In the week following the march, the women waited for the mill owners’ response. When none came, Lacey called for the women from each mill to withdraw their labour on Saturday morning. It being a half day, the majority agreed as they weren’t losing a full days’ pay.
Come Saturday, resolute crowds of women gathered outside the gates of Brearley’s, Jarmain’s, Brooksbank’s and Hebblethwaite’s Mills, deaf to the managers’ pleas to go inside and attend to their looms. Irate mill owners, desperate to meet their contracts, joined in the fray, the women jeering at their half hearted threats of instant dismissal: they would not, could not, afford to dispose of the majority of the workforce.
The next Saturday, the women again withdrew their labour, although many of them were losing heart as well as earnings.
‘We can’t go on like this, Lacey,’ grumbled Sarah Broadhead from Jarmain’s mill. ‘T’lasses are fed up of losing their wages, an’ t’bosses aren’t for shifting.’
‘They will when they get these on Monday morning,’ said Lacey, gesturing to a clutch of envelopes. ‘If they don’t agree to meet and discuss our demands we’ll strike every Friday as well as Saturday.’
‘Eeeh, I don’t think many lasses will agree to that. They can’t afford it.’
Lacey gave a brave smile. ‘They might not have to. The bosses can’t make cloth without us. They’ll have to do summat about it.’
*
In the comfortable surroundings of Garsthwaite’s Assembly Rooms four sombre gentlemen sat round a table, their snifters of brandy untouched.
‘We can’t go on like this,’ snapped Jonas Brearley, ‘I’m already behind wi’ my biggest contract. I’ve Government officials breathing down my neck for a completion date. They’re threatening to penalise me if I can’t come up wi’ the goods.’ He reached for his drink and gulped at it, almost choking when the fiery liquid hit the back of his throat.
Charles Brooksbank curled his lip distastefully. An owner with scant knowledge of the workings of his mill, he deplored Jonas’s rough manner. ‘Personally, I’m inclined to hold you responsible for this debacle. My informants assure me the instigator of that ridiculous protest rally and the withdrawing of labour is in your employ: not only that, she’s your daughter-in-law.’
He glanced imperiously from one to the other of the assembled mill owners to judge the effect this information had on them. ‘Had you the foresight to vet your workers more scrupulously you would not have employed her in the first place,’ he continued, ‘and you most certainly should never have allowed your son to marry her.’
Jonas’s hackles rose. ‘Watch what you say. I’ll not have you cast aspersions on my son’s choice of wife; it’s nowt to do wi’ you.’
‘It is when she threatens my livelihood,’ barked Brooksbank, undeterred.
‘Listen to yourself,’ Jonas sneered, ‘you’d think we were all bankrupt the way you talk. Haven’t we all made a killing with these Government contracts? Maybe we should give the women a bit more; we’re all in profit.’
‘Exactly,’ Brooksbank sneered, ‘and I intend to keep every shilling. Have you no control over the women in your employ?’
‘Nay, I’ll not take blame for summat as affects us all,’ Jonas blustered, slamming the flat of his hand down hard on the table. ‘The women in your mills must be just as bloody minded as them in mine. Otherwise they wouldn’t be standing outside your mill gates refusing to work all day Friday and Saturday morning.’
‘He’s right,’ Amos Hebblethwaite conceded. ‘We must give this matter careful thought. We need those women just as much as they need us. I’ve witnessed all manner of protests in the industry in my seventy-eight years, and if we don’t handle this one fairly it could be to our cost.’ He sat back in his chair, the better to assess the reaction of his companions.
For the next half hour they bickered and connived. Eventually Jonas sat back, absenting himself from the argument. In his mind he pictured his daughter-in-law, Lacey. By, but she was a woman to be reckoned with. He who had known the hardships of working in the mill couldn’t help but admire her. His son loved her and his wife and daughter were equally fond. Lacey had made a difference in all their lives. She might only be a working class girl but her beliefs had forced Jonas to reconsider his views on humanity. Maybe now was the time to even things up a bit, make life easier for those that struggled. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t afford it. He leaned forward, demanding attention.
‘I’ve decided what I’m going to do,’ he said firmly. ‘The rest of you can do as you please.’
The others looked at him expectantly.
‘If I miss my deadlines it’ll cost me more than I care to think about. Therefore I reckon it’ll be worth my while to make sure I meet ‘em on time.’ He swigged his brandy, then lit a cigar. ‘I pay my lasses four bob less than I pay the men. Now, I’m not going to give ‘em equal pay but I will meet ‘em halfway. Two bob extra on every piece should satisfy ‘em.’ He thumped the table, a smile of satisfaction lighting his florid features.
Silas Jarmain reared up. ‘It’s easy for you. I’ll have to pay my women four shillings more to match your offer.’
Jonas smirked. ‘That’s because you’re a cheapskate, Silas; you’ve always underpaid ‘em.’ He turned in his seat to address Amos Hebblethwaite. ‘It’ll cost you nobbut a shilling a head, Amos, so what do you say?’
Amos ran a gnarled hand over his furrowed brow, his aged features revealing a weariness of the debacle. ‘It seems fair to me,’ he growled. ‘The most important factor is to get the women back working full time. We daren’t risk an all out strike. We’ve all got too much to lose.’ His gaze roved from one face to another, the zeal in his rheumy eyes threatening them to dare disagree. Heads nodded assent.
Charles Brooksbank’s face turned puce. ‘Ridiculous,’ he spluttered, ‘we’re being held to ransom.’
‘Aye, we are,’ said Jonas, ‘but, as Amos says, we’ll be the losers if we don’t nip this in the bud.’
Reluctantly, Brooksbank and Jarmain agreed to comply. Brandy glasses refilled and cigars lit, the gentlemen discussed business.
*
Two days later, in four mills in the valley, unusual scenes were witnessed. In Hebblethwaite’s Mill the women weavers raised their voices in hymns of praise before starting up their looms. The women in Brooksbank Mill performed a spontaneous dance in the mill yard, cheering and singing as they jigged. At Jarmain’s Mill they called in a local preacher and gave thanks to God, whilst at Brearley’s they formed a conga line, weaving in and out between the looms, Lacey leading the way. They had triumphed and now they were celebrating.
Later that night Lacey dashed off a letter to Nathan. As she scribbled she pictured him smiling and shaking his head as he read of her latest escapade.
In bed, Lacey lay flat on her back gazing up at the ceiling, a feeling of deep content suffusing her mind and body. The past three weeks hadn’t been easy: but what of it? Life wasn’t easy. But you could strive to improve it. That’s what she felt she had done; and not just for herself but for others too.
Sleep threatening to overtake her, she recalled Henry Wordsworth Longfellow’s words; words she liked and had committed to memory. ‘Perseverance is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.’
Lacey smiled sleepily. She had knocked at the Mill gate and Jonas Brearley had woken.