more quickly.’ For he had borrowed the money from Parson to redeem his mother’s wedding ring and then had a big argument with Mr Roper the pawnbroker about the price he should pay for it. Only his threat to ask the Parson to intervene had made Mr Roper stop trying to ask twice what he had given Jack’s mother for it and be content with a smaller profit.
And since his mother’s visit to Lancaster Jack had another worry. Meg was growing wilder all the time, knocking around the streets after she finished work with a group of young people whose main aim in life seemed to be making loud nuisances of themselves. He spoke to her about it, forbidding her to go out at night, but she laughed in his face.
‘If you try to stop me, I’ll leave home. If you want my wages, you’ll have to let me have fun in my own way. We aren’t all solemn and stuffy like you, Jack Staley. The other lads laugh at you, did you know? It’s like living with a parson, living with you.’
That hurt. It really did. When did he have time to enjoy himself? He would look up at the moors sometimes and long to be there, striding along with the wind blowing in his face.
By the end of 1827 Jack was earning a man’s wage. He went to the office when they raised his pay and told Mr Butterfield he didn’t need help with the rent any more.
‘I respect you for that, Jack,’ he’d quietly replied, ‘and so will Mr Samuel. I’ll tell the rent collector.’
Meg said he was stupid because now he would be little better off, but he had his pride and that meant more than money to him.
Most of his friends were walking out with lasses now and talking of marriage. Some got wed as the months passed and were proud of their little houses and the rickety furniture they’d scraped together. One became a father and talked with a gentle smile about his infant son who was the light of his life now, it seemed.
Jack wished them well, of course he did, but it only gave rise to another dream he couldn’t see himself achieving: to have a quiet little cottage of his own and a wife to share it. And though she wasn’t old enough yet to wed anyone, he even knew the lass he fancied. Emmy Carter, of course. Her pretty face invaded his dreams regularly and he admired her as well as fancied her. Look how well she cared for that nice old lady she worked for, how trim and neat she kept herself, and how she’d risen above her mother’s immorality. As he’d tried to rise above the disgrace his father and brother had brought to the family.
But Emmy told him one day she was never going to marry. ‘I’d never bring my mother’s shame to any man.’
‘It’s her shame, not yours,’ he insisted. She just smiled sadly and said that made no difference to most folk.
‘Well, we Staleys have been shamed, too,’ he offered.
She gave a sad attempt at a smile. ‘It’s not the same. They think I’m like my mother, and if a woman isn’t considered respectable they treat her whole family badly.’
‘You don’t deserve that.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve got no choice, so I’m determined not to marry.’ Then she brightened. ‘But Mrs Tibby has hired me for another year. Isn’t that wonderful? I love working for her.’
His mother found out he’d been talking to Emmy and reminded him shrilly of his promise to look after her and the others.
‘I’ve no plans to go courting, Mam. Emmy’s just a friend.’
Netta laughed harshly. ‘There’s no such thing as a lass who’s “just a friend”. Especially one with a mother like yon. She’s after you, that one is.’
‘She’s not like her mother!’ he shouted back, furious to hear Emmy maligned. The accusation made him so angry he walked out of the house, ignoring his mother’s shrieks at him to come back.
He didn’t need her reminders. However hard he thought about it - and he’d racked his brains many a time - he could only come to one conclusion: he could not afford to marry until he was much older, if
And since his mother’s visit to Lancaster Jack had another worry. Meg was growing wilder all the time, knocking around the streets after she finished work with a group of young people whose main aim in life seemed to be making loud nuisances of themselves. He spoke to her about it, forbidding her to go out at night, but she laughed in his face.
‘If you try to stop me, I’ll leave home. If you want my wages, you’ll have to let me have fun in my own way. We aren’t all solemn and stuffy like you, Jack Staley. The other lads laugh at you, did you know? It’s like living with a parson, living with you.’
That hurt. It really did. When did he have time to enjoy himself? He would look up at the moors sometimes and long to be there, striding along with the wind blowing in his face.
By the end of 1827 Jack was earning a man’s wage. He went to the office when they raised his pay and told Mr Butterfield he didn’t need help with the rent any more.
‘I respect you for that, Jack,’ he’d quietly replied, ‘and so will Mr Samuel. I’ll tell the rent collector.’
Meg said he was stupid because now he would be little better off, but he had his pride and that meant more than money to him.
Most of his friends were walking out with lasses now and talking of marriage. Some got wed as the months passed and were proud of their little houses and the rickety furniture they’d scraped together. One became a father and talked with a gentle smile about his infant son who was the light of his life now, it seemed.
Jack wished them well, of course he did, but it only gave rise to another dream he couldn’t see himself achieving: to have a quiet little cottage of his own and a wife to share it. And though she wasn’t old enough yet to wed anyone, he even knew the lass he fancied. Emmy Carter, of course. Her pretty face invaded his dreams regularly and he admired her as well as fancied her. Look how well she cared for that nice old lady she worked for, how trim and neat she kept herself, and how she’d risen above her mother’s immorality. As he’d tried to rise above the disgrace his father and brother had brought to the family.
But Emmy told him one day she was never going to marry. ‘I’d never bring my mother’s shame to any man.’
‘It’s her shame, not yours,’ he insisted. She just smiled sadly and said that made no difference to most folk.
‘Well, we Staleys have been shamed, too,’ he offered.
She gave a sad attempt at a smile. ‘It’s not the same. They think I’m like my mother, and if a woman isn’t considered respectable they treat her whole family badly.’
‘You don’t deserve that.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve got no choice, so I’m determined not to marry.’ Then she brightened. ‘But Mrs Tibby has hired me for another year. Isn’t that wonderful? I love working for her.’
His mother found out he’d been talking to Emmy and reminded him shrilly of his promise to look after her and the others.
‘I’ve no plans to go courting, Mam. Emmy’s just a friend.’
Netta laughed harshly. ‘There’s no such thing as a lass who’s “just a friend”. Especially one with a mother like yon. She’s after you, that one is.’
‘She’s not like her mother!’ he shouted back, furious to hear Emmy maligned. The accusation made him so angry he walked out of the house, ignoring his mother’s shrieks at him to come back.
He didn’t need her reminders. However hard he thought about it - and he’d racked his brains many a time - he could only come to one conclusion: he could not afford to marry until he was much older, if
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