The Master of Liversedge Read online

  ‘Someone took a pot shot at me.’ Mary saw that there was blood streaming down his face. ‘Can you give me something to clean this up? Better not let your children see me in this state — I’ll go round to the pump.’

  Mary had turned white, but she took the horse’s reins from him. ‘You’re hurt, sir. You’d best sit down while we see if it’s serious.’

  He glanced keenly at her. ‘Nonsense — it’s only a graze, you know. Thank God he was a poor shot. I’ll see to it myself — some linen, please, Mrs. Hartley.’

  A bundle of clean rag was provided, and in spite of protests he went alone to the pump at the back of the cottage.

  When he returned, he had wiped the blood from his face, and wore his hat at a rakish angle to conceal his improvised bandage beneath.

  ‘All’s right,’ he declared. ‘At least I shan’t frighten my people out of their wits when I appear at the door.’

  ‘But who could have done it?’ asked Mary. ‘Will you try and find the culprit?’

  ‘I think not — he did his best to find me, and next time he might succeed. He’s armed — I’m not.’

  He turned to Mrs. Hartley. ‘I’m sorry for the news I must bring. My plea was refused — Jack’s to be sent to the mill tomorrow morning to be flogged in punishment of his disobedience.’

  The women cried out in horror, and Mrs. Hartley began to sob.

  ‘Don’t take on,’ he said gently, laying a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll find a way — trust me. I must go now.’

  He took the reins from Mary’s hands, and swinging into the saddle, rode away.

  *

  When Arkwright arrived at the mill the next morning, he found a large crowd assembled. Although a public execution of the sentence had been ordered by the authorities, he had hoped that in fact few people other than the Militia, whose attendance was compulsory, would appear. He had failed to win a reprieve for the man, and must see that the sentence was carried out unless he wished to fall foul of the authorities himself. The only concession he had been able to win was that the severity of the sentence should be left to his own discretion. Not for the first time, he cursed the chance that had taken Colonel Grey to the mill on the night of the attack: without his presence there, this need never have happened.

  The crowd continued to grow, until by the appointed hour it numbered several hundreds. Arkwright reflected that if riots should begin, it would not be easy to subdue them with the small force of military present. Moreover, there were no reserves, for they had been withdrawn to another part of the West Riding following the welcome peace which had fallen over the neighbourhood since the attack.

  Prompt to the minute, the escort arrived with their manacled prisoner; a handful of them, in charge of a sergeant whose business it would be to carry out the flogging. They saluted Arkwright, and set about their business with military efficiency.

  The crowd, which had frozen into immobility at the first appearance of the soldiers, now began to stir and murmur. Here and there, a barely perceptible signal passed round among them, and a few of their number slipped unobtrusively away. None of this was noticed by Arkwright and the military, as they were busy with the prisoner.

  He was being stripped to the waist and tied to one of the gateposts. When he was ready, the sergeant stood over him and slowly raised the wicked-looking whip.

  His first stroke had no bite to it: this particular man always took time to warm to his work. It fell about the prisoner’s shoulders almost as a caress.

  But today he was not to be given time to get into his stride. Even as he drew back the whip to raise it for a second stroke, the order rang sharply out: ‘Stop!’

  He paused, lowering the lash, a puzzled expression on his stolid face.

  ‘It is over,’ stated Arkwright, whose voice had shouted the command. ‘The sentence has been carried out. Release the prisoner.’

  The sergeant opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, saluted smartly, and sprang to obey.

  The crowd went mad. Hats were flung into the air, cheers rang out, and some started to dance and sing. Arkwright paid no heed, but went to Jack Hartley and helped him into his shirt.

  ‘I’d no choice, lad,’ he said. ‘It had to be done, but I’d the right to stop it when I chose.’

  Hartley nodded, his face working. He could not have spoken, even had there been any chance of making himself heard in all that hullabaloo.

  ‘Get out of this into the mill,’ shouted Arkwright. ‘We’ll get you home after the crowd disperses.’

  Hartley tried to obey, but the excited crowd pressed round him, trying to hoist him on their shoulders, in spite of his protests.

  Arkwright turned away to dismiss the escort and the Militia. They went readily enough, the escort still looking as though they could not believe what had happened.

  He then made one or two attempts to dismiss the crowd; but it was in high holiday spirits, and at last he gave up, pushing his way through in the direction of the mill door.

  He had almost reached it when he felt a sharp tug on his sleeve, and turning, saw Nick Bradley trying to come close enough to him for speech. The overseer’s face was full of alarm.

  ‘Maister Will! Some on em’s gone to t’ house, to break in!’

  Arkwright seized him roughly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve just heard tell — there’s some left here afore t’ flogging began — they don’t know tha stopped it, an’ they mean to avenge Jack! For God’s sake, mak’ haste! There’s Miss Caro an — ’

  ‘Come on!’

  Side by side they fought their way ruthlessly through the crowd until they managed to win clear. They began to race along the path that led to the house.

  The noise of the crowd gradually receded; as it did, other more ominous noises reached their ears. Shouts and jeers floated across the distance; as Arkwright made a last, desperate spurt and burst through the shrubbery, there was a sudden crash of breaking glass.

  He paused for a second only as he reached the drive, surveying the scene. The attackers numbered about a score. Most of them were battering on the door of the house with sticks and other handy implements. They kept up a constant stream of abuse which was answered freely by the domestics from within. Arkwright identified easily the strident, defiant tones of Nellie’s voice.

  Several windows were broken. He saw a man climb up to one on the ground floor, and throw his leg over the sill, about to enter the room beyond.

  At the same moment, a shrill scream rang out. It was Caroline’s voice.

  He rushed forward, his feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground. He managed to reach the window before he was noticed. By now, the man had entered the room; just as Arkwright was about to follow him, a shout arose, and he was seized from behind.

  He turned, and aimed a couple of punishing blows at his assailant. The man grunted and doubled up, but by now others had rushed to take his place. With his back to the window, Arkwright gave fight.

  Occupied as he was with four or five opponents, he could hear sounds of a sharp scuffle taking place in the room behind, and several screams rang out. The thought of what might be happening in there maddened him so that he could scarcely see his attackers’ faces, but it lent fury to his blows. He fought like one possessed.

  Nick Bradley had been outpaced by his more virile master, and had only now arrived on the scene. He saw at once how matters stood, and rushed to Arkwright’s aid.

  ‘For God’s sake, stop!’ he shouted, as he ran. ‘Ye’re making a mistake — he stopped t’ floggin’, I tell ye — Jack’s none t’ worse — ’

  But no one listened. Instead they rushed upon him, and soon he was in the thick of the fight.

  Arkwright was flagging. He was oblivious now of the sounds from the room behind him, and did not notice a sudden crash of shattering china, or the silence that followed this. But he did hear a woman’s voice ring out in a desperate appeal, and knew that it was Mary’s.

  ‘Stop — for the love of
God, stop! Hasn’t there been bloodshed enough — my cousin’s life, and the lives of those you love, too — isn’t it enough? Oh, stop, I implore you — before it’s too late!’

  ‘Hold tha noise, woman!’ One of Arkwright’s opponents shouted contemptuously. ‘Dost think we’ll listen to thee?’

  ‘But you will listen to me.’

  The clear, compelling voice sounded above all the hubbub, carrying with it the age-old authority of the Church. ‘In God’s name, I command you to cease fighting. From this moment, any man who raises his hand against another will be accursed.’

  Hands dropped to sides, and a deep silence fell. Few men there were deeply religious, yet the solemn warning struck at the instinctive fear of them all.

  They stared up at the man who sat with quiet dignity astride an old cob. He was bareheaded, his white hair gleaming in the sun: he looked to them like one of the old prophets.

  He began to preach. It was no scholarly sermon on an obscure text such as he was wont to give his congregations. This time, he spoke of their daily problems from his heart, and found a ready echo in their own.

  He spoke of the hatred and violence that had lately been abroad among them, and of the sorrowful harvest it had brought. While he talked, his listeners gradually grew in numbers, augmented by members of the crowd which was now dispersing from the mill. They had come to carry Jack in triumph to the house not caring in their high spirits that neither he nor Arkwright desired such a display. As they reached the spot, their laughter died away. Some were hushed by others: soon all stood listening to the solemn tones of that powerful voice.

  ‘I could talk to you of patience and humility, for we all have need of these Christian virtues. But since my son’s death’ — the voice wavered for a second, then regained its firmness — ‘I have come to see that there is a new spirit abroad among men that will not rest until a better world has been made for all people here below. But it is not through hatred and conflict between men and master that such a world will be built. If you would make Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land, it must be shoulder to shoulder, with each ready to give his utmost for a common cause. If both master and men will realize that they share a common humanity in God, then though there be disagreements, a way can be found to reconcile them.’

  He paused, looking about him. Everyone was motionless. He saw that Arkwright, almost exhausted, was leaning against the window frame above which the heads of some womenfolk — his own dear Mary’s among them — had appeared.

  ‘It is not an easy counsel that I give you,’ he continued. ‘It is easy to hate, and to act violently. But that is the way of a child, and ye are men. As men, then, go forward to grapple with the problems that beset you., and God be your guide. As for what has happened here today, it is best forgotten, except as a warning to you all. I call upon your employer to set you an example in the way of life I would have you follow. What say you, Mr. Arkwright? Will you agree to overlook what has taken place?’

  Arkwright suddenly found himself the focus of all eyes. Fatigued though he was, he straightened, and made his voice heard.

  ‘I will do as you ask, Vicar. There are no easy solutions to our problems, as you say. I believe that we are on the brink of an age when machines will play an increasing part in our lives, and we must learn to adapt ourselves accordingly. Strife achieves nothing: in future I and my workmen must try to talk over changes, and see what we can arrive at by agreement.’

  A prolonged cheer went up, and the crowd showed signs of breaking out into high spirits once again. But the Vicar held up a hand for silence, and a hush fell over them all.

  ‘There has been excitement enough for one day, and most of you are sorely in need of rest and quiet. Go, then, peaceably to your homes, and never forget what has been said here today. And the blessing of God Almighty go with you, and remain with you always.’

  TWENTY-ONE: RECONCILIATION

  Early in the evening of the same day, Mary was sitting alone in the Vicarage parlour. She was trying to read, but her thoughts strayed constantly from the page before her. She gave it up at last, and went to the window, gazing out abstractedly at the daffodils which had only recently come into bloom. Spring was here at last with its delicate beauty and promise of brighter days in store; but its hopeful message did not find an echo in her own heart.

  She looked up on hearing the click of the latch as the gate opened: a man entered, and began to walk to the house. Her pulse gave a sudden leap as she recognized William Arkwright. He noticed her before she had time to draw back from the window, and signalled to her.

  She went to the door, and opened it to him. Then she hesitated, uncertain whether or not to invite him inside. Her uncle was out at present, and she could not suppose that Arkwright would wish to see her, after all that had previously passed between them.

  ‘Do you wish to see my uncle?’ she asked. ‘I’m afraid he’s over at the church. I don’t quite know when he will return, but you will find him there — unless you care to wait?’

  ‘No,’ he answered, abruptly.

  ‘You won’t wait?’

  ‘Not that.’ It struck her now that he was far from being at ease himself. ‘I meant that I didn’t come to see the Vicar. I came to see you.’

  ‘Oh — ’

  ‘May I come in? We cannot very well talk here.’

  She blushed. ‘I beg your pardon. Yes, of course.’

  She showed him into the parlour, and asked him to sit down. He took a chair, but almost immediately stood up again.

  ‘I suppose you may wonder — ’ he began, then broke off. ‘I trust you feel all right after this morning’s ordeal?’ he asked, in a brisker tone. ‘Perhaps you are not yet up to visitors — should you like me to call another time?’

  ‘Oh, no! That is to say — yes, I feel perfectly all right, thank you.’

  She stole a glance at him. His face bore the marks of the violent scenes through which he had recently passed. There was a small scar on his right cheek, a plaster on his forehead, and a faint bruising round his left eye. His expression was that of a small boy paying some tiresome and acutely embarrassing call of civility.

  A sudden wave of maternal tenderness swept over Mary. No doubt he had called to ask after her health as a gesture that he wished them to part friends. She had returned home with her uncle this morning soon after the crowd had dispersed, and there had been no time to say more than goodbye. Arkwright had been too occupied with the business of setting his house to rights.

  She determined to make his mission easier.

  ‘It was good of you to call,’ she said, with more warmth in her manner. ‘But I am perfectly recovered, as you see. I trust that Mrs. Arkwright and Caroline are none the worse?’

  He shook his head. ‘They’re both resilient people — like you.’ he said. ‘Caroline told me how you managed to dispose of the fellow who tried to attack all three of you, this morning.’

  There was a faintly humorous tone in his voice.

  ‘I did not at all like it when he fell to the ground,’ said Mary, with a shudder. ‘I feared at first I had killed him. But he grabbed Caroline, and was hurting her, although she scratched him like anything — ’

  ‘I’ll wager she would!’

  ‘She was really terrified, though, and Mrs. Arkwright and I were not strong enough to fight him off. So I picked up that large vase, and hit him on the head. I hope it was not a valuable one,’ she added, as an afterthought.

  ‘It was. But don’t let that disturb you — I never could stand the sight of it.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘You can always think of something to do, can’t you? I believe you must be the most resourceful person I have ever met.’

  There seemed to be nothing to say to this, so she kept silent. He gave her an intent look.

  ‘May I ask what are your plans for the future?’

  ‘I don’t really know. I must find another post presently; but for the moment, I feel I cannot leave my uncle.’

  H
e nodded, and fell silent, staring out of the window. Mary searched her brain frantically, but could think of nothing else to say on her part.

  He turned suddenly, and faced her with a determined look.

  ‘Do you mean to marry Arthur Webster?’ he asked abruptly.

  She was taken aback. Nothing had led her to expect the question, and she felt it as an impertinence.

  ‘I have not had the honour of being asked,’ she answered, in reproving accents.

  ‘But if you were — what would you say?’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘I think that is my concern, Mr. Arkwright.’

  ‘Yes — but it’s mine, too. Do you — I must know — are you — in love with the fellow?’

  She looked at him in amazement, then she began to laugh. ‘Well! Really, I cannot imagine what business it is of yours, sir!’

  ‘Can’t you?’ His eyes held hers for a moment. ‘You must be more stupid than I think you are, then. Come — I need an answer.’

  ‘And I don’t intend to give you one. I’ve told you before that you cannot take that tone with me.’

  ‘You really are the most provoking — ’

  He broke off, and seized her by the elbows in the way he had done on the occasion of their last meeting in this room. ‘I tell you I will have an answer, if I have to shake it out of you!’

  ‘Let me go!’ She struggled to free herself. ‘You are too ready to lay your hands on me, and I dislike it excessively!’

  ‘You may have to accustom yourself to it,’ he said, grimly, but he released her.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, but this was by now not strictly true.

  ‘No? Well, we’ll let that pass for the moment. Mary, I want you to listen to me — seriously.’

  She was finding some difficulty in breathing at a normal rate, but she appeared calm enough to his eyes.

  ‘I don’t know how to begin — I’ve no skill in this kind of thing — ’

  ‘What kind of thing?’ It was unpardonable of her, but she was teasing him.

  ‘Oh, damn it all!’ He gave an impatient gesture. ‘Listen — before you came to Liversedge, I was alone. I had my work, and I had nothing else — it occupied all my thoughts, and I could share my responsibilities with no one else. I told you this once before, recollect.’