug and then saying briskly, ‘Come along now, there’s work to be done.’

At once, there was a stillness in the kitchen. Time seemed to tilt and it was Ethel’s voice saying those very same words, exhorting the little apprentices to go about their chores.