Phoebe's Challenge

Phoebe’s Challenge

by

Valerie Holmes

A North Riding Novella

Second Edition (Revised)

Chapter One

England: The North Riding of Yorkshire 1813

Thomas Elgie, clear that floor now!

Phoebe spun around as she heard the order bellow out of Benjamin Bladderwell, the powerfully built, balding overseer of Gorebeck Cotton Mill. Her brother, Thomas froze amidst the terrifying cacophony of working machines that surrounded them.

Bladderwell pointed to the threads and offcuts under one of the weaving machines. Move yerself, boy!

Thomas, a slightly built ten-year-old was petrified of crawling under the moving machines, retrieving the excess pieces of cotton fallen under the Spinning Mule looms was a task usually assigned to younger children.

Bladderwell relished Thomas’s fear, Phoebe thought, as the boy stared, with blue eyes wide, at the clattering weaving machines.

Lazy scumbag! Bladderwell took a stride towards the static boy. Both siblings hated the mill. Phoebe knew they had to escape before they were weakened by the meagre rations or injured by the work and breathing in the dust laden air. She dreamed of a future where they could both be free again.

Phoebe placed her basket of wound cotton bobbins on the floor and ran to her brother’s side. I’ll do it, sir. I’m more agile than Thomas and quicker too! She stood in front of Thomas giving him time to snap out of his fear-filled trance. She hoped he had not panicked to the point where his blood ran cold and his feet were rooted to the ground, a feeling he had described to her before. Phoebe looked at the man through her lowered lashes with growing dread. It was unwise to stare at Bladderwell, especially when you did not want to draw his attention to you.

Bladderwell brought the back of his hand down towards her. She instinctively ducked but the full force of the blow landed across Thomas’s cheek. He fell, scraping his knee through the thin fabric of his clothes. Hatred filled Thomas’s eyes.

Winded, Thomas tried to stand upright, gasping for breath. The factory was kept warm and moist so that the threads did not break on the weaving and spinning machines. No one seemed to care what happened to the people who had to endure such conditions, so long as the profits were made for the mill owner, Mr. James Bartholomew Atkins grew richer, whilst his workers coughed and choked their way through another gruelling day’s labour.

Bladderwell cupped Phoebe’s chin in his hand and stared down. Listen, missy. His roughly shaven face was next to hers. Phoebe tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip until she stopped resisting. You can make life much easier for yourself and the sprat. Don’t see how he’ll survive long in here. I’ll let him off if you come to the store house and give me a bit of your company.

Phoebe knew what he referred to. She was not completely innocent of the ways of the world. She had grown up on a farm and knew how life’s cycle worked and listened to the women talk about their relations with their men. She had seen his lustful gaze rest upon her often, no matter how much she bound her breasts to try and keep as young a silhouette as she could. Did he really think for one moment she would let him touch her or…? Never!

Angered by Phoebe’s silent rejection, Bladderwell pushed her onto the filthy floor. Then crawl in the filth where you belong, and when you’ve had time to think, missy, you can crawl back to me on your hands and knees!

Phoebe looked at the back of Bladderwell’s jacket as he turned away to face the boy. One day soon, I’ll make you crawl, she thought. I’ll see you terrified and cornered. She promised her revenge in her mind and, as if the man sensed it, Bladderwell picked Thomas up by the scruff of his threadbare wool jacket and gave him a shake,

If you ain’t going to work… Bladderwell dropped him on the stone floor and reached for his lash.

Phoebe’s wriggled beneath the still working machine, cowering and with little room to move. Grabbing some fallen remnants of cloth, she tried to slowly back out, hoping to divert Bladderwell’s attention from Thomas. Why couldn’t the man have gone to fight with other villagers against Napoleon’s armies?

Phoebe forced a picture of her father into her mind – a long ago memory, painful for her to rekindle. He had bravely served and died. Life was just not fair!

She knew Thomas’s anger was too strong for him to hide. There was no point. He was in enough trouble already.

I’m going to take the skin off your idle little back! The lines on Bladderwell’s face deepened as he raised the lash. Thomas curled into the tightest ball that he could, protecting his head.

Phoebe sped up without taking enough care. Agh! Phoebe’s high shriek stopped the lash from falling as people nearby turned to see the cause of the scream.

Phoebe! Thomas shouted, jumping up and running over to where she was trapped. She lay motionless unable to move forwards or backwards. There was a strong, unspoken bond between them, and Thomas’s panic grew when he saw blood on her hand.

Get out of there, you stupid little… Bladderwell’s words were drowned out by the noise, as the clatter grew louder and more irregular. Phoebe had somehow damaged the machine. The weaver was shouting that something was wrong. She couldn’t see clearly, but she thought part of her sleeve, had caught on its frame. Thomas crawled in behind her, his own fear overwhelmed by concern for his sister. Grabbing hold of Phoebe’s ankles firmly, he tried to gently ease her out. However, he lacked the strength to do it. Suddenly, his own legs were pulled abruptly from behind. The ground seemed to move under him as he was yanked harshly out. Then Phoebe was unceremoniously dragged out also, the fabric of her sleeve ripping. Once free, Phoebe could see a nasty cut in her arm beneath the torn sleeve. She swallowed hard and held it close, as blood flowed.

Are you all right, Phoebe? Thomas asked.

She tried to smile back but could see the overseer’s face and it terrified her.

Everyone in the factory away from this loom kept working, no-one dared aid them. Work was poorly paid and hard to come by, but it was better than none and the resulting humiliation of the workhouse.

Thomas helped Phoebe to her feet. She needs her cut tending, sir. It should be cleaned, and the arm bound. Thomas’s concern for Phoebe caused him to ignore that he was already in line for a thorough beating.

His plea fell on deaf ears.

Get back to your work, girl! Tie a machine rag around it. Don’t you dare drip on the weave! Once done, collect up those spindles. Move! Bladderwell yelled for one of the men to come and mend the damage.

Phoebe began to look around for unwanted scraps of cloth, her dismay growing with every moment. Once Thomas’s temper rose, he forgot caution completely.

No! Thomas shouted. There’s cloth everywhere. She doesn’t need to use dirty old pieces when there’s clean offcuts. Nobody else will want it. If it’s clean it mends better, my ma said so! Thomas added.

It’s all right, I’ll manage... Phoebe, seeing the danger Thomas was already in, tried to act normally, but she was pale and frightened. Her voice low. She did not want to incite Thomas further; although eight years younger than her, he liked to assume the role of her protector. They had been raised in a fine home, on a working farm – free. One that had been enclosed and the crops rotated to use the land more effectively.

Phoebe knew that Thomas, like their father, appreciated the new machines that helped with work. He had adopted many of her father’s views and ideas. He had openly voiced his opinion that it was not right that he and Phoebe should have been ‘given’ to the mill owner to be used as little better than skivvies. It was soon pointed out that they should feel gratitude for this opportunity to work and provide their own living.

When the lash was raised once more Thomas reached out and grabbed a besom, conveniently placed to hand for the younger children to sweep the floor at the end of their long day. He swung it wildly. The lash came down and wrapped around the handle, the two becoming enmeshed. Thomas pulled at the besom with all his strength and managed to jerk it free from Bladderwell’s surprised hand. Flipping it violently released the lash, but Thomas could not hold on and control what happened next. All eyes watched in disbelief as it became airborne. Phoebe hoped it would fall to the open space between the looms. It didn’t. Bladderwell lurched, his bare fists opened like two claws ready to grasp their prey – Thomas.

Phoebe throat tightened, but the almighty crashing sound put a halt to the man’s intentions. Instead, he stared helplessly at the loom as the two women who were working on it screamed, scared by the crunching noise as the broom lodged in the frame and the lash tangled with the threads, bringing the work to a shuddering halt. Bladderwell fell to his knees as he watched it falter grind to a halt. Phoebe saw a glint of fear cross his face. Of course, she realised, he was answerable to the mill owner for the upkeep of the machines, their production, and maintenance.

Phoebe gulped as she swallowed the damp fibrous air. Things had gone too far for them to stay a moment longer. Bladderwell’s face which had been bright red was now slowly turning puce. She grabbed a scrap of clean fabric from the off-cuts and quickly wrapped it around her arm.

When I say run, run! she ordered. Thomas nodded his agreement. This time he had gone too far for them to linger a moment longer!

Phoebe started backing towards the large double doors at the end of the mill. Her arm throbbed. Bladderwell was pure evil, and she was glad he would have to answer to the owner for the damage, but they would now be hunted as wreckers of machines.

Bladderwell ran towards them. Foul words rushed out of his mouth. Thomas knocked over a basket of scraps and then grabbed a second broom handle and jabbed it hard at the overseer’s shin. Bladderwell dodged, slipped on the debris under his feet and could not avoid the blow that glanced off his jawbone. Thomas drew the broom back, looked the man straight in the eye and smiled fleetingly before taking his ultimate revenge. Phoebe realised his intent but could not stop the boy. With an almighty thrust he took great pleasure in deliberately hurling the whole broom handle into the workings of the nearest loom, breaking threads and wedging the handle between the shuttles.

No! The roar from Bladderwell’s mouth was nearly as loud as the commotion Thomas caused as the apparatus juddered to a standstill. The workers ran to the side of the mill in trepidation, fearing Bladderwell’s next actions. Threads snapped. Workers gasped. Sounds echoed in Thomas and Phoebe’s ears. They ran for the doorway.

Run! Get out of here, Thomas! Phoebe said.

Scrambling through the open doorway used by the workers the siblings looked hastily around at the yard and paused in the shelter of a brick arch by the river, deciding which way to go. In the still peaceful yard, men loaded bales onto an open horse drawn wagon, whilst nearby a covered one was loading empty barrels to take away, as yet unaware of the commotion inside the factory floor.

Phoebe brushed her dark hair off her face where it had escaped the rag tied around the braid. We’ll have to cross the river and escape into the woods before we are caught! Excitement coursed through her body as she pulled fresh air into her lungs and looked to the trees on the bank opposite.

She glanced at the fast-flowing water that ran under the mill, powering the factory’s needs- all very clever but never-the-less daunting to her. She hated mechanical apparatus.

If we get separated, go without me. I’ll be all right. If they catch you, you’ll be hung or transported. You’re a machine breaker now. Just like the Luddites. Oh, Thomas, run and don’t ever stop to look back. They’ll only make me work. I was clumsy, that’s all. Then when you’re a man you can come back for me. She forced a smile, which was as unconvincing as her words.

We go together! You know what he’ll do to you and don’t think I don’t. I’ve seen him with Alice and heard her crying after he’d done. That’s not for you, Phoebe. Father would want me to look after you, and I will, Phoebe.

Even in this moment of crisis Phoebe was amused at his words, he tried so hard to be a man, yet it was she who did most of the looking out for them. She was desperately worried for their future. They both made ready to make a run for the bank opposite when two strong hands pulled them firmly back to the seclusion of