Shadow in the North

Chapter Thirteen - Defiance and Defence

Isabel was shown to the drawing room and left to wait, listening all the while to the sounds which roared up from the end of the street; creeping in through the windows which had been left half-open to cool the room. She heard a swell of noise with her attentive ear; knowing well what sound to listen for, but the air was still, and she knew the wind could not carry such a roar towards her. She felt, with some trepidation, that they must be moving nearer - sweeping forwards as one great entity - but then the noise would die away, only to be filled with a great lull which was so heavy with expectation - so loaded with some unknown dread - that she could almost wish to hear their battle cries and watch them surge, so that she might know what they were facing; so that she would be ready for their coming.

As she listened, waiting for the growing sound of the swell to rupture once again, Fanny arrived in her frills and lace, and spoke in a voice so careless and unconcerned, that she had grudgingly to cede, that the girl was a true simpleton; for she spoke words of understanding, but the inflection of her voice - the expression on her face - told all that she had no understanding whatsoever.

'Mamma will come directly, Miss Darrow. She wished for me to apologise for the delay. Perhaps you have heard that my brother has imported Irish to work in his mill? The workers have learnt of it and it has quite upset them; as though my brother has not the right to choose who it is he should employ! And then it is, that these foolish Milton men scare and threaten the Irish, until they are too scared to leave the mill. Look up there, Miss Darrow,' continued Fanny, pointing beyond the window. 'You can see there, the Irish; up in the room above the mill. My brother is trying to comfort them, for the workers have scared them so that the women cry to return home. See! they will not work and they will not allow others to work! No, John tries to calm them, and mother sees to their food, for up there, they must all sleep; we durst not let them out.'

Mrs Thornton arrived; dark cheeked and grim mouthed, and heard Isabel's awkward explanation of her unexpected presence in their home, but stilled and listened at the window, before she could form a reply to the request of a water-bed.

'They are at the gates! Call John, Fanny! He must return from the mill; they are at the gates!' cried Mrs Thornton, in alarm, and as Fanny moved to do as she was bid, both Mrs Thornton and Isabel heard the gathering tramp of the masses, crowding outside the mill gates. A look of understanding passed between both women, and Isabel sprang into action.

'Shut down the windows, Mrs Thornton! Shut down the windows, for they could throw a missile at the window.' Both ladies moved forward, each seeing to a window, but stopped and listened to the roaring crowd, before their commission was complete. The masses surged, and the great gates trembled and groaned, but did not yield; inciting the crowd's angry cries further. Their roars grew and their excitement overtook them, and then an eerie silence fell as the crowd appeared to retreat from the doors, only to surge forward once again in one united movement, crushing at the wooden barrier with renewed vigour. All the servants had gathered at the windows, to watch alongside both women, but Fanny, on hearing those savage cries, had taken herself to the sofa, screaming that she should be murdered.

Mrs Thornton watched anxiously for her son - still caught up with his Irish in the mill. She was terrified that the men would force the gates and pour into the yard, forcing her son prisoner up in that mill, but at length he rushed from the mill door, locking it hastily behind him. He stole a quick glance up at the Irishmen - faces pressed anxiously against the glass of the windows - and smiled at them good courage, before running across the yard and to the front door, where he called out for someone to let him in, as Fanny - in her terror - had seen fit to lock her brother out as she had flown from the room in hysterics. Mrs Thornton rushed down herself; the familiar tones of Mr Thornton's deep, commanding voice, only serving as a battle cry for the crowds beyond the gate, enflaming them in their heated passion. His voice so discernible to their ears - sparking in them, a barrage of hostile voices, savage in their anger, relentless in their pursuit of him, and Mrs Thornton, preceding her son into the room, had a face flushed white with horror. Mr Thornton followed swiftly behind, cheeks alight with excitement, but eyes gleaming in response to the danger, standing proud and defiant like an ever-alert soldier.