There was a knock on the door and Gerry came in without waiting for an answer.
“Ah, there you are. I was just telling Seaton here I was in the mill with you all afternoon yesterday. He says a carriage came to the house then.”
“You were with me all afternoon,” Gerry agreed at once.
“The carriage must have been summat to do with our Peter,” Noll added.
Ben looked at them both, eyes narrowed, certain they were lying. “Where
is
your son? I want to speak to him as well.”
“Went off to stay with friends,” Noll said promptly.
“In all that snow? I don’t believe you. And besides, he doesn’t have any friends round here.”
Ben’s expression was so dark and threatening that Noll said quickly, “Better go and fetch help from the mill, Gerry lad. Seaton’s gone mad.”
His deputy turned towards the door, as obedient as a puppet. Ben was reaching out to stop him when there was a noise from the back of the house, voices shouting and a woman screaming.
“What the hell’s that?” Noll asked. “Go and find out, Gerry.”
But before the other man could make a move, the door of the parlour burst open for a second time that day. This time a group of the mill workers pushed inside, led by a huge man whose face was so ravaged by pain and grief that it upset Ben even to see it. That was how he’d feel if anything happened to Georgie.
“Get him!” the man yelled and they all surged forward.
For once Ben found himself outnumbered and could do nothing to prevent them dragging Noll Brindley outside. When he tried to follow, he found the door barred by two men who’d stayed behind, two large men with grim expressions.
“We’ve no quarrel with you, Mr Seaton,” one of them said. “So you’ll kindly stay here while we deal with him.”
“What do you mean, deal with him?”
“Do to him what he did to them two childer this morning.”
“Explain yourselves.”
“He insisted on the little lasses cleaning the machinery while it was still running.” Great tears were pouring from the man’s eyes as he spoke and his voice stumbled and faltered as he tried not to sob. “The machinery’s not been running well since Daniel Porter left an’ today it suddenly—well, it threw out a gear an’ they were under—oh, dear lord, their hair was caught up and they were killed. Two little lasses.
Two!
I can still hear the way their screams cut off.”
Ben’s eyes filled with tears of sympathy, but he knew if there was trouble as a result of this, the men would suffer the full penalty of the law for it, not Brindley, who would claim it was just an accident. “You still can’t take matters into your own hands.”
“We can and we shall,” the other man said in a tight, bitter voice. “Someone should have stopped that sod years ago. You don’t know what a hell it is in this mill, Mr Seaton. It’s not like your place, where you treat folk fairly. But even
he
doesn’t usually send the childer under them back machines while they’re still working. I’ll give Cox that, he does keep the worst from happening when he can and . . . ” He broke off to shake his head and knuckle away a tear, but he didn’t move from the doorway.
“What are they doing to him?” Ben asked.
“Sending him to clean his own machinery—while it’s still working.”
Ben tried to push forward but they barred the way. “Don’t do it. Go and tell them to let him go.”
“Nay. He deserves it. One of them lasses was nobbut eight, for all they pretended she were ten. The poor creature only started work here last month.”
Ben walked over to the fire. “You might as well warm yourselves up while we wait.” As the men, both of whose clothing was still wet from their walk to work, moved instinctively towards the warmth, he pushed one aside so forcefully that he fell over and was out of the room before the other could stop him.
He ran through the kitchen, praying he’d be in time, but even as he started across the yard, he heard a chorus of wild shrieks and yells, with some cheers, and knew something had happened. He passed two still bodies lying on the snow, covered by a piece of canvas, but the snow was stained red under their heads. He didn’t stop, having to force himself through the crowd now.
When they saw who it was they fell silent and parted to let him through.
Gerry stepped forward to bar the way. “You’re too late, Mr Seaton. He’s killed hisself.”
Ben looked at him in shock, moved him aside and saw a bloody body lying in a tangled heap beneath the machinery.
“You couldn’t never tell Mr Brindley anything,” Gerry went on. “He allus had to know best. I telled him not to get under the machinery, but he would do it, said it was easy, said the childer must have been careless an’ he’d show ’em what was what.” He looked the other millowner in the eyes and dared him to say different.
Ben hesitated. He knew perfectly well that the operatives would have forced Noll under the machinery, knowing it would likely kill him, and that the man would never have crawled under there willingly. But when he looked round at the thin people, stunted in growth, hollow-faced from lack of good food, their clothing little better than rags, he suddenly knew he couldn’t bring down the wrath of the law on them, for all these bystanders would likely be arrested too. Whether it was right or wrong, he simply couldn’t do that to them.
He took a long, slow breath and then nodded. ‘Foolish of him, but as you say, he always thought he knew best.’
A sigh ran round the crowd.
“Well, you’d better send for the magistrate, Cox. Don’t move him. Leave everything as it is. Tell him what you told me.”
Gerry closed his eyes for a minute, swaying visibly, though whether from relief or delayed shock, Ben couldn’t tell. “Go and sit down, man,” he said more gently. “There’s nothing anyone can do till the magistrate arrives. It’s been a dreadful—um, accident.” He looked across at the big man whose daughter had been one of the two killed. “I’ll pay for a proper funeral for those poor lasses. We can give them that, at least.”
The man nodded, but like Gerry he too seemed only half aware of what was going on around him now that the moment of mindless fury had passed. He seemed near to collapse and two others came to lead him away, giving Ben nods as they passed, as if to approve of what he’d said.
As he turned to walk out, somewhere not too far away he heard a woman weeping, on and on, a hopeless dirge of grief that followed him all the way out of the mill.
He prayed that he wouldn’t lose Georgie, prayed with all his might. What had young Seaton done with her—and why?
* * * *
Peter pulled Georgie over to the bed and plonked her down on it. It had suddenly occurred to him that her screaming and shouting would sound good to those no doubt listening outside. On that thought he went and jammed the chair back under the door handle. He didn’t want any of their captors wandering in while he was in the middle of this.
When he went back to Georgie, she shrank away from him, so he sat down on the bed a little distance away from her and waited.
“What are you going to do?” she asked in the end, her breath still catching on sobs and her face full of fear.
He kept his voice low. “I’m not going to do anything to you, but we must come to an agreement, work together against them if we’re to have any hope of escaping.”
“Do you really think we can?”
“I think we must try.” He reached out and took her hand, looking at her very solemnly as he made his promise. “I won’t touch you or hurt you in any way while we’re here, Georgie. I can promise you that, at least.”
She looked down at his hand and then gave him a wobbly smile. “I know. I’m not afraid of you, Peter.”
When she didn’t pull her hand away, he felt better somehow. He might be helpless in some ways, but not in others.
Nothing could be done to start a search for Georgie and Hepzibah that day, because the snow had gathered in drifts on the moors outside the town. Ben stubbornly insisted on going out to see how far he could get and came back soaked and shivering. Patches of snow on his clothing turned to water as he stood in the kitchen and Sally scolded him softly as she got him a cup of tea and helped him out of his clothes.
“You know,” he said with a wry smile. “You and Hepzibah are so alike, you could almost be sisters.”
“I take that as a compliment, sir. And I’m praying hard that they’ll come back safely.”
“Thank you. Are Martha and Penelope here still?” At her nod, relief surged through him. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to be alone to face the horrors his imagination kept dredging up.
“They’re staying here again tonight in case they’re needed. Meg’s mother and Daniel are going to stay in our house to keep the fires burning and be on hand. Martha’s arranged all that.”
She would, he thought, but didn’t comment on her efficiency, just finished the cup of tea and went upstairs to change.
When he joined his guests in the parlour, he had to explain for a second time how deep the snow had been in parts and how impossible it was to get out of town. “I’ll try again tomorrow morning, see how far I can get.” He cast a resentful look out of the window. “If it’d just start thawing, we’d be able to get through, I’m sure. As soon as there’s even half a chance, I’ll get a search party together.”
“When you do, I’m coming with you,” Martha said, chin up, ready to do battle.
He stared at her in surprise. “It’s a kind thought, but I’m afraid you’d hold us up.”
“I don’t think so. I’m used to taking long walks in all sorts of weather and,” she hesitated and finished in a rush, “Georgie may need me if—well, if the worst has happened.”
“The answer is still no. I’m not putting your life at risk.”
“If you don’t take me, I’ll follow you. You can hardly tie me up, can you?”
He looked across at Penelope. “Will you please try to talk a little sense into your sister?”
“I’m afraid I agree with her. Georgie may indeed need a woman to look after her and Martha
is
a strong walker.”
“But her skirts will hamper both her and us. What’s more, they’ll get soaked and she’ll be chilled through before we’ve gone very far.”
So Martha said what she had been thinking. “I’m not going to wear skirts. I’m going to borrow some trousers and wear those. If you can find me an old pair of yours today, I’ll alter them.”
He opened his mouth to refuse, then thought of Georgie and changed his mind. “Some of my clothes from when I was a lad are stored in the attic. You’ll probably find something that fits you better than my present things. But if you slow us down at all, I’ll send you straight back, I warn you.”
Her eyes met his in a challenge. “You won’t need to. If I find I’m slowing you down, I’ll go back of my own accord.”
“I still don’t like it.”
She stiffened and for a moment tension crackled in the air, then she said quietly, “I’ll go and look for those clothes.”
They were in the second trunk she opened, so she and Penelope set to, adapting two pairs of his trousers, to be worn one on top of the other for warmth. They also found an old jacket, flannel underwear and shirts. When she was clad in several layers, Martha stared at herself in the mirror. He might have found her worth kissing before but he wouldn’t now. She looked and felt strange, but was nonetheless determined to carry this through.
It seemed that fate was on their side because a thaw set in during the early afternoon. The sound of dripping water alerted Penelope, who ran to the window and called out to her sister to join her.
“Thank goodness,” said Martha. “Now he can’t stop me going with them.”
* * * *
Just before dusk a man walked slowly into Tapton supporting a woman, both of them covered in snow and looking exhausted. One of the shopkeepers sent a lad running to fetch Mr Seaton and he came in time to see Hepzibah, white with cold and exhaustion, staggering along the street on a stranger’s arm.
“Georgie?” he asked at once, going to help her.
She stopped and clutched him, her face crumpling as tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know where she is, Mr Ben. They threw me out of the carriage on the moors and if I hadn’t found a farm—this is Mr Hough whose farm it was—I’d be dead.”
“Come on. We need to get you warm—both of you.” One on either side of her, the two men helped her along the street.
Inside the house Ben guided his housekeeper into the kitchen, which was always the warmest room. He sat her and her rescuer in front of the fire and didn’t question them while Sally bustled about getting a bowl of hot soup for them both then sending Nan up to warm Hepzibah’s bed.
By the time they’d finished eating, darkness was falling fast and Mr Hough was looking out of the window anxiously. “I’ll not get back tonight.”
“We’ll find you a bed here,” Ben said at once. “We’re very grateful to you for your help.”
“Thank you, Mr Seaton. But there wasn’t much I could do, not nearly as much as I’d have liked.”
Ben turned to look at his housekeeper. “Have you recovered enough to tell me exactly what happened, Hepzibah?”
She explained in detail and they all listened, not interrupting until she’d finished.
“Have you no idea who the man hidden by the cloak was?” Martha asked.
“None. But I could see that his ankles were tied up and he was wearing a gentleman’s boots. Who
are
these villains and what do they want with Miss Georgie? I’m to blame. I should have looked after her better.” She began sobbing, utterly worn out by her worries and her gruelling walk through the snow.
Penelope went to put an arm round her. “I think you’ve done everything you could, Hepzibah, including walking to Tapton on a day when most people would have stayed indoors.”
“I had to let Mr Ben know.”
“And he’s grateful, but you’re exhausted and the best place for you now is bed. Let me help you upstairs.”
Ben watched them go, sighing. “I’d hoped she could give us some hint of where to look.”
Mr Hough cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I think I can make some suggestions. You see, there aren’t many dwellings up beyond us, it’s mostly moors, and I know all the places with buildings. The other farmers wouldn’t harbour villains, I’d stake my life on it, but there are a couple of houses it might be worth checking. There’s nobody living in one of them, but it’s a sound enough building still. The other belongs to a widow who scratches a living any way she can since her husband died. My wife won’t have anything to do with her, which will tell you the sort she is. People say she has a brother in Manchester who sends her money, or she’d have gone under by now.”