Down Weaver's Lane Page 2

  Big Jem Staley grinned at his second son. ‘They won’t, you know. We’ve planned it all out careful-like. They’ve only got one watchman at Rishmore’s tonight because th’other ’un fell ill.’ He winked. ‘Suffering from a severe case of knock on the head. Old Phil won’t give us no trouble. We s’ll smash up them damned new weaving machines afore they can bring in the military.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘Sure tha doesn’t want to come wi’ us, lad?’

  ‘Aye, very sure, Dad. I don’t agree with what you’re doing.’

  Big Jem’s expression darkened. ‘I should make thi come. I’m ’shamed to see a son o’ mine holding back when there’s summat important to be done.’

  ‘You couldn’t force me,’ Jack said simply, folding his arms and staring challengingly at him. ‘I’m near as big as you two now an’ I’d kick up a right old fuss. You couldn’t keep what you’re doing secret with me yelling an’ struggling all down the street.’

  Tom broke the tension, as he usually did. ‘An’ you’re twice as stubborn as we are, too.’ He laughed, cuffing Jack affectionately about the ear. ‘Leave him be, Dad. He allus was an old sobersides.’

  But a sob from his mother made Jack grab his father’s arm and beg once again, ‘Don’t do it, Dad! Look how you’re upsetting our Mam.’

  Jem glanced towards his weeping wife, a guilty yet stubborn look, then shook his head. ‘She’s allus gettin’ upset about summat. Any road, I can’t let th’other lads down. Not now. Nor I don’t want to.’

  Jack kicked the toe of his shoe against the table leg in a rhythm that emphasised his words. ‘You’re wrong about all this, Dad. Wrong! Violence won’t get you anywhere an’ it won’t stop the Rishmores from using them power looms, neither. It won’t!’ To his mind you had to be stupid as well as dishonest to steal or damage the property of other people, especially ones as rich and powerful as the Rishmores who had just taken delivery of some new power looms at the mill. The handloom weavers like his dad were up in arms about it, but you couldn’t stop progress or prevent the rich from doing as they pleased. Look how old Mr Rishmore ordered folk around at work, even his own son, and dismissed them on the spot if they didn’t do exactly as he said.

  Jem shrugged and wrapped a muffler round his neck to hide the lower half of his face. ‘Suit thysen, lad. But don’t come crying to me when they throw thi out of work because a damned metal monster has taken thy place in t’mill. All I can get now is damned checked cloth to weave, an’ me a skilled weaver an’ all. Things’ll get worse if we don’t do summat, mark my words. If women can work them new machines, why should they take men on at all when it costs ‘em twice as much in wages? Who’ll be the breadwinners then? Women, that’s who. It’s unnatural, that’s what it is, an’ we won’t stand for it!’

  He went across to give his wife a quick, bracing hug. ‘Don’t wait up for me, Netta love.’

  He said that quite often, Jack thought, though it was usually because he was going out to the alehouse for a wet with the lads.

  She flung her arms round her husband’s waist, begging, ‘Don’t go, Jem! Think of the childer, if you won’t think of me.’

  He pushed her roughly away. ‘I am thinking of them childer. Six on’em we’ve raised, Netta Staley, an’ what for? To see ’em go hungry, that’s what. To see our Jack take a job in that damned mill like a slavey, ‘stead of getting his own loom upstairs here. We have to show Rishmore we shan’t put up with it an’ force him to stop buying them damned machines.’

  His anger made Netta sink down on her chair and close her eyes, but tears still trickled down her cheeks. ‘They’ll call out the soldiers on you,’ she said in a dull voice. ‘Mr Rishmore threatened it an’ he’ll do it too. You’ll be shot and killed like my uncle was at Peterloo. It’s not ten year since that happened an’ it’ll happen again. An’ I’ll never forgive you for dragging our Tom into it. Never.’

  ‘He didn’t have to drag me, Mam,’ Tom said gently. ‘I happen to agree with him.’

  She looked at him, all her love for her handsome first-born showing in her face. ‘Then you’re as daft as he is, lad. What shall me and the kids do if owt happens to you two?’

  ‘Ah, nowt’s going to happen to us. We can allus run away if there’s trouble, can’t we?’

  ‘Right, then, are thi ready, Tom lad?’ Jem crammed his old felt hat down over his eyes and turned to leave, stopping briefly to call to Jack, ‘Keep that door latch on, son. I don’t want anyone comin’ in an’ seein’ we’re not home.’

  When the sound of his father’s footsteps had died away and all that was left was the patter of rain beating against the windows, Jack went across to put his arm round his mother’s shaking shoulders. ‘Don’t take on, Mam. They’ll likely be all right.’

  But she continued to weep and made no effort to go to bed. ‘Four on ’em there are upstairs, four childer younger than you. Your dad doesn’t care about me, but he ought to think about them.’

  Jack didn’t say anything. Maybe his father would care about her more if she didn’t nag him all the time and make his life a misery. He felt sorry for them both. They should never have got wed, they were so unsuited. And his father drank too much, which had left the rest of them hungry more than once. It wasn’t so bad now because though handloom weaving paid less and less, for all his father and Tom’s hard work, Jack and Meg were bringing in money as well. But he would never forget going to bed with an empty belly when he was younger and seeing his mother go without to give the little ’uns a bite or two more. His dad had never gone without, though.

  Meg, who was only eighteen months younger than he was, crept down to join them.

  ‘You should have gone with ’em, our Jack.’ She scowled at him. ‘I’d be with Dad if I were a man.’

  ‘Then it’s a good job you’re a girl, isn’t it?’ he threw back at her.

  An hour later they heard hoofbeats, then shouting and shots in the distance. Netta moaned and began to sob again, but when Jack went towards the door, she screamed and flung herself in front of him. ‘You’re not going out!’

  ‘Just to see what’s happening, Mam.’

  ‘No. You’re not leaving this house!’

  She fell into such a passion of weeping he couldn’t leave her. He and Meg had to half-carry her back to her chair.

  They were still sitting in front of the fire half an hour later when the door burst open, sending the clumsy wooden latch clattering to the ground. As the parish constable came striding in, Netta moaned and clutched Jack’s hand.

  ‘Mrs Staley?’

  Jack was puzzled. Eli Makepeace knew perfectly well who she was because Northby was a small town.

  His mother nodded, her eyes huge with fear in her thin face.

  Eli took a deep breath and said it badly, because there was no way to soften such news. ‘I’m afraid your husband’s dead. He was shot while attacking the property of Mr Rishmore. And your son Thomas has been arrested and taken to prison.’

  She let out one piercing scream then fainted.

  Jack tried to get to her, but the constable stepped between them and when Jack would have shoved him out of the way, the soldier who had accompanied him stepped forward, raising his rifle threateningly.

  ‘We need to have a word with you first, lad,’ Eli said. ‘You see to her, lass!’

  Jack hardly heard him. He was watching Meg kneel beside their mother, tears running down her cheeks. She had been their father’s favourite. Although Jem Staley was big and rough, he had loved his children and Jack had a hundred memories of him cuddling or teasing the younger ones, calling Meg his little pet lamb ... He couldn’t believe his father would never do so again.

  He stood still, not daring to give way to his own grief. He wanted to, though, wanted to weep like a great babby because the last thing he’d done was quarrel with his father - and now they could never make it up.

  Eli looked severely at him. ‘Where have you been tonight?’

  He pulled his thoughts togethe
r hurriedly. ‘At home with my mother.’

  The constable ran a hand across Jack’s shoulders and squinted at his face, touching his hair briefly.

  The soldier still had his rifle at the ready, so Jack stood still and let them do as they chose. At other times he liked and respected Eli Makepeace for they were both in the church choir. Tonight, however, Eli was on their side.

  ‘His hair’s dry an’ so are his clothes,’ Eli said in a formal voice. ‘Will you bear witness to that for me?’

  The soldier stepped forward and made sure of this for himself before nodding. ‘Aye. This one’s definitely not been outside.’

  Eli turned back to Jack, his voice a little less harsh. ‘Why didn’t you go with your father, Jack lad?’

  ‘Because I’m not stupid.’ But now he almost wished he had, because he was at home safe and Tom had been clapped in jail. He realised Eli was speaking again and forced himself to attend.

  ‘Well, you’ve done the right thing. Mr Rishmore wants a list of them as stopped at home. I’ll see your name goes on it. It’ll likely keep you your job.’

  Jack would have liked to tell him to mind his own business, but he’d been working in the mill for long enough to know you didn’t get on the bad side of old Mr Rishmore. Gesturing towards his mother he said, ‘Thanks. She’ll need my wages now.’

  Eli nodded and stepped back. ‘Aye. She’s lucky to have a sensible son like you.’

  As he and the soldier turned to leave, Jack followed them to the door and asked in a low voice, ‘Where have they taken Dad’s body?’

  ‘To the church hall. He’ll go into a pauper’s grave unless you’ve money put by for a proper burial?’ Eli looked questioningly at the lad, who shook his head.

  ‘And our Tom?’

  ‘He’ll likely wind up in Lancaster County Gaol till the next Assizes. It’s a serious matter, machine breaking is.’

  Jack had to ask it, though the words nearly choked him, ‘Will they - hang him?’

  Eli shrugged. ‘That or transport him. He was a damned fool. The whole town’s full of fools, it seems, my own cousin among them.’ He clapped Jack on the shoulder, the only sympathy he dared offer, then moved towards the door, signalling to the soldier to follow him.

  When the two men had left, Jack leaned his head against the wall near the door and tried to hold back the sobs that were choking his throat, but they wouldn’t be held in. He couldn’t believe his dad was dead. Jem Staley had always dominated this house, been so full of life and vigour. And Tom - further sobs came out, strangled, harsh noises - Tom had been Jack’s best friend as well as his brother. He could not imagine life without him.

  It was a minute or two before he could control himself enough to turn and then he saw Meg still kneeling by their unconscious mother, chafing her hands and weeping quietly.

  She looked up as he came across the room and offered in a small, tight voice, ‘I’m sorry for what I said to you, Jack. You were right not to go out tonight. Do you think Sam Repley was with them?’

  ‘Aye, I should think so. He’s another damned hothead like our Tom.’

  She sobbed aloud at that, a rare thing for a lass who usually kept her feelings to herself.

  He put his arm round her, saying, ‘Meg, Meg.’ But what comfort could he offer when he still felt raw with his own grief?

  She stared down at her lap. ‘I’ve allus liked Sam. Even when I were a little ’un.’ Her voice was dull, her whole body drooping.

  Jack gave her another hug. She wasn’t quite fifteen, but she seemed older suddenly. ‘Eh, love, you allus did choose a hard road. Could you not have settled your fancy on a lad as wasn’t so wild?’

  ‘Sam’s allus been special. An’ he cares about me, too. He said so.’

  ‘You should be thinking of our Dad an’ Tom now, not an outsider.’

  ‘I am thinking of them. But I’m thinking of all as were out machine breaking tonight as well. I heard you ask if they’d hang our Tom. They might hang them all.’ She began sobbing.

  He could not think of anything to say that was worth saying, so he watched his mother. She was conscious now, he could tell from the way her eyes were moving behind her closed lids. ‘Mam?’ he said gently.

  She groaned and kept her eyes closed as if she didn’t want to face reality.

  ‘Mam,’ he said more urgently, and at last she opened her eyes.

  ‘Tell me it isn’t true?’ she begged, clutching his arm.

  ‘You know it is.’ He expected her to weep hysterically or even faint again, but she didn’t.

  Swallowing hard, she sat up and asked, ‘What are we going to do, Jack? How can I feed them childer now?’ Her voice rose. ‘I’ll kill myself, aye an’ them too, afore I let anyone put us in the poorhouse.’

  ‘It won’t come to that.’ But he couldn’t be certain. He looked round, feeling bitter. Recently they’d been living more comfortably than ever before, but now, despite his brave words, he couldn’t think how they would possibly manage - always supposing Mr Rishmore let him stay on at the mill. He wasn’t earning a man’s wages yet. Old Rishmore didn’t pay you full wages till you were eighteen. Said he wasn’t encouraging early marriage. His mother’s voice, low but still throbbing with suppressed hysteria, made him look round.

  She clutched his arm. ‘Promise me you won’t leave me, Jack. Promise me you’ll always be there to look after us. Promise you won’t desert us like your father did.’

  ‘No one can always be there,’ he protested.

  She screamed and shook him, then began to weep hysterically, saying, ‘Promise me, promise me!’ over and over.

  So wild was her appearance that he feared for her reason and could not refuse what she asked. ‘I promise I’ll do my best, Mam.’

  It was some time before she stopped weeping then she fixed her eyes on his face and demanded, ‘You won’t go getting married and leaving us with nothing?’

  ‘Mam, that’s not fair,’ Meg put in.

  Netta rounded on her. ‘You shut up, you young slut! We s’ll be lucky if you’ve not getten a bairn in your belly, the way you’ve been carrying on with that Sam.’

  Jack saw his sister flinch as if their mother had struck her and stepped between them as he often did. ‘Mam, if I do get married it’ll not be till the little ’uns are grown an’ able to look after theirsen. An’ I’ll allus make a home for you.’ There was nothing he could do to help his father now and his brother’s fate was in the hands of the judge, but somehow he would find a way to look after his mother and the others, that he vowed most solemnly. And as Joey was only two, it would be a good many years before he would be free of that promise. He knew it and did not flinch from it, not when he saw the anguish on his mother’s face, not when he thought of Shad, Joey and young Ginny going hungry.

  On that thought, he called up the stairs, knowing the children could not help but be awake after all the noise, for the walls were thin, ‘Come on down, you lot.’

  They stood huddled by the foot of the stairs, pressed close together. His mother made no move towards them so Jack did, gathering them to him and saying in a voice which broke on the dreadful words, ‘You heard it all, didn’t you? Our Dad’s been killed and our Tom’s in prison.’

  The two youngest looked up at him only half understanding the significance of this and Shad gulped audibly as he nodded. He was old enough at eleven to know how hard it was to set bread on the table every day.

  ‘Us Staleys cannot do owt now but stick together,’ Jack went on. ‘We mun help one another as best we can. An’ help our Mam, too.’ He’d hoped his mother would come over to them to reinforce what he was saying, but she didn’t. She stayed where she was, on her own, sobbing and rocking to and fro, still perilously close to hysterics. He knew then that the main reason he must stay with her was the children. Someone had to care for them properly and his mother grew more selfish as she grew older. He looked across at Meg, also standing by herself, and jerked his head in a silent invitation to join the
m.

  She stepped across and put one hand hesitantly on Ginny’s shoulder, then all of the children were hugging one another, weeping together for their father and brother.

  Jack didn’t need the knocker-up rapping at his bedroom window in the morning to wake him because he’d hardly slept. Tom usually shared this bed with him, while Shad and Joey slept on a mattress in the corner. It felt wrong to have the whole bed to himself, lonely too. And in his mind’s eye he kept seeing Tom, manacled and perhaps bleeding, because the soldiers weren’t gentle when they were dealing with a riot.

  His mother stared at him when he went downstairs at his usual time to go to the mill and said, ‘Eh, you look different, older!’

  Jack certainly felt different. He knew himself to be a man grown now, one with heavy responsibilities - and all this just two weeks past his sixteenth birthday. It wasn’t fair, but then life rarely was. He must just get on with it. And the first thing to do was see if he still had a job.

  It was all for nothing, Jack kept thinking as he joined the other people making their way towards the big brick building that dominated the town. The new machines were still there and now many families were deprived of their breadwinners, his dad was dead, Tom in jail - and all for nothing. Folk nodded to one another but there were no cheery greetings and banter. Not this morning. And more than one face showed eyes swollen by tears.

  The big mill gates were closed, with only the little side gate open, so they had to queue to get in. Constable Makepeace was standing outside with a soldier, both of them very watchful, so no one said anything as they stood there in the rain.

  Inside Isaac Butterfield stood in the little boxed-in shelter, with his wages book on its wooden stand, checking them in one by one. He was as much part of the mill as the Rishmores were.

  As his turn came Jack held his breath, praying they would not turn him away.

  Mr Butterfield looked at him, then said his name as usual and ticked the big book.

  Jack let out his breath and passed through the gate. Maybe there was hope still. He shuddered as he looked round the rain-slicked mill yard. There were signs of damage everywhere: stones and pieces of broken glass swept into piles, the windows of the weaving shed gaping to the weather.