Shining Threads by Audrey Howard Read Free Book Online

and into
the moving parts of a machine, he didn’t hold with interfering with young girls.
    ‘Lead on, lass,’ Mr Greenwood said ominously and the overlooker added ‘aye’ just for good measure.
    The girl turned thankfully, light as thistledown in her relief, running on bare and filthy feet between the neat rows of machines all set in pairs and at each pair a woman and child. It was very
hot, not a dry heat, but humid like some tropical jungle, and every man, woman and child in the room was dewed with perspiration. The heat brought out a variety of smells from the cotton itself,
from the oil-soaked pinewood floor and from the mahogany carriages and creels. Above it all was the whirr of spinning spindles, the shriek of tortured leather straps and the thump of carriages
‘letting-in’. At the door to what was known as the ‘little cabin’ the girl stopped, with Mr Greenwood and the overlooker directly behind her. It was a small room opening off
the main spinning room, used as an office, and in it the overlooker kept his equipment, usually no more than a simple balance and wrap-reel, a quadrant-type yarn tester and a ready reckoner. With
these he checked the yarn from each mule at regular intervals and ordered gear changes to be made whenever his ‘wrappings’ indicated a departure from the required count.
    It was somewhat quieter here away from the vicinity of the clattering machinery and Charlie could hear the echo of his own and the overlooker’s boots on the floor of the main passage along
which they had just hurried. This part of the flooring had been overlaid with maple to withstand the relatively heavy traffic of shod feet. Only the overlookers, of the work force, wore boots.
Everyone else was barefoot and it was common practice among the operatives to pick up waste with their toes which became, in a sense, a third ‘hand’.
    From the office came no sound at all.
    ‘Oh, Mr Greenwood, tell ’im to give ower. Tell ’im ter let our Nelly out.’ The girl, whose protective instincts were savagely alert put her hand to her mouth, her eyes
huge and desperate in her chalk-white face. She was afraid now, not of the sound of anger, or even the dreaded overlooker’s strap, but by the absence of any sound at all.
    ‘Out of me way then, lass,’ Mr Greenwood said menacingly, putting his hand on the door-knob, turning it, ready to thrust himself into the room, surprised when he met resistance since
there was no lock to the door. It was unnecessary as there was nothing of value worth stealing. His face darkened as his frown drove down his fierce eyebrows and the girl edged up to his back, as
eager as he to get inside, willing, it seemed, to lend a hand in the breaking down of the door if it should be needed.
    ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Mr Greenwood roared and the sound of his voice lifted every head in the lofty room, turning each one avidly towards him. They had all been aware, of
course, that Annie Beale had accosted their employer; most had been keeping half an eye on the small drama but they could afford no more than that since each operative spinner was paid a sum
directly and precisely related to the amount of yarn she had spun in the preceding week. Besides, if a thread should break in the fraction of time it took to glance away and the yarn end be lost in
the machinery, it would take valuable time they could ill afford to find and repair it.
    ‘Open this bloody door.’ Charlie Greenwood’s voice was dangerous now and even Annie was alarmed since she’d never seen such a killing rage in anyone’s face. His
eyes were slitted and gleaming, the whites suffused with blood, and his big hands had formed into fists which threatened to smash through the door-panels, indeed through anything which stood
in his way. But the door remained shut though on the other side could now be heard small scuffling sounds and a child whimpered.
    ‘Nelly . . .’ Annie Beale whispered and before the name had