The Reckoning (7 page)

‘
A better fire will make you feel more cheerful,' Héloïse
promised, approaching the bed. 'Just you give me the baby for
a moment while you see to your little girls. Their noses need
wiping.'

‘
Oh no, miss — m'lady — it isn't fitting!' Mrs Batty cried,
clutching the wailing bundle more tightly.

‘
Nonsense, do you think I've never held a baby before?'
Héloïse said cheerfully. Howling and damp it may be, she
thought, but it was at least a better prospect than those noses.
She took the infant from the mother, and at once it stopped
crying. The silence was blissful. A moment later Héloïse
realised that the muted, heavy double thump of the loom
above their heads was missing. Normally, Batty worked at his
loom from five in the morning until eight at night: that noise
was like the heartbeat of the house.

‘
Is your husband out?' she asked in surprise.

Mrs Batty reddened. 'Oh — why, yes, m'lady. Yes, he is
out.'

‘
Work is short, then, is it?' Héloïse said sympathetically.
Times were bad everywhere, and she knew from what
Edward had said that they had been giving out less work than
usual, for they could not sell the finished cloth. The ware
house on King's Staith was filling up.

Mrs Batty hesitated, and looked away to either side as if
seeking inspiration. 'Yes, m'lady,' she said at last.

‘
I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do, but you
know that business is bad everywhere. But look, I have
brought you some calves-foot jelly, which I want you to promise to keep for yourself, for you must keep up your
strength while you are feeding the baby. And here is some of
Mrs Thomson's special elixir, which you can all take.
Everyone says it is very good, you know, for sore throats and
coughs. Do the children cough at night? Well, then, this will
help you all sleep more soundly.'

‘
It's very kind of you, m'lady,' Mrs Batty said feebly,
getting on with the nose-wiping at last. Just then, little Jack
came back in with an armful of wood and an air of import
ance.

‘
Me dad's comin'!' he announced, jerking his head towards
the back door. The news seemed for some reason to agitate
Mrs Batty.

‘
Oh, quick, our Jacky, run out and tell Dad her ladyship's
here! Go on, now, quick!’

But before Jack could obey, the door was flung open and
Weaver Batty walked in. He stopped dead at the sight of
Héloïse, and another man coming in behind him bumped into
him and cursed, and then stepped back quickly into the
shadow of the doorway. From somewhere between them a
paper slithered and dropped with a soft, flat sound to the
floor.

Héloïse looked at Batty curiously. 'I'm sorry if I startled
you,' she said. 'I have just come to visit your wife and see how
she does. Everyone has this dreadful cold, it seems.’

Batty looked disconcerted, but at Héloïse's words he made
an obvious effort and said, 'Oh, that's right kind of you, my
lady. I know it bucks our Annie up wonderful to have your
ladyship call. I'm main sorry I wasn't here to greet your lady
ship, only –' He stopped, not seeming to know how to finish
the sentence.

Héloïse moved round the bed to return the infant, now asleep and disagreeably damp, to its mother, but without
taking her eyes from Batty's face. Something was wrong, she
felt: he seemed more than naturally put out at her presence,
and the atmosphere in the room was briny with tension.

‘
I'm afraid you haven't much work at the moment,' she
said smoothly. 'I'm sorry for it, but we have none to give out,
you know.'

‘
Oh – yes, well – that's all right, my lady,' Batty said
awkwardly. 'It can't be helped.’

But there was a definite movement in the doorway behind him, and Héloïse smiled and said, 'Don't let me keep you out
of your own house, Batty. Please come in – and bring your
friend in too.’

Batty hesitated, and then with what was almost a shrug
stepped aside and turned his head to the other man behind
him. 'It's me brother Tom, my lady. Come in, Tom. Aye, aye,
it's all right. Come on in.’

The man who stepped in behind Batty was not unlike him,
but younger, darker, and thinner, with a sharpness in his face
and a brightness in his eyes that spoke some unusual zeal, or
perhaps some past suffering. There was an alertness about
him which you never saw in a man like Batty, whose life was
lived in familiar surroundings and accustomed routines. He
seemed recently to have been involved in a fight, for he had a
bruise on the side of his face which just missed being a black
eye, and a cut on his lip. As he came reluctantly forward,
Héloïse saw that one of his hands was roughly bandaged, too,
across the knuckles.

She made no comment on these things, however. What
intrigued her most was the increase of tension in the room. She said conversationally, 'I had no idea you had a brother,
Batty. Is he a weaver too?'

‘
Yes, my lady.'

‘
Ah, it runs in the family, then. I dare say little Jacky here
will be a weaver too, one day! But I have never seen your
brother here before, I think.'

‘
Well, no, my lady. He doesn't live around these parts. He's
from Loughborough –’

There was a slight hiss of escaping breath, and Batty
stopped short on the last word and reddened. The dark eyes
of Tom Batty glittered a little more brightly.

It meant nothing to Héloïse 'That is a long way away,' she
said gravely. 'Well, I shall not intrude any longer on your
family reunion. I hope you enjoy your visit to York, Mr Thomas Batty. But you have dropped your newspaper, I
think.’

He looked, but she moved, scooping it up dextrously and
glancing at it before holding it out to him. ‘Ah, Cobbett's
Pol
itical Register,'
she said. 'Yes, I have heard of this. So you are interested in politics, are you?’

Tom Batty spoke for the first time, in an unwilling sort of
growl. 'Every man should be', was all he said, but it contained
an amazing amount of emotion for a short sentence. It was
accompanied by a quick, hard look at the back of his
brother's neck, as though there were some cause of conflict
here between them.

‘You are a Reformist?' Héloïse said, not as if she were very
interested in the answer. 'But I should have thought there
were other things that would be closer to a weaver's heart,
especially in these hard times.'

‘
Aye, that's what I –' Batty began eagerly, but his cadet
broke in sharply.

‘
Without Reform, nothing else will ever come right.
Reform is the beginning of it, and all else will follow.'

‘
Nay, Tom, Parliament's not for the likes of us,' Batty
began pleadingly. They had obviously had this argument
before. 'We've enough to do without –'

‘
Why should we pay taxes for other men to spend? Why
should others spend our taxes without consulting us what to
spend it on?’

An orator, Héloïse thought. Such men can be dangerous.
But she said, smilingly, 'Come, now, do you consult your wife
or your children before you spend the money they earn? You
know what's best for the family, and you make decisions on
their behalf. So does the Government, on our behalf.’

The orator looked angry. 'Aye, but we aren't children, are
we? Except some folk want to treat us like children – but they
may find out differently one day.’

Héloïse's smile vanished. She said gravely, 'Such talk, you know, is unwise. It may stir up discontent, and discontent so
often leads to trouble and bloodshed.’

The orator's eyes brightened and his lip curled a little with
contempt, as though he were thinking
What do you know
about bloodshed, my fine lady?
But his voice was even as he
said, 'Sometimes there has to be bloodshed. There's a new
world waiting to be born, and labour's always painful.’

Batty intervened, shocked. 'Tom! Not in front of her lady
ship! It's not proper!’

But Tom seemed to have been riled beyond common prudence. 'Not proper? I'll tell thee what isn't proper, Will – you
having no work, with all these brats to feed, that's what's not
proper!’

Héloïse felt the tension like a knot inside her chest. ‘If there
were any work to give out, Batty would have it, I assure you.
He is a good weaver. But there is none.'

‘
See, Tom, I told you,' Batty said anxiously. 'And her ladyship came here special out of the kindness of her heart to see
my Annie, hearing she wasn't well.'

‘Oh, yes Tom,' Annie croaked from the bed, as eager as her husband to make amends. ‘So kind –'

‘
Kind, is it?' Tom said harshly, turning back to Héloïse.
’Then can you tell me, my lady, why there are folk starving on the road all the way from Leicester to York, while others
live in big houses and have plenty to eat?'

‘
Tom!'

‘
Yes, I can tell you,' Héloïse said calmly, holding down the
anger inside. 'It is because it has pleased God to call them to
different stations in life, to work for His glory in different
ways. It is not our business to question the ways of God.'

‘
Oh,
God!'
cried Tom. 'I don't believe in your
God!
God
doesn't exist. There's only Man.’

There was a shocked silence. Héloïse reddened as though
she had been struck, and Batty and his wife both looked at
Tom with wide eyes and open mouths, as though he had just
sprouted a second head. The frozen tableau lasted only a
second or two. Héloïse turned to Batty, gave him a brisk, ‘Good day to you', and walked out. She moved so fast that
she had reached her phaeton before Batty caught her up.

He was almost weeping. 'Oh my lady – please!' She paused and looked at him coldly. 'Oh please, my lady, please don't be
angry. Tom doesn't really mean it. Only he's had a bit of an
accident, a knock on the head, like, and it's shaken up his
wits. When he's himself again, he'll feel that badly! He
doesn't mean any of it, truly, my lady!’