The Adventures of Tom Leigh (3 page)

There were only nine of us at that time in the poorhouse, five very old people, three young children and myself. Thus I had no one of my own age to talk to, and this increased my feeling of being alone. However, I had not much time to think of this, for from morning till night I was busy with the tasks set me by Mr. and Mrs. Hollas. I ran errands in the sparse, bleak, hillside village of Barseland, I washed floors and dishes, I peeled potatoes, turned the meat on the spit, chopped wood, cracked coal, harnessed the horse, Dobbin, in the cart for Mr. Hollas to go to Skipton, unloaded the sides of mutton he brought back.

One day when Mr. Gledhill came I was scrubbing the floor of the porch. He seemed vexed, and calling Mr. Hollas told him sharply that he should be teaching me a trade.

“Let Lavenham teach him a trade,” growled Hollas. “I have no time.”

“When shall I go back to Lavenham, sir?” I asked.

“Tom, I have bad news for you, I fear,” said Mr. Gledhill. “I have come to tell you that Lavenham will not accept you. They say your father gave up his settlement there. They say Halifax should take you and pay.”

“And will Halifax do so?”

“I shall not even ask them,” said Mr. Gledhill grimly. “We must apprentice you to some master here, a clothier or a collier. Your father was a weaver, you say.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know aught of his trade?”

“My father taught me to card and spin as a child,” I answered proudly, “and I have been learning to throw the shuttle on the loom for two years now.”

“It had best be a clothier, then,” said Mr. Gledhill. He looked me up and down distastefully, and said to Mr. Hollas: “We must find some better clothes for him before I take him to Sir Henry. If he's in rags nobody'll want him.”

Mr. Hollas growled and grumbled. “We've no breeches here for a lad his size,” he said.

“He's a gradely lad all t'same,” said Mr. Gledhill, giving me a solemn smile. “I'll see if I can beg some breeches and a shirt or two for him in the village. His jacket's not too bad.”

I hardly knew what to feel when Mr. Gledhill had left me. To leave the poorhouse would be a joy, a renewal of hope; but to wear clothes that had been begged for me was to be a pauper indeed. The worst thing of all was that saying
nobody'll want him
. It struck me hard that nobody in the wide world wanted me; from being the chief point of my father's life I had become a useless, unnecessary thing, a nuisance, something to be thrown away. This was hard to stomach.

Presently there came a day when Hollas told me Mr. Gledhill would fetch me next morning to go before the magistrate. Sir Henry Norton, he told me, was the Justice of the Peace for these parts; a widower he was, with one son. I rose early and washed myself all over and combed my hair
and tidied my dress as well as I could, for though my heart was in my shoes I was too proud to show it. While I was at my porridge, Mrs. Hollas—Mr. Hollas had set off on one of his excursions—called me to come to Mr. Gledhill. She was laughing and nodding and nudging me in the ribs, so I saw she meant there was some good news, but Mrs. Hollas's notion of good news would not be mine, I thought, so I went in quietly. But the news was really good, for there on the table lay some new clothes: a narrow grey cloth coat and a pair of breeches of the same stuff, a clean shirt, a blue-coloured neckerchief, a pair of grey knitted stockings and some strong wooden clogs.

“These are for you, Tom Leigh,” said Mr. Gledhill with one of his solemn smiles.

Suddenly, seeing them lying there, I felt how greatly I had hated slouching about in my stained rags, and I could hardly find my voice to speak my gratitude.

“Is it you I have to thank, sir, or Barseland rates?” I said in a stifled tone.

“Neither, Tom. The men who were at the Fleece Inn when you and your father called there that night have had a whip round to fit you out. It seems they feel themselves to blame that they didn't come out and set you on the right road.”

“They were to blame!” I cried, but I stopped short, remembering the rain and how we were strangers. “But I thank them very heartily, all the same.”

I dressed myself in my new clothes, with my shirt collar out over my jacket, and tied the blue neckerchief round my throat, and set off along the road beside Mr. Gledhill, to Sir Henry Norton's mansion. This was a very large old house, with fine tall chimneys and gables, and a double row of mullioned windows in the centre. The house was of stone, as all West Riding houses seem to be, and there was no moat round it, such as you often see round such houses in Suffolk. But then, the hills in the West Riding are so steep and frequent—everything seems to be built halfway
up a hill—that you do not have to dig moats to drain off the water; the rain pours down the hillsides in hundreds of streams, as well I knew.

“Wait here till you are fetched,” said Mr. Gledhill, going into the house by the back door.

There was a kind of paved courtyard where I stood, and presently a groom brought out a lively little horse, ready saddled, and led him to the mounting block, and then a boy about my own age, very fair in complexion, with big grey eyes, and handsomely dressed in a black riding suit with well polished boots, came out of the house and made to mount.

“You are late, Robert!” he cried to the groom, laughing. “Now that I have a watch I shall expect you always on the hour.”

He drew out of his fob pocket a watch and showed it to the groom, and they both laughed.

“I shall remember, Master Harry,” said the groom.

It was such a pleasure to me to see a boy of my own age that I could not help drawing near to observe them, and suddenly I sprang forward and shouted:

“That is my father's watch!”

“What do you mean?” said Harry, his fair face crimsoning.

“Give it to me!” I jumped forward and tried to snatch the watch from Harry's hand, but the groom put out his arm between us.

“That is my father's watch!” I panted. “My father was murdered and his watch stolen!” (I had never used this word
murdered
to myself before about my father's death, but now I was sure it had been so.)

“My father gave me this watch!” shouted Harry, jumping down and pushing the groom aside. “Are you calling my father a thief?”

“Somebody was a thief!” I cried.

I was about to explain how my father had been drowned when Harry hit me hard under the chin. Taken by surprise,
I was felled to the ground. But I had been in fights before, at Lavenham; as Harry came for me I rolled aside, and got to my feet, and sprang at him and hit him hard in the face; he staggered back, for he was hampered by his hold on the watch, and we grappled and both fell to the ground together and rolled about, struggling to get free and strike each other. The horse danced in alarm, its hoofs clattering on the paving stones, and the groom yelled and we shouted at each other, and altogether there was a great noise and Sir Henry and Mr. Gledhill and two other gentlemen and a serving-man ran out of the house to us. The serving-man and Mr. Gledhill pulled Harry and me to our feet and parted us and we stood there rather hangdog, both our noses bleeding and our hair tousled and some buttons off. Mr. Gledhill dabbed at my nose with his handkerchief, for which I was grateful though I knew he was thinking only of my new shirt's safety.

“For shame, boys! What are you about? Harry, you should know better! Gledhill, I thought you said Tom Leigh was a quiet lad of peaceable disposition?”

“Disgraceful!” said Gledhill, giving me a shake.

“Nay, hold hard. Wait a minute,” said Sir Henry. “Let us get to the root of this. Who was the first to strike?”

“Me,” said Harry gruffly. “He said you were a thief, Father.”

As sometimes happens when two boys who have been fighting are scolded by grown men, we began at once to feel more kindly to each other than to our elders.

“I did not mean to say you were a thief, Sir Henry,” I said quickly. “Only this watch is my father's watch, it was given as a reward to my great-grandfather; my father had it in his pocket when he was killed in the stream. It does not go.”

“Has he spoken of the watch before?” said Sir Henry to Mr. Gledhill.

“No, Sir Henry. Only of his father's guineas.”

“Why have you not spoken of it before, boy?”

“I never thought of it,” said I miserably.

“My boy,” said Sir Henry, not unkindly, “I bought this watch a week ago in Bradford market. It is going well.”

“It is my father's watch!” I cried, scarlet with rage and shame. A sudden thought struck me. “I can tell you what is engraved on it, inside.”

“Give me the watch, Harry,” said Sir Henry quietly. His son passed it over, still in its tortoise-shell cover. “Did you show the watch to Tom?”

“No, sir. He couldn't have seen it close, sir,” said Harry with a sniff.

Sir Henry turned aside and drew out the watch, unseen by all.

“Well, boy?” he said.

“It has the letters
T.L
. and the date
December 16th 1660
,” said I triumphantly.

“I do not like this, Gledhill,” said Sir Henry at last, turning round. “The inscription is as the lad says. Yet I bought the watch in Bradford market last Thursday. Has anyone from Barseland township journeyed to Bradford lately, do you know?”

“Not to my knowledge,” said Mr. Gledhill, shaking his head.

“Well, I will enquire of the man who sold it to me, though I have known him long and he is reputable enough. Meanwhile, Harry, I fear I must take your watch from you lest it should be damaged and then prove to be not lawfully yours. I will keep it safely, Tom Leigh, until this doubt be cleared. Now, come all within, and let us finish this business of the apprenticeship. You two boys, shake hands, your enmity was founded on a mistake.”

Harry offered me his hand frankly, and I took it, and we both grinned and I think he felt as friendly as I did.

“Shall I take Tom to clean up before he comes to court?” said Harry.

“Aye, you had best. He is not fit to appear before the law in that condition,” said Sir Henry severely.

He moved away into the house, limping a little and
leaning rather heavily on his cane. The rest of us followed, Harry and I of course coming in last.

Indoors, Harry touched me on the arm to show that I was to follow him, sprang away up the wide shallow staircase and led me along the passage to his bedchamber. I was amused and rather relieved to find that it lacked the neatness of which Sir Henry would have approved. Coats were strewn over the chairs, splashed riding boots stood beneath; a Latin grammar lay open, face downwards, in the hearth as if it had been thrown there in disgust, a whip leaned in a corner, and some gloves, handkerchiefs and neckcloths lay in a confused heap on the dressing-table. I wandered to the windows. The room lay to the side of the house, and looked up over banks of bushes towards a steep hill.

“Here you are, Tom,” said Harry, pulling me towards a washstand on which stood a handsome rose-patterned ewer and basin. “There's water in the jug; take off your jacket and have a good wash.”

I was glad of the change and felt better when I had sluiced my face in the cold water.

“Hurry, now, or my father's temper will mount,” said Harry.

He bustled me into my jacket and seized my arm and rushed me downstairs and along a narrow passage, and paused in front of a half-open door.

“Knock and go in,” he said, giving me a push. “Good luck, Tom.”

I entered soberly. The room, small and cold, was clearly kept for Sir Henry's business. It was very bare, furnished only with a big table drawn along one side, with two handsome carved chairs behind and some plainer ones disposed about the room. On the table lay writing materials and a pair of scissors. I did not presume to sit down, but stood by Mr. Gledhill. The other two gentlemen seated themselves at the side of the room.

“Well, come, Gledhill, begin. Make your application,” said Sir Henry testily.

Mr. Gledhill stood up and gave my name and age and the tale of my coming to Yorkshire. It seemed to me they had all heard it before and listened impatiently. While he droned on I had leisure to look at them. Sir Henry was the first man I had seen in Yorkshire wearing a full-bottomed wig—the others all wore short cut wigs—so he appeared very dignified and handsome; his face was lean and serious and his dark eyes keen. I gazed at the other two men in trepidation, wondering which was to be my master. Their appearance was very different: one a stocky, sturdy man with a round florid face, big hands and a rather quick-tempered look about him; the other pale and tight-lipped and dry.

“Are you willing to take Thomas Leigh as your bound apprentice, Firth?” said Sir Henry.

To my great relief, the stocky florid man stood up; the tight-lipped man must be the other Overseer of the Poor for Barseland, Mr. Gledhill's colleague.

“Well—I'm a bit put out by his fighting, and that's a fact, Sir Henry,” said Mr. Firth. “He won't have to do no fighting at my place, I warrant you.”

“The lad is right enough; my son struck him first; any boy with spirit would hit back. Come—yes or no?”

“Well,” said Mr. Firth, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “It's my wife, you see. An apprentice means more cooking, like. And if she thinks he's a fighting cock, well!”

“Of course if you'd rather pay the ten-pound fine for refusing,” snapped the tight-lipped Overseer.

“I could do that without any help from you, John Swain!” cried Mr. Firth, the hot colour rushing into his face.

“There's a two-pound bounty,” began the tight-lipped man, but Sir Henry spoke over him, drowning his words.

“Now, Firth,” he said, “I shall not talk about fines and bounties. To a warm man like you they make little matter.”

“That's right,” muttered Mr. Firth, glancing angrily at the Overseer.