The Silk Factory (15 page)

Through the open door, she saw a group of soldiers with their backs to her, sitting at a table, deep in conversation. Muskets hung in racks along one wall and a flag was pinned above the fireplace where a good coal fire glowed. The table was strewn with papers and account books and the remains of a meal had been pushed to one side: pewter tankards, earthenware bottles with marbles in their throats, plates with hunks of bread and pools of gravy. The smell of a rich stew hung in the air and Beulah felt her mouth filling with saliva at the thought of cramming it with bread doused in sauce … of licking the plate until it shone …

She paid little attention to the men’s conversation at first. They talked of shipments of ammunition, of artillery bound for Lord Wellington’s forces in Portugal and mentioned places she had never heard of: Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz where things were ‘hotting up’ against the French. Beulah, used to the adults’ talk at the factory of ‘Old Boney’ as eternal enemy and bogeyman, paid little heed. ‘Our gallant lads’ had gone to the aid of the Spanish and Portuguese and were keeping the French occupied, and jolly good too, Beulah thought; there was less chance of the Monster invading and the Prince Regent coming to Weedon Royal and drawing danger after him. Everybody knew that the grand pavilions, the officers’ buildings faced in stone and shining white on the hill, were meant for a retreat for His Royal Highness, should the need arise.

The talk moved on to speculation about the build-up of arms at the arsenal, with much grumbling about the extra duties it entailed.

‘No sooner do we ship out powder than more is ordered in, tenfold,’ one said. ‘The men labour like Sisyphus with his boulder.’

‘And what need, I’d like to know, for two hundred stand of arms to be in readiness at all times?’ another asked. ‘Be there ever so many thousand passed on to London, always a thousand must be kept oiled and polished in reserve.’

Then, one word made Beulah sit up straight and listen, and that word was ‘weavers’. The small, stocky sergeant, whom the others called Clay, was speaking. He lolled with one arm over the back of his chair and had listened to the others with a disdainful smile. ‘’Tis for the weavers and stocking knitters, of course,’ he said. ‘For the containment of unrest.’ He looked at them as though they were dullards. ‘They used to work in their own homes and set their own prices. Now they have to either hire frames at exorbitant prices or work for a master on the new wide frames for a pittance. They strain against their yoke and go beyond the law. Did you not hear how, in Arnold, the knaves broke into the workshops and cut the jackwires from the frames? It cannot be allowed.’ He leant forward and tapped the side of his nose to say
keep this to yourselves. ‘
Some say that foreign agency is behind it as the support and mover of the whole: French arms and men ready and waiting in Ireland, spies fomenting trouble between men and their masters as the spark for a general uprising. And we are at the heart of it, within reach of Nottingham, Leicestershire, the ribbon weavers in Coventry, any pocket of disturbance where dragoons and arms are needed.’

The third man snorted. ‘Let them riot, I say! It would be a diversion. I’m for a chance to use all that cavalry drill – better than sitting here ticking off tally sheets like a set of draper’s clerks! Not exactly what we trained for, eh? Eh?’

While the three men laughed, Beulah heard the sound of boots trotting sprightly up the steps outside; and the tall figure of a young lieutenant entered the hall. He closed the door behind him, returning the hall to dimness and lending the scene through the open door the brightness of a tableau. Faced with the picture of some of his men so clearly taking their ease, Jack paused, cursing under his breath.

The sergeant was holding forth again. ‘’Tis not merely the stockingers and weavers,’ he said. ‘There is some solidarity among the masses, who all want bread. Despite rewards offered, not one blackguard in Arnold has been turned in. Not one arrest has been made!’ He glowered at them.

Jack’s eyes grew used to the dimness and he discerned a very large basket on the settle next to a small girl leaning forward, her eyes and mouth wide open.

The sergeant brought his fist down on the table, making the plates rattle. ‘We must teach them a lesson they’ll not forget,’ he said. ‘We’re equipped to do it; we’re well placed to do it and ’tis our duty to the King and the rule of law to do it!’

Jack put out his hand to Beulah to instruct her to remain where she was and strode into the room. The two lower ranks scrambled to their feet and saluted. The sergeant removed his arm from its resting place on the back of the chair and got up slowly, with studied insolence.

‘Wilmore! Aiken!’ Jack rapped out. ‘I believe you are to relieve the sentries on the west wall.’

The two men muttered, ‘Yessir,’ and gathered up their hats and gloves. Clay made a move to do the same. ‘You will do me the courtesy of remaining, sergeant,’ Jack said. ‘I would like a word.’

The two men filed past with sideways looks at their sergeant. Clay’s colour rose at their obvious awareness that he was about to be chastised. Jack closed the door behind them and they trooped past Beulah without even noticing her. Beyond the closed door Beulah heard the young man raising his voice. She picked out a word here and there:
disgraceful
,
breach of security
,
not to be repeated
. At length Clay emerged. He shut the door softly behind him but, as he turned, Beulah saw that his face was red with fury. Once outside, he ran smartly down the steps, escaping from the scene of his humiliation.

A minute passed in which Beulah became more and more anxious about what she had overheard. For two pins she would slip away herself but the thought of her reception if she were to return to the manufactory without making her delivery was enough to keep her glued to her seat. The door opened and the lieutenant called her in.

The papers on the table had been set in neat piles and the plates stacked on a wooden tray. The lieutenant stood before the fire with his hands behind his back. He asked her quietly what business had brought her to the garrison and she explained and passed over the paper she’d been given. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And were you kept waiting long?’

‘No, sir,’ Beulah said quickly, ‘not long at all.’ She looked down at her basket, practising all the skills she’d learnt in the workshop to keep out of trouble and make herself seem insignificant and slow-witted.

Jack looked at the child before him: her slight build, the heavy basket she’d been sent with, her thin clothes and pale, chilled face. He nodded as if satisfied she told the truth. Indicating a three-legged stool beside the hearth, he said, ‘Sit here and set down your basket. I’ll write a receipt for you to take back to your employer.’

Beulah sat down and surreptitiously stretched out her feet towards the coals, feeling the heat at first sting her toes as sharply as chilblains and then the spread of the glorious warmth over her damp boots, stockings and sodden petticoat hem.

Jack sat at the table and carefully wrote out a receipt and a note for the quartermaster at the clothing stores. He would take up the matter of the reception of civilians with his captain but without mentioning specifics. He trusted that Clay had taken note of what he’d said. It had clearly discomfited him to be caught out in front of the lower ranks he seemed so desirous to impress. Jack would leave it at that; he was not vindictive.

He gave the receipt to the child, who kept her eyes downcast as she mumbled her thanks. Remembering her expression of alert attention when Clay was speaking, Jack was not convinced of her naivety. He gave her a farthing for her trouble, saying casually as he dismissed her, ‘Too much ale makes men full of strange fancies. My apologies to your employer for keeping you.’

After the child had gone, Jack settled himself at the table to check through the requisitions and stores reports that Sergeant Clay and his assistants had compiled. Despite his best intentions, he found his mind wandering, taking off across the countryside to find its way to Effie, like a homing pigeon flying through the snow. How he wished he could be with her instead of being cooped up by his duties and this damnable weather!

He had been in a state of agitation ever since he had reached a momentous decision. Effie was in his thoughts every waking hour. When he was soon to see her, his spirits rose to a pitch of excitement and as he rode out he felt as though he could take on the world on her behalf. When he was away from her his anxiety mounted that the hardships under which she lived would prove too much for her and make her ill. He couldn’t bear to think of her labouring on the farm in this bitter cold. Nor could he stand to see her with dark rings under her eyes from rising early to haul pails of water to and fro for other people’s washing, in an effort to make ends meet. She was proud; it was no good offering money. She would be offended and wouldn’t take it. He brought food on the pretext of bringing a luncheon they could share, each time ensuring that there were provisions left over that he insisted she keep. He brought gifts to see her smile. It was not enough. He wanted to take care of her, smooth away the worry lines, and see her blossom. The night before, he had dreamt that she was in his arms, warm and safe, but as their lips met she had melted away like sand beneath his touch and he had woken, cold in his narrow bed, with the moonlight lacing the frosty window beside him. He had known then what he must do. He could not do without her and must make her his wife.

Laying the requisitions aside, he sat, absentmindedly rolling the pen under his forefinger on the table. He must think calmly and logically about how this was to be achieved. He wanted to go to her with a plan, to impress her with his seriousness. He was afraid she would think it too soon, too bold, but he could
not
wait! There were obstacles, but if he had devised ways to overcome them, surely she would say yes? She must say yes!

He would have to see Captain Harris to apprise him of his plan and ask about the waiting list for married quarters in Ordnance Row, although he feared that he might be refused point-blank because of Effie having dependants. He would also need to request permission to take leave so that he and Effie could visit his parents, and to write to his father to let him know he would be visiting with an important matter to discuss. Jack knew that Effie wouldn’t be considered an ideal match for him by society at large: a carpenter’s daughter with an unsupported family in tow, but he trusted that his father’s calling would make him charitable and that Effie’s sweet, open nature would win him over so he would give his blessing. To be realistic, Jack thought, we might need more than his blessing. If there was no hope of married quarters within the barracks, he would have to look for a cottage to rent in the village that was big enough for all and he feared his pay wouldn’t stretch to it, given that his board and lodging at the barracks were part of his remuneration. If he could gain his father’s approval, perhaps he would settle a little money upon them as a wedding gift, as he had for his brothers.

But first he must propose. Here his heart made a strange kind of struggling leap, as if hope and fear were equally matched and warring within his chest. Later, he would need to ask the captain’s permission formally and see the parson about the reading of the banns. All that could wait. First he must frame the words that would convince Effie to be his.

At the end of the working day, Tobias told Beulah that he was going to a public house with some of the men, and that she would either have to walk home on her own or come too. Beulah trailed behind them feeling angry. She hated it when this happened. She wanted to go home for she ached all over, but it was dark and cold, and she knew that on the way there were places in the hedgerows that seemed to shift in moonlight: stumps that looked like crouching, hump-backed dwarfs and branches that seemed to grope towards you like grasping boggarts. On the other hand, she didn’t like the Blood Tub either. The place had a sign that read ‘The Admiral’ and a picture to match but everyone knew it as the Blood Tub.

Many new drinking dens had sprung up around the village to service the soldiery: houses pressing parlours into service and blocking off their private quarters with a bar at which they served ale and rum. The locals avoided those frequented by the soldiers: the Horseshoe Inn, the Plume of Feathers and twenty more. However, lately a new influx of Bedfordshire Militia men were packing out these hostelries and some, losing patience with waiting for their drink and the sweaty press of men, spilt rowdy out into the street and made incursions into the locals’ territory. Both soldiers and villagers now frequented the Admiral and drink was often the spark that lit the tinderbox of aggression between the two.

Beulah followed Tobias and the group of weavers through the streets. Jervis, Tobias’s mentor, led the way, followed by Jim Baggott and three other craft weavers of the old school, men who once worked for themselves, at home with their families. Behind them came Ellis Coulishaw and Griffith Hood, both veterans who had become weavers by reason of their injuries. Tobias and Saul Culley, another drawboy, brought up the rear. Beulah slipped in behind them as they filed into the inn. Jervis nodded to the landlord and, as they took up their accustomed places round an oak board, Beulah crept between the settle and the table to sit in the sawdust at Tobias’s feet, out of the way of any trouble. She hunched her knees up under the tent of her dress and wrapped her arms around them to warm herself. A few old men were sitting around the fire, talking and nodding. They sucked on their clay pipes and paid no mind to the weavers. The candles burning in sconces on the walls made grey smoke marks, greasy streaks on the pale stone; the flames of those on the tables guttered and danced in the draughts from the ill-fitting window sashes.

Jervis put a coin down on the table and the rest of the men followed suit. A skinny girl, hardly older than Beulah, brought tankards and a jug of ale-and-water. Tobias took a long draught before passing his down to Beulah with a quick ‘All well?’ She drank greedily, clearing the clagging dust and fibres from her throat, until he took the tankard back and leant in, elbows on the table, to listen to the conversation of the men.

Jervis was talking to Ellis Coulishaw, a tall bony man who had once been a sailor with an upright bearing. Now, he walked with a limp, his shin bone shattered by a musket ball, and had taken up weaving, like many other veterans, as his meagre pension was insufficient to feed his large family.

‘So, you say the master is investigating yet another newfangled mechanical contraption, down on the first floor?’ Jervis asked.

Ellis nodded and the men and boys craned in to hear him reply, his voice kept low against listening ears. ‘’Tis a loom he’s shipped in from abroad, unlike anything we have here. Taller. Bigger. It has a chain of punched cards that hang atop, folded like …’ He sketched a square shape in the air. ‘… like an accordion, in pleats. There’s a treadle, and as you work the cards move through. Where there is no hole, those threads are blocked and where there is a hole, the threads pass through, so that the pattern is formed.’

‘So there is no drawboy to pull the harness and draw the threads?’

‘None is needed. The skill lies in the initial threading up of the frame; after that ’tis child’s play. It produces more cloth, more complicated patterns. And it is
fast
.’

Jervis frowned. ‘And the master?’

‘Strode around, viewing it from all angles as if it were a very statue of Venus, rubbing his hands and muttering, “As I thought, as I thought.” I swear he’ll be ordering them in by the dozen, has probably already done so. I tell you, they’ll put half of us out of work straightaway and the other half will lose most of their wages …’ His voice became higher and louder so that Jervis patted the air to say he should speak more softly.

Ellis continued, ‘I’m telling you, we need to act and act fast.’ A mumble of ‘hear, hear’ came from some of the men and was taken up by Tobias and Saul.

Griffith Hood, the oldest of the men, with sparse white hair and a high colour, asked drily, ‘What have you in mind? If we refuse to work these new machines and they no longer need great skill, Fowler will simply put apprentices or even women in our places.’

‘So we are all to become automatons on half-wages!’ Ellis exclaimed, shoving his tankard away from him so that ale slopped over its lip and on to the table. ‘Today my wife kept two of the children at home for lack of shoes and abed for lack of coals. And I’m to tell her now that soon we must feed the children on half of not enough!’

The door swung open and Jervis put a restraining hand upon his arm. A group of infantrymen entered in high spirits, jostling at the door and talking loudly. The weavers fell silent, all aware that it was unlawful for them to gather and converse on such matters. ‘Look more jolly, lads,’ Jervis hissed. ‘We needs must talk but we don’t want to swing for it!’

The soldiers gathered at the bar, one of them beating on it with his fist for the landlord. Another, who swayed on his feet, staggered towards them shouting, ‘Where is our drink! How’s about you give us a welcome?’ He made to reach for the jug on the table. Ellis, scowling, half rose and put his hand on the jug’s handle. Jervis leant between them and said pleasantly, ‘’Tis all but empty, soldier. Better to order afresh,’ and one of the soldier’s companions pulled the man away.

The landlord arrived with ale and gave the soldiers a cheery good evening but he exchanged a glance with Jervis and led them to a free table on the other side of the room. There, they started a noisy game of cards, disagreeing loudly at every hand and occasionally breaking into snatches of song. Beulah, who had shrunk herself into a ball, like a hedgepig, when the drunken soldier had reeled towards them, peeped out between her fingers to see the weavers huddling close to talk once more in lowered voices.

‘’Tis true that this state of affairs cannot continue,’ Griffith said in his slow, measured tone. ‘We can barely afford to put bread in our mouths. But the common folk have no say. If we petition, the government ignores us and the masters have it all their own way.’

Ellis drank the remainder of his beer in one draught and set down his tankard hard. ‘We are nothing to them – a mere commodity,’ he said bitterly. ‘If we gather to express our grievances, they set the cavalry upon us.’ He raised his voice in the direction of the soldiers. ‘They come down on us with the full weight of the law, yet they turn a blind eye to those who injure us and throw us on the streets! ’Tis no good appealing to the impartiality of a law that forbids both rich and poor to sleep in doorways!’

‘Shh! Shh!’ Jervis quieted the chorus of agreement. ‘We must keep to the problem in hand.’

‘It is the same problem writ small,’ Ellis said. ‘The master grows fat off us, in his High House. He rides in his carriage and pair while he treads us into the dirt. He and his kind must have more and ever more; they cannot be satisfied but must build an empire founded on our misery!’

‘There must be something can be done,’ Jervis said. ‘But we must be circumspect and not put ourselves or our families in jeopardy.’

‘We could destroy the frames.’ Jim Baggott, a dour man, who had listened without comment until now, voiced what several were thinking.

There was a moment’s silence.

‘Others have done it,’ he said. ‘I met a drover told me the weavers in Rochdale wrecked their frames and burned down the House of Correction. They made their mill owner sign a wage agreement, on his knees in the street.’

Beulah, alarmed by the turn the conversation was taking, looked up at Tobias. He sat hunched forward with the other men; his face, lit from beneath by the candlelight, was flushed with excitement, his jaw set hard. She reached up and tugged at his sleeve but he pushed her hand away.

‘I would dearly love to see the master on his knees,’ Tobias said and Saul muttered his agreement. Again the men fell quiet, for all remembered Fowler whipping Tobias for falling asleep and Saul still bore the scar where, the year before, Fowler had dragged him by the ear until it was almost off, pulled out of its socket and the bottom of it torn from his head.

Beulah nudged Tobias’s arm harder and this time he ducked his head and listened to her. His face grew sombre. ‘My sister has overheard something at the garrison,’ he said to Jervis.

Jervis looked over to see Beulah’s face peeping above the table. ‘Let’s have her out then,’ he said and Tobias helped her scramble up on to the seat beside him.

‘Some soldiers were talking,’ Beulah said in a whisper, looking sidelong at the infantrymen in the opposite corner who were now playing a rowdy game of dice. ‘They spoke of the arms and men stationed here, not in readiness for battle against Old Boney but to put down any disturbance in the counties hereabouts.’

‘There you have it,’ Griffith said. ‘They would have the dragoons on us for sure if we protest openly.’

‘Then it must be in secret,’ Ellis said, ‘as with the stockingers in Nottingham. A man I met on the London road said they cut the jackwires from the new wide frames and ne’er a one of them was caught. ’Tis true the constable dragged three of ’em from their beds and told them they’d been informed upon but ’twas naught but lies. They kept their counsel and the authorities had no proof and had to let them go.’

‘Nonetheless, it is a risk we should not take lightly,’ Jervis said. ‘Think of those in Spitalfields who broke frames and paid dearly; they were hanged outside their workshops.’

‘What choice do we have?’ Ellis slapped both hands upon the table. ‘We must nip this in the bud or face penury. Would you see your children begging in the street? That’s what it’ll come to. Drive men into a corner and their only defence is attack!’

The mutter of agreement from the men was a low growl, like a dog woken from its slumber.

‘Very well,’ Jervis said. ‘Frame breaking it shall be.’

‘But won’t the master know we’ve done it?’ Tobias said in confusion.

‘He will know that some of us have done it but he will not know who. There will be no proof and he cannot turn us all out; he has orders for cloth to fulfil. He cannot find out the culprits, not if we make our pledge to stand together and all are strong enough not to break it.’ He looked around at each man’s face in turn and each gave the slightest of nods, Griffith holding up his hands and giving in. When Jervis came to Tobias and Saul, he said, ‘Are you youngsters in or out? Be aware that a crime against property is treated harsher than a crime against persons and the new law against frame breaking makes it a capital offence. There’s no shame in withdrawing.’

Tobias and Saul glanced at each other and said with one voice, ‘In.’

‘What about the child?’ Baggott said. He glowered at Beulah. ‘You must hold your tongue, or you’ll regret the day …’

Jervis stopped him and turned to her, his face serious. ‘You’ll have no further part in this, Beulah, but what you’ve heard tonight must not be breathed abroad. Do you understand? We must have your word on your silence.’

Beulah nodded vehemently.

Jervis released her from his gaze and turned back to the men. ‘Then it is settled. Whenever the machines arrive, be it weeks or months, Ellis will inform us. Meanwhile, each one of you must equip yourself with hammer or pick, for all men present will be required to strike the blows. They must be got in absolute secrecy for ’tis a hanging matter to go about armed.’ He paused, to make sure that all understood the weight of his words. ‘It will be done at dead of night and each will return to their houses where their families must swear they have been all night, and must arrive for work in the morning as if all is as usual.’

‘How will he know our demands?’ Ellis asked.

‘We must write them down in an unsigned note,’ Jervis said. ‘But who has learning enough to do it?’

The men shuffled their feet and looked down at their hands for, truth to tell, not one of them could write more than his name and some knew only how to make their mark.

Beulah, who could write a clear hand thanks to Effie’s teaching, shrank into her shawl. She wanted nothing to do with it. She had told them what she knew, that would have to be enough. It made her tremble inside when she thought of the constable, of soldiers, and, worst of all, of the master’s wrath to come.

‘I can do it,’ Tobias said, with a lift of his chin. ‘I can write the note.’

The countryside was ice-bound for three days but when the weather turned milder the thaw was fast. As Jack rode over to see Effie, the sound of running water was everywhere: gurgling in the ditches beneath the last crusts of snow, running in rivulets in the roads leaving sticks and pebbles in its wake and grit washed into patterns like sea-shore sand combed by the tide.