Jane was shocked. ‘Did you report him?’
‘No.’ Amos shrugged. ‘He would have denied it, and I couldn’t prove it, so I did nothing.’
‘Then why are you telling me?’
‘In the hope that you might tell your husband.’
‘But you still can’t prove anything.’
‘No. But you know my beliefs. I wouldn’t lie.’
‘Of course. But what do you want Henry to do? If you can’t prove corruption, he can’t either.’
‘He doesn’t need to prove anything. He’s the commanding officer. He can simply assign Major Riddick to a different role – master of firearms, for example – and pick someone else to supervise the purchasing.’
‘What if the new man is just as corrupt as Will?’
‘Tell Henry to appoint a Methodist.’
Jane nodded thoughtfully. ‘He might do that. He says the Methodists make good officers.’
Henry Northwood separated from Alderman Drinkwater and came to his wife’s side. Amos bowed to him. The viscount said: ‘What do you think of this strike, Barrowfield?’
‘The clothiers must make a profit, and the hands must have a living wage – it’s really not so difficult, my lord. But greed and pride get in the way.’
‘You think the masters should give in?’
‘I think both sides should compromise.’
‘Very sensible,’ said Northwood, and he took Jane’s arm proprietorially and led her away.
*
The Irish started work at Hornbeam’s mills on Monday. That evening after ringing practice there was a meeting in the back room of the Bell. The room was large but tonight it was crammed: most of the striking weavers were there, with Sal, Jarge and Spade too.
No one was drinking much. There was an air of tense anticipation. Something had to happen, though no one was sure what. Some of the weavers were carrying stout sticks, wooden shovels and mallets.
Sal wanted to avoid violence.
Jarge was in favour of battle. ‘A hundred of us, outside PiggeryMill tomorrow at half past four in the morning, armed with cudgels. Anyone who tries to go into the mill gets a beating. Simple as that.’
Jarge’s pal Jack Camp, also a weaver at Hornbeam’s Upper Mill, said: ‘That’s the way,’ and an angry murmur indicated much support for this approach.
Sal said: ‘And then what?’
‘Hornbeam will have to give in,’ Jarge said.
Spade said: ‘Is he a giving-in type of man, do you think, Jarge? Mightn’t he call out the militia?’
Jarge laughed. ‘That won’t do him no good. The militiamen are our friends and neighbours.’
‘True, they refused to fire on women at the bread riot,’ Spade conceded. ‘But can we be sure the same would happen again? What if, instead of shooting, they start arresting people?’
Jarge was scornful. ‘They’ll have trouble arresting me.’
‘I know,’ said Spade. ‘So there would be a fight, three or four soldiers against you.’
‘Against me and my friends.’