Amanda Grange - Rebecca’s Refusal

Putting her letter folder back in her escritoire she climbed back into bed, and with her head full of plans for trapping Mr Kelling she finally fell asleep.

“Oh, what an enjoyable evening we had yesterday,” said Louisa the following morning over the breakfast table. “I don't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.”

“You looked to be getting on famously with Mr Sidders,” said Rebecca with a smile.

“Do you know, seeing him again took me right back to my girlhood? For of course I saw quite a lot of him as Emily and I were friends. I had forgotten just what good company he could be. I have been thinking, Rebecca, that we must host an entertainment of our own. Nothing so grand as a soirée, but a small supper party, or perhaps an evening of cards. It will not do for us to go about like this and offer nothing in return.”

Rebecca sipped her hot chocolate thoughtfully. “Yes, I agree.”

Not only would a small entertainment enable them to repay their friends' hospitality, but making plans would help to take her mind off Joshua, for despite her best intentions she had dreamt of him again last night. Which did not bode well for Friday, and her visit to the mill. . .

It was with mixed feelings that Rebecca prepared to set out for Marsden mill. Although a part of her was looking forward to learning about her inheritance another part of her was apprehensive about spending the afternoon with Joshua. His attitude towards her had been distant since leaving London, but there had been moments when she had been uncomfortably aware that he remembered their tense encounters just as clearly as she did. What was more, she had to admit that she missed them, as she missed the fire of his presence and the way he made her feel inside.

However, a cool manner would be much more appropriate this afternoon, and Rebecca determined to be business-like about the mill.

“You will not be lonely whilst I am gone?” she asked Louisa as she put on her bonnet.

“No, my dear,” said Louisa. “To tell you the truth, I will be pleased to have a day of rest. I have enjoyed our expeditions and our shopping trips, but I am not as young as I was and my joints still trouble me from time to time. Besides,” Louisa added casually, “Mr Sidders may, perhaps, look in.”

“Edward?” asked Rebecca, not noticing that Louisa's air of indifference was studied.

“Yes.” Louisa coloured slightly. “He has business near here, and he said he might call if he is passing.”

“The very thing,” said Rebecca. “He will keep you amused whilst I am out without overtaxing your strength.”

The door opened and Betsy came in. “The carriage is here, Miss Rebecca,” she said.

“Thank you, Betsy,” said Rebecca.

She donned her pelisse, a simple brown kerseymere which she felt would be suitable for the business-like nature of her visit to the mill. Then, taking her place in the carriage with Betsy beside her, she set off.

To begin with the carriage rolled past the grand houses that had been built in recent years for the mill owners whose fortunes had been made in the city, but as it approached the canal, on whose banks the mill was built, the scene began to change. Run-down buildings sprawled behind the splendid houses of the rich. They were dirty, grimy dwellings, and an unpleasant smell filled the air. Betsy wrinkled her nose, and Rebecca did likewise, but even as she did it she felt a growing determination to make sure that the people who worked for Marsden mill were never subjected to the inhuman conditions of workers in other mills.

Feeling glad she had decided to take an active interest in her inheritance she stepped out of the carriage when it finally came to a halt beside the gates of the mill. There, right next to it, was the Bridgewater Canal, which linked Manchester to Liverpool. Rebecca remembered her grandfather's pride as he had told her about his choice of site for the mill. “Right next to the canal, Becky,” he'd said. “That way we can get all the coal we need quickly and cheaply, and the raw materials, too!”

Rebecca looked at the canal with interest. She saw the sense of setting the mill next to the canal, and thought with pride of her grandfather's abilities, which had allowed him to take advantage of the new era in manufacturing and rise from being the poor son of a cobbler to being a wealthy and well-respected man.

Then she looked up at the mill itself. It was a large building, and her grandfather had been very proud of its four storeys. Rebecca had to admit she found it ugly but she, too, felt a sense of pride in it, as it was one of her beloved grandfather's greatest achievements. As she looked at the large letters that spelled out the name, MARSDEN MILL, she felt she was a little closer to her grandfather, and she felt a quickening of her interest as to what lay inside.

She was just about to go through the gates when she saw Joshua walking across the mill yard towards her. He seemed very much in charge there, as though he had been the owner of the mill since its beginning instead of for only a few weeks. But then he had been actively involved in the mill during her grandfather's lifetime.

“Well, Rebecca,” he said, after greeting both her and Betsy, “What do you think of your inheritance?”

“It's much bigger than I expected it to be.” They went through the gates, which were closed behind them by the gatekeeper.

“And uglier?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

She laughed. It was no use trying to keep anything from Joshua. Despite their differences he seemed to have an innate understanding of her, and of the way she thought.

“And uglier. But I am still proud of it, and I am looking forward to seeing inside.”

“You should prepare yourself. Cotton mills are hot and noisy places. Come and have a look round.”

She was pleased to find that his manner was welcoming, and she felt on safe ground, knowing that for this afternoon at least they could converse easily on the neutral topic of the mill.

They went into the large building, with Betsy following behind.

“This is the first stage of what goes on here,” said Joshua. He took Rebecca into a long, low room and encouraged her to look round. “The bales of cotton have to be opened and the impurities removed, ready for carding. Not long ago, it used to be done by hand. The cotton had to be spread out on a mesh and beaten with long sticks to remove the impurities. I can still remember watching the men and women doing it. But now we use a scutcher.”

“What on earth is a scutcher?” asked Rebecca.

“That,” said Joshua, pointing to a large machine, “is a scutcher.”

The machine looked fearsome to Rebecca. As she watched, she saw how it worked. Men loaded the raw cotton into a spiked drum; the drum spun around very quickly; and a fan blew away the dust and the dirt, the twigs and the impurities, leaving the cotton very clean.

“This is one of the machines the Luddites complain about?” she asked.

“They are usually more interested in breaking looms,” said Joshua, “but in general they are against any kind of machinery that does the job of a man. I can see their point. But the scutcher does the job of purifying the cotton more quickly and more efficiently than a person, and besides, the job itself is dull, tedious and unpleasant.”

“But still, it is a job, and it would pay a salary and allow someone to earn their living,” Rebecca remarked.

“As you say, it would pay a salary and allow someone to earn their living,” said Joshua. “Although, don't forget, people are still needed to load the machine. Still, there are no easy answers to the problems facing the mills and the workers at the moment. But machinery is the future, Rebecca, and we must go forward if we want to survive.”

“What happens to the cotton next?” Rebecca asked, as they moved on from the scutcher.

“Next it's carded, and then turned into a single thread.”

“Mercy me!” said Betsy, as she followed Rebecca and Joshua into an enormously long, low room full of more machinery. “All this, just to make a bit of cotton material to sew a dress!”

Joshua laughed. “By the time you buy your fabric at the drapers it's been through any number of different processes,” he agreed.

They moved onwards and upwards, climbing the stairs to the higher storeys. “Here the cotton is spun,” he said, as they went into another enormously long, low room filled with machinery.

“I never realized it would be so noisy,” said Rebecca, finding it difficult to hear and make herself heard over the clacking of machines.

“You get used to it,” shrugged Joshua.

As if to underline his words, at that moment they walked past a man who was whistling. Although Rebecca found it hard to hear the sound over the noise of the machines, it was clear the man and his fellows were enjoying the tune.

“I'm glad there are no ridiculous fines in our mill,” said Rebecca, remembering that some mills fined men for whistling.

“No. Hill, the manager, is a decent man. He appears to have run the mill very well over the last few months, from what I can see. I haven't had a chance to check everything yet, but so far it all seems to be in good order.” Joshua stood aside to let the two ladies pass back out onto the stairwell in front of him. “Now that you've seen the mill, I thought you might like to take some refreshment in the office.”

“But we haven't seen the weaving,” said Rebecca.

“We don't do that here,” said Joshua. “This is a spinning mill. We sell the yarn to other mill owners who do the weaving and dyeing needed to turn it into a finished piece of cloth.”