CHAPTER 18

The mill loomed before me as I walked through the gates with my lunch in my hand. Just a building. Just a job. Yet with each step I took towards the spinner room, a voice in my head reminded me that all this was actually mine. I owned it and yet here I was, walking the path like it was any other day as other workers did the same. Another day, another shilling, Pa used to say, but how much did the owner earn a day?

James was there, of course, standing by the entrance with his arms crossed over his chest. He glared at me as I passed, his lip still swollen from the fight. I met his gaze, refusing to look away. James did, lowering his head to watch his feet.

The workday passed in a blur of sweat and noise; the looms clattering and Bryson barking orders. I kept my head down, my hands moving through the familiar motions. When the whistle finally blew, signalling the end of the shift, I cleaned my station as fast as I could.

Darkness surrounded me as I walked towards home, eager to put some distance between myself and the mill. The streets were crowded with workers heading home, their faces tired and drawn. I wove through them with my gaze fixed on the ground.

"Caged swallows can't fly." The voice was thin and reedy, barely audible over the din of the crowd. But I heard it, clear as a bell.

I stopped to see the mumbling old woman leaning against the wall of a narrow alley to one side. Her hair still a wild tangle about her face and her clothes tattered and torn yet managing to keep her covered.

Keep walking. No need to stop . Yet I didn't listen to myself and instead took a couple of steps towards her.

"Tell me, what do you mean?" I asked, my voice low and wary. "What swallows?"

The woman grinned, revealing a mouthful of broken, blackened teeth. "Swallows in cages, boy. Trapped behind bars of gold and silk. But the maids, they know. They see and they whisper, and old Peg hears."

I frowned. The woman's words made no sense. I glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention.

"Who are you?" he asked. "What do you want with me?"

The woman cackled, a sound like dry leaves skittering over stone. "Peg is Peg, boy. Peg makes life, brings it screaming into the world. Even for the fine lords and ladies, when they deign to call."

"You're a midwife," I said slowly. "Or you were, once."

Peg nodded. "The best, boy. The very best. Until they tried to snuff old Peg out, like a candle in the wind."

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Truly, I am. But I don't understand what you want from me."

Peg reached out, her gnarled fingers brushing against my hand. I flinched and took a step back.

"The truth, boy. The truth that festers behind the high walls and fancy gates. The truth the maids whisper when they think no one's listening."

She leaned in closer, her breath hot and sour against his face. "Many are part of it, boy. Part of the web, tangled up so tight they can't see the strands. But old Peg sees. Old Peg knows."

"Get out of here, you old crow," a familiar voice said.

"Get out. Come here. Get out. Go away. You too young to know," Peg replied.

James stood beside me. "They should have hit you harder."

"Ghosts would remain." Peg smiled at James and he shifted his weight to his other foot. She turned back to me. "Swallows in cages can't fly and will surely die."

With that, she turned and shuffled away, disappearing into the shadows of the alley.

"What was that all about?" James asked.

"No idea." Silence descended on us as we stood there on the footpath.

"I came to say sorry," James said at last. "Drink got the better of me and I don't remember it all. Millie gave me a right talking to when I got home. Didn't make my head spin like a right old spindle. Of course, her dunking my head in the bucket of water just added to my misery. She made her point, though."

"I didn't want any of that to happen."

"I know. I was mad, is all. You never used to keep secrets. Millie made me promise I'd talk it out with you rather than…" he made a fist and punched the air.

"Wise girl she is."

James lowered his fist and looked at the ground. "She was. Ma couldn't wake her this morning. She went in her sleep at least. Peaceful as we could ask."

"Sorry." I remembered when Pa went and how no one seemed to know what to say. Always thought the words would be easy to find. I was wrong.

"Knew it would happen. Just didn't expect it so soon. You know?"

I nodded.

"You need help with the burial?"

"With what? Your pa lies there with nothing for people to know. Be the same for Mille. Into a pauper grave. We work ourselves half to death and for what? Not even when we die are we remembered."

"We'll remember her." I paused. "I've got a little saved—"

"Pa won't take it, not even a loan. Too proud for that, but thanks."

I breathed in the night air. "I will tell you. I just can't just yet, too much still to do, but when I can, you'll know."

James nodded. "Millie knew more, did she? She brightened this past week. Thought maybe she'd make it longer. Anyway, I best get home, a lot to do."

He gave me a grin before walking ahead. I'd miss seeing Millie in the window. Such a shame. Hannah's right, I could do a lot of good for people.

Before I opened the door, I could hear Ma's footsteps inside. I pushed open the door, the hinges creaking softly. Ma looked up with a smile, a steaming pot in her gloved hands.

"Johnny! You're home! Sit down, love, supper's almost ready."

I sank into a chair at the table, my bones aching now I'd stopped. Ma bustled about like a lady half her age. She ladled stew into bowls and set them down with hunks of brown bread. I picked up my spoon while watching her.

"You're in a good mood Ma," I said.

"Angels come in all forms." Her smile faded. "You heard about Millie?"

"Yeah, James told me on the way home."

"So young, poor girl."

"Ma," I said quietly, pushing the stew around in the bowl. "Do you know a woman named Peg? She might have been a midwife?"

Ma paused, her own spoon halfway to her mouth.

"Peg Shelby, you mean? Aye, I remember her. A right gifted midwife, she was. Helped bring half the babies in this town into the world, from the poorest to the richest."

I leaned forward. "What happened to her? She seems…not quite right, in the head."

Ma sighed. "It was a terrible thing, what happened to her. Years ago it was, before you even came to us. She was walking home late one night, after helping with a difficult birth. Some men, drunk and mean…they set upon her. Beat her something awful, left her for dead in the street. She lived, though. Lord knows how. But she was never the same after that. Took to wandering the streets, muttering to herself. Folks say her mind is touched, that she sees things that aren't there, hears voices in the wind."

"You remember whose baby that night?"

"No idea. I only knew her by what other ladies said, since I was never in the family way. Why do you ask?"

"She's stopped me in the street a few times. I don't know, it just feels like she's trying to tell me something."

"She tells people about birds in cages. I heard she once let all the doves free that some fancy man had brought in crates to release at the opening of the town hall. In the middle of the speech, apparently. She was lucky he didn't send the magistrate after her. She's lucky not to be locked away, but I've not heard of her causing any damage."

I finished the soup. My eyes felt heavy as I washed the dishes and put them away.

"Your lady came by today."

"Hannah?"

"Aye. She needs your help again, it seems. What's going on, Johnny? You can trust me, there ain't a soul I'll tell."

I helped her to the seat closest to the fire and draped her favourite blanket over her knees before sitting down.

"When we were away, Hannah found out that her father might not be her father. She's trying to work it out."

"Many a child walks with a name that's not theirs. Yourself included. Did the envelope help?"

I nodded. "I know who I am, Ma. I've always known that. I'm your son and I work at a cotton mill where it snows every day."

"You know more than that. Miss Hannah didn't say, but both of you seem to be sharing a secret."

"A secret I'm not sure what to do with. If I reveal who I am, who that letter says I am. I don't know Ma. Things will change."

"That's what life is, Johnny. Change after change. Some embrace change, others run from it and try to stop it. You'll do what's best."

"Did Hannah leave a message?"

"Just she wanted to check and see how you are. You best get some rest so that face of yours can heal some more."