The Town House by Norah Lofts

Author:Norah Lofts
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780752464992
Publisher: The History Press
Published: 2011-06-27T04:00:00+00:00

III

Now for me no more riding horse-back; no green apples; no sitting on grass; retching and revolted I gulped down pints of red meat juice, and when, early in June one of the workmen’s wives in the huts beyond the stables was brought to bed I borrowed her filthy petticoat and wore it, flea-ridden as it was and returned it, in July with a fine red woolsey cloak. It all availed me nothing; the August moon ruled me, this year as last.

All this was my private concern. Around me things moved on. Master Reed had taken another stride forward, and was building again. His new notion was to bring over some Flemish weavers to ply their craft in Baildon.

The Flemings were, at this time, an unhappy people, subject to this rule and that as the fortune of war decided. Richard had told me how, on one of his visits to the Low Countries he had seen between three and four hundred people, men, women and children, being herded along the roads, like animals being taken to market. Their ruler of the moment, the Emperor, or the King of France or the Duke of Burgundy – I was never clear on that point – had decided that one town was too full of people and another too empty, so they were arbitrarily chosen and made to move.

With such circumstances prevailing in their home country Flemings were always willing to take service elsewhere. The best hired mercenaries were always Flemings, ‘routiers’ they were called. And the best craftsmen, the weavers, were unsettled too. Master Reed, who at set intervals made the voyage in one of his ships and visited his warehouse in Amsterdam, had engaged eight skilled men to come to Baildon and ply their craft.

A new building was reared, running out at an angle from the main house. The upper floor, very stoutly built to sustain the weight and thud of the looms, was to be the weaving shed; below it the weavers, all single young men, were to live. The weaving shed was a unique structure in that its walls were almost all window. The glass was very costly but Master Reed was sure that within four years he would have reimbursed himself. There would be no duty to pay on the home-woven stuff and he reckoned that he could sell it so cheaply that he would undercut everybody else.

‘I began’, he said once, ‘by doing smith work cheap. Then I offered cheap stabling. And when I went into the wool trade I was still cheap; I gave a little more for the raw fleeces and sold the baled wool for a little less. Now I hope to sell good cloth, cheap.’

I think that was the longest speech I ever heard him make.

The building was finished and the Flemings arrived in June – while I was wearing that horrible petticoat and trying to scratch myself without being noticed. And all through July and August Master Reed and Richard were dealing with the problem of language.

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