the fine strands of cotton and the noise all around her, but she kept the fact to herself. Not one
word of complaint would pass her lips. The job was a good one for a child of her age and – like Nell said – she was sure she would get used to it. Nevertheless, she was pleased to
escape into the fresh air in the hour’s break for dinner. She ran lightly across the yard and up the stone steps to the counting house. At his ‘come in’ in answer to her knock,
Hannah opened the door and stepped inside to stand meekly before Mr Roper’s desk, waiting until he should condescend to look up and acknowledge her presence. He kept her waiting –
deliberately, she thought – for what seemed an age, until Hannah was afraid she’d be late back to her work.
‘Don’t fidget, girl. What is it you want?’ he snapped, looking up at last.
‘Please, sir, Mr Edmund said you’d see that a letter’s posted for me.’
Hannah gave him what she hoped was her most winning smile, but it was lost on the embittered man. He merely glanced at her briefly over his spectacles and grunted sourly, ‘Leave it there.
I’ll see to it.’
‘Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.’
As Hannah left the office, Josiah Roper picked up the letter and, for a moment, weighed it in the palm of his hand. He glanced at the door, listening to make sure she had gone. He could hear her
footsteps clattering down the steps and her sweet voice echoing back up the stairs. Josiah’s mouth curled with disdain. Singing, indeed! How anyone could feel like singing in this place he
couldn’t imagine. He unfolded the letter to read her neat, childish handwriting.
‘ Dearest Mam, I hope you are well. I am fine and now working as a piecer with Nell, who is my friend. ’ The letter went on to describe the apprentice house and Mr and Mrs
Bramwell and some of the other children. She made no mention, Josiah noticed, of the Critchlows or the fact that she’d already been confined to the punishment room on several occasions and
that stoppages had been made out of her precious two guineas now in Josiah Roper’s keeping. He smiled wryly. The child made this place sound idyllic, but, he realized, the girl wanted her
mother to believe her well and happy.
Perhaps she was, Josiah thought, surprised. If her wretched singing was anything to go by.
The letter finished with a plea. ‘ I do wish you would write to me. I long to hear from you and know that you are all right. Perhaps matron would write a letter for you. ’
Josiah frowned thoughtfully. The matron. Matilda Goodbody. Ah, now there was an idea – if it should become necessary. He glanced at the door once more before slowly tearing the letter into
small pieces. He was not taking this action on his own initiative; Edmund had given the instruction.
‘Destroy them, Roper,’ he’d said. ‘And make sure no incoming letter reaches her.’
Josiah smiled cruelly, deliciously anticipating what the girl might do when no answer to her letters arrived.
As Hannah and Nell left the mill that evening and crossed the yard, they passed a boy talking to Ernest Scarsfield. The newcomer was tall and very goodlooking in Hannah’s
eyes. He had dark brown hair and eyes to match. He looked a little solemn, but then, she thought, he might well if he had any idea what he was coming to. She bent towards Nell to whisper, ‘Do
you think he’s come for a job?’
‘Eh?’ Nell gaped at her in surprise. Then she laughed. ‘Don’t you know who that is?’
Hannah shook her head.
‘That’s the next Critchlow. Adam. He’s Mr Edmund’s son. We don’t see much of him though. He’s away at school most of the time. Just now and again he comes to
the mill when he’s home for the holidays.’ She grinned. ‘To check his inheritance, I expect.’
Hannah glanced back over her shoulder and stared at the young man. He looked a little older than she was. Fourteen or maybe fifteen, she thought. She could see now that he had
word of complaint would pass her lips. The job was a good one for a child of her age and – like Nell said – she was sure she would get used to it. Nevertheless, she was pleased to
escape into the fresh air in the hour’s break for dinner. She ran lightly across the yard and up the stone steps to the counting house. At his ‘come in’ in answer to her knock,
Hannah opened the door and stepped inside to stand meekly before Mr Roper’s desk, waiting until he should condescend to look up and acknowledge her presence. He kept her waiting –
deliberately, she thought – for what seemed an age, until Hannah was afraid she’d be late back to her work.
‘Don’t fidget, girl. What is it you want?’ he snapped, looking up at last.
‘Please, sir, Mr Edmund said you’d see that a letter’s posted for me.’
Hannah gave him what she hoped was her most winning smile, but it was lost on the embittered man. He merely glanced at her briefly over his spectacles and grunted sourly, ‘Leave it there.
I’ll see to it.’
‘Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.’
As Hannah left the office, Josiah Roper picked up the letter and, for a moment, weighed it in the palm of his hand. He glanced at the door, listening to make sure she had gone. He could hear her
footsteps clattering down the steps and her sweet voice echoing back up the stairs. Josiah’s mouth curled with disdain. Singing, indeed! How anyone could feel like singing in this place he
couldn’t imagine. He unfolded the letter to read her neat, childish handwriting.
‘ Dearest Mam, I hope you are well. I am fine and now working as a piecer with Nell, who is my friend. ’ The letter went on to describe the apprentice house and Mr and Mrs
Bramwell and some of the other children. She made no mention, Josiah noticed, of the Critchlows or the fact that she’d already been confined to the punishment room on several occasions and
that stoppages had been made out of her precious two guineas now in Josiah Roper’s keeping. He smiled wryly. The child made this place sound idyllic, but, he realized, the girl wanted her
mother to believe her well and happy.
Perhaps she was, Josiah thought, surprised. If her wretched singing was anything to go by.
The letter finished with a plea. ‘ I do wish you would write to me. I long to hear from you and know that you are all right. Perhaps matron would write a letter for you. ’
Josiah frowned thoughtfully. The matron. Matilda Goodbody. Ah, now there was an idea – if it should become necessary. He glanced at the door once more before slowly tearing the letter into
small pieces. He was not taking this action on his own initiative; Edmund had given the instruction.
‘Destroy them, Roper,’ he’d said. ‘And make sure no incoming letter reaches her.’
Josiah smiled cruelly, deliciously anticipating what the girl might do when no answer to her letters arrived.
As Hannah and Nell left the mill that evening and crossed the yard, they passed a boy talking to Ernest Scarsfield. The newcomer was tall and very goodlooking in Hannah’s
eyes. He had dark brown hair and eyes to match. He looked a little solemn, but then, she thought, he might well if he had any idea what he was coming to. She bent towards Nell to whisper, ‘Do
you think he’s come for a job?’
‘Eh?’ Nell gaped at her in surprise. Then she laughed. ‘Don’t you know who that is?’
Hannah shook her head.
‘That’s the next Critchlow. Adam. He’s Mr Edmund’s son. We don’t see much of him though. He’s away at school most of the time. Just now and again he comes to
the mill when he’s home for the holidays.’ She grinned. ‘To check his inheritance, I expect.’
Hannah glanced back over her shoulder and stared at the young man. He looked a little older than she was. Fourteen or maybe fifteen, she thought. She could see now that he had
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