The Adventures of Tom Leigh (11 page)

“Tom Leigh, th'art either the daftest or the unluckiest boy I ever did encounter,” said Mr. Gledhill, his expression softening somewhat. “Art sure, now, that tha wert not trying to break thy indentures and run away?”

“I am sure, Mr. Gledhill,” said I firmly. “Where should I run to, in any case?”

“Well, there is that, to be sure,” said Mr. Gledhill doubtfully.

“He were lying on wool on wagon,” said the ostler with emphasis.

“I thank thee for thy good witness, friend,” said I to him,
“and I wish I could reward thee, but in truth I have nothing to give.”

“Well—you had better ride pillion with me,” said Mr. Gledhill in a kinder tone. “Find us a cushion, ostler. Here's for thy trouble.”

So through the fading evening light I rode pillion behind Mr. Gledhill. It was dark when we reached Barseland; Jeremy was in Mr. Gledhill's stable, unharnessing the horse by candlelight.

“Why, Tom Leigh!” he exclaimed in a tone of pretended concern as we entered. “Thank God you are safe! Whatever happened you, lad? Why did you not keep our meeting-time, Tom? I went all over town seeking you!”

“Tom says he lay on the wool sacks on the wagon and fell asleep,” said Mr. Gledhill drily.

“He weren't there when I came to t'wagon,” said Jeremy, shaking his head.

“The ostler saw him there.”

“Where did you find him, Mester Gledhill?”

“In a dark corner of the Old Cock stable. It was only by chance we found him. I needed a new lash to my whip and they hang there.”

“Why did you go there, Tom lad?”

“I did not go there,” said I stiffly.

“How did you get there, then?”

I was about to answer roughly: “You tell me!” when I bethought myself that I had the dark mile to Upper High Royd to walk, alone in his company, so I hung my head and said: “I do not know.”

“Well, be off with you. I'm sick of the pair of you. Take Mr. Firth's wool, Jeremy,” said Mr. Gledhill.

Jeremy took the pack on his back with my assistance.

“As for you, Tom,” went on Mr. Gledhill, “if Mr. Firth is not in church tomorrow I shall ride up to see him and enquire into this matter.”

“Nay, what's the need, Mr. Gledhill? Why get the lad into trouble?” said Jeremy smoothly. “He's back here safe
and sound. He's never been to Halifax before, think on; he was all confused.”

“Well,” began Mr. Gledhill, hesitating. “I'll leave it for this time, Tom,” he decided, “but it'll be long before I take you to Halifax again.”

Jeremy and I went out into the dark.

“Art going to thank me for putting things straight with Mester Gledhill, Tom?” said Jeremy in his smooth sneering tone.

“I thank you, Jeremy,” said I. “I am much obliged.”

This was a lie. For I did not believe a word he said. As I helped him to push the sack of wool across his back, I had just seen straw on the shoulder of his coat. Of course, he might have gained this straw while harnessing Mr. Gledhill's horse in the Old Cock stables. But I do not know how you get straw on your shoulder when you are harnessing a horse. Now if you are dragging a sleeping boy into a heap of straw, your shoulder might easily pick up a little. Besides, across the straws on Jeremy's shoulder lay a dark wavy hair, which I knew for mine.

I was very polite to Jeremy as we climbed the stony lane to Upper High Royd, but I kept behind him, and I was very thankful that his hands were occupied holding the sack of wool. That he hated me, that all his tricks on me were deliberate, I now was sure. But why he hated me so, I could not yet fathom.

I ought to have told Mr. Firth at once the whole story of my sleeping on the wool sacks, but it was late when we reached Upper High Royd and he sent me straight up to bed—Sandy leaped up the stairs ahead of me, as he so often did, settled himself on my coverlet and mewed impatiently when I did not immediately lie down beside him.

In the morning at breakfast I offered the blue ribbon I had bought in Halifax to Gracie. Her eyes widened with pleasure, and suddenly before I knew what she was about she threw her arms about my neck and kissed me, standing on tiptoe to reach my cheek. I was much confused but somehow found I had put my arms around her—she is indeed a very sweet little girl. Mr. Firth laughed and seemed not displeased, his wife gave a thin smile, Jeremy in the background sneered as usual.

“Well now, enough, enough! You must be off to church,” said Mr. Firth.

He himself stayed at home to rest his foot, so I had no chance to speak to him alone, and in the afternoon Harry carried me off to walk with him, so again I had no opportunity; then as the day wore on it began to seem less important. I was wrong there, however.

Mr. Firth having given his foot these several days' rest, it rapidly improved, so that he soon walked without limping and was able to get his foot in a stirrup though not to use the treadle. And Josiah having finished the threshing while we were in Halifax on Saturday, on Monday we all
went back to our cloth-making business again. Jeremy finished a blue piece and Mr. Firth rode with it down to the fulling-mill, so that by Wednesday afternoon Josiah and I stretched it out on the tenters to dry. The weather was still good, clear and breezy and sunny, though a little cold at night, so the piece would be well dry by Friday morning. Mr. Firth was pleased, as in spite of the harvesting and threshing and his lame foot, Upper High Royd would have sent a piece to market every Saturday throughout the summer.

On Thursday afternoon we had a call from the pedlar. We were sitting at meat when his knock sounded, and I went to open the door. There he stood, spruce and neat as usual, with his bright green suit and his scarlet stockings.

“May I speak with Mistress Firth, if you please?” said he politely.

His pale plump face wore a look of concern.

“I'll be bound he has not brought those mittens,” thought I as I called my mistress.

But I was wrong. He laid them on the top of his tray as Mrs. Firth approached. They were certainly handsome: grey with blue diamonds in lines, and the letters M.F. in blue on the wrist. Mrs. Firth exclaimed with pleasure, and even Mr. Firth, as he came to the door to pay for them, put his hand in his pocket without much reluctance. Gracie drew one mitten over her small hand.

“Why not a pair for the young lady?” said the pedlar quickly.

“Well—can you take the measures?” said Mr. Firth. “Her hand is small, you know.”

“Certainly, certainly,” said the pedlar, producing a tape measure from his pocket. “It will be a few weeks before I can bring them, sir; I expect to be up that way next week, but then they must be specially knitted, you understand. Now let me see: the letters are G.F., I think?”

I wondered a little that he knew Gracie's name so well, but no doubt, I thought, he had heard it said last time he
called on us. He was shrewd, he missed nothing to his advantage—and even as I thought this, he gave me another instance of it. No sooner had he written down the measurements of Gracie's hand in a little book he carried than the look of concern dropped over his face like a curtain.

“But what am I about?” he said in a grieved tone. “Here am I foolishly plying my trade and forgetting my real errand.” (Aye, and you will always forget an errand till you have done your own trade, I thought.) “I was at Clough End this morning, and I grieve to tell you, Mistress Firth, that I have ill news for you.”

“My father?” cried Mrs. Firth, turning pale and clutching at her heart.

“Even so. He has a fever.”

“But why have they not sent for me?” cried Mrs. Firth.

“There is talk of sending for you tomorrow,” said the pedlar soberly. “But if I were you, mistress—” He paused.

“Yes? Yes?”

“I would go today. After all, Mr. Sykes is elderly.”

“He will be seventy come Michaelmas.”

“And being widowed—”

“Oh, Stephen, I should never have left him.”

“Nay, Meg,” muttered Mr. Firth.

“Who is nursing him? How long has he had fever?”

“On these points I am not altogether certain,” said the pedlar thoughtfully.

“I must go to him,” said Mrs. Firth with decision. “Stephen, I must go to him at once.”

“And so you shall, love,” said Mr. Firth heartily. “We'll set off now. Tom, go and saddle Bess. Put a pillion seat on her. Jeremy, if I'm not back by Friday night you must go to market yourself on Saturday. Mr. Gledhill will pass you into the hall.”

“How shall I get the piece to Halifax, master?” whined Jeremy.

“Carry it on your shoulder,” snapped Mr. Firth. “I've
fetched many a piece that way myself. Now, Meg, as to Gracie—there's no need to trail the child all that way to a house of sickness.”

“Mr. Sykes would no doubt like to have a last look at his grand-daughter,” put in the pedlar. “Not that it will be his last, we hope,” he added hastily as Mrs. Firth broke into a wail.

“She might catch the fever,” said I.

“That's true enough, Tom.”

“We can't leave her here,” wailed Mrs. Firth.

“That's certain,” agreed the pedlar.

“Mrs. Gledhill will take her for a night or two,” said Mr. Firth. “We'll leave her at Gledhill's on the way.”

“I don't want to go to Gledhill's,” cried Gracie, clinging to her father's arm.

It struck me that while I thought Mrs. Firth's devotion to her father rather foolish, Gracie's devotion to
her
father seemed natural. Mrs. Firth must have been a child once, I thought, surprised.

“Now, no silly work, Gracie,” said Mr. Firth firmly. “Run off and help your mother to collect night-gear and that.”

“Can I help at all?” offered the pedlar.

“No, thankee. I'm obliged to you for the message,” said Mr. Firth, giving him a florin.

“Then I'll be on my way. May I express the hope that you will find Mr. Sykes less ill than you fear,” said the pedlar.

He bowed politely and withdrew. We could see his scarlet stockings twinkling down the lane.

For the next half-hour there was a great bustle. Mrs. Firth was busy upstairs about clean linen for herself and Gracie; Mr. Firth changed into his market clothes and gave Jeremy instructions enough to last for a month. He hurried out to the tenters and felt the piece there.

“The weather's set fine for the night, I reckon,” he said. “So you can leave the cloth out till morning, just to finish
it off drying and stretching, like. Of course if the weather should change, bring it in.”

“I will, master,” said Jeremy obsequiously.

Meanwhile, I saddled Bess and brought her to the door.

“Hurry, Meg, hurry,” cried Mr. Firth impatiently, pacing up and down the yard. “'Twill be dark before we reach Glough End if you don't make haste.”

This was true enough, for we were now in September, the sun would set about half-past six and to call at Mr. Gledhill's house in Barseland would take them a good twenty minutes out of their way, for he lived on the far side of the hill, facing towards Halifax.

At last they were off, Mrs. Firth riding Bess with Gracie pillion behind, and her husband leading the mare.

I felt downhearted as I saw them vanish round the turn of the lane, for the thought of spending some days alone with Jeremy was not agreeable to me. Sandy, who was lying on the wall in his usual sunny corner, seemed to feel the same; he turned his head and watched them with unusual attention, flicking the end of his tail, which hung over the wall, back and forth in a disturbed and dissatisfied fashion, and when I went over to have a word with him he gazed up at me from his great green eyes with an anxious pleading look and uttered a faint mew.

“Never mind, Sandy,” said I, stroking his head. “She'll come back soon.”

For it was Gracie to whom he gave his love—if indeed a cat can truly love anyone but himself; they are haughty withdrawn little animals.

“Dost mean to work today or not, Tom Leigh?” called Jeremy from the porch. “Just let me know.”

However, Jeremy was very pleasant for the rest of the afternoon. While he was weaving he was silent, for the clack of the shuttle makes it difficult to hear voices, but when we paused for our drinking he became quite talkative, telling me all about Mrs. Firth's father and Clough End.

“No wonder she went there quick when she thought he was dying,” he said. “She's his only daughter, his heiress, tha knows. She was after her own.”

This seemed to me very unjust, for Mrs. Firth's concern for her father most clearly sprang from affection. But I said nothing, not wanting to provoke him, and he went on:

“It's a big place, is Glough End. They weave four or five pieces a week, and finish them themselves—raise them and crop them and all that.”

“I know nothing of that end of cloth-making,” said I.

“Tha knows nowt about owt, far as I can see,” said Jeremy. “Sithee—wouldst like to try thy hand at weaving, Tom?”

“Not while Mr. Firth's away,” said I.

“Afraid of breaking an end?” sneered Jeremy.

I said nothing, and after a moment he recovered his temper, and went on about Mr. Sykes.

“If he should die,” he said, “Meg Firth would inherit Clough End, and she and Stephen would likely go and live there. How wouldst like that, eh, Tom?”

“I don't know,” I said.

For indeed I was perplexed. To see a new place is always attractive, and in a bustling big house such as Clough End sounded to be, there might be other apprentices and I should be less lonely. But when I thought of leaving Upper High Royd, to my surprise I found my heart sink. I had grown fond of the place, the house and the beck and the trough, and Bess and Daisy and Sandy, and the heather moorland and the strong winds and the great hills rolling around. I did not wish to say anything to Jeremy about this, however; he would only sneer.