“Tha doesn’t know what she said to him, ’Si? But theer aw’ve no right to ask, an’ tha’s noan to tell. Maids’ secrets are not for us to talk about.”
“Aw didn’t gather ’at ’oo said much. But Martha said ’oo heard a smack, an’ it didn’t sound like th’ smack o’ a kiss, an’ ’oo saw Ben goin’ down th’ broo very white i’ one cheek an’ very red o’ th’ other, an’ lookin as ugly as a cur that’s lost a bone. So tha can draw thi own conclusions, Ben, that is if thi, what d’ye call it, oh, thi honour, will let thee.”
And with this sarcasm, ’Siah dug his head into Bess’s ribs and began a vigorous scrubbing that set the old mare dancing and stamping, and put an effective end to further confidences.
That was a gloomy week at our house. Mary was as contrary as contrary could be, my mother was sad and tearful, my father glum and stern. He told me that if it was all the same to me he intended going to Macclesfield in a day or two, and bade me write to some of our customers there and by the way. But I knew that it was a needless journey, and taken only to get me out of harm’s way. I dared not say I would go after Saturday, for fear of starting enquiries as to my reasons for delay. So I merely said I should be ready when he was, and that seemed to cheer him a bit.
I dreaded meeting my cousin George, but I knew it had to be done. My mind was fully made up to tell him I could not continue by his side in this organized attack on machines I had been busy thinking the matter out. The objection to machinery was that, it displaced human labour. Well, I argued, a scythe is a machine, so is a pair of scissors. If I proposed to do away with the scythe at hay time and clip our three acre field with my mother’s scissors, everyone would think me a lunatic. The more I thought of that illustration the more I liked it, and I wondered how George would get over it. But, somehow, as I walked down, to the Brigg to have my talk with George, I got less and less comfort from my logic the nearer I drew to Huddersfield. George was at home and fortunately we were not interrupted. He was in a towering rage, and I could not have found a worse time for my errand.
“Yo’re just the man I wanted to see, Ben,” he said. “I feel I must talk to somebody and let th’ steam off a bit. But somebody’st smart for this. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth th’ old Book says, an’ a blow for a blow too, say I. Aye, by God, a blow for a blow, a hundred blows for one, insult for insult, outrage for outrage, and ruin for oppression. The proud insolence of the man! Am I a dog that I should bear this thing? Answer me that, Ben Bamforth.”
“Whatever’s up, George?” I asked. “Do sit thee down and talk quiet and sensible. An’ quit walking an’ tearing up an’ down like a tiger in a cage. One would think th’d lost thi wits, an’ I particler wanted a quiet talk.”
“Quiet, aye, yo’d be quiet if somebody cut thee across th’ face wi’ a whip. Listen here. Aw’d been up to Linfit, an’ were comin’ quiet as a lamb along th’ road back to th’ cropping shop. An’ just above th’ Warren House, by Radcliffe’s plantation, tha’ knows, wer’ a woman about thirty year old, crouched agen th’ wall. I could see a pair o’ men’s shooin sticking out fra underneath her skirt, and it’s my belief ’oo’d nowt on her but just that skirt an’ an old thin black shawl. Neither sock nor shift, an’ it’s none too warm o’ neets yet. She wer’ crying and moanin’ an’ rocking hersen to an’ fro’, swaying her body back’ards and for’ards, an ’oo’d a bundle o’ summat in her arms lying across her breast, an’ ’oo strained it to her and made her moan. Her face were pale as death, an’ her cheek bones seemed high an’ sharp, an’ th’ skin drawn tight as a drum across ’em. An’ her eyes were sunk in her yed, but black an’ wild an’ staring. An’ her lips were thin and bloodless, an’ there was a line of blood upon ’em as tho’ she bled, an’ her arms and hands were thin and skinny. Aw didn’t know her, but aw stopped to see what ailed her. She wouldn’t, talk for a bit; she’d do nowt but moan. An’ then ’oo told me she’d been down to Huddersfielt to see th’ Relieving Officer. Her husband wer’ a cropper. He’d been thrown out o’ work. His master’d put in two frames, an’ he had to leave. He’s down wi’ th’ rheumatic fever. They’d nowt to eat, an’ nowt to sup. ’Oo’d been sucklin’ th’ babby, an’ as time went on she’d no milk in her breasts for th’ little one. ’Oo’d fed it for days by soaking a rag i’ warm milk an’ water an’ lettin’ it suck at that. But th’ little thing had pined and pined, crying an’ wailin’ and, o’ a night, pressin’ its little mouth to her dry breasts an’ drawin’ nowt but wind. An’ then it had th’ convulsions, an’ she had to leave her man ravin’ i’ th’ fever an’ hug th’ brat to Huddersfield, an’ there they’d nowt for her, an’ ’oo must back agen wi’ nother bite nor sup between her lips an’ nowt the better for her tramp. She oppened her shawl, an’ as I’m a livin’ man, there wer’ th’ little ’un wi’ a head no bigger nor mi fist, stark dead at its mother’s breast; and its eyes starin’ an’ starin’ an’ its face all drawn wi’ pain. It made my heart stand still, an’ aw felt as if a strong man were clutchin’ at my throat.”
“Aw stood before her mute. Aw couldn’t speak. An’ just then I heard th’ sound o’ a horse’s trot, an’ I turned round an’ there wer’ Horsfall o’ Ottiwell’s coming up th’ road. He wer’ wipin’ his mouth wi’ th’ back o’ his hand, and’ aw judged he’d stopped for a glass at th’ Warrener. Aw don’t know what possessed me, but aw nipped up th’ child fra’ its’ mother’s arms an’ stepped right i’ th’ front o’ his horse it swerved, an’ he swayed in his saddle.”
‘Damn you, mind where yo’re walking,’ he said. ‘Stand aside and leave the road free, yo’ drunken tramp.’