The Rope Carrier (12 page)

In spite of the sadness and worry about those who were sent for trial, there was much secretive fun and rejoicing in the city. Snatches of Joe Mather's songs wefe chanted in the streets, with another rhyme that came from no-one-knew-where.

Whenever the constables or soldiers passed through the streets, quiet chanting arose, then grew louder.

The week after John had been taken off to York, word came that soldiers and a constable were coming down towards the river, searching any houses that might be hiding the illegally released prisoners. The Dame looked anxious at the news.

“There's nowt to fear,” said Minnie. “There's no sign of our Josh to be seen. And they've not bothered at all down Dame Furniss's way.”

“'Tis Marianne I'm worried about,” said the Dame. “The little lads are too small to say owt, but you know what a chatterbox that little lass is, and how excited she's been to see her dad. I don't know as she understands it right.”

Minnie nodded. “Shall I take her out of the way?”

“Aye. That's a grand idea, Minnie. Take her up to the well and keep her away till dusk. And what about Jack, too? He's like to give them a mouthful of lip that'll fetch him another black eye, or worse. I know tha's angry with him, but take our Jack along as well, for he's nearly as daft with his talk as Marianne.”

Minnie sighed and agreed. “We'll hunt for Elsie Duckett's pig.”

So Minnie found herself doing the usual trail up to the middle of town, smiling at Marianne but refusing to look at Jack. This treatment did not worry Jack in the least. He teased Marianne with his usual energy until she howled and stamped her feet and chased him up the street.

Minnie followed them slowly, heavy with misery as she thought about John Bennet. His trial would be taking place
now, up there in York. Surely they'd set him free? The vicar had been paid a lot of money from the Town Trustees. Compensation they'd called it. Nobody had been hurt. Surely they'd let John go? He'd only done what his friends had asked, and Minnie herself had been one of those who'd asked.

She reached the corner by Elsie's house and looked round for Jack and Marianne. She could see no sign of them.

“Damn that lad,” she said. “How was she supposed to know which way they'd gone?”

Then she saw Jack, up near the corner of High Street. He came running down towards her, his mouth hanging open, his face bright red.

“Where's Marianne?” she shouted at him.

His mouth worked frantically and his eyes stared wildly at her. “I never . . . I never thought. 'Twere meant in fun. Tha'll hit me, I know tha will.”

“What?” Minnie shrieked at him. “Tell me, tha great stupid gawk. Has't lost her?”

Jack stared, quiet now and trembling. He shook his head, his eyes filled with tears. Minnie curled her fist up tight and held it to his throat.

“Tell me now, or I'll make thee sorry the soldiers never took thee.”

“'Tis the rhyme,” said Jack. “About the books, a-and the rooks.”

“Aye?” Minnie was puzzled. “The one you taught her?”

“There were this man in't street. A . . . a gentleman . . . tall, wi' a big nose. I said, ‘Go and tell 'im the rhyme, Marianne.'”

“So? She's but a little lass . . .”

Jack swallowed hard. “'Twere . . . 'twere the vicar hisself.”

Minnie stared, her own mouth dropped open.

“'Twere just meant as a bit o' fun. I never thought. He . . . he's called t'constable, to set her in't stocks.”

A fierce shower of blows rained down on Jack's head from
Minnie's fists. They landed fast and sharp.

A small crowd gathered, enjoying the show. At last her fury died. Jack cringed on the dirty cobbles at her feet.

“I'll never forgive thee for this.” She spat at him, then grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him off up the street.

As they turned the corner of High Street, Minnie closed her eyes, and prayed that it was not true. But it was true. The town constable was bending over at the stocks while Marianne sat motionless on a stool, like a doll. As they got closer, Minnie saw that the constable had pushed wooden wedges into the holes around the child's ankles. She was too small to be fixed into the stocks any other way.

A group of young 'prentices on the loose were gathering piles of rotted vegetables, laughing and grinning with anticipation at the unexpected lark of pelting a clean scrubbed girl-child.

“Now listen you here,” Minnie growled at Jack. “You set yourself in front of those stocks, and if so much as a speck of that filth should touch Marianne . . .” She shoved him forward and booted his backside.

Minnie marched up to the stocks and argued frantically with the constable. He stood his ground, though, saying that he didn't like it much himself, but the vicar was the magistrate and whatever he ordered was done. Minnie looked round angrily, ready to do battle with the vicar himself. “And where is our vicar now?” she demanded. The constable shrugged his shoulders. “Gone home for his tea, I dare say.”

Marianne, white-faced and puzzled, grabbed Minnie's hand. “Take me home, Minnie,” she said. “I want Rope Dolly, I want my mam.”

Minnie climbed onto the stool behind the child. She wrapped her arms around her, hugging her close.

“We'll sit here, my darling. We'll sit for a little while, and Minnie will tell you all your favourite stories. You will hear all about the robber chief, and about Rope Dolly's cave.”

“I wish I could go to Rope Dolly's cave,” whispered Marianne.

“Tha shall go there,” said Minnie. “Tha shall go there, my darling. Minnie will take thee. I promise thee that.”

A small crowd began to gather for it was a rare sight to see: a young child fastened in the stocks and a blubbering lad setting himself in front, leaping about to catch the filth in order to protect her. An older lass sat rocking the child and calmly telling stories as though they were by their own fireside.

Whispers flew around, telling of the child's offence. A mood of sympathy grew and soon the muck-throwing apprentices were sent on their way with clouted ears to pay for their fun.

Elsie Duckett came past with her pig. She stopped by the stocks and stared fiercely at the scene.

“Dame Eyre shall hear of this.” She set off towards the Ponds.

It was late in the afternoon when the Dame came marching into the church square, bringing the constable with her. He hung his head, shamefaced, while the Dame poured a stream of quiet anger into his ears. The crowd around the stocks had grown, but the feeling had changed. They no longer gaped at the spectacle, but kept a silent watchful vigil.

The Dame picked up her grandchild as soon as Marianne was released and, without a word, she carried her off through the crowds. Minnie moved to follow them but stopped, remembering Jack, and turned back to look for him. He hovered behind the stocks, a foul-smelling figure of guilt and misery, not daring to follow. Minnie sighed. He had done as she'd told him. Not a speck, not a smudge of dirt had touched Marianne. He'd taken the lot.

“What's tha waiting for, Jack?” she called. “Come on, and I'll help thee get washed.”

THE DAME STRODE
ahead of them and by the time Minnie and Jack arrived back at the Eyres' house she had Marianne comfortable and warm, quietly nursing her rope doll by the fireside. Elsie Duckett, who'd stayed to watch the little 'uns, was just leaving with her pig tied to its rope. She pinched her nose as she passed Jack and hurried away.

“See,” said Minnie. “Tha smells worse than her pig.”

The Dame told them that the soldiers had come. They had searched and found nothing, but now Netty had gone down to the Furniss's for there'd been word of the soldiers moving off in that direction.

“Does Netty know about . . .?” said Minnie, nodding towards Marianne.

“That she does not,” replied the Dame. “She's worried enough about Josh without adding to it. We shall have to tell her, though, or she'll hear it from others soon enough. Now tha's got some explaining to do to me, lass. And thee, Jack, but tha'd best wash first, for tha's stinking worse than ever before.”

Minnie did her best to tell the Dame how it had all come about, though she dreaded her fury. The Dame was tight-lipped and silent as ever and Minnie knew she was angry. Luckily, the old woman's anger didn't seem to be directed towards her, or even Jack, but at the vicar and the constable, who could treat a child's prank so.

The Dame stood still for a moment, thinking, then she spoke.

“I'll say no more about it to thee, for I have news to tell that must make thee weep enough.”

“What now?”

The Dame sent Marianne to the table and made Minnie sit down in the fireside chair. She took her hand and held it tight.

“Now tha must be a good lass and stay calm, though I know tha was fond of him. Dame Furniss has had word that poor John Bennet is hanged at York. They've let the others go. I fear they've done it as an example. That poor daft lad has taken the blame for us all . . . That's right, there's no need to hold it back, love, have thee'sen a good cry while I feed these little 'uns.

Minnie did as she was told. All her anger, all her strength seemed drained in the flood of tears that overwhelmed her. Strangely, all she could think of was her strong stubborn father and how, despite the scorn of others, he'd always refused to twist the hangman's rope.

Jack tried awkwardly to speak to her, but the Dame called him over and told him to let her be. They busied themselves feeding the children, and when the workshed door sounded, the Dame looked over to see Minnie quiet and calm.

“That'll be Netty, I daresay. Slip out there with that candle, child, and tell her it all as best tha can.”

But Minnie didn't manage to get it said, for when she stepped through the workshed door, she was surprised to see that Josh was there, too, though he couldn't seem to stand straight and Netty supported him.

“What is it?” Minnie asked.

“He's sick, Minnie, that's what, and growing sicker down at that place. 'Twas that prison work, and now he works double for half the money. Show her, Josh.”

Josh shook his head. His cheeks were grey.

“Show her, Josh.” Netty repeated it sharp, then she pushed Josh roughly back against the wooden wall planks, pulling up his lips as though he were a horse.

Minnie gasped at the unexpected violence, but she stepped forward, holding up the candle. It was there. She could see it clear: a thin blue line around his gums. Netty released Josh's snarling lips, and hugged him to her.

“I'm sorry, love.”

Minnie stood frozen, still holding the candle high, watching them as they clung together. Just for a moment she could feel nothing but utter despair. She hated this cruel city. She hated this world . . . Hot fat dripped onto her hand, shocking and warming, and gradually the warmth spread up through her arms, her whole body. She was the ropemaker's daughter, the rope carrier. She could walk for ever, and never tire.

“We must go,” she said.

Netty stared. “Where?”

“To Mother and Father. To the cave.”

“But how can we get there?” said Netty. “I cannot leave the little 'uns, and Josh is too sick to walk far. I fear the soldiers might catch him on the way.”

The two sisters looked at each other, saying nothing, but both remembering the strong young Josh who'd once walked from Sheffield to Castleton in a morning.

There was a movement behind Minnie. The Dame was standing silently in the doorway. They did not know how long she had been there.

“The child is right. You must go, and you must go now. This town can do without thee for a while.”

“Aye, Mother,” said Josh. “If only there was a way.”

“I know how,” said Minnie. Wild energy was flooding back into her, her mind racing with the idea. “Yes. I'm sure he'd help, and it's Friday night.”

They all frowned at her, puzzled.

“Where's my cloak?” She whirled around, racing into the cottage. “There's no time to waste. Wrap up the children well, pack up what tha needs, Netty, and get us some food. I'll be
back within the hour, and I pray that he'll not let us down.”

Minnie was back as she'd promised, leading Chalky, the white mule, followed by a grey, and Chapman Barber himself, come down willingly to the cottage to give his advice and set them on their way. Once Minnie had told him their troubles, he'd not hesitated, but fetched out Chalky from the stables and fastened the grey behind him.

“I know he's walked all day,” said Minnie.

“Don't tha recall what I once told thee, lass? This little racker will walk for ever. He's fed and had a few hours' rest. He'll take you well out of Sheffield tonight.”

The children were wide awake with excitement, and with Chapman's help and instructions they were all soon ready to leave. Netty sat astride Chalky with the tiny baby strapped warm and safe to her front, and the little lads settled within tapping distance in the baskets on either side. Josh had said he'd walk so that Minnie could ride, but he hadn't the strength to argue when Chapman and his mother lifted him onto the mule. He had managed a smile, though, when Minnie slapped her thighs to show him the strength of her legs. He was now set on the second mule with a great pile of baggage behind. They put Marianne up before him, clutching Rope Dolly to her chest, her strange frightening afternoon almost forgotten.

Chapman told them to stop at Ringinglow for the night. A cottager who knew him and his mules would give them shelter and stabling.

“Tha'll be safe enough from soldiers out there.”

Minnie clung to the Dame, clung to her thin spiky shoulders that once she'd hated so much.