Shining Threads (24 page)

‘Calico Jack’s right be’ind yer,’ a grunting voice said. ‘Yer should’ve paid up, lass, when yer ’ad chance. ’Appen tha will when’t collector
comes round next week, ay?’ and a foot tripped her. She landed flat on her stomach with her hands stretched out in front of her as she tried to save herself and for several moments she lay on
the spiky wet grass, completely winded. They were all about her again, their heavy clogs moving and slipping on the grass, their laughter loud and ugly. She could see those clogs fidgeting as the
men moved from foot to foot, waiting for her to get up so that they could knock her down again, so that they might devise some way to humiliate her further, to intimidate and frighten her, a lesson
to others who would not comply with the rules which they had written. Her head reeled and the horizon lifted in a sickening motion and on her right the stones of Badger’s Edge seemed to move
towards her.

They had her by the arms then, picking her up to dangle both feet off the ground, between two of them. She was coated from the top of her head to her bare feet in mud. It stuck to her wet body,
outlining her small, peaked breasts, her nipples, the thin but shapely length of her legs and she felt the fear paralyse her as the laughter died away and they fell silent as every pair of eyes ran
down her body.

One licked his lips. Dear God, is he Calico Jack? was her last despairing thought, then the world exploded about her and she fell like an empty sack to the wet earth. There were shouts and the
movement of enormous shadowy figures, the vague and quite senseless sound of a woman’s laughter, dark shapes so big and filled with vigour, with colour and movement, she could make no sense
of it. Something crashed within an inch of her face which was pressed to the pulped grass and a voice told someone to, ‘watch that bloody horse of yours, brother’. Then there was quiet,
an absolute stillness and calm, and all she could hear was the soft patter of rain against the rocks which littered the ground where she lay.

The peace went on and on, how long she did not know. Five seconds, five minutes, five hours perhaps, she did not care in the wondrous release from the terror which had been forced on her. Then
the thunder came back, moving the ground on which she lay and she cowered away from it, unable to lift her head to see which one it was who had come back to torment her.

‘Dear, sweet Jesus,’ a voice said, soft and filled with compassion.

‘The bastards! I’ve a good mind to go after them again.’

Men’s voices but not like those who had brought her to this. Voices she had heard at the mill. Cultured and yet harsh with the anger of young men who would not damage a woman, any woman,
for they had been brought up to protect those weaker than themselves. To be gallant and courteous, to honour a woman’s virtue, to take it, certainly, if given permission, to take it
willingly, merrily, but with sweetness, not violence.

‘Put my cape about her, Drew.’ A long, flowing garment was placed over her as four strong young hands lifted her to her feet.

‘Let me have her,’ a girl’s voice said and she went willingly into the curve of strong, female arms. She was held fast against a tall, slender, woman’s body, safe,
familiar and infinitely comforting for she could still feel those hard masculine hands and hear the sound of hard masculine laughter.

‘Are you all right, Annie?’ the girl’s voice said quietly in her ear, meaning have they interfered with you as men do? She spoke so softly the young men could not hear her and
Annie was grateful for she did not wish to be burdened just yet with such thoughts.

‘Yes, they did not . . . hurt me.’ Her voice was muffled against the girl’s shoulder and she clung to her for a moment longer, then stepped back and looked up into her face:
Tessa Harrison and at her back would be Drew and Pearce Greenwood.

‘Thanks.’ She had recovered somewhat and her voice was brusque.

‘Are you sure?’ Tessa smiled and in her vivid face still lingered the excitement of the last few minutes, the enjoyment she had known as she chased the attackers across the moorland,
and yet there was understanding, sympathy, for had she not suffered what Annie had, in the grasp of the tinkers? ‘We were up on Badger’s Edge and saw them chase you. We weren’t
certain whether it was . . . well, what it was they were after. From up there, covered in mud as you . . . sorry, Annie . . . we thought you were . . .’ She shook her head and became brisk.
‘But really, should we not be getting you home? One of my cousins will take you up, will you not . . . ?’

She turned to the young men who stood awkwardly at Annie’s back. They were not quite certain how to treat this child they had just rescued, this poor, bedraggled, mud-spattered little
rabbit, and were only waiting for orders from Tessa who seemed to have taken command.

‘Pearce.’

‘Of course.’ Pearce leaped forward and in a moment Annie was in his arms, the mud which rubbed on to his fine woollen jacket of no consequence as she was lifted to sit before him on
the back of his tall bay. She did not know which was worse, the ordeal through which she had just gone or the dizzying heights in which she now found herself and the restless movements of the horse
beneath her. Then he sprang lightly up behind her, placing his arms on either side of her to take the reins. She shrank from his touch and he was most careful with her as they walked gently in the
direction of Edgeclough as Tessa directed them.

The small cottage seemed about to burst apart from the press of people who crowded within it. Nelly, Polly and Grace fluttered about like three pale moths, appalled by the sight of their sister,
whom they had never seen other than calm, unruffled and immaculate, in such a sorry and mindless state, whilst Jack, not yet a man but no longer a boy, seemed undecided whether to weep or go and
fight the devils who had done this to their Annie.

Pearce and Drew shifted from foot to foot, ready to do anything which might be asked of them, for Annie was not herself at all, as anyone could see, since she clung to Tessa in a most unusual
way.

The men were got rid of, the tin bath lifted down from the scullery wall and filled with hot water by the three frozen-faced, tearful little girls. It was warm and quiet. Female hands washed her
hair and soaped her back whilst Tessa’s soft voice chatted of this and that and nothing at all, as though she knew that, at this moment, this was what Annie needed most. Female things, female
voices, soft, gentle, the faint perfume of her own skin, the fine silk of her shirt, the commiseration of her sisters, the friendly, almost casual attention which asked nothing of her and brought
the familiar order which was the stuff of life, back to her. Tessa watched the strain leave Annie’s face and when she began to give instructions to her three young sisters, it left theirs
also since they recognised that she was herself again and the tension in the room eased.

‘Are you feeling better?’ Drew enquired politely, as young English gentlemen are trained to do with a lady. They were all drinking tea, cramped together in the tiny room for Annie
would not hear of them leaving without ‘sumat inside ’em’.

‘Aye. I weren’t ’hurt. They was just lads . . . bullies . . .’

‘Tell me who they were and we will deal with them.’ Pearce moved to lounge against the table, standing close to her, towering protectively over her slight figure.

‘Nay, I don’t know their names.’ Annie was alarmed by his nearness and masculine aggression, of which she had had more than enough today, and edged away to a safer place behind
her teapot. ‘They belong t’t union, sent ter frighten me an’ t’other lasses inter payin’ towards Preston strike fund. I were tellin’ Tessa about ’em only
last week . . .’

Pearce turned to stare, bewildered, at Tessa, for how did this factory girl come to know his cousin and, more to the point, have the privilege of calling her by her Christian name? But Tessa
frowned and shook her head, indicating that she would explain later, wondering as she did so why she had not spoken of their acquaintance to her cousins, or even her mother who would surely have
understood. The reason probably had something to do with Will: they were sometimes together in Annie’s cottage and the secret part of her life, with Will, seemed inexplicably linked to Annie
and the friendship the three of them shared.

Annie was clattering about the kitchen now, awkward and ungracious, tidying away the pans which had heated the water for her bath, waiting for them to take themselves off and leave her to
recover with her family with whom she was at ease. The bath stood before the fire, the cooling, muddied water still in it, embarrassing her. Her sisters were inclined as yet to cling about her
impatient figure and when Tessa nodded towards the bath Pearce and Drew instantly sprang forward to lift it, laughing now that the drama was done with.

‘Where . . . ?’ they queried, for really, what did one do in these circumstances, since they had known only the comfort of an upstairs bathroom, with hot and cold piped water.

‘The back door, you idiots,’ she mouthed at them and as they tussled with the bath between them even the children began to smile despite the god-like proportions of these two
gentlemen, circling about them as they edged towards the door.

‘Sit down, Annie,’ Tessa beseeched her, ‘just for a moment.’

‘Give ower, lass. I’ve them childer ter see to . . .’

‘Oh, sit down and tell me all about this union thing. I’m sorry to say I didn’t take much notice last week when you and . . .’ she turned round to make sure they were not
overheard, ‘. . . when you and Will were talking about it.’

‘No, I didn’t think you was listening,’ Annie replied dourly but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Her cousins, returned from their mastery of the bath water, listened, fascinated for the first time by this aspect of mill life of which they had previously known nothing. They had heard it
mentioned a dozen times around the dinner table but what had it to do with them, they had asked one another, yawning? Now they had an almost proprietary interest in this quaint thread of a girl who
was as sharp of voice as she was sparing of words.

When they had gone to fetch the horses Tessa took Annie’s reluctant hand and from her own superb height and splendid good looks, smiled down into her face.

‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know,’ she whispered, ‘and nothing to fear now. My cousins will see to that. Something like this appeals to the gallant in
them.’

‘Aye, so I noticed,’ Annie answered shortly.

‘Will you be all right now?’

‘O’course. I’ve got ower worse n’ this.’

‘Would you like me to . . . ?’

‘Nay, you gerron ’ome.’

‘I’ll call to see how you are.’

‘Give over, there’s no need.’

‘Nevertheless, I will. We
are
friends you know, Annie, though you make it very difficult at times.’ She smiled to take the sting out of her words.

‘’Appen yer right,’ Annie agreed grudgingly, the light in her eyes soft.

Tessa lifted her head in that haughty gesture Annie knew so well as though to say that all was now settled to her satisfaction.

‘I shall come on Sunday on my way to . . . well, on Sunday.’

She had explained to her cousins, to her own satisfaction at least, how she had become friendly with Annie, leaving out all mention of the tinkers who had frightened her last
summer, and naturally, of Will Broadbent.

‘I visit her now and again,’ she said airily, ‘and take a few things for the children. Well, you can see how they are placed,’ she added, making it sound as though she
was the lady of the manor distributing munificence to the poor and they seemed to find no reason to question her further.

They rode home companionably side by side, the three of them taking up the width of the rough track which led over Besom Hill and beyond Badger’s Edge to Crossfold. Those they met on the
way were forced to step off into the grass to let them go by, but it is doubtful the three riders noticed or, if they did, thought anything much about it.

There would be no more collecting in the mill, Pearce said ominously, for the out-of-work operatives at Preston. Besides, had he not been told that they were slowly drifting back to work, those
who had been on strike for the best part of thirty-six weeks? They had won nothing beyond a long, hungry winter. The strike leaders, it appeared, had no option but to capitulate and the masters
would soon be celebrating a victory. It was being said that labour, as a commodity, could obtain no higher price than the purchaser was willing to give for it and the strongest party would, in the
end, win.

The March wind ruffled through Tessa’s growing hair, flicking a damp strand across her mouth. Her eyes were a soft grey velvet musing on the plight and appearance of Annie Beale, and her
thoughts were full of admiration. A nasty experience, but Annie had made herself recover, for the sake of her family. Not many young girls in factory life today would have had the strength, of mind
and body, to evade those bully boys, for so long, as she had, and then pick herself up and reassure her sisters that she was not in the least hurt, just madder than a wet hen, or words to that
effect.

Tessa smiled, then glanced down at her own slim legs which were becoming wetter every minute in the persistent drizzle which fell. She had flung her cape about her, fastening it carelessly as
she left Annie’s cottage but it had become loosened, riding back over her shoulders, allowing the damp to penetrate her clothing beneath.

‘Just a minute, you two,’ she said, falling back a pace. ‘I want to fasten my cape. This drizzle is getting heavier and I’m going to be wet through by the time we reach
home.’ She made her horse stand whilst she undid the cloak, lifting and whirling it about her head and shoulders, allowing it to settle but not before the two men who had halted obediently
had seen the joyous lift of her breasts, very obviously unconfined, the dark and peaked circle of her nipples through the damp silk of her shirt. Two pairs of vivid blue eyes narrowed. Two brown
throats dried up, the breath within them becoming trapped, and when they each turned away and their eyes met it was with the murderous rage which springs up between two dogs who covet the same
bitch.