It seemed there was to be a public auction that day, not only of a range of cotton goods but of textile machinery which was apparently being viewed prior to the auction later in the morning. As the two women sauntered here and there, quite enjoying themselves now that they seemed to have their bearings and nobody had interfered with them, the scenes about them began to take on a frenzied atmosphere. Warehousemen scrambled up the stairs with rolls of material on their shoulders, placing them on a clean white cloth spread over the floor of the top room before racing down again to fetch another. Nancy and Jennet were roughly pushed to one side and it began to be obvious why the customers had looked so astounded, for this was no place for the niceties shown by gentlemen to ladies. They were pressed back against the wall and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they extricated themselves and fled down the stairs to the floor on which the offices were situated. It was quieter here and for a moment they leaned against a wall and fanned themselves.
“Well, it’s no good expecting anyone to ask us what we want to buy, Jennet, because they’re not going to do it. It’s just a free-for-all and unless we press ourselves into it we shall go home empty-handed. If only there was some likely employee from whom we could find out . . . well, where to start.”
They were in a relatively quiet corridor off which there were several doors, splendid highly polished mahogany doors. After the frenzy of the upper floors it was almost silent down here, just the muted sound of voices beyond the doors, presumably those of the clerks, the office staff, the managers and whoever helped to run this vast enterprise, for surely it must have many employees.
“Well, I don’t think we’re going to get what we want down here, do you?” Nancy murmured, straightening up from the wall against which she had been leaning. “The action is on the top floor so I suppose we’d better get up to it. Let’s hope all the best lengths have not already been sold while we’ve been dithering down here.”
Jennet squared her narrow shoulders and lifted her head as though she were about to march into battle. “You’re right, Nancy, though I must admit the notion of forcing my way back into that room among all those men fills me with alarm.”
“What can they do to us, love? A few shoves won’t hurt us and if they do shove we must just learn to shove back.”
They linked arms and though Jennet’s stride was shorter than Nancy’s she kept up with her, skimming along the corridor and up the several flights of stairs that led to the top floor. It was just as frantic as it had been before, with men elbowing one another aside to get their hands on pieces as they were brought up, so frantic that, as Jennet said, one could be forgiven for thinking that what was on sale was the last cotton ever to come off a spinning frame.
They circled the room, looking for a way into the fray but these men were here on business; if the two women were also buying they must take their chances with the rest of them. They shouldn’t be here, the men’s disapproving expressions said, and if they were jostled then it was their own fault.
But Nancy Brody had not come this far only to have her dream of success pushed to one side by a bunch of hooligans, for that was how she saw them and she’d dealt with enough of those in her time. They could not be worse than the guttersnipes in Church Court who she had dispersed with many a sharp word and even a clout or two round a filthy ear. If she had to clout the ear of an impertinent fellow here, then clout it she would and be damned to them!
“Excuse me,” she told two of them in a firm voice. They stood shoulder to shoulder and as she tapped them on their smooth broadcloth backs with a peremptory hand they turned and parted to stare in amazement.
“Thank you, you are most kind,” she told them, smiling her most dazzling smile. Dragging Jennet with her through the small gap she forced her way to the front of the circle and, ignoring those about her who muttered ominously, as she did those who clustered about the stalls at the market, she took off her glove, bent down and lifted the end of a roll of creamy cotton, fingering it knowledgeably.
“Feel this, Jennet,” she told her bemused friend. “This seems of good quality. What d’you think?”
“I agree. Has this come off the spinning frames at Monarch, do you think?”
“I suppose so, but let’s not decide on the first we see. There are other pieces that look suitable and there may be a difference in price. We must find out all we can before we buy. A farthing saved, you know the saying.”
Now that they were in the inner circle of the heaving, pushing, shouting, gesticulating men they found it easier to move round the room, watched with slack-jawed astonishment by the men who had not at first noticed them. They seemed to want to say or do something, perhaps eject these interlopers, but as yet they were unsure how to go about it. It was quite unprecedented. They even stood back to allow the two females to circulate more freely and Nancy smiled at them which further increased their dismay. A woman in their midst was mystery enough, but a well-dressed woman of great loveliness, a woman with a smile that they would have liked to respond to, a smile that asked for and deserved some show of gentlemanly attention was very pleasant, but this was neither the time nor the place and they resented it fiercely. And not just one woman, but two, though the second was hardly worth a glance she was so plain and childlike. Ladies did go about in pairs, for it was only proper, but they certainly didn’t wander about a male-dominated warehouse, nor were they so bold and presumptuous as the lovelier of the two was. She seemed to find nothing strange in being among men of business and was busy studying lengths of cotton, pointing out this and that to her companion as though she had as much right to be here as they did. Something should be done, for how could business be transacted when all were distracted by this phenomenon.
A tap on Nancy’s arm, polite, respectful but determined, turned her to face a large man dressed in a clean white shirt, a neatly knotted tie and dark trousers over which he wore a green canvas apron tied at his back.
“Madam,” he said in a low voice, “you really should not be here, you know. These gentlemen are here to do business and it is no place for a lady. I must ask you, and your companion,” turning to nod politely at Jennet, “to come with me.”
“I’m sorry, but we have not completed
our
business as yet. Perhaps you could tell me the prices.”
“Madam! I must repeat, I cannot allow . . .”
“Yes?”
“This is a warehouse, madam, and these gentlemen are here to buy cotton goods and—”
“As I am, sir, so if you would just tell me to whom I should address my needs I will—”
“No, madam, you will not. This is not the way to do business.”
“Then tell me what is. I am a customer with cash in my pocket who wishes to purchase your goods. Are you telling me that because I am female you will not sell them to me?”
He had taken them both by the arm by now, mortified, angry, for all about him business had come to a standstill as the gentlemen, all dressed in shades of dark grey and white and wearing silk top hats, smiled and dug one another in the ribs at the spectacle. Their own indignation was gone now, since the two intruders were being dealt with and they were prepared to enjoy the fun.
“Take your hands off me, you impudent scoundrel,” Jennet was saying, proving she was not the little mouse they had first thought her. “There is absolutely no need for violence. We are doing no harm.”
“Perhaps not, madam, but this is not the place for you. If you wish to buy cotton goods or a length or two of fustian or jaconet then I suggest you go to one of the drapers in Deansgate or Market Street. This is a wholesale warehouse.”
“We wish to buy
wholesale
, you fool, and if you don’t let go of my arm and that of my friend I shall fetch a constable.”
Nancy’s face had turned a glowing pink and there were not a few gentlemen who conjectured on how pleasant it would be to make her acquaintance, though in different circumstances.
“How dare you molest us,” she went on hotly. “
We are customers
. We have come to—”
“I don’t care
why
you’ve come, madam. This is no place for . . .”
They were almost at the door by now, for the man was strong and determined, red-faced with indignation and given a helping hand now and again by a chappie or two who did not mind putting his hand on a pretty lady, who was
not
a lady, of course, else she would not have been here.
A quiet voice in the doorway brought the three of them to a halt, for short of shoving the two women through the man who stood there, the warehouseman had no choice but to stop.
“What’s going on here, Burrows? I could hear the commotion at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mr Josh. They’re just going. What the devil they thought they were up to in the first place I don’t know.”
Expecting Mr Josh to move aside, the man took a firm grip of Nancy’s arm with one hand and with the other tackled Jennet, but neither Nancy, Jennet or Mr Josh was willing to move, or be moved, and he was forced to let them go, his face a bright scarlet, his eyes almost starting out of his head with vexation. He’d never felt such a fool in his life and left to himself without the intervention of his employer’s son would willingly have dragged these two down the stairs and thrown them into the street.
The man in the doorway was young, tall, lean, leaner than Nancy remembered, immaculately dressed in the sober suit of the businessman. His face was unsmiling. His eyes were a clear grey, almost colourless, with no expression in them that could be recognised and his well-cut lips had no hint of humour or warmth. It was a quiet face, sombre even, impassive and preoccupied, as though far greater things needed his attention than this. Nevertheless he was attending to it. Nancy was quite taken aback, not that he should have intervened, though she supposed that was natural in this man’s world into which she and Jennet had blundered, but by the dramatic change in him since she had seen him last. He didn’t look ill exactly, for he still had that sun-tinted face that spoke of outdoor pursuits but he seemed to be lifeless, as though that rather engaging . . . well, charm, she supposed she would have called it, had been squeezed out of him, leaving him empty and without substance. They had met three times before and on each occasion he had been young, as he still was; an inclination to be reckless, arrogant certainly, but with an engaging, half-hidden light-heartedness that she had found she responded to, a readiness, or so it had seemed to her, to be friendly if he was allowed. Now he looked as though he had lost a dear member of his family, grave and brooding and ready to scowl should he be displeased.
Well, it was no good dwelling on the change in him, for it was nothing to do with her. Here was a chance to get past this damned warehouseman, perhaps to overcome the vexing problem of how to obtain the material they needed, and to clear the way for further transactions. If they were not to be allowed to come to this place, or any place where cotton goods were sold, how were they to proceed with their enterprise which was just getting under way? The machines were ordered. In the cottage all the furniture except the settle had been crammed upstairs so that there was barely room to move. The two beds and Kitty’s sleeping box were jammed against the wall, the rest of their stuff – and Jennet’s – piled up about them to the ceiling and they just hoped that it would not come crashing down about their ears as they slept. Downstairs had been left empty, awaiting the arrival of the sewing-machines. As Nancy said, they must work where the warmth was, for with autumn and then winter coming on it would be too cold to work upstairs.
Nancy elbowed aside the warehouseman and, with her hand on Jennet’s arm, stepped forward haughtily while all about her men gawked and the silence was so tangible it could almost be felt.
“Mr Hayes: it is Mr Hayes, isn’t it? I wonder if my partner and I might have a word with you. This . . . this fellow,” giving the warehouseman a look of contempt, “seems to think we are up to no good.”
“And what are you up to, Miss . . .?”
“Brody. Nancy Brody and this is Jennet Williams,” turning to smile reassuringly at Jennet as though to say she must not be afraid. “We are not ‘up to’ anything, Mr Hayes, for that seems to imply dishonesty. We are here to buy cotton, that’s all, but if you would allow it I would rather discuss it where these gentlemen” – she waved her hand dismissively at the crowd of men at her back – “cannot hear my business.”
“There is nothing hidden here, Miss Brody. These are all men of integrity who are doing an honest day’s business with this firm.”
The men in question shuffled their feet and looked at one another in agreement, glad that this impudent hussy was being taken down a peg by Josh Hayes, as she deserved, but they had reckoned without Nancy Brody who, for the past six years, had moulded her own destiny which she was following and nothing,
nothing
was going to stand in her way. If she had to get down on her knees and beg this unsmiling young man for the cotton she needed, and in front of them all, she would.
“Mr Hayes, I am here for the same purpose as these gentlemen. I wish to do business with you. Are you so prosperous that you can afford to turn it away? Once your father, and all these gentlemen,” turning a passionate face to the men at her back, “began their own ventures and because they worked hard and risked everything they had they have succeeded. Won’t you allow me the same chance? I am to start . . . I’m going into business for myself in the textile trade but I must have your co-operation if I’m even to get under way. I know there are other warehouses selling what I want but I know the quality of your cotton and so I have chosen to buy it. You know where I started. Oh, yes, sir, you do, for you saw me there a year or two back and I have come some way since then. Will you stop me now?”