‘Nae, Catherine,’ laughed Annie, amused by the idea. ‘The maister believes that the devil makes work for idle hands. He thinks we should spend our time bettering ourselves.’
It was a commonly held view, but it seemed to me that in the rush to improve our minds we were in danger of being treated more like machines in perpetual motion than humans. At least the looms rested at seven and did not start again until the next morning. I expressed this thought to Annie as we clattered down the stairs to ground level.
‘Nae, that’s where ye are wrong. The mechanics oil and mend the looms the night. The mules canna keep going all the time or they’d wear out.’
‘Exactly! You’ve made my point. Nothing and no one can work without rest.’
Annie was on the defensive now. ‘We do rest, Catherine. Half an hour for breakfast at nine and an hour for dinner at two – nae other man be as kind as Maister Dale. He saved us from the orphanage – he has given us a chance for a better life.’
She was right, of course. We were the lucky ones. An hour and a half rest during the working day was almost unheard of. My friends who were sweeps and apprentices could not hope for half that. It was just that here the number of people was so huge, the work so unrelenting, I couldn’t help but find it a little overwhelming. I doubted that I had the qualities that made someone a cog in such a finely crafted machine. It was just as well I was not planning to stay for long, or I could imagine the kind of breakdown I might cause.
The school – a big barn of a building set a little away from the mills – was bursting with pupils when we entered. About five hundred of us, I would guess. Despite the numbers, order reigned: the children were divided into groups and seated on benches or at desks to get on with their work. I could see at least fifteen teachers wandering among the scholars. On a blackboard one man was taking his class through their arithmetic. A little huddle of girls sewed in one corner under the beady eye of a mistress – definitely a lesson I wished to avoid. Two women were helping little ones form letters in a sand tray.
‘I’ll take ye to Dominie Blair,’ Annie said.
She marched me across the room to the man at the board teaching the advanced class from the look of the mathematical equations he was scribbling.
She bobbed a curtsey. ‘Dominie, I have a new lass for ye.’
The schoolmaster was a tall, thin man with black hair and a pale face. Something about him reminded me a little of a raven – probably just his sharp look of intelligence as he cocked his head towards me, tapping his lip with a long, chalky finger. ‘Thank ye, lass. Go to yer class. Lads, figure the sums on yer slates while I speak to the new student.’
He put the chalk down and rubbed his hands together, surveying me from top to toe.
‘Mr Dale mentioned ye, lass. From London, I believe?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Have ye been to school before?’
How, Reader, could I explain that I had once attended one of the most exclusive public schools for a month?
‘For a few weeks about two years ago,’ I admitted.
‘Ye have a long way to make up then. I’ll start ye in the first form. The teacher will help ye remember yer alphabet.’
I almost choked: he was going to put me among the babies!
‘I’m sorry, sir, I haven’t made myself clear. I have had quite a broad – if rather odd – education from a number of excellent teachers.’ By which I meant prompts, ballerinas, actors, musicians – not your usual pedagogues. ‘I can read and write.’
He frowned, doubting my claims. ‘Nae need to be afeared, lass, of admitting yer unkenning.’
‘I’m not afraid, sir. I really am some way beyond learning my letters.’
With a slow smile, he passed me the chalk. ‘Well, so be it. I wouldna like to shame ye in front of the class. Write “The cat sat on the mat” on the board.’
How apt. I blushed, thinking that he must think me a complete fool. The dominie misunderstood my embarrassment.
‘I’ll turn my back, lass. Just do yer best.’
The boys in the arithmetic class were watching our exchange with interest. I spotted Jamie Kelly sitting at the front, wearing his wire-rimmed spectacles. He had a full slate on his desk and I could tell he was laughing at me from behind his hand. I could hear the whisper, ‘Sassenach,’ rustle through the room like a breeze in leaves. Tossing the chalk thoughtfully for a moment, I decided what I should do. I wrote ‘The cat sat on the mat’ once in copperplate English, then translated into Latin, then French and finally, for good measure, in Italian. I wondered about doing it in Creek Indian but decided that might be a step too far. I put the chalk down with a wink at Jamie.
‘Well, lass, let’s see how ye have done,’ said the teacher.
He turned around and stared at the board. Picking up a long stick he tapped at the bottom row.
‘What is that, lass? I canna read it.’
‘Italian, sir.’ I wrinkled my brow. ‘I think I got it right, but my memory may be a bit rusty.’
He threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh. ‘By Harry, ye showed me! I dinna think I can teach ye a thing. Maybe ye would like to be a teacher instead?’
I instantly warmed to this man: he could have been offended; instead, he thought it a good joke. ‘I’d like that. How can I help?’
He put a hand on my shoulder, steering me over to the smallest children. ‘Ye can start here today with Mistress MacDonald and the weans. I’ll have to think how to use yer talents.’
I spent an enjoyable hour helping the first form – those of five and six – making letters in the sand tray. The two little girls I sat beside were tired, having completed a thirteen-hour shift, and could hardly concentrate on their task so I decided to make it more entertaining. Rather than forming letters, we made castles in the tray. Mistress MacDonald let me do this for a while before gently shaking her head. I then made a game up where my two little friends thought up silly words and I spelt them. We were having so much fun that I did not notice that it was almost nine. Then the bell rang, dismissing school for the night.
‘“P” for “pogwoggle”!’ declared one of my pupils, drawing a perfect P in the sand.
‘Run along now, Jeannie Moir,’ said the schoolmistress.
The familiar name sent a jolt through me – I almost dropped the tray.
‘Can the new lass teach me the morn’s night?’ Jeannie asked, looking up at me with sleepy brown eyes.
‘We’ll see,’ said Mistress MacDonald.
Jeannie ran out, hand in hand with her little friend.
‘Well, Catherine, ye are a born teacher.’ Mistress MacDonald began putting the equipment away in the store cupboard. I got up to help her. ‘Yer friend, the Irish lass, told me about ye – from London, she said.’
‘Is Bridgit staying with you then, ma’am?’ I asked.
‘Aye, lass. I’ve a cottage at the end of Long Row. She asked me to look out for ye the night.’
‘Please tell her I’m in the dormitory in Mill Four. I’ll see her tomorrow, I hope.’ I shook the sand level ready for the next lesson, wondering how I could turn the conversation to the issue that had brought me here. ‘Your pupils were very sweet, particularly Jeannie. Does she live with her family or is she one of the orphans?’
‘Why do ye ask?’
I tried to look nonchalant as I shrugged. ‘No real reason. I just hadn’t noticed her in the dormitory.’
This explanation seemed to satisfy the mistress. ‘Nae. That lass lives a few doors down from me.’
My throat felt dry as I blurted out my next question. ‘A big family?’ I couldn’t get out of my head the fact that I might have just been sitting next to my sister, our fingers touching in the sand tray. But I had suspected nothing until I heard the name – no instinctive recognition when gazing into her eyes. She didn’t even look like me, not with her long brown plaits and round face.
‘Aye, four weans. All in mill now. Jeannie has only just started working.’
>
‘Were her brothers and sisters here tonight?’ I asked, trying to remember if there had been any faces that had caught my attention.
Mistress MacDonald gave me an odd look. ‘Why such an interest in that family, Catherine?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’ I bent my head to brush the spilled sand off my skirts, avoiding her eye.
She relented a little. ‘I expect they were here somewhere, but I see so many children go through the school, I forget. Good night to ye.’
Hearing the dismissal, I bobbed a curtsey and set off for the entrance. Annie had waited for me, but so had Jamie Kelly. He fell in beside Annie and me as we headed back to the dormitory.
‘Come to check on me, professor? Seeing if the Sassenach has settled in?’ I asked ironically, doubting he was here for any kindly purpose.
He gave me a hostile look, reminding me of a gang member trying to defend his territory. The professor obviously didn’t like anyone rivalling him for his place at the top of the class. ‘I saw, snippie – the dominie put ye on the sand tray. Ye canna fool him with yer fine ways.’
‘Vous êtes un âne, professeur,’ I said with a sweet smile, calling him a mule in my best French.
He frowned. ‘Just because I canna speak fancy languages, doesna mean I dinna know when ye are insulting me!’
As if he hadn’t insulted me first!
‘Rattlepate!’ I crossed my arms, tapping my foot in an angry tattoo.
‘Gowk!’
‘Numbskull!’
‘Useless soothlander!’
But before I could set him right, Annie leapt to my defence. ‘I have ye ken, Jamie Kelly, that Catherine was told by the dominie that she should be a teacher. He said that he canna teach her anything; she kens it all!’
‘Not all,’ I muttered, blushing.
‘Is that right?’ Jamie gave me a glare. ‘I suppose she might ken enough – for a lass.’
‘But she speaks Italian! Even the dominie canna do that!’ Annie exclaimed.
Jamie tossed his head contemptuously. ‘What use is Italian round here?’
‘Well . . .’ Annie seemed lost for an answer so ended up giving a feeble shrug.
I rolled my eyes. Thanks, defender. There seemed little point flogging this particular dead horse.
We had reached the door to the dormitory building. Annie bade Jamie goodnight and went ahead. As I made to go past, he caught my arm and held me back.
‘Listen, Sassenach, ye dinna fit in here,’ he announced, as if his word was final. ‘Ye should get yerself back sooth.’
Infuriated by this unearned hostility, my temper snapped. ‘What is your problem, Jamie Kelly? Why does it matter to you if I speak Italian, French or . . . or Greek?’
His eyes widened at this latest claim, looking somewhat like an owl whose last tail feather had just been plucked.
‘For the record, I don’t – speak Greek, I mean.’ I scrubbed my hand through my hair, feeling very weary all of a sudden. ‘Look, professor, I’m here to work and you’ve done nothing but try and make me feel unwelcome since you set eyes on me.’ I had a sudden, unbidden memory of the angry O’Riley brothers, resorting to violence in response to the cold reception they had received in London. I now knew how they felt. ‘If you don’t like me, just leave me alone. I won’t bother you, I can promise you that now.’ I shook my arm free. ‘Buonanotte!’
The goodwife was waiting in the dormitory for me to come in. On my tardy entrance, she tutted and shook her head.
‘I expect my lasses to be back on time – nae dawdling.’
Feeling tired, longing for my bed, I had no appetite for a battle with another Scot. ‘I apologize, ma’am. I stayed to help the school-mistress clear away.’
She gave a nod, letting the matter drop. ‘I have yer cloots here; ye’ll want to keep yer others for Sunday.’ She gestured to my London clothes. ‘Too fine for the mill.’
‘Thank you.’ I took the bundle of cotton and wool from her.
‘Now to yer bed. There’s room here wi’ Martha.’
I stifled a groan. My stout enemy – she of the flea insults – was in sole possession of the bed I had dared rest on earlier. A great round mound of blankets, she was lying in the centre, pretending to be asleep. The image came to mind that Martha was like some rampant form of weed who had gained control of this particular cot by crowding out all other forms of life.
‘Hurry up, hen. I want to douse the light.’ The goodwife gave me a little push towards the bed.
Placing my new clothes on top of my boots, I quickly stripped down to my shift and climbed in. Martha made no concession to my presence so I found myself clinging to the edge with the blanket flapping halfway down my back. I was sorely tempted to pinch her to make her move over but instead opted for the path of least resistance. Burrowing to the other end of the blanket, I lay down, top to her tail. The goodwife blew out the last candle and left.
‘I dinna want yer smelly feet in my face,’ growled Martha, giving me a kick.
Little did she know it but she’d picked the wrong person to bully. I’d stood up to Westminster schoolboys, sailors and slave-owners; one mill girl would not bother me.
‘If you do that again, I’ll punch you,’ I growled.
She snorted and moved her foot back in preparation for another strike. I caught it in my fist and squeezed her ankle.
‘My best friend in London is a boxing champion and he’s shown me a trick or too. Do you want to find out how we English lasses fight?’
That gave her pause. ‘I’m no scared o’ ye.’ But her voice was thin and her foot moved further back.
‘Good. And I’m not scared of you. Understood?’
Silence.
‘Well, then. Sleep tight.’
SCENE 2 – CROMPTON’S MULE
A bell rang while it was still dark, summoning us to work. With practised ease, the girls rolled out of bed and donned their clothes without the aid of a light. The dormitory was chill; no place to linger. I had a little more difficulty dressing, not having put on the uniform before, but Annie came to my rescue, untangling apron strings and helping me find my boots which had mysteriously migrated under another bed. A morning gift from Martha, no doubt.
‘I’ll take ye to the overseer,’ Annie told me, dragging on my hand to make me hurry. I was still tucking my hair under my cap so that not a strand was showing. Annie had explained it could get caught in the machines. ‘He’ll tell ye where ye are to go. We must be gleg though, else I’ll be in trouble wi’ my spinner.’
With a quick splash of icy water on my face, I followed her down the stairs once more. We passed the dining room but the fires were not yet lit – hours yet until we could break our fast. My stomach grumbled at the thought.
Out into the soft grey damp of a late autumn morning, the workers were hurrying to their tasks. The overhanging trees on the opposite bank of the river looked rusty brown in the drizzle; they were gently dropping leaves on to the indigo silk water, releasing them to bob away like tiny ships of the line bound for the sea. That wood belonged to a different world to the cobble and iron of the mill yard where we were on our way to work. Annie marched me to an office in Mill One and abandoned me, scurrying off to her duties with a hasty farewell until she too was swallowed by the unseen mechanical beast that lurked behind the blank facade of the buildings. The great human machine of the cotton mill was swinging into action again, each cog turning in his or her place – I longed to see what this looked like, finding the boom-clatter noise of the looms both terrifying and enticing. I felt rather like Saint George waiting outside the dragon’s cave, listening to the rumbles and groans of a beast made all the more fearful for being out of sight.
The overseer had not yet arrived but I didn’t have to wait on my own for long as Bridgit joined me. She looked annoyingly well groomed and rested, thanks to her stay in a proper bedroom at the home of the kindly teacher. I snuffed out the spark of jealousy before it could make my got-outof-the-wrong-side-of-bed
morning temper worse. But then, there was no right side to a bed shared with Martha.
‘Cat, my dear!’ Bridgit gave me a sisterly hug. She looked genuinely pleased to see me, which went a long way to improving my temper. ‘How are you this morning? Was the dormitory comfortable?’
I returned her hug.
‘It’s not so bad. The food’s good, my bed mate is learning fast not to kick me, and I’ve been promoted to teacher already.’
She laughed as she absent-mindedly straightened my collar. ‘So I heard. And I have hopes that you will be impressed to hear that I’ve not been idle either. I think you’ll be fair proud of me.’
I smiled at her cat-in-cream expression. ‘Oh, yes? What wonders have you performed, Oh So Clever One?’
‘Last night I made the acquaintance of my neighbour, one Mrs Moir.’
‘Gracious!’ I hadn’t thought that Bridgit could do my job for me. In many ways this was so much better as there was no chance of Mrs Moir guessing our interest. A little trill of anticipation thrummed through me like a flute tuning up for the overture. ‘How did you manage that so quickly?’
‘Oh, I went to borrow a hot coal for the fire, claiming I’d let ours go out.’
‘And?’
Bridgit shrugged. ‘She gave it to me – a little grudging but she did stir herself to help me eventually.’
‘That’s not what I meant!’ I was almost beside myself to hear her verdict.
‘Then what did you mean?’
‘Could she be my mother? ’ The words were out before I had a chance to recall them. I hadn’t wanted to state my question so baldly, but of course that was what I was thinking.
Bridgit took my hand sympathetically. ‘I don’t know. How could I so soon?’ She squinted into my face. ‘She looks a little like you, I suppose. Her hair is no longer such a flaming red, but it might have been when she was younger. I didn’t really get much of a chance to study her – she was busy with her ironing. I’ll say one thing for her: she keeps a tidy house.’
My spirits swooped down to my boots. It had been unreasonable of me to expect an answer. Mrs Moir was hardly likely to throw into the conversation, ‘Oh, by the way, let me tell you about the child I abandoned in London.’ But I was starving for a family, eager for any crumbs Bridgit could feed me. ‘Anything else you can tell me?’