Pauper's Gold Page 5

  Jane clung to Hannah, whimpering. ‘I can’t do that. I’m frightened.’

  The overlooker put his hand on the young girl’s shoulder, but she cringed away from him, burying her face against Hannah.

  ‘Don’t be frightened of me, young ’un. I’ll not ’urt yer.’ He bent closer so that she could hear what he said. ‘Look, just today, you can sweep the floors all round the machines, but mind you don’t get in the way of the operators. They’ll likely box yer ears if yer do.’

  Jane trembled and tears ran down her face.

  ‘Come on,’ Hannah coaxed. ‘You know we’ve got to work. We signed that paper and Mr Scarsfield’s trying to find you something easy to do to start off.’

  Jane sniffled and nodded. She took hold of the broom that Ernest held out to her.

  ‘I’ll just have a word with one of the women. Ask her to keep an eye on the little one.’

  He glanced beneath the machinery before adding, ‘The lads look to be doing fine.’

  After a few brief words with the woman at the nearest machine, Ernest nodded to Jane, who began to sweep the floor with tentative strokes. The overlooker cast his eyes to the ceiling as if in despair, but then smiled as he and Hannah left the room.

  Away from the noise, Hannah said, ‘She’s only ten and small for her age. She’ll be all right once she gets used to it.’

  ‘Aye well, we’ll see,’ Ernest said, sounding none too hopeful.

  He led the way out of the main building again and across the yard into the one set at right angles. As they walked he said, ‘The bales of raw cotton are stored in a room on the ground floor beneath the counting house. It’s Mr Roper’s job to check them all in. Then the lads carry them across the yard to this building. This is where the preparation is done.’

  They entered a room where other children were working; some of them Hannah had seen in the apprentice house. They were unpacking bales of raw cotton, pulling it and then sorting it into different piles.

  ‘That’s called “blending”,’ Ernest explained. ‘They’re sorting into different qualities so that each pile consists of the same quality of cotton.’

  Hannah nodded.

  ‘Now, what I want you to do is to remove all the seeds and the dirt from the cotton. It’s a boring job, but you’ve got to start at the bottom, luv. But I reckon you’re bright and quick and I’ll keep me eye on you. You’ll soon be moving on, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘That’s “scutching” then, is it?’

  ‘Aye, then the cotton’s spread into a flat sheet before it goes into the next room where there’s a carding engine. I’ll show you that another time. Bentley!’ Ernest raised his voice and beckoned one of the girls over. ‘This is Francis. She’s to start with the scutching. Show her what to do, will yer?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Scarsfield,’ the girl said meekly.

  Just as he turned to go, Ernest reminded Hannah, ‘Oh, and tomorrow morning, make sure Pickering plaits her hair and puts it up under her bonnet.’

  Now it was Hannah who nodded, and said, ‘Yes, Mr Scarsfield.’

  ‘D’you know, I can’t hear a thing,’ Luke began as the four of them walked home after their first day’s work in the mill.

  ‘’Cept them machines,’ finished Daniel. ‘I can still hear ’em banging in my head even now we’re out in the open.’

  ‘It hurts my ears,’ Jane murmured, slipping her hand into Hannah’s. ‘And everybody shouts so.’

  ‘They have to, don’t they, to make themselves heard above the noise.’ Luke grinned and added, ‘There’s one good thing.’ He poked Hannah in the ribs. ‘We can’t hear your singing no more.’

  Playfully, Hannah punched him on the shoulder.

  At that moment there was a clatter of clogs behind them and they heard Nell’s voice. ‘Come on, you lot. You’ve got school for two hours now and jobs to do before any of us get any supper.’

  ‘School?’ Luke said. ‘Now? After working all day?’

  ‘Jobs?’ Daniel added.

  ‘I’m tired,’ Jane whimpered. ‘I want to go to bed.’

  Hannah squeezed her hand. ‘Come on, Jane. Let’s go and meet the teacher.’

  ‘I don’t want to. I don’t want him rapping me with his cane.’

  ‘You ’ave to go until you’re thirteen. I don’t any more. I’m fifteen. But you’ll be in trouble if you don’t go. It’s the law and even the Critchlows have to abide by it,’ Nell said. She sniffed. ‘Mind you, I reckon they’d get out of it if they could. A schoolmaster needs paying, and the Critchlows don’t like parting with their money.’

  ‘Does the master teach the girls an’ all?’ Hannah asked as they neared the schoolroom.

  Nell nodded. ‘There used to be a schoolmarm for the girls, but she left, all sudden like.’ She cast a swift glance at Hannah as if trying to convey some sort of message, but Hannah was mystified. No doubt the teacher had found better employment, she thought. ‘And they didn’t appoint anyone else,’ Nell went on. ‘So now Mr Jessop teaches everybody.’

  For the next two hours the weary children were obliged to sit on the long benches behind the tables and draw letters in the sand trays. The more able were given slates. Several of the children’s heads drooped until they were resting on the desk. Until, that is, Mr Jessop brought his cane down with a sharp crack.

  Hannah kept nudging Jane, trying to keep her awake, but the child was so tired that at last Hannah let her sleep. The schoolmaster came to stand over her. He raised his cane and Hannah held her breath. Mr Jessop bent down, looking closely at the pale, drawn face of the little girl. He lowered his cane and turned away, leaving her to sleep. Hannah smiled to herself. Perhaps this place wasn’t so bad after all. There seemed to be one or two people prepared to be kindly now and then – Mrs Bramwell, Mr Scarsfield and now the schoolmaster. But she doubted there was much compassion in Mr Roper, and she feared that Mr Critchlow would be a greedy taskmaster. Perhaps his son, Mr Edmund, would be nice. She daydreamed until her wandering thoughts were brought sharply back to her work by the crack of Mr Jessop’s cane on her desk.

  After the requisite two hours, the children were released to return to the apprentice house.

  ‘Come along, come along. There’s work to be done.’ Ethel Bramwell was standing at the back door, clapping her hands to hurry them along.

  ‘Do we really have to do jobs now?’ Hannah asked Nell. ‘Before we get any supper?’

  ‘’Fraid so. The boys have to sweep the yard and fetch logs and coal in, and we have to sweep and tidy the dormitories and Mrs Bramwell’s private rooms. Then there might be darning and mending to do. On Monday and Tuesday nights, we have to do the ironing.’

  ‘What about Mary? Doesn’t she do all that?’

  ‘She does the washing on a Monday, but she has to do all the cooking for about eighty of us. There’s fifty girls and twenty-nine boys as well as the Bramwells and Mary herself. I tell you, I wouldn’t swap jobs with her, even if it is hard in the mill.’

  ‘What do you do, Nell?’

  ‘I’m a piecer.’

  ‘Oh!’ Hannah was about to ask more, but Jane was tugging at her arm.

  ‘I’m tired, Hannah.’ Hearing the list of chores recounted by Nell had made her feel even more exhausted. ‘I just want to go to bed.’

  ‘Maybe Mrs Bramwell won’t make you younger ones do jobs,’ Hannah began, but Nell laughed.

  ‘Don’t you believe it. If she thinks Jane’s trying to get out of any work, she’ll give her the hardest job that’ll take her twice as long.’ Nell smiled down at Jane and took hold of the child’s other hand. ‘Come on, little ’un. We’ll help you if we can, but it won’t do you any good, or us, if we’re spotted.’

  ‘Let us with a gladsome mind . . .’ Hannah sang as she knelt and scrubbed the floor, summoning up all the energy she could muster.

  ‘And just what do you think you’re doing, girl?’

  Hannah looked up to see Mrs Bramwell standing over her.

  ‘Washing
your floor, ma’am.’

  ‘I can see that,’ the woman said testily. ‘But this task was given to Pickering. Why are you doing it?’

  Hannah stood up. ‘She’s dead on her feet, ma’am. I’ve told her to go to bed and that I’d do it for her. I’ve finished the job you gave me.’

  ‘You’ve no right to say who may go to bed and who may not.’ Ethel Bramwell pursed her thin lips. ‘I can find another job for you if you’ve finished the one I set you.’

  ‘Why? Why can’t I help Jane?’ Hannah was almost shouting now. ‘She’s only ten.’

  Ethel’s lip curled. ‘That’s nothing. In the past children have worked in this mill from the age of eight.’ She sniffed and beneath her breath muttered, ‘And younger, if the truth be known.’

  Open-mouthed, Hannah stared at her and Ethel continued. ‘Pickering must learn to do her share.’ For a moment, she seemed to soften, even using the girl’s Christian name for once. ‘I know you mean well, Hannah, but you’re not doing the girl any favours.’

  ‘But she’s tired, exhausted and, and . . .’ Hannah faltered. She’d been going to say that the child was homesick. How anyone could be homesick for the workhouse was beyond Hannah, yet she knew that Jane was missing her friends from the only home the little girl had ever known. But maybe, given time, this house might be more of a real home than a workhouse could ever be. She would try to make Jane see that. But, just now, all she could do was to help the child physically.

  Suddenly, Hannah put her head on one side and smiled. ‘Please, Mrs Bramwell, won’t you let me help her just tonight? Just this once? And then I’ll tell her she’ll have to manage. And I’ll do the other job too. Whatever it is.’

  Ethel Bramwell stared at her. She’d never met a girl like this before. Usually, it was a battle of wills to get any of the children to do the household chores after long hours in the mill and two hours’ schooling too. And now here was a new arrival begging to do even more work than she’d been asked to do. The girl was slim and dainty, yet she must have an inner strength that was not immediately apparent. There were dark shadows of weariness beneath her own eyes, yet Hannah had the will power to drive herself on – just to help another. The sound of this girl singing in the punishment room had stayed with the superintendent, and she was sure she’d heard her again just now.

  ‘Is Pickering a relative of yours?’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘No, but we’re best friends. I’ve known her ever since we went into the workhouse.’ At the reminder of the workhouse, the sudden longing to see her mother threatened to overwhelm her. But she lifted her chin and met the superintendent’s gaze. ‘We went in three years ago, but Jane’d been there all her life.’

  ‘I see,’ Ethel said, relenting. ‘Well, all right then, but mind you make sure she understands that it is just this once.’

  Hannah beamed. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ She knelt down once more to finish her work, but then looked up to ask, ‘What’s the other job you want me to do?’

  Now Ethel smiled, and some of the severity left her face. She waved her hand. ‘Oh, never mind about that.’

  As Hannah left the room a few moments later, Ethel gazed after her and bit her lower lip. That girl would be a beauty one day, she thought with a sudden shudder of apprehension. And that day wasn’t far away. God help her then when Mr Edmund laid eyes on her.

  ‘Well, I never,’ Nell remarked, staring down at the sleeping Jane when the other girls trooped wearily upstairs to their beds. ‘She’ll be in trouble in the morning when Mrs Bramwell finds out she’s not finished her work.’

  ‘No, she won’t,’ Hannah said, ‘because I’ve done it.’

  Nell stared at her. ‘You’ve done it?’

  Hannah nodded.

  ‘Then you’ll be in trouble an’ all.’

  ‘No, I won’t. Mrs Bramwell knows all about it. She let me do it. Just this once, she said.’

  Nell gaped. ‘She – she let you?’

  Hannah nodded.

  ‘Well – well . . .’ For a moment the girl was lost for words, then with a shrug she said, ‘She must be going soft in her old age.’ She laughed. ‘Well, now we know who to come to if we want to get round her.’

  Hannah grinned. ‘I don’t think it will work very often.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Mrs Bramwell has her favourites. You tek Joe Hughes – you know, the lad your friends said was in the next bed to them?’

  ‘The one who snores?’

  Nell giggled. ‘That’s him. The whole dormitory complain about him. Well, he’s one of her favourites. The things he gets away with, you wouldn’t believe. If the rest of us did half what he does, we’d end up in the punishment room.’

  Hannah laughed. ‘Don’t forget I’ve been in there already. I quite expect to spend half me life in there.’

  Nell shuddered. ‘That time was just a warning. You wait till they decide to really punish you.’

  Seven

  Hannah met Joe Hughes the next morning as they all hurried down to the mill.

  ‘Is this the girl you were telling us about?’ he asked Luke.

  ‘Yeah. This is Hannah. Hannah – Joe Hughes.’

  Hannah smiled at him, but none of them slowed their pace. Already they could see Mr Scarsfield waiting by the door.

  ‘Pleased to meet yer, Joe Hughes.’

  ‘And you, Hannah. Come for a walk up the hills on Sunday afternoon, will yer?’

  Hannah glanced at the hills, shrouded in early morning mist. But she’d already seen how beautiful they were when the sun shed its golden light upon them.

  ‘Yeah. All right. We’ll come.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean—’ the boy began, but they’d reached the door and Ernest Scarsfield said, ‘No talking now. Get to your work and look sharp about it.’

  The children parted, the twins and Jane going into the main mill. Hannah skipped across the yard to the preparation room in the nearby building with Joe Hughes trotting beside her. He worked the carding machine in the room next door.

  However boring the job, Hannah was meticulous in her work, but it wasn’t long before she noticed that the other girl was not as careful to get every seed and bit of dirt out of the cotton.

  ‘You’ve missed some bits there, Millie,’ she pointed out.

  The girl looked up at her, her dark eyes flashing anger. Her lips twisted as she said, ‘Oh, got a boot-kisser here, ’ave we?’

  Hannah gasped. ‘How dare you? I was only trying to help.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be the one helping you – not for you to come in here trying to lord it over me. Reckon you know better than me how to do it, d’yer?’

  Hannah nodded towards the pieces of raw cotton the girl had put on the heap that was supposed to have been cleaned. ‘If that’s the way you do your job, then yes, I do.’

  The girl leaned towards Hannah. ‘Well, I can make your life a misery in here – and in the house. No one likes a bootkisser.’ She smiled maliciously. ‘That’s what I’ll call you. “Boot”. And if anyone wants to know why, then I’ll tell ’em.’

  For a moment Hannah stared at her. The years rolled back and once again she was a bewildered little five year old standing in the street near her home, being taunted with cruel names. Only at that time she hadn’t known the meaning of the names they called her. But she recalled how she had learnt to deal with the insults.

  She threw back her head and laughed aloud, amused at the look of confusion on Millie’s face. Then Hannah began to sing, but this only incensed the other girl further. She shook her fist in Hannah’s face. ‘Aye, go on sing. Sing your heart out, girl, ’cos when you’ve been here a bit, you won’t feel like singing. I promise you that.’ She flung a handful of cotton in Hannah’s face. ‘And since you’re so clever, you can do all the scutching on yer own. I’ll do the blending and spreading.’

  Hannah’s only reply was to sing louder than ever.

  About mid morning, the door to the preparation room opened and three men came in.
Hannah knew two of them: Mr Critchlow and the overlooker, Ernest Scarsfield. Her gaze rested briefly on the third. He was a tall, handsome man with dark curly hair, his age about forty or so, she guessed. He walked with a graceful ease and held his head in a proud manner. Expensively dressed in a maroon frock coat, fawn trousers and matching waistcoat, he had high cheekbones above a firm, square chin and thick, black eyebrows that shadowed his dark brown eyes. He had neatly cut side-whiskers but, though his mouth was well shaped, there was a discontented downturn to his lips.

  For a brief moment their eyes met, and Hannah saw his eyebrows draw together in a frown. He strode towards her, his face thunderous.

  ‘What’s all the noise? Concentrate on your work, girl.’

  Ernest was beside her at once. ‘She’s new, Mr Edmund. Only arrived yesterday.’

  ‘That’s no excuse. She should know her place, and her place is attending to her work, not singing.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, Mr Edmund.’

  ‘Mind you do, Scarsfield.’ He was about to turn away when his glance rested on some of the raw cotton that Millie had been working on. He picked up a handful. ‘And what’s this? Supposed to be finished is it?’ He flung it at Hannah. ‘You’d better learn to do your work a lot better than this, else you’ll be back to the workhouse. And Goodbody will not be pleased to see you. Scarsfield, you’re to stop her a shilling from her pay—’

  Hannah’s blue eyes flashed. ‘How can he stop money out of my pay? I don’t get paid.’ She pointed her finger at the older man. ‘Mr Critchlow said so.’

  There was a breathless silence whilst everyone in the room stared at her.

  The tall man stepped close to her, glaring down at her from his superior height. He grasped her chin with strong fingers, forcing her head backwards. He held her like that for several moments, gazing into her eyes, his glance roaming over the whole of her face.

  ‘Answer me back would you, girl? We’ll see what a night on the floor of the punishment room will do for you.’

  He released her suddenly so that she staggered backwards. He turned away. ‘See to it, Scarsfield. No supper and you can take a shilling from the money she brought with her.’