CHAPTER 2 – Industrial Revolution
My African friend Pedro, who was formerly a slave, had left Drury Lane with his skilled musical employer Signor Agnelli for a tour of Western Europe and the Americas. Having a natural music talent didn't allow you to be rooted to the same spot for too long. Without him, the taste of life was becoming more insipid by the minute. I checked the calendar and there were four more days for Billy's plan to be put into action.
I had my doubts and fears about this, but I couldn't back down, Randall's safety was
at stake and it wasn't my choice to step back, I had to help. How, I wasn't sure yet,
but I had some advantages; I had a pretty skinny bodice and would be able to fit
through any small holes and I had a way with words, perhaps I could butter the guards with a bit of influencing and if that didn't work out there was always my voice and acting skills: Drury Lane didn't leave me useless, I had learnt everything I could grasp from live performances, practices and coaching of other actors. But I was still suspicious of this plan and how Syd seemed to react to this.
I headed down to Frank and Lizzie's that afternoon for a cup of tea. Randall's imprisonment didn't burden my heart at all. In fact, I secretly thought he deserved what was coming for him; at least he would learn from this experience and when it would all be over, he would walk out from the factory a free man. I also thought that the work would also be useful for burning some of his tummy fat and he'd finally get a chance to know what a hard day's work really means.
I passed by the butcher's shop, it was closed since it was their off day, I could see Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher relaxing, sitting on chairs and talking.
I reached the Avon's house; I was, of course, wearing my best muslin dress with my hair properly combed, but even though, my red unruly curls refused to be tamed and was popping up very awkwardly at random places of my scalp.
I banged the lion head door knocker and waited. Within half a minute, a butler arrived, it was Joseph; he was my favorite butler, kind and adhering and didn't share the common aristocratic ideas of the wealthier class of society. This also applied for the Avon family; this unique and rare quality made them special and extraordinary to me; an example of model behavior.
Joseph led me from the porch to the veranda that ran alongside the mansion. Frank and Syd were perched on opulent leather sofas while Lizzie was resting on a white porch swing, leaning her head on fresh, clean white pillows. As soon as she heard the sound of my footsteps, she got up and kissed me on my cheeks. Frank stood up and grinned.
"Hello, how are you?"
The maid set out the cups and started pouring out the hot tea into which were put luscious sugar cubes.
"I am doing well, thank you." I replied. I poured some cream into my tea, blew the wispy smoke away and drank it. The hot liquid dribbled down my throat, warming my stomach.
Lizzie was looking intently at me. She then beamed at me and informed, "We're going to Cambridge tomorrow, all of us, me, Frank, papa and mama and this time it'll be a proper vacation. Papa has promised to put his work aside and show us around."
"Oh that's great, where will you be staying?"
"The eastern side, it'll be somewhere near the port." Frank replied for Lizzie.
"A new location?" I asked.
"Yes, papa bought a nice, new slice of real estate. It's simply wonderful and the sea breeze in the mornings is so cooling and refreshing."
I nodded my head in full knowledge, next to literature; I also loved geography and wished that I could study it in full detail.
"Will you be going to see the University of Cambridge?"
"That and St Bene't's Church."Frank said.
"Don't forget the School of Pythagoras too" added Lizzie.
"Yes and that too, but my guess is that it might turn out to be boring, there might not even be anything in there, it'll only be a collection of faux notebooks and pens and inkwells."
"Well you wait and see, you haven't even gone there and you're already drawing up assumptions." I said.
Frank gave me a sly grin. Syd harrumphed to draw notice to the fact he was being left out of the rich topic of travels and foreign, exotic places, all of which he felt at a loss for words. Lizzie comfortingly patted his hand.
"Hey did you hear that Randall is imprisoned in a factory?" I broke out the news suddenly.
Frank spat out his tea and quickly patted himself dry with a napkin as the hot tea oozed down into the folds of pants. Lizzie's eyes grew big with concern while one eye of hers was signalling for a maid to clean up the impromptu mess.
"What?"
Syd frowned, sternly at me. Lizzie and Frank were waiting for an answer.
"Well...I...uh...I mean, Randall had bet a factory owner some nights ago at the Jolly Boatman, he wagered the owner that he didn't know how to land a dice in a glass with its side five upfront, three times in a row."
Frank looked horrified, even though he didn't know Randall, he was concerned, which showed his caring nature.
"But the owner was already familiarized with the same trick, Randall lost of course, and the bet has now landed him in a hot spot; to work in a factory for two years." I continued.
Lizzie shook her head sympathetically and clucked her tongue.
"Don't feel sorry for him, he deserved it, it was his own fault to wager such invaluable a thing such as his freedom."
"Well, there has to be a way to get him out of that horrible place, has he already started working, is he trapped there?" Lizzie asked fearfully.
"Well right now, he is, but don't worry, we'll soon free him."
Syd's frown had still not subsided and it was slowly turning into a glare.
"How can you free him?" Frank asked. He studied my vague countenance. "Billy?" he asked after a while. "You're seeking help from him? Out of all the preposterous people in the world you chose him?" Frank looked sick right now.
"First of all, Billy is the only preposterous cutthroat I know and also, I didn't choose him, he searched us out."
"You think this is such a joke, don't you Cat?" Syd broke out from his long silence. He sounded furious now. I shrugged. I couldn't believe that he was actually angry at me, Randall had got himself in this mess, not us. I could feel my rage also boiling up.
"Well you also seem to be okay with this plan, your shrewdness seems to be decreasing, hasn't it ever occurred to you that Billy might be paid by someone to take us out." I spat with matching levity.
"Yes, I know that I am protected by your gang," I continued, "but Billy's men outnumber us; his gang is expanding and if a battle should strike, we would lose. It doesn't look like Billy needs to keep up to his promise of surrendering himself into your hands, when they will be no one to surrender to." I said, all in one breath.
I knew that the latter part of my statement was completely untrue; the only law Billy abode to was, was the law of the streets, but still, with his keeping silent on how he could possibly profit from this mission of help, it was bound to raise suspicion, the only possibility was that his benefactor was a murderer who wanted to kill us and this was one way of luring us in his den, blinded with concern. I didn't know who it could possibly be, but with Billy, you could take no second chances. Syd was so frustrated that he took to striding in the outside garden.
Lizzie motioned me to go sort the matter out with him now or there would arise even more complexities due to miscommunication and growing gap of time. I took her advice and ran to the garden.
I found him between the rose blossoms.
"Syd, I am sorry for my little outburst back in the veranda, I didn't mean to hurt you. But all I'm trying to say is that we don't need Billy anymore, you've already visited the factory, you know where Randall is, and together we could conjure up a much safer plan that doesn't involve Billy. Why can't you see the possibility of an alternative? Take me to the factory; I am sure I can influence the guards for a little visit to the factory with a performance. I am sure none of them have ever attended one and they wouldn't turn down this chance, especially if it's free. And even if that doesn't work out, I can slip in the factory through some small window or hole; I am pretty small after all. Once I am in, I can let in the rest of you and all of us can free Randall."
I looked at him pleadingly; I was trying within all of my willpower to rid him of this ridiculous idea. But something told me that he still remained skeptical.
"Seems you've already conjured up a plan" he gave me a watery smile. "But just one thin' Cat, 'ow do you expect to let us all in with the guards standing ground right there?"
"Well then you can beat them up, and this is just plan B, we'll put it into action only if the performance doesn't work out, which I doubt, and if it doesn't then we move in with force."
Syd looked at me with respect and fondness and engulfed me in a hug, resting his chin on my head. He then held me at arm's length and spoke "It ain't that simple, factories are like a maze, you could get lost in 'em and if discovered by supervisors, you'd be forced to work. Besides, the smoke is poisonous; the last thing I want is, it messing up your lungs." He shuddered at the thought.
He was right, I've never been in a factory before, it would take me time to figure my around and there were also the supervisors to worry about. I decided I wouldn't put something such as my freedom in order to rescue Randall; that would be something I wouldn't be willing to sacrifice.
"So we're going staunch with Billy then?" I asked, tired with all possibilities being crushed and thrown down. He nodded his head.
"Besides" he said "we don't 'ave a choice, it's Randall who's 'elpless not us. We 'ave to help 'im, there's a man down, and being a member of the Butcher's Boys, we 'ave to show our loyalty to 'im."
"I just wish he could've picked out a better situation in which we could showcase our faith to him." I said bitterly. Deep down, I was as less keen about this plan than Syd was.
"Don't fret, it'll all be over in a twinkle of an eye." He reassured me. And with amenities restored, we returned back to the veranda. No one was there except two maids who were clearing the table.
"Where are Frank and Lizzie?" asked Syd.
"They're inside, sir." said the maid, pointing to the house.
"Thank you, ma'am." Syd bowed politely and departed. I followed.
Lizzie was reading when we entered the living room, she put down her book when she saw us coming in.
"Everything's sorted out? I am sorry for the abrupt end of us having tea, but we figured you might take a while and that you needed privacy, so we finished ours and quickly cleared out. I can call in for a second cup if you'd like."
I shook my head.
"No I think that it's time for us to leave now. We'll come tomorrow to see you when you'll leave for Cambridge."
"Are you sure you want to leave just yet? It's awfully hot at the moment."
"Yes, we've already spent quite a lot of time, I am sorry for the little argument though, at tea."
"Not at all, it was rather a bit of fun and juicy gossip; normally tea is always so boring; too formal for my taste." She said with a twinkle of fun in her eyes. "Frank's upstairs, bid him goodbye if you truly are going now."
"We are." I said shortly.
"So Cat, 'ave you managed to lend a thought about that competition? You've got just a couple of weeks" Syd was really anxious of making something off of my future, making sure that I would be able to stand up on my were walking along the side of the road, with the yellow hay sticking out of the fields.
"I did" I replied. "I am writing a new story just for it." I paused for a moment.
"Have you planned out a schedule for your boxing and working at the butchery? If you've to make it as a successful boxer, you have to have some sort of clear plan in your head, without it, your boxing in all could turn out to be a flop." I advised. He guffawed, knowing exactly what I had truly meant.
"No, I 'aven't, I don't need one you little squirt. I'll box whenever and whomever I like."
"Well I guess that's how boxing works, be reckless, ruthless and let whatever's supposed to happen, happen."
He guffawed again. "You don't even know two pins about boxin', you can't teach me anythink."
"Maybe." I shrugged. Syd ruffled my red curls were walking by a bare stretch of land, with nothing in it other than mud and all insects that lived and bred in mud. But that didn't mean the land was of no use. About a hundred yards away, were Syd's lads playing a game of curling."
For those of you who aren't familiar with curling, it's a game where two teams of four players take turns to slide a stone on ice to a circular target. Now this may sound easy, but it takes a lot of skill to make sure the stones stop inside the target especially since players can knock their opponent's stones out of the way too. The same was being played there in the field but instead of ice, it was mud on which the stones were half sliding, half flying through the air.
One of the lads spotted Syd and told him to join the game but Syd refused.
"Can't 'ave my shirt spoiled with the mud, these are my best clothes." He explained. I agreed. Both of us sat down on the coarse grass and watched the game.
The game was certainly entertaining to watch, it was much more fun than games played by the higher society with their polished manners, rules and decency. Down here, it was every man for himself with quite a lot of manhandling and rough play. Rules didn't apply and cheating was done around the clock. Everyone cheered with astounding zest and gusto when their team won, and when they lost, the disappointed fans cursed with all the ease of a sailor.
There was a new round in the match, since the game was played on mud, there were no brooms and the existing rules had to be re-written. The stones could be thrown but only at a maximum height of two feet above the ground. Curlers were to run about 11 yards to gain momentum and strength in order to throw the heavy stone. The opposing team could steal the stone and the other had to protect the throw. On one side were Tommy, Hanson, and Johnny with Jim as their leader and on the other side were Eleanor, Jason and Harley with Shift, their leader.
Jim's team started out first, Johnny started running, his bare feet gripping the mud so he would be flung away with the stone when it would be thrown. The throw was fairly neat almost landing near the center of the circle which was demarcated by sticks and a lot of footsteps.
Shift quickly analysed the path through which the stone was flying and ran towards the landing, within seconds, he had the stone passed on to Harley. Jason, who was standing ground near the circle, intervened and pushed the stone farther away. Every two seconds there did always someone, intervening, want to score a goal, even if that meant manhandling their own team mates.
The same crazy charade repeated over and over with different curlers. But the struggle to get the stone in the middle of the circle kept anyone who was watching, cheer and shout out and anyone who was passing by, stop and watch. One of the boys created a diversion for the opposing team and managed to get two of the curlers engaged in a fight. This bought Johnny some time to pass the stone upfront to Hanson who then threw it into the middle of the now empty circle.
I jumped and screamed, Syd whistled, signalling the game ended with Jim's team winning. Shift cursed and kicked the ground, sending mud flying on Johnny's face, but Johnny was too excited to notice. Tommy and Hanson hoisted Johnny on their shoulders and started singing their own songs of victory. Jim later joined in to share the weight of Johnny, while Shift was arguing with Jason and Eleanor highlighting everything that went wrong and their stupid mistake of falling for the silly trap,
me and Syd walked over to the middle of the field, only after we made sure that no mud flicking would occur. Syd thumped Johnny on the back and congratulated Shift saying that he put up a good fight. After the excitement wore off, all of the players suddenly slumped down on the muddy ground, realizing how out of breath they were.
When Johnny managed to finally catch his breath, he looked at me and said,
"Hey Cat, you ready for the quest, on Saturday, under Billy." He was trying to scare me, he always tried to scare people, usually I took it in good sport, but other times his tall tales were too much for me to handle.
"Yes." I replied calmly. He let out a malicious snicker.
"You sure? Well you better hurry up because sh-"
He couldn't complete his sentence as a coach driven by two brown horses was passing by. Its passenger, a man of about twenty five, was screaming something in different languages. Even though I couldn't understand what he said, I could comprehend that it was something happy due to the high pitched noise circling around in his throat. When he spotted us, he jumped down the coach, making his way towards us. It was then that I noticed what a short man he was, and I also spotted that he wasn't the only person in the carriage, there were two other men, but their faces were blurry being too far away. I couldn't make out who they possibly could be.
"Progression with industrialization." The little man half screamed, half sang.
Spotting a reaction on our faces, he realized that we spoke English. But he still wanted to confirm.
"Do you speak English?" He asked.
"Yes we do, what's all this screaming about?" I returned, with my question.
"Well don't you know? Everything's going to change now."
"How?" I asked, though I already knew the answer, but I spoke by default as the words just slipped out of my mouth without thinking.
"Haven't you heard about the industrial age? What do you think the factories are for? This is the age where manufacturing transforms; you see, with the invention of man-powered machines, everything will become faster and cheaper."
He straightened his posture and took a deep breath; I could tell that whatever he was going to say next was well rehearsed for.
"We are doing so well with the slave trade, but we can utilize this opportunity even better. Key technologies such as James Watt's steam engine was developed using profits from slave trading merchants. And in turn, when the steam machine was fully developed, it was the sugar plantation owners who used these steam machines to increase efficiency, thus replacing horses. Uncanny, ain't it? But still, it's the best mutual beneficial relationship two businessmen could ask for. My name's Jeffrey by the way."
"Pleased to meet you. My name's Catherine."
"We're collecting signatures for the cause, promote factory made products and limit the usage of handmade goods. You see those handmade goods are that expensive." He informed, emphasizing on the word that.
"So..." he held out a paper and well inked quill, gesturing for us to sign. But I had other ideas.
"Do you think I support the cause of buying goods made from the blood of the backs of slave workers?" I thundered.
Syd tensed. I could see that Jeffrey was slightly annoyed.
"Those goods are produced by factories." He said slowly.
"Operated by slaves!" Syd completed.
"Look, there's a reason why things like this happened. The whole purpose of history is to learn from mistakes made by our ancestors and I'll tell you something, we'd be a mighty big fool if we didn't take advantage of this situation. Don't you see? The more inventions there are, the more beneficial it is for both the parties, the inventors, the merchants and well – you!"
"You can shove that paper in your mouth." said Syd
Jeffrey was agitated that all his efforts were in vain.
"Get out of my sight!" boomed Jeffrey. "Here," he shoved the paper in Jason's hand, "You sign it." He said impatiently.
"I don't think that's happening, none of us can read or write." Jason reasoned.
"Well I can, but you'll never get my support for this outrage." I informed him
Jeffrey's face beamed bright red. "Of course, you're just a bunch a worthless uneducated nitwits, why did I waste my time?" With that he turned to go, mainly to avoid getting pummeled by Syd. When a safe distance away, he stopped in his tracks, probably at the thought there was still a chance of one of us changing our minds, namely me due to the fact that I was literate.
"Here," he fished in his briefcase, "have this." He handed me a thin, yellow paper with small, black print, enclosed in a simple black border with simple triangle designs at the corners.. I could see that it was a pamphlet, done similarly in the style of the same pamphlets I had handed out to people in the street for the play.
"If you change your mind about the cause, you know where you can contact us."
"Don't even bother wasting your breath." This voice belonged to someone very familiar to me. He continued, "You can't change 'er mind, it's as thick as whale fat."
I looked up from the pamphlet and so did the rest of us, and standing there near the coach was Billy.
I could see that he was dressed finely, with a black suit and light blue cravat. His black shoes were polished and his hair was neatly slicked back, but his teeth were still as rotten as ever. He strode down to us but stopped when he saw the soft looking mud and the dangers of his shiny shoes sinking in it.
"And your brain is as thick and hard as a wood plank." I retorted. He chuckled.
"'ello Cat, I've missed your silver tongue."
"What are you doing here Billy? Get out." It was Johnny.
"What are you going to do? Kill me? Well you can't, because I am of 'igher social standin' than you are." Billy said haughtily, "and even if I wasn't, I'd like to see you get your hands on me."
All of us laughed at the absurdity of Billy masquerading as a gentleman.
"You, a gentleman? Just because you've thrown on a suit and a pair of polished shoes, doesn't mean you've magically transformed into a gentleman. You still have the soul of a pig, your teeth are still rotten and your nails look like they've scraping dung out of a backyard." I retaliated.
Everyone laughed at this joke, but Billy didn't, still, he didn't look in the least agitated, in fact he looked calm, very calm.
"Well is that why I'm travellin' with one of the richest men in all of London?" he asked. He then turned around and called out, "Richmond, come down will ya?"
An old man of about sixty, stepped down from the coach, from far he looked similar to a grandfather that read their grandchildren bedtime stories and loved to fix useless, outdated devices. But as he approached us, his sharp eyes pierced everyone they met, deep and painful. He had white hair and prominent dark bags under his eyes, which were protected by shaggy eyebrows that were greying. This man...Richmond, had only taken a few steps, but then quickly ascended back up, probably when he saw what type of an audience his man, Jeffrey, was entertaining.
"I think I'm fine, why don't you come back inside and we'll continue our business dealings?" he suggested.
"See, the old rookie loves me. I'm...made out of the same finer stuff that 'e is made out of too." He grinned. "Until next time, see you on Saturday."
All three of them, got back into the carriage, shut the door, cracked the whip and made a move on.
I watched Billy out of the corner of my eye very lazily through the little wood paned window. Under the window I noticed were some scrawled letters, I turned completely to my right to get a better view of what was written. In gold, cursive letters was written the name Richmond W. Ellis.
I ran to the road and watched the carriage disappear into the distance. I could hear Syd's lad making fun of Billy's last comment, imitating his rich, fake accent. Syd rejoined me after bidding the lads, grinning.
"Billy's trying too 'ard to be a proper gentleman, I'd love to see the end result." He chuckled.
"I don't think any elocution classes could change the way he speaks, acts or thinks, he'll always have the soul of a pig inside, a dirty, old pig." I spat.
"Right you are Cat, right you are." Syd agreed.
I took the pamphlet which Jeffrey had given me. I folded it and stashed it in my coat's pocket, having a mind to read it later. What really worried me, was the industrial revolution, how many people would it affect, would people now become unemployed, how many people wanted change? Richmond W. Ellis, that name got stuck in my head, and what could Billy possibly be doing in his carriage?