Page 160 of The Armor of Light
‘Like every fashionable woman in Kingsbridge.’
‘Oh, well, I’m sure you’re right,’ Belinda had said.
Elsie had been sure she was right, until now.
Was this why Arabella had been anxious about revealing something that ought to have been joyful news? If the bishop believed her to have been unfaithful, his wrath would be monstrous. He had a vengeful streak that was quite frightening. He had once locked Elsie in her room and fed her on bread and water for a week, for some offence that she had now forgotten. Her mother had cried, but that had had no effect on the bishop’s obduracy.
She looked hard at her father now, trying to read his mind. Hehad been startled at first, then embarrassed. Now, she thought, he was puzzled. She guessed he found it hard to believe that he had had sexual intercourse for the first time in many years and then forgotten about it. On the other hand, he must be well aware that he occasionally drank more port than was wise, and everyone knew that caused a man to forget what he had done.
And he admitted he remembered the morning after. They had woken up in bed together. Did that not settle the matter? Not quite, she realized. A woman who had been made pregnant by her lover might sleep with her husband to persuade him that the child was his. Could Arabella have been so devious, she wondered? My mother?
A desperate woman might do a lot of things.
*
Sal was pleased with the way things were going. Although the union had been forced to close down by the Combination Act, the friendly society had taken its place, and had become citywide. Representatives from the mills now collected weekly subscriptions to ‘the friendly’, and they met periodically to discuss the affairs of the society and related topics. Already two clothiers introducing new machinery had found it suited them to approach the representative of the friendly to discuss the changes in advance.
The Irish workers had settled in to Kingsbridge, and no one could remember why there had ever been fights. They patronized two or three waterfront taverns, which had become known as Irish pubs and were glad of the business. Colin Hennessy, the Irishman Kit had met the day they arrived, was the representative of the friendly at Piggery Mill.
One night in October Colin appeared in the Bell, where Sal was sitting with Jarge and Spade. Sal liked Colin. He was her kind of man: big and strong and unafraid. Spade bought him a tankard of ale. He took a long draught, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, andtold them why he had sought them out. ‘Hornbeam has bought a new machine, a giant scribbling engine.’
Sal frowned. ‘This is the first we’ve heard of it.’
‘I found out only today. They were making space for it to arrive tomorrow.’
‘So he hasn’t discussed it with the hands.’
‘Not at all.’
Sal looked at Spade. ‘He’s ignoring the agreement.’
Jarge said: ‘We’ll have to go back on strike.’
Jarge was a lot like Hornbeam, Sal reflected: ever in favour of the most aggressive response. Men like that believed that belligerence would always win the day, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Spade said: ‘You might be right, Jarge, but first we need to talk to Hornbeam and find out what’s on his mind. Why has he done this? It’s hard to see what he might gain, other than a lot of trouble.’
Jarge said: ‘He won’t tell you the truth.’
‘But you can learn something just by studying which lies a person chooses to tell.’
Jarge backed down. ‘That’s true, I suppose.’
Spade said: ‘Sal, you and I should go and see Hornbeam, as we’re in the team assigned to monitor compliance. And we should take Colin with us because he can testify that Hornbeam has broken the agreement.’
Sal said: ‘Agreed.’
‘When shall we go?’
‘Now,’ said Sal. ‘I can’t spare the time out of the working day.’
Colin looked a bit startled, but he said: ‘All right, then,’ and emptied his tankard.
They left Jarge and walked to the select neighbourhood north of High Street. Hornbeam’s front door was opened by a footman who looked disdainfully at them, then recognized Spade. ‘Good evening, Mr Shoveller,’ he said warily.
Spade said: ‘Hello, Simpson. Please tell him I’d be grateful for a few minutes of his time on a matter of considerable importance.’
‘Very good, sir. Please step into the hall while I find out whether Alderman Hornbeam is at home.’
