Pauper's Gold by Margaret Dickinson Page A

the look of his
father, the same dark colouring. Yet there was a marked difference: the boy had no cruel, sardonic twist to his mouth. As if feeling her scrutiny, Adam Critchlow turned and their eyes met.
Embarrassed, a faint blush crept up Hannah’s face and she looked away swiftly.
    ‘Well, I’m off to the schoolroom,’ she said, deliberately changing the subject.
    ‘Not for much longer you won’t be. You’re not allowed to go after you’re twelve.’
    ‘Oh.’ Hannah bit her lip. She was twelve already, almost thirteen, but she loved the two hours in the schoolroom after work each day. It was the only place she never got into
trouble. Though the master was strict, Hannah so enjoyed soaking up the knowledge that her attention never wavered. She could write neatly, spell reasonably well and was above average at
arithmetic. Some of the children, even at her age, still couldn’t write their name in the sand tray, let alone be allowed to move on to use a slate. But Hannah was surprisingly alert even
after long hours in the mill.
    For the teacher, who laboured with children too exhausted to take in anything he was telling them, Hannah was a joy to teach. The elderly schoolmaster found his stern ways softening towards this
able pupil. He had never before encountered such an enthusiastic child amongst the pauper apprentices at the mill. So, when later that same evening Hannah approached him as the other children
escaped the classroom, he smiled at her. The girl didn’t return his smile.
    ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Some thing amiss?’
    ‘Please, sir, I understand I’m not supposed to come to school any more. I’m thirteen next month.’
    ‘Ah.’
    ‘But I don’t want to stop coming for lessons, Mr Jessop. That book you’re reading to us – Swiss Family Robinson – I love it. I want to know what happens. I
want to hear the end.’
    The man was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Has anyone said anything to you? Mr Critchlow, Mr Edmund or the Bramwells – about you not being able to attend classes any more?’
    Hannah shook her head.
    A twinkle came into Mr Jessop’s eyes. A twinkle that very few of his pupils ever saw. He leaned towards her. ‘Then we’ll carry on until someone tells us to stop, eh?’ He
pointed his forefinger at her. ‘You don’t know the rule about stopping at twelve, and I,’ now he pointed towards himself, ‘don’t know how old you are.’
    Hannah’s eyes shone. ‘Oh, thank you, Mr Jessop.’
    ‘Just one thing, mind,’ he added. ‘You won’t be able to tell anyone that it’s your birthday.’
    ‘I don’t mind. I’d rather keep coming to school.’
    Mr Jessop nodded. ‘Very well, then. Our little secret, eh?’
    It would be six months before anyone realized that Hannah should no longer be attending the school, but in that time Mr Jessop had finished reading the story and started another. When she was
forced to stop attending, he lent her books from the schoolroom. And whenever Hannah found herself destined for a spell in the punishment room, she hid the current precious book beneath her skirt
and was lost in another world away from the stark confines of the bare room.
    Little did anyone know that, apart from constant hunger, Hannah now quite enjoyed her spells of solitary confinement.
    As Nell had said, Dorothy Riley was more than just ‘nice’, she was generous with her pay at the end of the week.
    ‘There you are, my pets,’ she said, slipping a few coppers into the girls’ hands outside the mill gates. ‘Can’t promise it every week, but you’ve done really
well considering it’s your first week. Mind you,’ she laughed, eyeing them, ‘I don’t think you’ll be at the job long. You’ll soon be a mite too big to nip in and
out. Besides, old Scarsfield’s got his eye on you two to go up in the world.’
    Nell and Hannah exchanged glances. ‘You think so, Mrs Riley?’
    ‘I know so, luv. So, you keep on the way you are and you’ll soon be earning