The Master of Liversedge (13 page)

‘There, ma’am, you choose one, and I’ll sing it with you. I know most of these.’

‘Ay, a capital notion!’ approved Arthur’s father.

‘As you say, Webster,’ remarked Arkwright, dryly, ‘capital.’

Mary glanced quickly at him, and was surprised to catch a flash of anger in his dark eyes. It was gone in a moment.

She had no choice but to sing, however, for several people pressed the pair: and the next half hour or so was agreeably passed by everyone except Louisa Shaw and Mary herself. She found Arthur Webster’s liveliness a constant source of embarrassment. His part in the song frequently had an amorous tone, and he put plenty of expression into it, causing her to be thankful for the need to keep her eyes on the music. She felt, rather than saw, her employer’s disapproval.

At last, it was over; and now all efforts to keep the party going were useless. A general exodus began.

Waiting on the step for the doctor’s carriage, Mary saw William Arkwright take his leave of the Greys. He seemed to linger unnecessarily over the business of handing in Lucinda, and stood looking after the carriage as it drove away. In contrast, he took a very curt leave of herself, barely acknowledging her softly spoken goodnight.

Her spirits were low on the homeward journey. It was fortunate that no one else felt in the mood for conversation, or her silence must have been noticed. The doctor deposited her uncle and herself at the Vicarage gate, and they walked silently up the path together.

As they reached the door and Mr. Booth raised the knocker, Mary chanced to look back towards the gate. While she watched, a figure glided out of the shadows, and through the gate into the road. It was too far away for her to see more than an outline, but she recognized it at once, with a quick alarm.

It was Black George Mellor.

FOURTEEN: THE LETTER

Arkwright was early at the mill next morning. He summoned Nick Bradley.

‘You had a quiet night, I suppose, Nick, or I should have had warning?’

The overseer nodded. ‘Not a sound, after tha looked in. Didst cop t’ chap who flung t’ stone?’

His employer shook his head. ‘No. He got away, whoever he was. Any ideas, Nick?’

Bradley pursed his lips. ‘Reckon it might’ve been Hartley — but, then, again, could be any o’ t’ Ludds, for that matter. There can’t have been more nor one of ’em, or they’d have done more damage, think on.’

‘Yes, that’s my own view. I look on it as an isolated gesture of defiance — as you say, possibly from Hartley. But once I realized that the miscreant wasn’t anywhere around the house, I thought it best to come over and make sure that you hadn’t had an attack on the mill. I don’t mind admitting, Nick, that I had a nasty moment thinking of the machines, when I saw that stone come through the window.’ He paused, and Bradley nodded. ‘We must continue to mount guard here, for the time being, I’m afraid. Can you arrange to sleep here again for the next couple of nights? We’ll take it turn and turnabout. And I’ve another idea — I’ll borrow one of the dogs from my friend Shaw’s farm. You can turn it loose in the mill after dark, and it should give warning if anyone’s about. How are the machines going?’

‘T’ machines is a’ reight,’ replied Nick, darkly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s t’ lads,’ admitted the overseer, after a struggle. ‘Some on ’em tries to go slow on t’ machines, so’s not to show up t’ hand croppers.’

‘If anyone tries that, he’s to go at once, do you hear?’ snapped Arkwright, rising hastily. ‘I’ll go in there myself.’

Bradley shook his head. ‘Reckon tha’d best not turn off any more chaps, at present, Maister Will. ’T would do a power o’ harm, what wi’ machines, and all.’

‘I may have to,’ returned his master. ‘For a time, at least. Later on, of course, when we get more work into the mill — as we shall, now that we’ve got the means for tackling a greater quantity — I hope not only to keep the numbers, but to increase them. But I can’t afford to pay idle men, Nick, even for a short period. You know that as well as anyone.’

‘Ay. All t’ same, Maister Will, it might turn out cheaper in t’ long run. Bide tha time; and if go they must, let it be one by one, not all at once.’

‘It goes against the grain, b’God!’ said Arkwright. ‘Why, in my grandfather’s time — ay, and my father’s — a man had the running of his own manufactory, and would no more have thought of pandering to the notions of his workmen than he would have of taking wings to the moon!’

‘Times is changin’,’ replied Bradley, shaking his head. ‘And when all’s said, they’re human beings, think on. A cropper’s proud o’ his skill, an’ now wi’ t’ coming o’ they machines, his work’s not wanted. How’d tha like that, thysen? Reckon their pride hurts ’em nigh as much as bein’ out o’ work — there’s more things can pinch a man nor his belly, think on.’

‘Yes,’ said Arkwright, thoughtfully. ‘I know.’

For the rest of the morning, he was fully occupied. At midday, he began to feel hungry, and decided to return to the house for a meal. This was not usual: often he would work throughout the day, returning home only as daylight began to fail, when work in the mill had to stop.

His arrival set the house in a bustle. Nellie rushed away to hurry the meal on to the table, while Mrs. Arkwright deplored the fact that they had been about to sit down to nothing more interesting than a slice or two of cold ham.

‘I want nothing more, ma’am,’ he said, laughing. ‘I often manage on less, as you very well know.’

‘Yes, but — if only you had said, this morning, that you meant to return, Will! I could have got Nellie to bake a mutton pie — ’

‘I imagine we shall eat a good dinner as usual, this evening?’ he asked.

‘To be sure, Will — but — ’

‘Very well, then. And now, ma’am, I would like to read my newspaper. Perhaps there is something you should be doing?’

She took the hint, and was about to leave him alone; but at the door she paused, suddenly remembering something.

‘Oh! Will’ — she said, picking up a folded note which lay on a side-table, and taking it over to him — ‘I nearly forgot. This came for you — at least, it didn’t exactly come — ’

He stared at the note, not heeding her words. It bore his name in rough capitals, and nothing else. He frowned, and unfolded it in one swift, impatient movement. His eyes came to rest on the brief message it contained, and seemed as though fixed. His face turned first red, then white. Mrs. Arkwright looked at him in alarm.

‘What is it?’

He jumped to his feet, screwed the paper into a ball, and flung it away from him across the room. His eyes were blazing. He turned fiercely on her.

‘How did this come here? Who brought it? Who brought it, d’ you hear?’

‘Why, I was telling you, Will,’ she stammered, taken aback by his vehemence. ‘We don’t rightly know. Miss Lister found it in her pocket, not long since — I thought of sending one of the lads down to the mill with it for you, but then it didn’t seem all that important — a nasty, dirty bit of paper, and such a scrawl on it as I never did see — I thought — ’

‘Miss Lister? Miss Lister, you say? Found it —
in
her
pocket
?’

He repeated the words incredulously, as though he thought her mad.

She nodded, half afraid of his wild look.

‘Send Miss Lister to me,’ he ordered, peremptorily.

‘What is it, Will?’ she ventured to ask. ‘What is it that’s put you about so?’

‘Later.’ He waved her away. ‘Send Miss Lister here.’

She went, not knowing what to make of it, but realizing that this was not the moment for questioning him. He would tell her in his own good time.

A few moments later, Mary entered the room, looking slightly puzzled. She had not been able to make much of Mrs. Arkwright’s gabbled explanation, but she had gathered that Mr. Arkwright was upset over something to do with the letter.

‘This note.’ He strode across the room, retrieved the paper, and held it towards her, clenched in his fist. ‘How did it get here?’

‘I found it in my pocket,’ replied Mary, steadily. She knew that it sounded absurd, but it was the truth. ‘I took off my pelisse this morning when I arrived, and felt in the pocket for a handkerchief. It was then that I found the note.’

‘Why did you not notice it before — when you first put on the garment, for instance?’

She looked curiously into his pale, set face. It was evident that he was keeping a tight rein on what she guessed was a white-hot anger. What could be wrong?

‘I can’t really say. I had no occasion to feel in my pocket, then. It is not a very large piece of paper.’

‘And you seriously expect me to believe that you found it in your pocket?’

‘Of course I do.’ She took slight exception to his tone. ‘It happens to be true — though I know it sounds ridiculous. I cannot imagine how it should come to be there.’

‘I must confess I can think of only one way, Miss Lister.’ She looked a question. ‘That you put it there yourself,’ he finished, with biting emphasis.

‘But I did not!’ she cried, indignantly. ‘Haven’t I told you so, Mr. Arkwright?’

‘Oh, yes. But you can’t suppose I am fool enough to believe it.’

For a moment, she was deprived of speech.

‘What are you saying?’ she demanded, at last, her anger rising. ‘Are you suggesting that I am — lying to you?’

He nodded curtly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m suggesting that — exactly.’

‘Upon my word, I think you must have run mad!’ she retorted, flinging caution to the winds. ‘Why should I lie to you about such a — such a stupid matter?’

‘Do you know what is in this note?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I neither know nor care! What concerns me, is that you should credit me with — ’

‘Stuff!’ he said, fiercely. ‘Injured innocence will not carry this off, ma’am! You have brought me a warning letter from the Luddites — now tell me you found it in your pocket!’

She fell back a pace, and stared. ‘Was that what it was?’ she asked, in an awed whisper.

‘Ay, that’s what it was. Get rid of my machines, or they’ll do it for me — that’s what they threaten. And it’s signed “General Snipshears”! A friend of yours, no doubt, since he leaves his billet doux in your pocket?’

His mouth was twisted into a sneer. She looked at him in bewilderment; anyone less angry than he was at that moment must have seen that she knew nothing of the letter.

‘I suppose that damned cousin of yours gave it you to deliver,’ he went on, unpleasantly. ‘He wrote it most likely.’

‘No!’

‘No?’ he mocked. ‘But I dare say you know who did?’

‘Of course I do not!’ She was angry again. ‘I know nothing whatever about it, except what I’ve already told you. As for John — that’s not his handwriting, as you can surely guess. That is a rough, untutored hand — ’

‘Such things would be written in a disguised hand. No man in his senses would betray himself like that.’

‘Well, I tell you, sir, that John had nothing whatever to do with this. He is opposed to all violence, and threats of violence. Why, when he agreed to head the deputation of workmen that came to see you, it was only on condition that it should be a peaceable mission — ’

‘Did you know about that beforehand?’

‘Why, yes, I did. It was purely by chance — ’

She stopped, realizing that it was unwise to say more. He noticed her hesitation, and pounced on it.

‘If you knew of that, then it’s odds on you know something about this. Come, Miss Lister!’ He drew nearer to her, looking down on her threateningly. ‘We will have the truth now, if you please, and no more beating about the bush.’

She drew herself up to her full height, and gave him back look for look, though her knees trembled a little.

‘You’ve had the truth!’ she flung at him. ‘If you think to browbeat me, you are very much mistaken, sir! Neither I nor my cousin can tell you anything more about that letter.’

She made such a spirited picture, standing there with flushed cheeks and eyes that sparkled with anger, that a flash of admiration came into his eyes. It was gone in a moment.

‘It’s no good, ma’am. You may play off all those pretty feminine wiles with which you were beguiling young Webster yesterday evening — ’

‘How dare you insult me so?’ She was almost speechless with indignation.

‘Did you suppose I hadn’t noticed?’ he asked, sneering again. ‘As far as that goes, I dare say all the company must have done so — it was plain enough.’

‘How could you?’ Her voice broke a little. ‘It is ungentlemanlike of you — ’

‘You forget, Miss Lister — I am not a gentleman. And if you may act in an unwomanly way, I feel at liberty to act in an unmanly one.’

‘I did not! Mr. Webster is one of these gay, light-hearted people — he meant nothing, as I very well know — ’

‘The more shame — ’

But this was too much for Mary. ‘I will not be catechized by you!’ she said, stamping her foot. ‘You may be my employer, but you have no right to question my behaviour in personal affairs. I — I will not tolerate it, sir!’

‘You won’t, eh?’ He seized her suddenly by the arms, and glared down into her face. ‘Then, b’God, I’ll not tolerate you in my house any longer! You can go now, Miss Lister — this very minute!’

His words had the effect he desired. The fire died out of Mary’s face, leaving it pale.

‘Do you mean that?’ she asked, in a whisper.

‘I’ve never meant anything more. I consider you an undesirable influence for my sister. Not only is your behaviour unmaidenly, but it’s also plain to me that you and your cousin are as near to being Ludds as makes no odds. My house will be the better for your going.’

For a moment she said nothing, staring at him with a stricken look which began to pierce his anger. Then she turned away, moving unsteadily towards the door.

‘Very well, sir — if that is your wish. I will go now.’ She paused for a moment. ‘You — perhaps — you will — explain to Caro’ Her voice broke on the name. She put her hand quickly in front of her face, and ran from the room.

She did not quite know how, but she managed to leave the house without meeting anyone. She made her way blindly home, and, entering the empty parlour, flung herself down on the sofa. Then, at last, she could give way to the tears that were choking her.

‘Mary! Why, Mary, my dear girl, whatever’s amiss?’

It was her cousin’s voice. She answered him with a low moan. He came to her side, and put his arm about her. For a few moments, they clung together as they had done in childhood over a shared sorrow.

‘Poor little love!’ he said, presently. ‘Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?’

Between sobs, she began to tell him: but she had gone no further than the letter, when he stopped her with an exclamation.

‘In your pocket? A letter from the Ludds?’

She nodded, mopping her eyes with her soaked handkerchief.