Chapter 1: Twenty Shillings

"Sixteen years ago, my father died under very miserable circumstances. I was taken from school, and had to become a man (as well as I could) in a few days. I had such a mother as few are blest with; a woman of strong power, and firm resolve. We went into a small country town, where living was cheaper than in Milton, and where I got employment in a draper's shop…"

-North & South-

Elizabeth Gaskell

From Mr Thomas Coulter to his wife:

The Crown Inn,

Cheapside, London

20th December 1844

My dear Lydia,

Your letter of the 15th arrived a rather late and a little stained at the corners, having been misdirected to the Crown Tavern, instead of the Crown Inn where Thornton and I are making ourselves at home as well as we can. I gave the Cockney lad who delivered it – a saucy, red-headed fellow – a right good talking-to, but he made such a rude gesture that I shudder at the thought of describing it to you.

This Inn is most uncomfortable, my room is too cold, the bed too hard for my old creaking bones, and the food exceedingly poor. How Thornton endures it I have no idea. When we arrived on Tuesday night, he immediately proclaimed it the most agreeable of Inns and instead of taking his rest, set to work on the accounts! The hardiness of youth is a great thing, but I suppose anywhere is better than that horrid, draughty place he lives in with his mother and that young sister of his. Salford, as you know, is such an insalubrious place. George Thornton did them all a terrible wrong when he – well, I shall say no more, for you know all about that dreadful affair.

You will be pleased, my dear that we made excellent progress in the last three days, and bought a very tempting selection of silks, brocades and velvets. I am sure our latest collection will bring every lady of quality in Milton to our shop without exception! Thornton has a sharp eye for fabrics, as you remarked upon not long ago, so I took the risk of allowing him to make a few purchases on his own. You'll be delighted to learn my bet has paid off very handsomely indeed, for he's got us some very clever bargains. He's the newest of our boys, but shaping up extremely well, and I am amazed that that fool Harper turned him out the way he did. An apprentice with honesty, good sense and nose for business is well-nigh impossible to come by these days.

I have decided to pay Thornton twenty shillings in addition to his wages this Christmas. He deserves every penny, and God knows the family has been sorely short of comforts this past year. Thornton tells me that the little girl – Fanny I think her name is – had the scarlet fever a month back, and though he'd put a brave face on it, I cannot help but know that he was fair breaking his heart with worry.

We shall be home in a few days, and until then, keep well and tell the children to behave themselves.

Yours,

Thomas

Two days before Christmas, John Thornton, draper's apprentice at Coulter & Sons was called upstairs to the back room overlooking Fetter Lane where Mr Coulter kept a small, cluttered office. Perplexed, Thornton took the creaking steps two at a time, wondering what he had done to deserve such a peremptory summons. At the door, he stood for a few moments in the musty dimness of the landing, straightened his cravat and knocked.

"Is it you, Thornton? Come in, come in."

He held his breath and let himself into a flood of pale wintry light. Shading his eyes, he said, "Mr Coulter?"

"Yes, yes – shift that pile of books and take a seat. Don't mind the light, my boy – Mrs Coulter has decreed that the curtains should be given a wash in time for Christmas, so our Betty came grumbling in this morning and made off with them."

Surveying the grave young man before him, Mr Coulter cleared his throat, "Well, Thornton, you know that we shut tomorrow for Christmas, and Mrs Coulter and I - we won't be seeing you till the new year." Mr Coulter rose from his chair and began pacing round his battered desk, saw Thornton turn his dark head in puzzlement.

He stopped, holding out a worn leather purse. "This is for you," he said gruffly, "Here, take it. It'll bring you some Christmas cheer."

There was a small silence as Thornton opened the purse like a man in a dream. "Mr Coulter, there are twenty shillings here." There was a suffusion of colour in the boy's pale cheeks. "I can't possibly – "

"So there are, and yes you can," and then, Mr Coulter paused, appalled at the sudden brightness in Thornton's eyes. Sometimes, it was difficult to believe that Thornton was only nineteen, for none of the older lads carried themselves with such confidence, none displayed the sober politeness that Thornton had even with the most difficult customers. He was popular, for the men liked his brisk frankness, and the women loved his graceful hands and fine eyes. Yet, one always had the sense that behind his reserve was a lingering grief that would always remain unspoken.

He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and gripped it. "Thornton, go home. There's nothing more to be done today. You might want to nip over to the lace-maker's before they close and get your mother a new collar. I know you've been eyeing one."

"I don't know how to thank you, Mr Coulter."

"You just have."

Then, they shook hands, and Thornton smiled, a rare smile that touched his eyes. "Merry Christmas to you, Mr Coulter." The door closed behind him, and Mr Coulter, listening to the boy's light, quick footsteps padding eagerly down the stairs, rubbed his hands with a childlike glee.

It was the best twenty shillings he had ever parted with.