The Adventures of Tom Leigh (6 page)

I was wakened the morning after my arrival at Upper High Royd by the voices of Jeremy and Mr. Firth above my head.

“—a lazy, idle, good-for-nothing, like all these apprentices,” Jeremy was concluding in his tone of malice.

“Nay, let the lad sleep. He had a hard day yesterday,” said Mr. Firth.

I started up and threw off my coverlet and began to apologise for my late rising, rather confusedly I admit, for I was still half asleep. Mr. Firth sent me down to wash at the trough, and while I was about this Gracie came dancing out and told me to go into the house for something to eat. She was a merry little thing, and I was sorry she still spoke very coldly to me. Mrs. Firth too had not a word for me when I went in, but for all that ladled me out a good portion of oatmeal porridge. I had hardly finished when Mr. Firth shouted to me from above stairs to stay down and help Josiah outside. I went out and saw an elderly grizzled man crossing the yard, carrying a piece of cloth across one shoulder, his arm akimbo on his hip to support its weight. I followed him round the corner of the house; the doors of
the taking-in place had been flung back, and Jeremy stood in the opening, letting down a huge hook on the end of a rope which ran over a pulley. Sandy with his paws tucked in lay comfortably to one side, surveying the scene from half-shut eyes, and Mr. Firth leaned out behind him.

“I'm coming down to thee, Josiah,” cried Mr. Firth. “Come into th'house and I'll pay thee now. Lap piece up in this, Tom.”

He threw down one of the fents of cloth I had slept on. It clanged as it hit the ground, and I saw that metal rings had been fastened to the four corners. I opened this out, and Josiah threw his piece down on it and then went off to the house door. Gracie came dancing to the corner and stood watching as the hook descended slowly to the level of my hands. Where she stood she was out of sight of Jeremy, or he would have behaved differently, no doubt; as it was, thinking himself unobserved he cried: “Dang thee, cat, get out o' my way,” and gave Sandy a sharp kick.

Taken at a disadvantage Sandy flew through the air with a piteous mew. Gracie screamed and I put out my arms and caught him. It was more by good luck than by management, I admit, but as I held him against my shoulder and felt his quick heartbeats and saw the look of fright in his great green eyes, I felt glad I had been handy. Gracie ran to me and I put him in her arms.

“You horrid man!” cried Gracie to Jeremy, tilting her head back to look at him. “You kicked my cat.”

“Nay, now, Miss Gracie,” said Jeremy, a trifle flustered. “I didn't kick him, I just stumbled over him, like.”

Gracie looked at me, and I am sure she read in my face that this was a lie.

“Cats always fall on their feet, any road,” said Jeremy.

“Now what's all this?” demanded Mr. Firth, coming round the house at a run. “What are you screaming for, Gracie?”

“Jeremy kicked Sandy out of the taking-in place,” said Gracie, “and Tom caught him.”

“Now, master, you know I wouldn't kick Miss Gracie's cat,” said Jeremy smoothly. “I stumbled over him and the cat fell out on his own.”

“The cat shouldn't be up in the workshop in any case,” cried Mrs. Firth sharply from the porch.

“I reckon Tom took him up there,” said Jeremy.

“Tom caught him,” said Gracie. “Jeremy kicked him.”

“Now, lovey, now,” said Mr. Firth soothingly. “Jeremy didn't mean to harm Sandy.”

Gracie gave a little snort. I could not but smile; though Gracie is but a child, I thought, she is shrewder than her father.

“Be off with you to your mother, child,” said Mr. Firth.

He pushed her gently towards the porch. But Gracie hung back and looked at me over her shoulder.

“Thank you for catching Sandy, Tom,” she cried.

I smiled at her, and felt friendly. But I hid my smile and my thoughts, and bent over the hook, threading it through the rings so that Josiah's piece hung from the hook in a kind of parcel, for Jeremy was my enemy already (heaven knew why) and I did not wish to increase his dislike of me further.

“Go up and help Jeremy haul the piece in,” commanded Mr. Firth.

I did so; it came up easily enough as we hauled the rope.

“Does Mr. Firth employ other weavers to weave for him, then?” I asked.

“Only one,” said Jeremy with contempt. “He likes to call himself a clothier, but he's not much more than a common weaver to my mind. Now I've worked for a man who was a right clothier, a right manufacturer, as they call them nowadays; he had twenty weavers in his pay.”

“I wonder you left him,” said I.

My tone was rather sarcastic, for I disliked to hear good Mr. Firth diminished; besides, I thought that a man who had a cow and a horse and a field of oats and a journeyman weaver and an apprentice in his house and one cottage
weaver weaving for him was more than a mere weaver. Jeremy gave me one of his evil glances.

“It'll be long before you're a weaver, or anything at all beside a pauper nuisance,” he said. “Get on with your carding.”

Presently Josiah left and Mr. Firth came up, and there was a long discussion between him and Jeremy, in which I was glad to see Mr. Firth assert his authority. Jeremy wanted to take Josiah's piece down to the fulling-mill in the valley—where it would be beaten upon in water by the great wooden stocks, to bring the threads together—that morning, but Mr. Firth said his own piece was nearly finished, and he would take the two pieces down by horseback tomorrow. Jeremy argued this beyond the limits of civility, I thought, but Mr. Firth would not give way, so Jeremy returned to his loom with an ill grace. He was threading the threads of yarn through the healds and the reed with a hook—always a delicate job—when Gracie suddenly bounced into the workshop, her hair a ball of fire in the sunlight.

“A pedlar's come and mother says will you please come down to him, father,” she said.

Mr. Firth groaned, but threw his legs over the loom bench and rose, obediently.

“What a woman can spend wi' a pedlar is nobody's business,” said he ruefully as he left the room.

To my surprise Jeremy threw down his hook and glided after him. I went on carding for a minute or two, but then my curiosity got the better of me and I followed them. Again I was surprised, for at the turn of the stairs I almost crashed into Jeremy, who was crouched down behind the balustrade, watching unseen. I crouched down myself beside him. Jeremy gave me an evil glance but said nothing.

The pedlar had come inside the house and taken off his pack, and was standing by the door with his tray in front of him, slung by a leather band about his neck. He was giving one of those quick, glib speeches which all pedlars seemed to abound in, praising his goods to Mr. and Mrs.
Firth and Gracie, who all stood in front of him gazing at his tray; Mrs. Firth seemed quite enthralled.

“Ribbons, buttons, hooks and eyes, scissors, gloves, tapes, caps, aprons, all of the very best quality. Ah, madam, now there you have some of the finest silk on the market,” he said, as Mrs. Firth fingered a patterned piece of stuff. “I salute your taste. Woven in London—pure silk—came overland from far Cathay. Costly, as is natural—” here Mrs. Firth dropped the silk—“but very fine. Or would little Missie like a ribbon for a knot? Hard-wearing—delightful blue—just the colour for Missie's golden hair.”

He put out a hand and made to stroke Gracie's head, but she shrank back, for which I was glad, as, for what reason I know not, I did not like this pedlar. Yet he was a handsome fellow enough in his way; a pale plump face very clean and closely shaven, a sparkling eye, a good tie wig, well curled and tied in a neat black bow, a short round body, a well-shaped leg, and a very fresh-looking suit of bright green cloth with brass buttons. His stockings were scarlet and his shoes had big square buckles. He did not speak with a Yorkshire voice, but to me he seemed too smooth and mincing in his talk, even for one of his trade, who are noted for their eloquence.

“Now those mittens you are holding, madam,” he went on, “I might have known you'd pick out those—they are, I assure you, the very best of their kind. Knitted in Dent, in the north of Yorkshire—I'm sure you've heard of Dent, madam, it's noted for its stockings, gloves and mittens. Pure wool throughout. Two colours, as you see. Handsome pattern. Or, if you prefer, madam, I can order you a special pair, with the initial letters of your name knitted in at the wrist. M.F. that would be, would it not?”

At this moment Jeremy sprang up, dragging me with him. We made quite a clatter between us, and drew the pedlar's eye. His glance swept over us, cold as a snake's. Mr. Firth looked up, too.

“Well, come down if you wish, don't stand poking about
in a corner up there,” he said crossly. “If you want to buy owt, Jeremy, get it bought quickly and get back to your work. As for you, Tom, you've no money to buy owt with, so be off with you.”

“An apprentice has no need to buy owt, master,” put in Jeremy in an agreeing, obsequious tone.

“Well, you can stay for a minute if you like, Tom,” said Mr. Firth, whose second thoughts, as I had already discovered, were always kinder than his first, particularly if someone had agreed with him.

I followed Jeremy down the stairs.

“I had the good fortune to see your honoured father yester evening, Mistress Firth,” said the pedlar.

“Indeed?” cried Mrs. Firth in a flutter. “You were at Clough End? You saw my father? How is he?”

“Mr. Sykes is well, madam, and commends himself warmly to you,” said the pedlar.

Somebody gave a sigh as of relief, but I could not tell from whom it came.

“I am glad to hear that, very glad,” said Mr. Firth heartily. “My wife has been anxious, and over there by Almondbury, right beyond Huddersfield, you know, is quite some distance away, so it's not easy for us to get news. I am obliged to you, pedlar, for your message. Come, wife, buy something. What do you fancy, eh?”

“I wouldn't mind a pair of mittens,” said Mrs. Firth in a shy pleased tone.

“Aye, to be sure, have some mittens, love.”

“Have some knitted for you with your letters on,” urged the pedlar. “Then you can choose your own colours. I shall be back with them in a week or two.”

“Well—grey, with a brightish blue, then,” said Mrs. Firth.

“Grey with a bright blue, from Dent, it shall be.”

“Father,” said Gracie in a pleading tone, clutching at his hand, “will you buy me something?”

“Of course I will, lovey. What do you fancy?”

Gracie stretched up towards him and he stooped to her and she put her arms round his neck and whispered in his ear.

“Well, well,” said he, laughing. “It shall be so. Child wants to buy summat to give to Tom,” he said to Mrs. Firth.

The pedlar, scenting custom, at once stooped down to bring his tray to the level of Gracie's eyes.

“She's not called on to do any such thing, that's certain,” cried Mrs. Firth, vexed. “I never heard anything so nonsensical.”

“He saved my cat when Jeremy kicked him,” said Gracie.

She stuck out her underlip and looked ready to cry, and Mrs. Firth yielded.

“Well—choose something sensible, then,” she said. “A few buttons, maybe, or a reel of thread.”

But Gracie had already seized upon a small pair of scissors.

“These,” she said.

“Pure Sheffield steel,” said the pedlar at once.

Mr. Firth looked a trifle daunted, for doubtless the scissors would be of more price than he wished to pay.

“Why do you choose these, Gracie?” he said reproachfully.

“They're like yours, Father,” replied the child.

“She is right there, master,” put in Jeremy. “They are real clothier's scissors, with square ends—no points to pierce the cloth.”

“Well, take them, child,” said Mr. Firth, putting his hand into his pocket for silver. “And you, Tom, see you guard them carefully.”

“I will, sir,” I said. “Thank you, Miss Gracie.”

I spoke strongly, for though I was embarrassed I was indeed touched by the gift. Gracie took the scissors and laid them in my hand, and the touch of her soft little fingers seemed to soothe my sore heart. I could easily have kissed the child as she looked up at me, for she was a sweet little thing enough, her blue eyes kind and smiling, her hair all
red-gold in the sun; but with Mrs. Firth looking down her nose at me with an offended air I did not venture to do so.

“Let it be a sign to you that you'll be a clothier one day, Tom,” said Mr. Firth. “Now, then! Us must get back to us work.”

Upstairs, I put the scissors in the inner pocket of my coat where they fitted as if it had been made for them, and I made up my mind I would keep them there always. The morning passed pleasantly enough, for even Jeremy seemed in a better mood than I had so far seen him.

That night as I lay in my bed I heard a faint mew at my door. At first I disregarded it, but the mew came again, and this time there came a scratching too.

“It is Sandy again,” I thought, amused.

I could not help but be pleased though a little concerned, when, as I opened the door, Sandy sprang past me, leaped on my bed and buried himself in the coverlet. I had to move him a little to get myself comfortable, but though he mewed rather pettishly he did not withdraw but adapted himself to my shoulder, and we slept side by side. What Mrs. Firth would have said to this I did not like to think, but I was glad of his company. From that time on he often shared my bed, and indeed his presence was one of the small pleasures of my life.

Indeed, I would have liked my life at Upper High Royd well enough, save for the one matter of Jeremy. Of course I was always hard at work. I helped Josiah to dye the wool in the little round lead house across the yard—a bright blue was the usual Upper High Royd colour, and I wore my old ragged clothes on dyeing day. I carried wool out to the women who did carding and spinning for Mr. Firth in their cottages, and I brought the spun yarn back to Upper High Royd for Mr. Firth and Jeremy to weave, or took it out to the cottage of Josiah, and I helped Jeremy when he was warping, and I helped tread the pieces in human water when they were woven, so as to get the grease out of the wool. I hadn't my full strength as yet, so I couldn't carry
a piece of cloth down to the fulling mill in the valley or back up the long hills, but I helped to stretch it out on the tenters when it came back dripping water. The pieces from Josiah had to be fulled and tentered too. Then there was the horse to feed and groom, and the cow to milk; and whenever I had nothing else to be busy with I was set to carding. Sometimes Gracie was set to carding too, and when the weather came more summery and warm, we sat side by side in the porch at this task. Sometimes we fell to laughing and talking, and sometimes Mr. Firth would shout down the stairs to us: “Less noise, you two!” But he was never vexed with Gracie for long. It seemed from what I heard from Jeremy that Mr. and Mrs. Firth for long had no children, Mrs. Firth being of a somewhat delicate disposition, and so they cherished Gracie, when she came, particularly.