The Willow Weaver, page 21
‘Oh, poor Rosie,’ Eliza murmured, her own predicament fading by comparison.
‘She’s a good kid and bright too, but even after what that scum tried, she still has, well let’s say, romantic delusions. Sure a handsome young knight will gallop in on his white charger and carry her away to the land of happy ever after.’
‘Hmm,’ Eliza muttered. Having recently experienced what men could be like, handsome or not, she vowed never to become involved with one again.
‘Precisely, I can see you are of the same opinion as me,’ Flo said, giving her a knowing look. ‘So, are you prepared to keep a look out for young Rosie?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Eliza told her, pleased to feel she could be of use.
‘You’ll do,’ Flo said, happy with her scrutiny. ‘You’re welcome to bunk in with the girls if you think you can bear it.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Eliza cried, relieved to have somewhere to stay.
‘Same rent as the others, which is half your weekly wage. In return you get your bed, two meals and a snap box each day, and we all muck in with the chores on Sunday. Some say it’s the day of rest, but for us workers it’s the only time we can get anything done,’ she said, looking up as the door opened. ‘Right girls, take Eliza upstairs and show her where she’s sleeping. That’s if she can get any with you yacking on half the night.’
Whooping with glee, they ran up the stairs and threw open one of the two doors. Eliza stared around the compact space, her heart sinking. Where would she sleep, for there were only two beds, one on each side of the room. Seeing her puzzled look, Rosie bent and slid another from underneath one of them.
‘Never seen a truckle bed before?’ she asked. ‘You can put your things in the bottom drawer of the chest then your bag can go underneath Jennie’s bed.’ Eliza unpacked her few remaining clothes along with the amber comb and purse.
Ten minutes later, with Eliza’s bed made up and her things stowed away, they took a satisfied look around.
‘I reckon we’ll manage just fine,’ Rosie said. ‘Now we’ll go outside and show you the privy. We keep a bucket there for collecting our wee cos we get paid extra for it.’
‘Hang on a tick,’ Jenny grinned, standing over her bed and lifting up her blouse. To Eliza’s surprise a pile of wool fibres floated down onto the blanket. ‘Phew that’s better. Itching me like mad all afternoon that has. Been on the rover today and the bloomin’ wool kept breaking.’
‘But why did you bring it home?’ Eliza asked.
‘Easy peasy. We get an allowance for wastage see. Any more and our money’s docked. Can’t afford that,’ she sniffed. ‘Besides it makes nice stuffing for pillows,’ she winked, packing the wool into hers. ‘Don’t worry, we all do it, you just have to be careful old Beer doesn’t catch you. And it’s not our fault if they’ve bought in cheap fleece from further up country, is it? Best not to mention it to Flo though. She might be no angel, but she’s always trying to instil a sense of honesty into us.’
That night as she lay in bed listening to the girls’ gentle snores, Eliza reflected back over the day. She knew she’d been fortunate to secure a job, even if it did mean cutting off lumps of sheep dung and goodness knows what. She liked it here in this little house as well, even if it was something of a squash. Flo was a hoot yet for all her witty ways, had a heart of gold. Rosie was a darling and Jenny good fun, if somewhat mischievous. The rent was manageable and with judicious economy, would enable her to save enough to have her boots resoled.
It was a long way from the glamorous façade of Lavender House and she’d surely be safe here in the Devonshire countryside.
Chapter 28
Although the girls were friendly and Flo had made her welcome, Eliza found the work at the mill monotonous. It had been three weeks since she’d arrived, yet she still couldn’t get used to the arid, airless room with the constant clouds of fluff that rose from the grading and sorting which caught in her throat and made her eyes itch.
It was a far cry from the moist, spring air on Sedge Moor, and as she mindlessly cut the tags from fleece after fleece, her thoughts turned to home and days gone by. Her gramfer sowing the new season’s sets, her weaving the willow. It might have been cold in the workshop at times, but at least she’d had a mat to sit on rather than this hard, bare floor. Suddenly, she envied Clem, out in the fresh air plying his trade along the River Parrett and rhynes in his trow. Straight as a die Clem, so different from the toffs with their wheeling and dealing ways. Was he walking out with Bethan now? A pang cut through her at the thought. As for Theo, she didn’t suppose for one moment he had called by. Surprisingly, she found she hardly cared now. The way he’d left her to face her gramfer that day at the cott when he’d come to meet him and ask permission to walk out with her, should have alerted her to the fact he shied away from the difficult things in life. To think she’d had to come away to appreciate all she’d had back home.
But now Gramfer was dead and his beloved withy beds along with the only home she’d ever known, belonged to someone else now. Knowing he’d had to sell them because of her actions filled her with remorse, and yet she couldn’t help wondering who’d bought them. So much had happened and all she could do was learn from her mistakes, she thought, tossing yet another trimmed fleece onto the pile. Suddenly, a shadow loomed, making her jump.
‘Yer meant to be wool pickin’ not bloomin’ wool gatherin’.’ The rough voice of Beer bellowed, his eyes narrowing as he glared down at her. ‘I’ve bin keepin’ me eye on yer, my girl, and if yer don’t buck up yer be down road. Understand?’
‘Yes, Mr Beer,’ she replied, turning back to her work and making an effort to cut off the tags even faster. The man’s rough voice and uncertain temper kept them all in fear of their jobs, but it did seem he’d taken a particular dislike to her, seeking the slightest excuse to berate and belittle her.
With Rosie recently having been moved onto the acid baths, Eliza had found herself shifted to the other end of the room. Although it was good to be away from Sal and her constant chanting, it meant she was trapped in the corner and at the full mercy of the man’s moods. As he strode away, Rosie shot her a sympathetic look. She was flushed as red as her name from all the stirring with the huge paddle. It was a thankless job that required being careful, for the strong solution that scoured the dirt, grease and dried sweat from the fleece could also strip human skin. Eliza shuddered, knowing that would be her next task.
When the bell finally rang at noon, ignoring her cramped limbs, she jumped thankfully to her feet. Twenty minutes wasn’t long and she didn’t intend wasting a moment. Being moved meant Rosie was now on the second shift, and the girl shrugged ruefully as Eliza passed by. Apparently, work didn’t stop unless there was a malfunction of the machines or someone got caught up in one, and the remaining operatives had to cover three or more machines each throughout the breaks. Seemingly, the motto, “Minimum Waste, Maximum Profit” applied to everything here, she thought as she took herself outside and gulped in the fresh air.
Mindful of Mrs Tucker’s instruction and ignoring Jenny’s taunting, she’d taken to eating her noon time snack in the yard. Having heard that merchants sometimes visited, Eliza felt safer in the shelter the terrace afforded, although it meant vying for a space to relax on the grass.
‘Anyone sitting here?’ a voice asked. She looked up to see a young man smiling down at her. His twinkling blue eyes and cheeky grin made a change from the dour expressions of the other mill men and she found herself smiling back.
‘Not that I can see,’ she quipped, making a pretence of checking the space beside her.
‘Well there is now,’ he smiled, hunkering down beside her then holding out a hand politely. ‘Peter.’
‘Eliza,’ she replied, taking it briefly.
‘Well Eliza, care to share half a mutton butty?’
‘Only if you agree to share my jam one.’ Eliza couldn’t believe her luck when he nodded. A scraping of jam hardly compared to mutton. However, he was holding out a neatly cut sandwich and gave another cheeky grin when the swap was made.
They sat savouring their food in contented silence, watching the squeaking wheel going around, the splash of the water as its cages dipped in and out.
‘Well, that’ll be me working late tonight,’ Peter grimaced. ‘Grange will have apoplexy if he hears the wheel whining like that. I’m an engineer, well trainee one at any rate. Can’t wait to get a look at all those spinning machines and looms. The boss says they need servicing now but Grange won’t have anything interfering with production.’
‘It sounds more interesting than cutting dirt off fleeces,’ Eliza told him.
‘All jobs have their challenges,’ he sympathized. ‘If you’re in the cutting shed you can’t have been here long.’
‘Three weeks going on three years. How long have you worked here?’ she asked, ignoring the curious looks of the people sitting nearby.
‘Long enough to know I can’t do anything until the machines stop tonight. The owner’s a good man who insists all his mills be self-sufficient in repairs but Grange has his own ideas about saving money. Still that wheel will have to be fixed tonight before the weather changes,’ he said, staring anxiously up at the sky.
‘But …’ she began, only to be interrupted by the jangling of the bell. ‘Oh, not already surely,’ she groaned, getting reluctantly to her feet.
‘No rest for the reprehensible, as my nan always said.’ He gave a rueful look. ‘Nice to have met you Eliza. Make sure you wrap up tomorrow, there’ll be a sharp frost.’
‘Oh, er yes, thank you,’ she murmured, joining the press of workers pushing their way into the mill. ‘Do you really think …’ she began, but he’d already gone. She stared up at the sky but it was buried by the sea of faces as she was swept inside.
‘A word Priddle.’ The booming voice of the foreman carried across the room as she made her way inside. His bushy brows were knotted together as he stood, hands on hips, glaring at her. High above she could see Grange staring down from his office and understood what the woman had meant about it being his eyrie.
‘Yes, Mr Beer?’ she asked, trying to sound polite when all she wanted was to put her tongue out at the disagreeable man.
‘You’ve bin seen talkin’ to a higher.’
‘Pardon?’
‘There are no pardons, Missy. A common mill worker like you doesn’t mix with the skilled workers, do I make myself clear? Now get back to work and I mean work, not the half-hearted attempts you’ve bin makin’.’
‘Old Beer’s really got it in for Eliza,’ Rosie told Flo as they sat eating their supper of leftover rabbit stew eked out with crusts of bread. ‘He gave her a right telling off for talking to one of the trainee engineers today.’
‘Oh?’ Flo said, frowning at Eliza.
‘He said common mill workers like me didn’t mix with skilled ones,’ Eliza sighed.
‘Since when?’ Jen cried. ‘Look, the mill owner only cares about profit and wouldn’t give a fig who talks to who as long as his machines keep turning. I mean, we know they all need servicing but that’s got to wait until the mill closes for Culme Cease, and that’s weeks away,’ she said, pulling a face.
‘Maybe you should be careful who you are seen talking to, though Eliza,’ Flo said thoughtfully. ‘Don’t fan the flames, so to speak.’
‘But why should she have to worry?’ Jen spluttered. ‘It’s bad enough we have to keep out of the way of visiting merchants cos they pay for the cloth we make. Let’s face it, if they did deign to talk to us it would only be cos they was feeling frisky and thought they was in with a chance, if you get my meaning.’
‘I do, my girl, and you’d do well to remember that you’ve already been given a chance. Or have you forgotten the workhouse?’ Flo asked, giving her one of her level looks.
‘Yeah, sorry Flo,’ she murmured, turning her attention back to her food.
‘It does sound like Beer’s looking for any excuse to pick on you,’ the older woman said, turning back to Eliza. ‘Always been a nasty bit of work that one, but he’s got much worse since Mrs Tucker was made overseer instead of him. Thinks women should know their place. You’d best be careful though.’
Next morning, just as Peter had predicted, they stepped outside the front door to be greeted by a world of white.
‘Bit of a shock after all that sunshine,’ Jenny moaned, pulling her shawl tighter round her shoulders.
‘Perhaps the acid baths will be iced over,’ Rosie said hopefully, her breath spiralling in the cold air.
‘Wee doesn’t freeze stupid,’ Jenny told her. ‘Blimey I’m not going to be able to feel my fingers let alone thread the machines,’ she grimaced, blowing on them in an effort to get them warm.
‘You needs some fittens,’ Eliza replied.
‘Some what?’ they chorused.
‘Fingerless mittens. You can wear them while you work. I used to knit them back home,’ Eliza explained.
‘Never heard of them,’ Jenny muttered. ‘And where exactly is home? Despite us telling you all about our lives, you still haven’t explained how you came to be here.’ Eliza looked away from the girl’s prying gaze. It was true, she had been evasive but that was because she was trying to forget her time at Lavender House. She might not have been there long, but it had left a lasting impression.
‘I could always make you some,’ she offered, in an effort to deflect the subject. ‘Always supposing we can get hold of some wool.’ Realizing what she’d said, they burst out laughing, which drew curious looks from the other workers stamping their way to work through the crunchy frost. It was hard to think that the lengthy processes they carried out led to the spinning of wool.
As the bell began its insistent clanging, forgetting the slippery path beneath their feet, they automatically hastened their steps. Eliza noticed that the ice in the leat had been broken and the wheel was turning smoothly. She was pleased Peter had been able to carry out his work. He’d seemed a friendly young man and she’d enjoyed chatting with him.
Then she was entering the mill and as she joined the queue to clock on, her heart sank. The thought of spending another day sitting on the cold floor filled her with dread. She was bone weary, having spent a restless night going back over the foreman’s warnings, trying to pinpoint any reason for him singling her out. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. Her boots leaked and desperately needed mending. And now she needed to purchase wool to make the fittens she’d promised her new friends.
‘Where do you think you’re going you two?’ As the harsh voice of Beer boomed down the steps, Eliza and Rosie stopped and stared at one another.
‘Don’t you listen to anything?’ Although he addressed them both, his eyes bored into Eliza. ‘I told you last night that we’ve got a new order and you’re being moved. So, you, upstairs to the spinning frame,’ he barked, waving Rosie away. ‘And you Priddle, can earn your living by stirring the fleeces in the bath. Make sure you put your back into it or it will be my duty to inform Mr Grange that you have failed to make the grade – again.’ He strode away, leaving her in no doubt as to his meaning.
As she began loading the heavy fleeces into the tank, the smell of urine and other muck made her retch.
‘Think of bread and jam,’ Joe shouted, as he went by. He was pushing a wicker trolley laden with the cleaned wool and could hardly see over the top, but seemed happy enough. Giving him a nod, she picked up the enormous paddle and began stirring the sodden fleece. Round and round, up and down.
‘I said put your back into it Priddle.’ She heard the foreman yell but didn’t look up. She couldn’t fathom out why he’d singled her out, but during the long, wakeful night, had come to the conclusion that if she kept her head down, she might minimize his unwelcome attentions. Seeing a lump of fleece sticking up from the liquid, she imagined it was Beer’s head and began whacking it as hard as she could.
It was so exhilarating, she got quite carried away until she saw Beer bearing down on her again.
‘You’re meant to be taking that seriously, not enjoying yourself,’ he growled. Whether it was the unfairness or from lack of sleep, Eliza turned to him, eyes narrowed.
‘I work hard Mr Beer and all you do is pick on me. Well, I’ve had enough,’ she cried, throwing down her paddle.
‘And I’ve had enough of your high-handed attitude, Priddle,’ he bellowed, making sure everyone could hear him above the noise. ‘If we hadn’t won this important order, you’d be down the road. Get yourself over to the willowing machine. I want double the usual amount of fleece untangled and ready for upstairs by six o’clock tonight. Even if that means working through your break.’
Striding over to a lady in the corner, he pointed to Eliza and she knew she was being replaced. Well, she couldn’t afford to be out of work and it would make a change working on a machine. As Rosie had said, it would be an improvement on the stench of urine. The woman operating the willower stopped as soon as Eliza approached.
‘I’m Anne and I’ll show you what to do and then I’m away upstairs.’
‘Sorry if I’m pushing you out,’ Eliza said, for the woman looked like she enjoyed what she was doing.
‘Don’t be. Got five bairns to raise so the extra money will be welcome. Now, you need to feed the fleece through the machine like this to untangle the wool. Mind your fingers though, this one has a tendency to jump and the metal teeth are sharp as tacks.’ As the fleece moved through the machine, she grimaced. ‘As you can see it also removes any impurities left from the scouring while it’s at it.’
‘Wouldn’t have thought anything could survive that mixture,’ Eliza said. As she nodded her head towards the tank she’d just left, she saw her place had already been filled by the large lady who didn’t seem to mind the stench at all.
‘Old Betty’s used to mucking out stables so she’s used to odious smells,’ Anne said, following her glance. ‘I see they’ve pulled in labour from the workhouse too,’ she added, gesturing over to the grading and sorting area with her spare hand. Eliza saw two young girls hardly more than five or six years of age, crouching down with huge shears almost bigger than they were.
