Loose Leaves from Milton #5
‘And this is -er. . . Anyway, it appears she is my daughter, so I am hoping to show her off to any of the gentleman not currently married, in the hope that she will cease to clutter the place.’ Mrs Thornton did not spare the young woman a glance as she spoke.
‘Perhaps you young ladies might become better acquainted.’ This was Hannah Thornton’s bright idea of the evening, though neither Margaret nor Miss Thornton greeted it with unbounded rapture.
‘So Miss Hale, do you play the flugelhorn?’ Fanny Thornton’s voice lacked all chocolate tone, and combined a sense of monetary superiority with a petulant whine.
‘Er, no. I am not conversant with the instrument.’ Margaret blinked. What was a flugelhorn?
‘What a pity. I had hoped that you might, since we might then play duets together.’
‘Duets for two flugelhorns?’
‘Oh no, for flugelhorn and triangle. I am considered very adept upon the triangle.’
Margaret strove to find a suitable response to this statement, and looked about her desperately, hoping to find her Father. His back was turned to her, but looking at her, almost staring impertinently at her, was Mr Thornton himself, and he was coming towards her, smiling.
‘Good evening, Miss Hale. I am sorry that your mother is unable to join us this evening. I hope her indisposition is not serious.’
‘Indisposition, Mr Thornton? She suffers from her nerves, lumbago, plumbago, sago, and occasional vertigo, but other than that, and the constant coughing and pressing a handkerchief to her lips, she is quite well, I assure you.’
‘Oh. I apologise, I must have misheard.’
‘Lettice Heard is over there, behind the aspidistra, brother, trying to avoid being monopolised by Cosmo Politan. Why do you need her?’ Miss Thornton looked puzzled, and J Tea ignored her.
‘Miss Hale, when we last met . . .’ His voice faltered slightly. ‘I think there were misunderstandings.’
‘I do not think anyone called Understanding was invited tonight, were they?’ Miss Thornton’s brows drew together. Both Margaret and J Tea ignored her.
‘What I saw in the weaving shed could not be misunderstood, sir. I understand that a worker and mill-master are not equals upon the social scale - I would not expect you to have invited some to dinner - but physical mistreatment . . .’
As Miss Thornton opened her mouth to interject, J Tea took her by the shoulders and turned her away.
‘Go and entertain Mr Watson. He is all alone.’ He turned back to gaze at Miss Hale with a mixture of anger and hurt.
‘When I told you about Smoucher, you focused upon his tea abomination, but that is but half the reason. What you saw was far more than what you saw. It was the culmination of events. Smoucher had been warned three times about his illicit and deceitful sales of ‘bags of tea,’ which contained but little real tea, and also pretended that a proper cup of tea can be made without a teapot. What was more important was that he was dismissed for setting up a spirit kettle in the weaving shed, which presents a huge risk to everyone inside it. I have seen, Miss Hale, the effects of a fire in a mill, the lines of corpses, men, women and children. I have also seen how ‘bad tea’ can lay workers low for days, and when they do not work, they do not earn, just as we masters do not fulfil our order books. I admit I am a man whose temper is not mild, whose patience is far from endless, but my “violence” against Smoucher undoubtedly saved those who work for me from illness, hardship, and perhaps even death. Am I so bad a man, therefore?’
‘I - a gentleman would not put a lady in so difficult a position, Mr Thornton.’
Margaret hid behind etiquette, being unable to deny that the explanation did put a different perspective upon the incident.
‘A “gentleman” in your eyes, Miss Hale, would never be engaged in making something practical and useful, no doubt. A “gentleman” might twist the words of law to ensure the man who pays him is not convicted of a crime, but he never gets his hands dirty, or fails to leave his office by six of the clock each evening. Or are those of whom you speak the idle rich who create nothing and earn nothing by their labours? Miss Hale, if that is the case, I am proud to say I am no gentleman, but an honest Englishman who values hard work and duty.’ J Tea paused, aware that the conversation was not one suited to a dinner engagement.
‘You must forgive my forthrightness. I ought not to be speaking of serious matters to you upon such an evening. Do excuse me, for I perceive Sowerbutts is trying to attract my attention.’ With which J Tea made her a small bow and turned away.
He was thus unaware of how her cheeks suffused with colour, and that one hand went to a cheek and pressed it.
Margaret was relieved that her place at the dinner table was some way from that of Mr Thornton, although she was opposite Mr Slickson, who ogled her shamelessly throughout the soup course.
The subject that raised its head about the table by the time that desserts were presented was the near inevitable strike.
All the mill-masters were in agreement that it was manufactured by the Union to cripple the manufacture of cloth and profit.
‘I blame the man Higgins. He is too clever by half, and believes himself even more clever than that.’ Slickson, a man of little brain, shook his rather empty head. Cleverness was to be avoided.
‘Nicholas Higgins believes in what he is doing.’ Margaret spoke up, without thinking of the consequences of her words. A stunned silence followed, broken only by the sound of Mrs Hamper choking quietly upon her syllabub.
‘You are acquainted with the man Higgins? You admit to knowing a - a Worker?’
Hamper himself turned puce.
‘He does not work for me, sir. He attends Father’s lessons on Greek architecture, and I am friends with his daughter Bessy, who is ill.’
‘Idle, more like. No good, any of them.’
‘The girl Higgins works in Marlborough Mills. I have seen her name upon the lists, but I doubt she will stay long, for she has been exposed to the fine fluff in the carding room elsewhere.’ J Tea, whilst agreeing in part with Hamper, was a fair man, and he stared at Slickson.
‘Once you changed your machine to reduce the fluff, everyone shouted for it, and it costs a lot. I don’t know why we need to worry about workers’ health, for there are plenty of replacements available,’ grumbled Slickson.
‘You ought to care, sir, because they are human beings, God’s children as much as you or I.’ Margaret’s tone was scathing. ‘If Mr Thornton shows a care for his workforce, I commend it. If you all did so, perhaps there would be no need to strike.’
‘There is no need to strike, Miss Hale.’ J Tea’s voice held no anger.
‘The strike is about the sogginess of biscuits, and could be resolved. The Union takes a little from every member, and needs to prove it is still campaigning for improvements, now the latest Factory Acts have given much of what they wanted.’
‘Does not the fact that Parliament has passed the Acts show that the Union was right to seek the improvements?’ Margaret put the question more gently. ‘Surely worker and master could resolve issues over a nice cup of tea?’
‘One day, perhaps, Miss Hale, but at present the tea would be thrown back in our faces.’
‘I would not waste even cheap tea on my workers.’ Hamper sniffed, derisively.
‘No, I do not suppose you would, Hamper. Which is at least half of the - difficulty.’ J Tea was aware that Miss Hale was looking along the table towards him, and her expression was one of confusion. Let her be confused, for he was already so far gone along that path that there was no returning.
Leaf Five - Irish Breakstrike Tea
The strike commenced three days later, right after the lunchtime break, with or without soggy biscuits.
J Tea watched the workforce leave, and had a grim look to him which made his mother wonder why every young lady in Milton was not swooning over his deep, delicious grimness.
The grimness made men ‘ard in The North, ‘ard as the Pennine rock, not namby-pamby soft as in The South.
‘Shall I ring for tea? It will fortify us in our hour of trial.’
‘I think, Mother, that the trial will last a lot longer than an hour, and we had best stock up on Irish Breakfast tea, since I foresee me having to get over the Irish if the strike lasts longer than a week. Confound Hamper, Slickson and their set. They see any expense as waste, rather than encouraging healthy, hard working employees. We can hold our heads up high, Mother, when it comes to the tea and the biscuits which the Marlborough Mills workers enjoy.’
‘Then why could our workers not show loyalty and not strike?’
‘Ah Mother, that is because loyalty to the Union, or fear of disloyalty, keeps them alongside the “One out, all out” brigade.’
‘Hmmm.’ It was a very stern and repressive ‘Hmmm.’
Meanwhile, in Scotland Yard deductions were being made, and not from the housekeeping.
Dixon was looking permanently worried and Mrs Hale was to be found in a recumbent posture during most of the daylight hours as well as night time.
This, along with the discovery that Dr Donal Duckworth was making regular visits, led Margaret to the unhappy realisation that her mother was not a well woman.
The strike meant little to Margaret, beyond the gradual increase of underfed children who regarded her most soulfully until she parted with a penny for their grubby palms as the weeks became a month.
Dr Duckworth was no quack, but a highly regarded medical practitioner, and when he suggested that Mrs Hale’s mind might be given relief by a visit of ‘tea and sympathy’ from a lady of her own age, Margaret immediately thought of the only other lady with whom her parent had had contact.