said, noticing them staring, “or rather my machines do. And I live next to my mill in case I’m needed. If you come to Tapton, I’ll show you round the place one day.”
Without waiting for an answer he led them across the square, which was lit by lanterns hanging outside the shops and inn.
“That’s Seaton’s,” he waved a hand towards another brightly-lit building looming behind the houses on the opposite side of the square.
Martha noticed that it wasn’t as big as Mr Wright’s mill, but it still seemed large to her and was just as brightly lit.
“And at the other end of the town is Brindley’s. You can just see the lights from his place over there.” He pointed to their right.
By the light of a nearby lantern Martha could see how tight his expression had become at the mention of the name Brindley and was intrigued. Clearly he didn’t get on with the third millowner. She didn’t pursue that point now, just enjoyed the brisk walk past the inn towards Mr Seaton’s house, which also lay next to his mill. Their breath clouded the chill air and their footsteps sounded clearly on the square stone setts that paved the streets in this central part of the town.
“Does Mr Seaton spin cotton too?” Penelope inquired.
“Aye. Towns usually specialise in either spinning or weaving. In Tapton it’s spinning, though there’s a small dye works too. We use steam engines to drive our machinery nowadays, but we used to use water power. Ben’s bringing some new machinery into his mill soon, so it’ll be more efficient. His father let things run down, I’m afraid, and Ben’s had a hard time of it since he inherited. But he’s pulling things into shape at the mill now.”
He hesitated, then added, “If he seems a bit short-tempered, well, he’s got a few problems at the moment, so please bear with him.”
He stopped in front of a square, stone-built house. It stood neat and solid in front of the mill and something about it appealed to Martha.
The door opened before Mr Wright could raise the knocker and a plump elderly maid stood there beaming at him. “I saw you walking down the street, Mr Jonas. Come inside quickly, ladies. It’s bitter cold out.”
He gestured to the two sisters to precede him, then said in his easy manner, “This is Hepzibah Carr, who’s been with the Seatons since she was a lass and who rules this house with a rod of iron.”
“Get on with you, Mr Jonas,” she chided with a fond smile, then turned to study the visitors quite openly before saying, “I’ll just send Nan across the yard for Mr Ben. Miss Georgie is waiting for you in the front room.” She threw open a door, calling, “Here they are, love.”
From the rear of the room a girl moved forward into the brighter circle of lamplight. She was pretty, but her appearance was spoiled by a sulky expression and her clothes were far too grown-up for a girl of sixteen, in Martha’s opinion, and far too fussy.
“Good evening, Georgie,” Mr Wright said. “I’ve brought Miss Merridene and her sister Miss Penelope to meet you.”
“Good evening. Won’t you please sit down?” Her voice was wooden and when the sisters had sat down on the sofa, she chose a chair set further back while Mr Wright went to stand in front of the fire, one hand on the mantelpiece. “Ah, here he is.”
There was the sound of footsteps and as she’d suspected Martha recognised the gentleman who had picked up her purse. He stopped just inside the doorway, looking somewhat abashed as he recognised her too, then turned to Mr Wright, smiling a greeting. She decided that when he wasn’t scowling he was, as Sally would say, a fine figure of a man, if not strictly handsome.
Mr Wright made the introductions, saying frankly, “Libby sent the ladies round to meet you because she’s happy for them to teach our girls.” A clock chimed on the mantelpiece and he looked at it with a frown. “Can I leave you to escort them back to the inn, Ben? One of the
Without waiting for an answer he led them across the square, which was lit by lanterns hanging outside the shops and inn.
“That’s Seaton’s,” he waved a hand towards another brightly-lit building looming behind the houses on the opposite side of the square.
Martha noticed that it wasn’t as big as Mr Wright’s mill, but it still seemed large to her and was just as brightly lit.
“And at the other end of the town is Brindley’s. You can just see the lights from his place over there.” He pointed to their right.
By the light of a nearby lantern Martha could see how tight his expression had become at the mention of the name Brindley and was intrigued. Clearly he didn’t get on with the third millowner. She didn’t pursue that point now, just enjoyed the brisk walk past the inn towards Mr Seaton’s house, which also lay next to his mill. Their breath clouded the chill air and their footsteps sounded clearly on the square stone setts that paved the streets in this central part of the town.
“Does Mr Seaton spin cotton too?” Penelope inquired.
“Aye. Towns usually specialise in either spinning or weaving. In Tapton it’s spinning, though there’s a small dye works too. We use steam engines to drive our machinery nowadays, but we used to use water power. Ben’s bringing some new machinery into his mill soon, so it’ll be more efficient. His father let things run down, I’m afraid, and Ben’s had a hard time of it since he inherited. But he’s pulling things into shape at the mill now.”
He hesitated, then added, “If he seems a bit short-tempered, well, he’s got a few problems at the moment, so please bear with him.”
He stopped in front of a square, stone-built house. It stood neat and solid in front of the mill and something about it appealed to Martha.
The door opened before Mr Wright could raise the knocker and a plump elderly maid stood there beaming at him. “I saw you walking down the street, Mr Jonas. Come inside quickly, ladies. It’s bitter cold out.”
He gestured to the two sisters to precede him, then said in his easy manner, “This is Hepzibah Carr, who’s been with the Seatons since she was a lass and who rules this house with a rod of iron.”
“Get on with you, Mr Jonas,” she chided with a fond smile, then turned to study the visitors quite openly before saying, “I’ll just send Nan across the yard for Mr Ben. Miss Georgie is waiting for you in the front room.” She threw open a door, calling, “Here they are, love.”
From the rear of the room a girl moved forward into the brighter circle of lamplight. She was pretty, but her appearance was spoiled by a sulky expression and her clothes were far too grown-up for a girl of sixteen, in Martha’s opinion, and far too fussy.
“Good evening, Georgie,” Mr Wright said. “I’ve brought Miss Merridene and her sister Miss Penelope to meet you.”
“Good evening. Won’t you please sit down?” Her voice was wooden and when the sisters had sat down on the sofa, she chose a chair set further back while Mr Wright went to stand in front of the fire, one hand on the mantelpiece. “Ah, here he is.”
There was the sound of footsteps and as she’d suspected Martha recognised the gentleman who had picked up her purse. He stopped just inside the doorway, looking somewhat abashed as he recognised her too, then turned to Mr Wright, smiling a greeting. She decided that when he wasn’t scowling he was, as Sally would say, a fine figure of a man, if not strictly handsome.
Mr Wright made the introductions, saying frankly, “Libby sent the ladies round to meet you because she’s happy for them to teach our girls.” A clock chimed on the mantelpiece and he looked at it with a frown. “Can I leave you to escort them back to the inn, Ben? One of the
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