Collected works of j s f.., p.700
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 700
“What consideration?” asked Charlesworth.
“That you mun settle with him,” answered Lockwood. “But — secrecy’s what he stipulates for.”
“Who is he?” said Charlesworth.
Lockwood glanced at the door, and though it was safely shut drew a little nearer his master’s desk.
“Yon man Grew,” he said in low tones. “Simon Grew — you know him. Secretary o’ t’ Vanmen and Carters’ Union.”
Charlesworth made a face. It indicated aversion and disgust.
“That feller!” he exclaimed. “A chap ‘at owt to be i’ jail! Why, it were him ‘at said all them foul things about me and mine at that meeting last night! — they’re i’ print i’ t’ Guardian.”
Lockwood laughed.
“That’s all what you might call professional talk, Mr. Marrashaw,” he said. “T’ chap has to say summat to keep his place and earn his wage. He’d say t’ very opposite if he were paid for it. Anyway, I tell you he knows all about this here secret society, and he’ll tell, i’ secrecy, and if it’s made worth his while. And — you wanted to know.”
Charlesworth felt that this was true; he knew, too, that his curiosity would not rest until he had got to know what Grew could tell him.
“Where can he be seen, then?” he asked. “And when?”
“When and where you like to appoint,” answered Lockwood. “So long, I say, as nobody knows naught about it.”
Charlesworth reflected. Then he remembered that he had heard Trissie say that morning that she was going with Victor Ellerthwaite to the theatre on this very evening: as Bright had voluntarily departed his father’s house, he, Charlesworth, would be alone.
“Tell him to come to my house, Marrashaw Royd, at eight o’clock to-night,” he said suddenly. “Bid him give a gentle tap at one o’ t’ lighted windows ‘at he’ll see on t’ right hand side o’ t’ front door — I’ll let him in myself, and nobody’ll know he’s ever been there.”
“Very good,” said Lockwood.
He turned away, and was leaving the room when Charlesworth stopped him with a look.
“You know nowt, yourself?” asked Charlesworth.
“Nowt!” replied Lockwood. “But — he knows.”
He was going away then, but he in his turn hesitated and closed the door again.
“There’s one thing you should bear i’ mind, Mr. Marrashaw,” he said, returning to the desk. “This here chap Grew, for all he’s a wind-bag, is a clever feller — he’s read and studied a deal. He’s none a sound man — else he wouldn’t be willing to sell secrets. But — he can tell you a deal more nor you know of. He’s been in a good many inner circles in his time — and he either leaves ’em, or he gets chucked out of ’em — you understand? But — he knows!”
“All right!” assented Charlesworth. “I reckon a bit o’ brass’ll open his mouth?”
“Aye, brass’ll open his mouth, right enough!” said Lockwood drily. “He’s got his price, no doubt.”
Charlesworth thought no more of the coming disclosure until the evening came on. He dined alone and felt sorer than ever at the sudden upheaval of his family affairs. Nothing in his life had ever upset him so much as Bright’s action: to his mind and way of thinking it was incomprehensible. But he had great faith in James Ellerthwaite’s shrewdness and judgment, and he felt that at that moment there was nothing to do but to leave Bright alone. Perhaps Bright would come to his senses — it seemed incredible that the heir to a great business and a big fortune should throw away chances and prospects, to say nothing of certainties, for the sake of mere chimeras and theories. He was revolving the possibilities of getting his son into a better state of mind, when, soon after eight had chimed from the clock on his mantelpiece, he heard a light tap on one of the windows behind him. The traitor, then, was at hand.
Charlesworth went quietly into the hall, lowered the light which burned there, and opened the big front door. A cloaked and muffled figure confronted him from the shadows of the porch.
“Come your ways in,” said Charlesworth. “Nobody about!”
Grew followed him into the morning-room, and Charlesworth turned the key upon them. Much as he disliked the notion of having a fellow like Grew under his roof, he was not going to forget the duties of a host, and after bidding his visitor take his coat off, and pointing him to an easy chair, purposely drawn up to the fire near his own, he got out the cigars and the whiskey.
“Best respect, Mr. Marrashaw,” said Grew, with a polite bow over the rim of his glass. “I wish you and yours very good health, sir.”
Charlesworth, regarding his guest slyly, with a sidewise glance, laughed cynically.
“Ye wish me nowt o’ t’ sort, mi lad!” he said. “Ye were mis-calling me and mine shameful, i’ public, only last night.”
Grew laughed. It was evident that he was not readily to be put out of countenance.
“Why, Mr. Marrashaw!” he exclaimed. “That was naught but — professional talk! You’ve seen enough o’ the world in your time to know that one has to say things, now and then. What about all ‘at’s said in Parliament, on both sides? Being what I am, I have to say my lesson. There’s a lot said in political life that’s not meant — it’s part o’ t’ game, sir!”
“D’ye think that my lad didn’t mean what he said last night?” demanded Charlesworth.
Grew’s sharp eyes and crafty face grew serious.
“If your son’s really got those ideas fixed in him,” he said, “I mean to say if he’s really and honestly going to champion t’ working-classes, well, all I say is, God help him!”
“What for?” asked Charlesworth, surprised and curious.
“ ’Cause he’ll get his heart broken!” answered Grew. “He’ll get neither gratitude nor understanding. I know!”
This was beyond Charlesworth. He sat silent for a moment, staring at Grew as if he were some odd specimen of humanity. Then he suddenly remembered why Grew was there.
“Well, what’s this ‘at you can tell me?” he said. “I understand ‘at there’s a sort o’ secret society here i’ t’ town ‘at’s at t’ back o’ some o’ these here labour movements, and ‘at you know all about it, and’s willing to tell? Is that so?”
Grew, who was evidently enjoying the cigar which Charlesworth had given him, bowed his head.
“That’s so, sir,” he answered. “And I’m willing to tell you all about it, on two conditions — one, that you respect my confidence, and t’ other, that you make it worth my while. Fair conditions these, Mr. Marrashaw, as you, a business man’ll acknowledge.”
“I’ve naught again ’em,” replied Charlesworth. “There’s one thing, though — about the confidential part. Ha’ you any objection to me telling James Ellerthwaite aught that you tell me?”
“Well, no,” answered Grew, after a moment’s reflection. “He’s straight enough, is Mr. Ellerthwaite. But you must give me your word ‘at it doesn’t go beyond him and you. Then I’ve no objection.”
“Done!” said Charlesworth. “Then — there’s naught but t’ other thing. What do you want?”
Grew lost no time in voicing his terms: he had evidently got them cut-and-dried.
“Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Marrashaw,” he answered. “Mind you, there’s nobody but me that you could get this information out of — all t’ rest is red-hot enthusiasts: I’m not. Well — I’m wanting to buy yon house ‘at I live in: I’ve t’ chance o’ gettin’ it just now very reasonable. Find me in t’ money, and I’ll tell you all I know.”
“How much do you want?” asked Charlesworth.
“Four hundred and fifty is t’ price,” replied Grew. “It’s a good seven-roomed house, too.”
“Now then!” said Charlesworth. “I’ll gi’ you a cheque before you go. Well, what is this you’ve to tell? I’m buying a pig in a poke — but let’s hear.”
“It’s worth hearing — to a man in your position,” answered Grew, calmly. “For there’s naught truer than t’ old saying that to be forewarned is to be forearmed. Well, it’s this — there is a society here in Haverthwaite: a group, that’s one of a good many groups that’s beginning to be formed here and there throughout this country, though to be sure, the thing’s as yet in its infancy. It’s a group of advanced men and women who are banded together to spread the doctrines of Syndicalism.”
“Syndicalism?” said Charlesworth. In spite of his dislike to his visitor, he was growing interested in him, and he settled himself to close attention. “Syndicalism! Aye, I’ve heard — just heard — that term. Now, what’s t’ exact meaning?”
“It spread here from France,” answered Grew. “In my opinion, from what I’ve read, it’s naught much else — here in England, anyhow, and up to now — than a revival of Robert Owen’s form of Socialism. What it really means is this — that the workers in the big groups of industry, such as mining, metal, transport, and textiles, should organise themselves into comprehensive unions in which both skilled and unskilled men should have equal shares, and that these unions should take over the responsibility for the management of these industries. Understand, sir?”
“Where will t’ private employer, t’ capitalist, come in?” asked Charlesworth.
“Nowhere!” answered Grew. “He’ll be — clean swept away.”
“How does this Syndicalism regard trade-unions, then?” continued Charlesworth. “I can already see ‘at there’s differences.”
“Yes,” said Grew. “Syndicalism has two crows to pull with trades-unionism — one, because trades-unionism is sectional; the other, because under trades-union the tendency is for the skilled artisan to dissociate himself from the unskilled labourer. But there’s more than that, Mr. Marrashaw. Syndicalism utterly condemns the fundamental policy of trades-unionism as it’s been worked out during the last sixty years — namely, that while it’s extracted from employers like you as large a share as possible of the disposal surplus of industry, it’s left to such as you a normal rate of profit. Syndicalism sees no reason for limiting the demand of labour at what the employer can concede. If the whole lot of you capitalist-employers were driven into bankruptcy, it would be all the easier for organised Syndicalism to take up control of your industries and establish a new order of society.”
Charlesworth, concentrating his mind on all he was being told, nodded his head, and remained thinking for a minute or two, during which he replenished his own and his visitor’s glass.
“What means would they adopt to set up this sort o’ thing?” he asked, after a pause.
“A general strike of all the big industries,” answered Grew promptly. “Railways, transport, seamen, firemen, dockers, miners, metal-workers, textile-workers, shop-assistants, and so on.”
“All over t’ country? — Just so!” said Charlesworth. “And — do you think these ideas are spreading?”
“Yes!” replied Grew. “But — only gradually. And they’re different here to what they are in America and France. There they’re international; here, they’re national. But that’ll be altered in a few years’ time. Yes, sir — it’s spreading.”
“Through these groups ‘at you talk about?” suggested Charlesworth.
“Just so,” said Grew. “Through the groups. Permeation! The notion is to capture the trades-unions.”
“And this group in Haverthwaite?” asked Charlesworth. “What about it?”
Grew smiled.
“Well,” he said, “there’s nobody knows that it is what it really is. It has a name, to be sure, but the name’s all bluff, Mr. Marrashaw. It’s called the Athenian Society — Athena, you know, was the old Greek goddess of wisdom, same as the Roman goddess Minerva — you’ve seen her statue in t’ People’s Park yonder — and she was also the patroness of weavers. It was really started as a reading society, but that’s all done with, except for a purpose — what it really is, is a society for spreading Syndicalist doctrine amongst the workers.”
“And it meets — where?” asked Charlesworth.
“Sometimes at one member’s house — sometimes at another’s,” answered Grew. “There’s only nine members — but,” he added, “they’re all of more influence than you’d think.”
“Aye?” said Charlesworth. He was becoming more and more interested; already he felt that he was laying out his money well in thus securing information about the common enemy. “And who may they be, now, these nine?”
“Well,” answered Grew, “that, of course, is where you’ll respect my confidence more than in anything else. They’re not the sort o’ people you’d suspect: they aren’t common working folk. There’s myself, for one — though, as I tell you, I’m beginning to be doubtful: I’m more for trades-unionism as it has been.”
“Well?” asked Charlesworth. “And t’ others?”
“There’s Mr. Coleflower,” said Grew. “You know him.”
Charlesworth let out a gasp of astonishment.
“What?” he exclaimed. “T’ parish church curate? You don’t say!”
“He’s a red-hot ‘un,” affirmed Grew. “Then there are two o’ them teachers at the Secondary School — Mr. Chambers and Mr. Firmantle.”
Charlesworth gasped again. His astonishment was increasing.
“What ha’ they to do wi’ trade matters?” he growled. “Parsons and teachers! Ecod! It’s queer.”
“That’s four,” continued Grew. “Then there’s Shorewood, one of the assistants at Mawson and Graydon’s, the drapers, and there’s Farling, the under-cashier at Ellerthwaite’s. That’s six. And t’ other three are amongst your own folks, Mr. Marrashaw.”
“Mine?” demanded Charlesworth. “Who, now?”
“Well, there’s Allot Howroyd and Lister Jubb,” replied Grew. “You know them, I reckon.”
“Two o’ my most trusted men!” muttered Charlesworth. “Bless my soul! And t’ other?”
“That lass o’ Lockwood Clough’s — Hermie,” said Grew. “Hermie Clough!”
Charlesworth leaped in his chair.
“No!” he exclaimed. “Her? You don’t mean it!”
“Her, and Mr. Coleflower, and Allot Howroyd are t’ principal leaders,” said Grew coolly. “They’re what you’d call the brains of the movement. Especially Hermie Clough. I believe,” he added, with a laugh, “I believe ‘at Hermie Clough ‘ud rejoice to see every capitalist in England burned at t’ stake — same as they did wi’ t’ owd martyrs, Mr. Marrashaw. Not ‘at she’d regard ’em as martyrs! I’ve heard a good deal o’ blood and fire talked i’ speeches i’ my time,” he concluded, reflectively, “but I never heard man or woman that could let their tongues go as Hermie Clough can when she gets on to politics and capitalism. She goes far beyond me — she’s a revolutionary!”
“Bless my soul!” repeated Charlesworth. He was lost in wonder, and in uneasiness. Hermione had been his right hand for a long time, and she knew a lot of his business and trading secrets. “Bless my soul!” he said again. Then feeling that he had heard enough for that time and that he wanted to reflect, he went across to a bureau in the corner of the room and sat down at it. Coming back to the hearth a few minutes later he slipped a folded cheque into Grew’s ready hand. “There!” he said. “I’ve made it out to bearer on a private account o’ mine that I keep at Leeds — run over there and cash it; then nobody’ll be any the wiser; it’s better than drawing it on a bank i’ t’ town here — we mun keep this to ourselves. And if and when you get to know any active doings o’ this lot — come to me.”
“I understand, Mr. Marrashaw,” said Grew, as he put away his reward. “Active doings? — oh, yes, there’ll be that, sure enough! — sooner or later.”
XI
WHEN GREW HAD gone away, Charlesworth, after an aimless turn or two up and down the morning-room, went out into the hall, got into a heavy overcoat, and set off into the night. He felt that he could not keep his newly-acquired information to himself; he must share it with James Ellerthwaite, at once.
Ellerthwaite lived in an old stone house on the opposite edge of the moor; a big, rambling seventeenth century house originally built by one of his ancestors, and added to by others at various times during the first hundred years of its existence. It stood within half-an-hour’s walk of Marrashaw Royd; under ordinary circumstances such a brief excursion would have been child’s play to Charlesworth. But when he got outside his own grounds he found that since his coming home that evening the weather had changed; the wind had got into the west, always a bad sign in that quarter of the country, and now a great storm of sleet and rain was tearing across the open moor. At any other time, Charlesworth would have gone back to the warmth and comfort of his own fireside, but now, excited by what he had heard from Simon Grew, and eager to tell his crony the result of the interview, he turned up the collar of his coat and pulled his cap about his ears and pushed on across the moor. And as he battled with the elements he thought of that other battle which was evidently preparing, and of the forces that were secretly arming in readiness for it. He was perplexed and astonished: the whole thing was beyond him. Astute enough in business, subtle and crafty in money-making and money-keeping, Charlesworth was withal a simple man, and he found it difficult to comprehend that any one could cherish ideas different to his own. He could not understand why anybody should be discontented with the system under which he had amassed a fortune: to him it was a system without a flaw. His forefathers and himself, by industry, ingenuity, perseverance, foresight, a genius for buying and selling, had built up a great business which afforded the means of employment to thousands of workpeople: surely the first duty of these thousands was to be grateful to those who put bread, beef, and beer into their mouths. Not everybody, argued Charlesworth, could live in fine houses and wear broadcloth; but it was a great deal to have the chance of earning a good wage, keeping a sound roof over one’s head, and putting something by for rainy days and old age. And they could all do it — if they liked, he affirmed, with a sardonic laugh; he himself could point to scores of his workfolk, Lockwood Clough amongst them, who, by frugality and soberness of life had saved a nice bit, enough to live on comfortably in life’s evening. And what some had done and were doing, all the rest could do — why, then, this unrest, and dissatisfaction, this perpetual grumbling at the masters, this envy and covetousness. It was devil’s work, in his opinion — and the folk who were spreading it, disseminating poison, secretly and insidiously, amongst the people, turned out to be parsons and schoolmasters and educated men and women. This, then, was the result, as Ellerthwaite had said, of encouraging folk to read books and papers and to improve their intellects: they got to know, or to think they knew, too much, and they turned and bit the hands that had fed them.
