Jabez Clegg a box of colours to-morrow. We are sadly in want of fresh
patterns, and I think he can make them;” and Mr. Ashton took a large
pinch of snuff on the strength of his discovery.
And Jabez, for the first time in his life the possessor of paints and
brushes, became valuable to his master.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.
IN THE WAREHOUSE.
Mutability is the epitaph of worlds. Change alone is changeless. People
drop out of the history of a life as of a land, though their work or
their influence remains. A passing word may suffice to dismiss such
from our pages.
The Reverend John Gresswell had been taken by Death from the Chetham
College school-room before more than half the term of Jabez Clegg’s
pupilage had run. Dr. Stone’s resignation of his librarianship followed
close on his discovery of the half-drowned boy on the dairy-steps.
After a long engagement with a young lady who refused many eligible
offers, and withstood much parental persuasion for his sake, he—the
curate of St. John’s Church—accepted the first vacant living in the
gift of the college whereof he was fellow. A bridal closed their almost
Jacob’s courtship, and the constant couple retired to the seclusion
of Wooton Rivers, where his learning and eloquence had seldom more
appreciative auditory than smock-frocked Wiltshire rustics and their
families.
About the same time, or not long after, old Brookes was missed from
the Packhorse, and the Ring-o’-Bells, and the Apple-Tree, and the Sun
Inn—the breeches-maker and his neighbours ceased to hear his foul and
offensive maunderings and imprecations as he staggered past to his
son’s home, there to test _his_ endurance. He had gone home to his
mother-earth, sober and silent for evermore. And Parson Brookes, left
to his books and his pigeons, sent in his resignation, and the Grammar
School knew him no more as a master. So the boys felt themselves free
to take greater liberties with him than ever, and kept his hot blood
for ever on the simmer.
As all these changes preceded the change which converted Jabez from
a Blue-coat boy into Mr. Ashton’s apprentice, so were they anterior
to the changes wrought by war in the homes of the Chadwicks and the
Cleggs—changes differing even more widely than did the two homes.
Poverty had made sad havoc amongst Simon Clegg’s household goods; but
Tom Hulme had not come home empty-handed, and soon their furniture came
back, or was replaced, and the three rooms brightened up wonderfully.
Though Simon’s flowers brought pence to his pocket as well as the other
produce of his garden, he had always a spare posy for the broken jug
on window-sill or mantelshelf; and Bess, full-hearted if not full of
work, sent her voice quivering through that unmusical yard in songs of
gladness and rejoicing.
Very little fresh wooing was necessary. To people who had been so
stinted as they in common with others had been, Tom’s pension seemed
more than it was; and no sooner was he able to discard his sling than
he talked of immediate marriage, and was wonderfully sanguine about
obtaining work as soon as his left arm regained its old power—which
it never did. It was no use setting up a loom; he could no longer
throw the shuttle back. He would have to seek some other employment.
But thousands of other men were seeking employment too—men with the
full use of all their limbs—men who had not disqualified themselves
for peaceful arts by “going soldiering;” and Tom Hulme stood little
chance. Mr. Clough would have taken him on as a timekeeper, but lack of
penmanship was a barrier in the way.
Lamenting this in the presence of Jabez, the youth offered to be his
instructor; and with the permission of Mr. Ashton, who granted leave
of absence, set him copies and gave him lessons on Sunday afternoons,
at first on an old slate, to save the cost of paper, which was dear.
And then, at Mr. Ashton’s suggestion, Jabez superadded arithmetic, thus
keeping himself in practice, besides helping one dear to those who had
helped him.
Of course, a weekly or fortnightly lesson was not much; but the
disabled soldier was a persevering pupil, and brought a clear head and
an eager desire to his task. The maintenance of a better home for Bess
depended on it.
About this time, a matter transpired at the Ashtons’ which had a
material influence on the fortunes of the Cleggs. Though the house of
Mr. Ashton was in Mosley Street, the premises extended as far as Back
Mosley Street, where was the warehouse door. The workpeople entered at
a side door under a gateway which led to the stable, gig-house, and
courtyard between house and warehouse, guarded by the black retriever,
Nelson.
You may look in vain for house and warehouse now. A magnificent block
of stone warehouses, having threefold frontage, occupies the site.
More than once, Jabez Clegg, frequently entrusted with outdoor business
requiring promptitude and accuracy, came upon Kit Townley, and one or
other of the tassel-makers or fringe weavers, in close conference under
the dim gateway at closing-time on Saturdays, or in the still darker
doorway at the stair-foot of the workmen’s entrance. The first time
they moved aside to let him pass, afterwards they separated hastily;
but not before Jabez, who had quick ears, caught the chink of money as
it passed from one to the other.
On the first of these occasions, his attention was barely arrested;
it was the repetition and the avoidance which struck him with its air
of secrecy, and set him pondering what business his fellow-apprentice
could have with the hands out of proper place and time. He knew him to
be not over-scrupulous. He had seen him at Knott-Mill Fair and Dirt
Fair (so called from its being held in muddy November), or Kersall
Moor Races, with more money to spend in pop, nuts, and ginger-bread,
shows and merry-go-rounds, flying boats and flying boxes, fighting
cocks and fighting men, than he could possibly have saved out of the
sum his father allowed him for pocket-money, even if he had been of the
saving kind; and, coupling all these things together, Jabez was far
from satisfied. He was aware that of late years stock-taking had been
productive of much uneasiness to both Mr. and Mrs. Ashton. There were
deficiences of raw material in more than one department, for which it
was impossible to account, save that the quantity accredited to “waste”
was far out of reasonable proportion.
Mr. Ashton, suspecting systematic peculation or embezzlement (of which
many masters were complaining), had privately communicated with Joseph
Nadin, the deputy constable, a gnarled graft from Bow Street, who bore
the official character of extraordinary vigilance and smartness. He
was supposed to set a watch on workpeople and others, but nothing came
to light. Perhaps he was too busy manufacturing political offences,
or hunting down political offenders, to look after the interests of
private manufacturers. Sure it is that silk, worsted, webs, and gingham
once gone were not to be traced. Jabez was also aware that a shade
rested on the establishment of which he was an item, and felt that it
behoved him to clear it away for his own sake, if possible.
Since the discovery of his faculty for design, much of his time had
been occupied at a desk with pencils and colours, making patterns
for the wood-turner, the mould-coverer, the tassel-maker, the
fringe-weaver; for bell-ropes, brace-webs, carpet and furniture
bindings; and although some of these things admitted but of little
variety, there was plenty found for him to do.
This was well-pleasing enough to Jabez, but the College officials, who
never lose sight of the boys they apprentice, demurred. His indentures
provided that he should learn small-ware-manufacturing in all its
branches; and pattern-designing, if part and parcel, was only one
branch. Mr. Ashton was too just not to assent, and Jabez went to his
active employment again. But he had a love for his new art, and an
interest in his master’s interest, which prompted him to say—
“If it would be all the same to you, sir, I could draw patterns before
breakfast, or in the dinner-hour, or in an evening, if Kezia had
someone else to wait on her.”
The inevitable snuff-box came out, Mr. Ashton’s head went first on one
side, then on the other, as he took a long pinch before he answered.
“No, my lad, it won’t be all the same to me, nor to you either,” he
said, at length, and Jabez began to look rueful. “You’re a lad of
uncommon parts, and I’m willing enough to find them employment. But if
you work extra hours, apprentice or no apprentice, you must have extra
pay. So you see, Jabez, it won’t be the same to either of us. You shall
have the little room at the end of the lobby to yourself, and there you
may earn all you can for your own friends and for me.”
“Oh, thank you, master!” interjected Jabez, his thoughts flying at once
to the old yard in Long Millgate.
“And let Kezia wait upon herself if there are no other idle folk
about,” concluded Mr. Ashton, and the business was settled.
This was about the time Jabez first began to suspect Kit Townley of
unfair dealing; and being once more in frequent contact with him in the
warehouse, he could not shut his eyes or his ears.
Kit was then assistant putter-out in the fringe and tassel department,
counted out the moulds, weighed out silk and worsted, and called out
the quantities each hand took away, for a young booking-clerk to enter.
Jabez was still in the brace and umbrella room, but there was a wide
door of communication between the two, and he had frequently to pass
through the former with finished goods for the ware and show-rooms on
the lower floors, and had to go cautiously past the large scale, lest
he should tilt the beam with his ungainly burdens. Now and then it
occurred to him that the bulk of silk or worsted in the scale was large
in proportion to the weight, as called out by Kit Townley, and once he
was moved to say—
“Is that balance true? or have you made a mistake, Townley?”
“Mind your own business, Clegg, and don’t hinder mine. Naught ails the
scales, and I know better than make mistakes.”
“Well, I only thought,” persisted Jabez.
“I wish you’d think and keep those umbrellas clear of the beam. You’re
always thrutching past with great loads on your shoulder when I am
weighing out,” interrupted Kit, testily, and Jabez held his peace.
But if he went on his way quietly, he was equally observant, and saw
the same thing happen again too often to be the result of accident.
Moreover, from the window of the little room where he had a broad desk
for designing, he saw Kit meet the same men and women stealthily after
hours under the opposite gateway.
“Kit,” said he, one night, when they went to their attic, “what do you
meet Jackson, Bradley, and Mary Taylor under the gateway for so often?”
Kit, arrested with his warehouse jacket half on and half off, asked
sharply—
“Who says I meet them under the gateway?”
“I say so. I have seen you myself.”
“And what if you have?” Kit retorted, snappishly. “There’s no harm in
saying a civil word to poor folk that I know of.”
“No harm, if that were all,” returned Jabez, seriously, sitting down
on the edge of his truckle-bed to take off his blue worsted stockings
(knitted by himself), “but I have seen them give you money.”
“And what of that, you Blue-coat spy! If they’re kind enough to call at
old mother Clowes’s shop for toffy and humbugs for me, and give me the
change back, what’s that to you?” he blustered, coming up to Jabez with
a defiant air.
“I know you’ve a sweet tooth, Townley,” replied Jabez, unmoved, “but
I fear nothing half so good as Mrs. Clowes’ toffy takes you there so
stealthily.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Wiseacre, you know my business better than myself?”
returned Kit, bold as brass, though he did begin to feel qualmish.
“Perhaps I do, for I suspect you of double-dealing, and I know what the
end of that must be; and I warn you that I cannot stand by and see our
good master robbed. I should be as bad as you if I did.”
Townley, enraged, struck at him, and there was a scuffle in the dark,
the bit of candle in their horn lantern having burnt out.
Kezia, who slept in the adjoining attic, rated them soundly the next
morning for the disturbance they had made, threatening to tell Mrs.
Ashton. Had she done so, inquiry would have followed.
Jabez, troubled and perplexed, the very next Sunday, consulted old
Simon Clegg as to the course he should pursue, being alike unwilling to
tell tales on suspicion, or to see his kind master wronged.
“Eh, lad,” quoth Simon, rubbing down his knees as he sat, “aw’ve manny
a toime bin i’ just sich a ‘strait atween two;’ but aw allas steered
moi coorse by yon big book, and tha’ mun do t’ seame. Thah munnot think
what thah loikes, or what thah dunnot loike; but thah mun do _reet_,
chuse what comes or goes. It is na reet to steeal; and to look on an’
consent to a thief is to be a thief. Thi first duty’s to thi God,
an’ thi next to thi payrents (if tha’ had anny), an’ thi next to thi
measter. Thah’s gi’en the chap fair warnin’, an’ if he wunnot tak’ it
th’ faut’s noan thoine.”
It so happened that the “putter-out” in the brace and umbrella-room
was an old man named Christopher, who had been in the employment of
the Ashtons (father and son) for thirty years. He professed to be
very pious and very conscientious, but lamented that increasing years
brought with it many ailments and infirmities, such, for instance,
as headaches, dizziness, sudden weakness of the limbs, and attacks
of spasms, for the cure of which he kept a bottle of peppermint in a
corner cupboard.
It was into this room Augusta used to come dancing, to coax old
Christopher out of bits of waste leather, and other odds and ends,
for which only a child could find use. She was fond of cutting and
snipping, and, with an eye to his own advantage, the cunning old
fellow had taught her how to use the stamps, so that she might _amuse_
herself by helping him. Then he bespoke her compassion for his aches
and pains, and often, on holiday afternoons, was troubled with one or
other ailment, which a pull at the bottle and a nap on the bundles of
leather, or gingham, alone could relieve—“if Miss Augusta would be so
obleeging an’ so koind as to stamp out a few tabs or straps for him, or
count out umbrella ferules, or wheels, or handles,” for him.
And she, full of the superabundant energy of youth, did it, nothing
loth; though as her own years increased, and with them her ability to
help, came a sharp sense that old Christopher was a hypocrite—knowledge
she confided to Jabez one day, when the sanctimonious putter-out was
resting his aching head and uncertain legs, as usual; and in order to
convince him she drew a bottle of gin, _not_ peppermint, from under a
pile of white kid.
Jabez, too, had been sorry for the old fellow, and often added a good
part of Christopher’s work to his own, to relieve him. It was this fact
which brought both Christophers to book. The old cant was so grievously
afflicted on the Monday afternoon, that Jabez, seeing him quite
incapable of doing his work properly (he was putting out umbrellas),
undertook to do it for him, though it was no business of his—and so
Mrs. Ashton would have told him, had she been there.
He measured off what he knew to be sufficient gingham for two dozen
umbrellas (a workwoman standing by in waiting), and was about to cut
off the length when the woman arrested his hand.
“Yo’re furgettin’ th’ weaste, mi lad; Mester Christopher allus alleaws
fur weaste.”
He looked at the woman, conscious there could be no waste in cutting
umbrella-gores. She winked at him.
“Oh,” said Jabez, conscious he was learning something not down in his
indentures. “And how much does he allow?”
“Abeawt a yard an’ a hauve th’ dozen.” she replied.
“And how do you contrive to waste it?” Jabez asked.
She winked again.
“Eh, but yo’re a young yorney. Yo’d best ax Mester Christopher that.”
“I think I’d best ask Mrs. Ashton that, if she’s in the warehouse,”
rejoined he, sending his scissors through the gingham at the proper
place.
“Yo’d better not, or yo’n cut off yo’r nose to spite yo’r own feace;”
and the woman nodded her head knowingly. “T’other ’prentice knows whatn
weaste means if thah dunnot; an’ manny’s th’ breet shillin’ it’s put in
his breeches pocket, my lad.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Jabez, whilst he was counting over the
already bundled up whalebone sticks, &c., to complete the umbrella
fittings. “As our mistress would say, ‘We may live and learn.’”
He found that whalebone, ferules, handles, leathers, wheels, were all
in excess. An extra umbrella might be made from the superabundant
materials. Thereupon he wakened Christopher to do his own work,
simply remarking that he thought the bundles of sticks, &c., had been
miscounted.
“Oh, no, Clegg, they’re a’ reet; we’re obleeged to put in moore fur
fear some on ’em shouldn’ split in makkin’ oop,” said old Christopher,
cunningly, as if for his information.
Jabez took no further notice then, but shouldering a great bundle
of large umbrellas, carried them through the fringe room, and there
noticed that, despite the caution he had given, his fellow-apprentice
was dexteriously manipulating silk and scales to falsify the weights he
called out.
CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.
EASTER MONDAY.
That evening Jabez, a clear-eyed, open-browed youth in his seventeenth
year, upright, well-knit, and firmly built for his age, knocked at the
parlour-door after Miss Augusta had been sent to bed. There was some
trouble on his countenance, as though he was bent on an errand utterly
repugnant to him. He was truly sorry to be the means, however remotely,
of bringing disgrace on both an old man and a young one; but Simon had
led him to the conclusion that if there was little honour in turning
informer, there would be absolute dishonesty in keeping silence whilst
he saw his master robbed.
Yet he hesitated, and lingered with his hand on the handle of the door,
after the clear voice of Mr. Ashton had twice invited him to “come in.”
Mr. Ashton therefore opened the door, and saw Jabez with a design for a
bell-rope tassel in his hand.
“Well, Jabez, what is it? Something special you have to show us?”
“No, sir; I only brought this lest any of the servants should be
curious about my errand here.”
Mrs. Ashton, who was reading a romance from Mrs. Edge’s circulating
library in King Street, lifted up her head at this; and Jabez came in,
closing the door.
“Then what is the errand which needs such precaution?” asked Mr.
Ashton, resuming his seat and looking up at the dear face of Jabez.
“I _think_, sir”—and he laid an emphasis on the “think”— “I have found
out how you are being robbed, and who it is that robs you.”
“You—what?” exclaimed Mr. Ashton, placing his hand on the elbows of his
chair, and bending forward inquiringly.
Jabez repeated his statement, adding, “I think, sir, some of your
putters-out and work-people are in league to defraud you.”
Out came Mr. Ashton’s snuff-box, down went Mrs. Ashton’s romance,
whilst Jabez told succinctly how his suspicions had been first aroused,
and how they had been confirmed that day.
“I did not tell my suspicions to Christopher, sir, thinking I had best
not interfere, or put the—the—them on their guard until I had spoken to
you. I feared lest I should defeat your plans,” said Jabez, modestly.
“Just so, Jabez, just so; you were quite right, Jabez,” said his
master, whilst a shower of snuff fell on neckcloth ends and shirt
frills.
“Yes, quite right!” assented Mrs. Ashton, with customary dignity. “‘A
still tongue shows a wise head;’ but we seldom see an old head on such
young shoulders.”
No active steps were taken for a few days, but Mrs. Ashton was in the
warehouse, and doubly observant; and Mr. Ashton was also on the alert.
They saw enough to convince them that Jabez was correct, and, acting on
first impulses, Nadin was again communicated with.
From the window of Jabez Clegg’s little room, Kit Townley was seen to
receive payment from a fringe-weaver for his share of the spoil; and
then Nadin, who knew all about it quite well enough before, followed up
the clue to a waste-dealer’s who bought at his own price workpeople’s
“waste” (_i.e._, warp, weft, silk, &c., remaining after work was
completed), and found tradespeople willing enough to re-purchase, well
knowing that commodities so varied, and so far below market value, were
not honestly come by.
Nadin, big and blustering when there was nothing to be gained by
silence, was for hauling the whole lot off to prison—the two Kits, the
waste dealer, and sundry workpeople—and the criminal code was a very
terrible dispensation then.
But Mr. Ashton was more merciful; he was for milder measures. Besides,
Mr. Townley was an old friend of his, and for the sake of the father
he forbore to drag the son into a court of justice; and unless he
prosecuted all, he could not prosecute any.
The sight of Nadin and his rough men, in their red-cuffed, red-collared
brown coats, with their staves and handcuffs ready for use was
sufficiently terrifying. The distress of old Mr. Townley was painful
to witness. As for Kit himself, he seemed less conscious of his guilt
than ashamed of being found out, openly declaring that he “_did no more
than was customary_,” and no more than old Christopher, who had led him
into it, had done for years.
That old hypocrite went down on his knees with many whining
protestations of his innocence; but, finding proof too strong, he made
a clean breast of it, and on learning that through the generosity of
his employer he was about to escape prosecution, which would have led
to transportation, he begged piteously to be allowed to retain the
situation he had held for so many years.
“No, Kit,” said Mrs. Ashton; “‘there is no rogue like an old rogue;’
you have not only robbed us yourself, but taught others the trick.
Think well you have escaped the New Bailey” (the Manchester and Salford
prison).
At that period the constable who apprehended a criminal received a
bonus on each conviction, called “blood-money,” so large a proportion
of felons were executed; and Nadin, gruff and uncourteous even to his
superiors, was disposed to resist Mr. Ashton’s amiable “interference
with the course of justice.” A liberal douceur from the elder Mr.
Townley’s well-stocked purse was potent to allay his zeal. His runners
were dismissed, and his friend the waste-dealer had a longer lease.
The clearance of rogues paved the way for honest men, besides
suggesting measures to prevent like embezzlement in future. The Ashtons
rightly thought that the best way to reward Jabez was to serve his
friends. A situation as putter-out to the weavers was offered to Tom
Hulme, Mr. Ashton having had his eye on him for some time; and old
Simon, being sent for, went home delighted with commendations of Jabez,
and the consciousness that the only barrier to Bess’s marriage was now
removed, and that through the foundling’s instrumentality.
The only bar, that is, save the double fees of Lent, and the “ill-luck”
supposed to follow a couple united during the penitential forty days.
Tom put up the banns, however, and Easter Monday was chosen as the
day of days for the ceremony. Tom Hulme’s parents had been married
on an Easter Monday, Simon had been tied to his wife on an Easter
Monday, Jabez had been made a Blue-coat boy on an Easter Monday, and
apprenticed on an Easter Monday; it was consequently an anniversary to
be observed and respected.
Early marriages prevail amongst the class made early self-dependent
by earning their own living. Matt Cooper had long been a grandfather,
Molly and his three eldest boys had been married and settled. A brisk
young butcher coming to the tannery with hides had met Martha, the
other girl, bearing her father’s dinner, and been so taken with her
sharp, active gait, and saucy answers, that he proposed to transfer her
to his shop beyond Ancoats Lane Canal-bridge, and to make his offer
more palatable, suggested an amalgamation of the two households, and to
take the youngest lad—Matthew, aged fourteen—as his apprentice.
So ardent and promising a lover was not to be despised. Martha did not
say “No,” and Matt, beginning to stoop in the shoulders, rejoiced at
the prospective haven for his declining years.