"Oh, I never needs it. The boys is useful to me from the start. I have a special training method that has them up the chimney the first day. They always catches on quick, especially boys what comes from fine homes like yours."
Anna's face looked troubled. She didn't understand what was expected of her. Of course, Robert and Mr. Whitesides didn't know how to interpret her face as Charlie did. "Never mind, boy," said Whitesides. "She doesn't want to."
Charlie came closer to his mother. "Let me tell her." He reached out and touched her face, and she instantly turned to his hand. "Mother, we're down to our last nothing, and Robert's found a way for me to earn my keep. Is it all right?"
"Not in the factory, son. I'll have no son of mine working in a factory."
Charlie felt Robert stiffen -- now he knew she was in her madness. But it made no difference, really. Charlie was sure that even if she were quite herself she would consent to it. Why should she not? Charlie was useless, worse than useless around home; better if he at last earned his own way. "It's no factory, Mother. He says I can read with him."
"Oh, do, yes, do!" she said. "And he'll teach you geometry and Latin, too, and raise you up to be as wise as you ought to be!" Clearly she now took Whitesides to be a teacher. Well, I'm not lying, Charlie told himself. He'll teach me a trade, and that makes him a teacher, even if it isn't in a school. "You'll take care of my little boy, won't you?"
"Of course, Ma'am."
It was then that Dinah came in. She had gone to the cathedral to pray for their mother -- somehow it was always assumed that religious duties properly belonged to the women of the family. She saw Whitesides and seemed immediately to know what was going on. Charlie thought it was part of Dinah's seemingly infinite cleverness; in fact, she and Robert had discussed the idea of putting Charlie out as apprentice before.
"We're family," Dinah said. "We stay together."
Robert whirled on her, his face bright with anger, yet his voice a whisper. "Stay together, is it? Do they put us all out on the street together with no roof at all over our heads? Do we all together watch Mother die? What's together? Do you think we'll care about together in the cemetery?"
"I'll do it," Charlie said. "I'm glad to."
Robert's outburst had done nothing to bend Dinah's determination, but Charlie's willingness changed everything for her. "Charlie," she said, "do you want to be a sweep?"
Charlie hardly knew what it was that sweeps did. He was only eight, and like any child of the time he admired the small boys dressed in cut-up men's clothes who seemed completely free on the streets, romping and cursing and crying out for business. He thought it wonderfully romantic to be such a boy, unwanted by his family but still happy with his lot. "Better than anything else," he answered her.
It was then that Whitesides produced the papers and held them out for Anna to sign. Anna took the pen willingly enough. Of course, Dinah had to block things one more time -- it was her way. "What do the papers say?" she asked.
Whitesides looked annoyed. Robert sighed in impatience. "Dinah, they're apprenticeship papers. They say what all papers say.
"There's words," Dinah said, "and the words will bind us and we ought to know what they say."
Whitesides laughed at that. "Truth to tell, little girl, I had a lawyer do it all up in fine language, and I don't know a bit of what it means myself." And he held out the papers for her to read them.
Dinah didn't understand the legal language and might have caused more fuss about it, except that she noticed that Anna did not sign herself as Anna Kirkham. She signed herself Anna Banks. To Dinah, that was proof that the papers didn't mean anything after all, and so it didn't matter what they said. Robert also noticed it, but took it only as a sign that his father was gone for good, as if his mother had divorced him. Charlie did not see it; he was too occupied with wondering what it would be like to stand on the top of a chimney or get as dirty as he pleased, without having to wash. And as for Whitesides, he saw her sign but knew as little as if he hadn't -- for he couldn't read a word to save his life. That was one reason why he already hated Charlie more than any other boy he'd ever had, and loved him more, too, in his dark way: the boy knew how to read, and that made him powerful and strange and wise. So clever, aren't you, Whitesides said silently, you children reading, you woman signing. But these papers give me the boy, he's mine and never yours again, and he'll soon find out how much of good his books'll do him when he's up to his arse in ashes.
As Charlie left the house, he heard his mother call to him. "In all your education, son," she said, "don't forget the Lord of heaven."
"This is Raymond," said Whitesides. "He's my best boy."
Raymond, a cocky twelve-year-old, took a deep bow. His hair was long and shaggy, his face stained, but his smile was completely winning. Charlie smiled back.
" Was my best boy," Whitesides amended. "For you shall be my best boy now, Charlie."
Charlie was confused but pleased at the thought of it. "I'll try to be, Mr. Whitesides," he said.
"You may call me master," Whitesides said. "Raymond here, he's too fat." He took a pinch at Raymond's waistline. There wasn't anything loose enough to grab, but Whitesides grabbed it anyway. Raymond bent slightly with the pain of the claw pulling at his skin, but the smile never left his face. "Raymond can't get up the chimney so good anymore. So he's my teacher. He teaches boys. And Charlie, here, he's a smart lad, Raymond. He can read."
"Oh, he'll learn fast, he will, Master," Raymond said. Smiling.
"All my boys learns fast, Charlie. Or the boys suffers."
It was the first open statement of Whitesides's teaching method. The second came a moment later. Whitesides bent and smiled in Charlie's face. "You aren't smiling, boy. My boys is happy. My boys smiles." And he cheerfully struck Charlie across the head, knocking him to the floor.
"Smile," Whitesides said, grinning. It was impossible. Charlie had rarely been hit in his life -- even at his most depressed and angry, John Kirkham had been gentle with his children, and Anna scarcely less so. "Charlie, you must smile or I'll think you aren't happy with me." And Whitesides kicked him in the hip. Charlie screamed with the pain.
Raymond, still smiling, tugged at Whitesides' coat. "If you break his bones, Master, he can't climb."
"He must smile," Whitesides said. "I won't have any sadness near me. It's a sad world, Charlie, and it's our duty given us by God to smile and bring gladness to every heart."
Charlie, tears running down his cheeks, holding his painful hip, smiled.
"Ah, Charlie, that's no smile. That's no smile." Whitesides lifted his foot and used it to shove Charlie flat on the floor. Then he pressed down, putting more and more weight on Charlie's stomach. Charlie felt the air go out of his lungs as his stomach caved easily to the pressure. The pain became intense. He whimpered high in his throat.
"Careful, Master," said Raymond, smiling.
"A real smile, Charlie," said Whitesides.
And Charlie put a ghastly grimace of pain on his face, desperately trying to make it a smile so he could breathe again, so the terrible pain in his stomach would go away. He wished, desperately, to be home. He would sit beside his mother and repeat the words of Mercutio about Queen Mab. "She it is who presses girls and teaches them to bear, making them women of good carriage." Was that how it went? And what next? "There is in every society or neighborhood an ordinary or average rate both of wages and profit." No, that was Adam Smith, not Shakespeare. Sorry, Mother. I'll get it right next time.
"Smile from the heart, Charlie," said Whitesides.
"The fool hath said in his heart, there is no such thing as justice." Did he say it? No -- it was Leviathan, speaking back to him in his mind. He had no notion what the words meant -- he rarely did -- but they seemed very important to him right now.
"Or I'll find your heart and feed it to you," said Whitesides even more cheerfully.
Charlie thought he saw his mother's sleeping face as she lay in bed, the baby beside her in the
minutes before they realized the infant was dead. He would have screamed, but he had no air at all in him, and then the world went white and then red and then black.
He awoke a moment later, choking and gagging. The weight was gone from his stomach, but his gut ached as if it had been torn inside, and he gasped for breath against the pain and rolled over, curling up to let his organs find their natural place again. When the pain subsided a little, Charlie began to cry.
"Can't cry," Raymond said. Charlie looked up to find that the boy's face, mercifully, was not smiling. Already Charlie knew that that meant Whitesides was not near at hand. "Can't cry, it makes it worse. Just smile all the time. Pretty soon you learn to smile in your sleep. Stomach all right?"
Charlie shook his head.
"Well, get used to it. There's a sort of sense in what he does. Chimney sweeps has to be tough, and if you live through the first few weeks, you get tough." Raymond laughed mirthlessly. "I don't suppose you're hungry?"
"Where is he?"
"Out making appointments. He does it every Sunday. Wasted a lot of time getting you, has to make it up. But don't think of running home. He locks the door from the outside."
Painfully Charlie got up, careful not to put any more strain than necessary on his stomach. As soon as he stood up his head went dizzy; he fell to his knees and vomited on the floor.
"They all does it," Raymond said. "Now you'll want to eat for sure.
Charlie cleaned up the mess, and Raymond was right. He felt much better now, and was able to eat the cheap soup that Raymond poured into a platter. Not a trace of meat in it, and some of the vegetables were unidentifiable. "Don't ask," Raymond said, anticipating the question. "Whitesides makes the soup.
"Are there any books?" Charlie asked.
"Books?"
"To read. If we go to school, I thought there might be books here."
"School?"
Now Charlie realized how he had been cheated. All lies about school, lies just to get Mother to sign. And Robert was in on it. Charlie was sure of that. After all, Robert was the one who brought Whitesides. Robert was the one who hated him and wanted him to go. Dinah and Mother still wanted Charlie to be home, and only Robert had made him go, only Robert had lied to him and brought this man to take him away and lock him in a room and hurt him. I hate you, Charlie said silently to his brother. I'll get free and come back and tell Mother what you did.
Even better than the soup, the hatred eased the pain; it worked so well that he was even able to smile at Whitesides when he finally returned. You and Robert may have conspired to torture me, but I will not let you see how much you hurt me.
7
Anna Banks Kirkham Manchester, 1830
Anna awoke thinking clearly for the first time since labor. She had no memory beyond the midwife saying, "It's a girl, Annie." And then, as so many times before, she remembered the other words, the later words. "She's dead. Ah, it'll break Anna's heart." All the pity in the world in the voice that said it, but no pity at all in the God that did it. No, no, not God! God didn't do it! Forgive me for the thought, don't punish me for my sin by killing this one, let me have this one alive --
This time, however, she fought back against the grief, held it at bay and kept her thoughts clear. She remembered now how often this same moment had come, and how each time she had retreated into dreams of the infant in her arms. Was it true that John had come back to her? No, that was part of the dreaming. So much dreaming -- what was true and what wasn't? No matter. She wasn't dreaming now, and soon enough she'd find out the truth of all.
She felt weak, and her belly ached deep when she tried to sit. But she knew this pain -- she had met it before, and defeated it. She rolled to the edge of the bed and let her legs slide to the floor. She knelt and prayed, thanking God for his mercy in letting her survive and begging his forgiveness for anything sinful she might have said in her illness. Then she slowly got to her feet and walked to the table, where a small remnant of cheese lay, uncovered. Not like Charlie, to leave the cheese on the table. He must just be out getting water. He only left the cheese this way for a moment, knowing he'd be back soon. She got back in bed, waiting for him to come back so he could tell her what day it was, and how the child was buried, and what name they had given to her, and whether she had been baptized in time.
But the hours passed, and Charlie did not come home, and she began to worry. Again she got up, and this time combed her filthy, tangled hair and dressed herself and slowly, painfully went down the stairs, calling Charlie's name. He did not answer. He was not at any near neighbor's cottage. She could see across the river that he was not at the plug beyond Scotland Bridge where they drew clean water. Perhaps he was at the market. Don't worry, she told herself. No need to imagine the worst. He's off on some errand for Robert, that's all.
She came back when the noon bells began. Nomi Barton was outside, loading her scant furniture into a cart.
"Moving?" Anna asked, to be polite.
"No, just bringin' my sticks out to air," Nomi answered with good-natured sarcasm. "Don't you know? Didn't the landlord notice you?"
"Notice me what?"
"The lease reverts, is what the man read to me last evenin'. The lease reverts and everyone must come out because the buildings is comin' down."
"Coming down?"
"You don't think they'll go up, do you?" Nomi cackled grimly. "No, when they knocks down these old walls, the place comes down for sure.
"When?"
"Three or four days, I think. End of the month. I was lucky and found me a cottage I can have a bit early. Others is bound to spend a night or two in the cold."
Anna hurried upstairs, hoping to find Charlie there. All she found was the notice nailed to the door. She read it quickly. The owner of the building had lost his lease on the land; a consortium of wealthy men was going to build a factory on the spot with a new fifty-year lease.
Robert and Dinah came home for dinner a few minutes later. They arrived together, and came slowly up the stairs -- too slowly, Anna thought as they came, for she remembered how they used to thunder up and down stairs back when they were children. Now they were weary adults, they plodded, and it broke her heart to hear the funereal cadence. She knew Charlie was not with them. Charlie was too quick of step; he had not yet been touched enough by life.
When they came in, they didn't see her at first; silently they went about the business of getting dinner quickly. For a moment Anna was hurt that their first thought wouldn't have been to see how their ailing mother was doing. But of course not, she told herself. They think that Charlie has been caring for me all day. Poor children. They have the walk, they have the expressions of age, they have been given the duties of adults and done better than many who are supposedly of the proper age. And yet Robert is still so slight, though he is taller, and his face is still so smooth, his hair so free. Dinah's eyes are still large and deep, hinting at naivete and unfathomable things, and her hair is thick, her body lithe as a child's; she still stands tiptoe to reach across the table. God have mercy on them. All my children now are gone.
Robert gravely set out the platters; Dinah cut up the potatoes and sprinkled precious pepper over the top. She did it with such ceremony that Robert burst out laughing. Suddenly all was changed. Robert's whole body came alive, Dinah smiled and leaned on the table, shaking with silent laughter, and Anna realized that they were children still, able to be joyful in a moment.
It came as such a relief to her that she laughed, too; they heard her, and turned, and after the moment it took them to realize that she was alert now, in her right mind now, they plunged into embraces and rejoicing and tears. Anna set aside the worry about Charlie not being home, forgot for a moment that they were going to lose the house, even overlooked the ache for the child that she had borne and never knew, and celebrated with them: They were glad that she was better, and she rejoiced that they were glad.
And not only glad for that. "I talked to the maintenance man today," Robert
said. 'I'm in, starting next week. To repair machinery, It's a step to becoming an engineer. And I'll be paid like a man. A pound a week. More than we all used to make together. And the maintenance man, Joe Purny, he tells me there's places to the other side of Oldham Road, beyond Great Ancoats. Better built than these, newer, and not much more a month rent."
Dinah walked to the door where the eviction notice was posted, tore it down, brought it into the room and, with a flourish tore it into little pieces. "What do we care about that?" she said.
And then, suddenly, Dinah's expression went grim.
"What is it?" Anna asked.
"Charlie," Dinah answered.
"What about him?" Anna asked. "He's been away all morning."
"Oh my God," said Robert. "She doesn't remember."
Anna did not think to rebuke him for his blasphemous language. His words had more import than mere offensiveness.