The Victory (37 page)

But Nelson's ships had no such reassurance. The journey back to Europe wearied Haworth. Everyone was feeling the
strain of being so long at sea without respite, and a double
crossing of the Atlantic meant short commons for all; but the
Cetus
had received the minimum of attention before he took
her over, and she was now as heavily fouled as the
Superb,
and in need of several new spars and timbers, and sailing her
was relentless and exhausting work.

In addition, the journey to the West Indies had been under
taken in hope of action after long tedium, and action had been denied them. Haworth had no faith that the journey
back would bring them any closer to the French, especially
since the Admiral still clung to the belief that Egypt was their
object. They had been wrong at every turn, had spent the
whole of this year sailing around in futile pursuit of an enemy who was always somewhere else. He did not expect to receive
any news of Villeneuve when they reached the Rock; all his
hopes were pinned on the chance of being sent home for
refitting.

They crossed the Atlantic in just over a month, anchoring
in Gibraltar Bay on 19 July, to find no trace of the French.
While they were revictualling, a letter came for Nelson from
Admiral Collingwood off Cadiz, giving his view that the
combined fleet would head for Ferrol, release the ships there
and at Rochefort, and then sail on to Ushant. Nelson had
time to consider these ideas while they were replenishing their
stores, and as a result, on 23 July, he ordered his squadron
into the Atlantic to make for Brest.

They made slow progress northward against contrary
winds, saw nothing of the combined fleet, and could gain no
news of it until they joined Cornwallis off Ushant on 15
August. Here they learnt of Calder's inconclusive action on 22
July, and that the combined fleet had been sighted in Ferrol
on 9 August, but had disappeared again.

There was no further call for decision on Nelson's part,
however, for Cornwallis had a copy of orders which had
missed him at Gibraltar, ordering him home on leave. There
were orders, too, for Captains Keats and Haworth to bring in
the
Superb
and the
Cetus
to Spithead for repair. Haworth
received them with inward relief, as the first good tidings he
had had that whole year.

 
Mary Ann had had a lifetime's experience of schooling not
only her behaviour, but her feelings, too, and if she went on
her annual visit to her father in 1805 with any desire of seeing
Father Rathbone again, it could only have been because she
had a letter to deliver to him from Aislaby. Even that was no
urgent reason — 'It's nothing important,' Aislaby had assured
her. 'Just if you happen to see him ...’

The first two weeks were fully occupied with settling in,
and with paying and receiving formal visits. It was not until
the third week that Mrs Pendlebury, in the course of a longer
visit, brought up the subject.

‘
Have you happened to see the report to the Board of
Health that John Ferriar was working on last year?'

‘The report on the mill-workers' houses, you mean?'

‘
Yes, my dear. He has had it published, and sent copies to
several of the leading people of Manchester. I have had mine
a sennight, and simply can't put it down! It is such thrilling
reading, quite like one of dear Mrs Radcliffe's stories. Some
thing horrid on every page! I must ask him to send you one,
dear Mrs Morland.'

‘
Thank you, ma'am,' Mary Ann said, and added diffi
dently, 'And what of the other gentleman, whom I had the
pleasure of meeting on the same occasion? Have you seen
anything of him?’

Mrs Pendlebury's brow furrowed under her much-plumed
hat.

‘
Other gentleman? Who can you mean? Not Mr Adubon,
the mesmerist? My dear, he does such thrilling things! Quite,
quite horrid! Poor Mrs Ardwick went off into strong hysterics
when he performed a demonstration at Mrs Withington's
card-party, and had to be revived with burnt feathers.'

‘No, no, ma'am. I was referring to Father Rathbone.'

‘
Oh, I understand you. No, my dear, I believe he is in
Ireland. The mission sends him here and there, you know.

But you look disappointed?'

‘I have a letter for him,' Mary Ann said hastily, 'and I am wondering how to deliver it.'

‘
The mission would doubtless know where to send it,' said Mrs Pendlebury, 'but if it is not urgent, it may be less trouble
some to wait until he returns. He is sure to be here again
before you leave. He often goes to Ireland, but he never stays
very long.’

Mary Ann smiled. 'It's of no consequence at all, ma'am, I
assure you. I shall keep the letter by me, and if he should happen to return, I will give it to him. And now, ma'am, I
very much want to consult you about the subscription concert
at the Exchange, but may I ring for some refreshments for
you first?’

John Ferriar duly sent a copy of his report to Hobsbawn
House, but Mary Ann, with no desire for the sort of
frissons
which had made Mrs Radcliffe's books so popular amongst
ladies of quality, received it simply as a mark of attention and
put it aside unread. A spell of very wet weather, however,
confined her indoors, and without the usual means of occupy
ing her time, she was driven to take it up.

She found it absorbing and very disturbing reading. She
had little imagination, and no taste for novels, but John
Ferriar's dry, unemotional account of the living conditions of
the mill-workers not two miles away gave her a clearer
picture than she was really comfortable with. She was reading
it for the third time when her father returned from his day's
labours at the mill, and came at once to greet and kiss her.

‘
What is it you're reading, love?' he asked, noting her
preoccupation. 'A pamphlet, is it?’

Mary Ann told him. 'Some of the things he has discovered,
Papa, are quite dreadful. Listen: 'At number four, Blakeley
Street, the range of cellars consists of four rooms, communi
cating with each other, of which the two centre rooms are
completely dark. Each contains four or five beds, and they are
very dirty.' And this: "The houses at the corner of Cross
Street have been built with windows not intended to
open. The ceilings are so low that a man standing outside may
touch the sill of the upstairs windows at a stretch of his
arm."‘

Nay, love, what sort o' reading is that?' Mr Hobsbawn
protested.

‘
No, but listen, Papa: 'The ground floor rooms have no
floor-boards, but are of bare earth. As they are at the foot of a
slope, there is much seepage into them of effluvia from higher
up the street.' Effluvia, Papa! You know what that means.'

‘
Aye, I know,' Mr Hobsbawn said, growing rather red in
the face, 'but I never thought I'd hear such a word on my
daughter's lips! Who is it that's given you this trash to read,
hey?'

‘
It isn't trash, Papa. It's the truth. Look, it's a report made
to the Manchester Board of Health — you can't say that's
trash, can you?'

‘
I can say it, and I will say it. If the Board of Health wants to trouble themselves with that sort o' thing, that's their business, but it's not the thing for a lady to be reading. You leave
it to them whose concern it properly is.'

‘
It may soon be the concern of all of us,' Mary Ann said,
undeterred. 'He says that there are many houses where dang
erous fevers subsist permanently, and new lodgers fresh from
the country lay themselves down in beds full of infection, from which the corpse of a fever victim has been removed
only hours before. If these fevers should spread further —’

Hobsbawn reached down and snatched the paper from her fingers. 'That's enough! I'm taking this away and burning it,
right now. If your mother were alive, to hear you talk so
ungenteel about fevers and corpses and efflowers, and after
the good sisters brought you up so carefully to be a lady!'

‘
The good sisters also taught me that we ought to care
about our fellow man, and help those in affliction,' Mary Ann
said.

Hobsbawn ruffled his hair in consternation. 'Aye, love,
very proper, I'm sure, but our fellow man doesn't mean these
sort of folk. These are none of our concern.'

‘
What about the pauper children who work in your mills,
Papa?'

‘
Aye, and what about 'em? They don't live in these houses.
They live in the 'prentice house, and I feed and clothe 'em at
my own expense. Do you know how much it costs to keep one
of 'em for a week? Three and sixpence! That's more than
most mill-owners pay in wages. And then the ungrateful little
devils up and run away, or die on me, out of sheer contrariness. Aye, it's no wonder Kennedy and the others are going
over to free labour! Keeping 'prentices is more trouble than
it's worth, and no thanks you get for it, besides the overseers
complaining about having to beat the little ones to keep them
working. Now if it was free labour, their parents'd do the
beating, and all would be well.'

‘Except for the children, perhaps,' Mary Ann said quietly.

‘
Nay love, you don't understand,' Hobsbawn said affec
tionately, patting her shoulder. 'Hard work never hurt
anyone. Look at me — when have you known me lie abed
after six in the morning? I'm down at the mill before any of
my men, and stay longer. If you was to come there — not that I'd want you to, but if you did — and you was to see the rows of pauper children, working away, all industry and innocence,
saved from destruction and vice, and turned into useful
members of society — why, I tell you your eyes would be
overflowing.' Mary Ann said nothing. 'Now let's have no
more of this sort of talk, hey? I come home to be peaceful and
happy, and to enjoy your company, and my little grandson's.
How is the little lad?’

Obedience, she had been taught, was one of the first duties
of a child to its father. Mary Ann dropped the subject, and
since Ferriar's report was never seen again in the house, she
put it from her mind, and applied herself instead to the usual
pleasures of her visit. Her brother-in-law Edward had asked
her most urgently to return to Morland Place for the opening
of the new stables and race-week, and though she anticipated
little pleasure from the proceedings, her sense of duty
suggested to her that she ought to cut short her stay. In the
last week of July, however, she returned from a morning's
drive to find Father Rathbone's card, and the message that he
would call upon her formally the following day.