there’ll be dinner in the old barn tomorrow for a farthing.’
The men muttered but the offer was not to be spurned, and they retreated to their homes. Jared licked his lower lip and tasted blood from a cut. His boots and trousers were scuffed and his good jacket dusty. He looked around for his cap and found it trampled in the mud.
Tobias Holmes came over to him and held out his hand. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Jared nodded. His grasp was firm. ‘It could have been nasty. I’m Jared Tyler. Are you serious about a mission here?’
‘Yes. Do you know of us?’
‘I learned about Wesleyans at school.’
‘You have been to school?’ Tobias Holmes stepped back to look at him in the dying firelight. ‘Yes, I see now that you’re not a miner.You speak well and your coat is cut from good cloth.’
‘My father is an ironmaster.’
‘Then he will know of the bank’s failure. A bad business. The rich will suffer as well as the poor.’ Tobias Holmes grimaced. ‘But I care only for the poor.’
‘The Methodist chapel in town has a growing following.’
‘Give us time and we shall set up missions with poor funds in every pit village in the Riding.’
‘I wish you well.’
‘Thank you.Will you not join us on Sunday? I hold a meeting in the barn at the old farmhouse.’
‘I might.’
Jared’s mother and father were church people and he was expected to worship with them. He noticed the last of the miners hurry away as a rider approached. It was the constable from town. He slowed and picked his way carefully through the debris of stones, broken glass and charred wood.
‘We had better leave,’ Tobias Holmes suggested.
They parted, and as Jared hurried home he thought that Tobias Holmes was a different kind of chapel man from the ones he had known in the town and at school. For one thing he was physically strong, more like the miners he wanted to help than the church leaders Jared had known. But, then, he had travelled to America and probably knew how to look after himself. Jared did not have much time for God in his adolescent life but he reckoned he might have time for Tobias Holmes. If he wasn’t a preacher, he wondered what kind of meeting he would have. He would go and see for himself.
‘Is that you, Jared?’ his father called, as Jared closed the door from the kitchen behind him. He stood quite still, hoping his father would go back to his reading. The door from his study next to the kitchen stood open, casting a glow from the candles into the hall.
‘Come in here now. We must to talk. And close the door quietly.’
Jared dusted down his clothes with his hands, but could do little to improve his appearance. Why hadn’t he thought to clean himself up in the scullery? He joined his father in the small study. It had once been a morning room, but now that Jared and his younger sisters were growing up, and they had a maid who slept in the attic, they breakfasted in the dining room.
‘Where have you been? Your mother’s been worried.’
‘I’m sorry, Father. Where is she?’
‘Gone to bed, so leave her be.’ His father approached him with the candle. ‘Which is just as well, with the state of you. Have you been fighting? You shouldn’t have stayed out so long. Don’t you know there’s a deal of unrest?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘You may think you’re a man at nigh on seventeen but, believe me, my lad, you still have much to learn. Did you see any trouble?’
‘A gang of ironworkers gathered down by the canal. They went down the towpath to Mexton.’
‘And on to your uncle’s pit, no doubt,’ his father continued sourly.
‘Uncle Hesley hasn’t paid his men. I heard about the bank. Has Mexton Pit failed too?’
His father gave a short, dry laugh.‘Not yet, son. Hesley always manages to scrape by somehow. He’s lost his capital, though, and he was going to use it to sink another shaft and install a new steam engine. I - I was going to invest in it, too.’
‘Did Mother know
The men muttered but the offer was not to be spurned, and they retreated to their homes. Jared licked his lower lip and tasted blood from a cut. His boots and trousers were scuffed and his good jacket dusty. He looked around for his cap and found it trampled in the mud.
Tobias Holmes came over to him and held out his hand. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Jared nodded. His grasp was firm. ‘It could have been nasty. I’m Jared Tyler. Are you serious about a mission here?’
‘Yes. Do you know of us?’
‘I learned about Wesleyans at school.’
‘You have been to school?’ Tobias Holmes stepped back to look at him in the dying firelight. ‘Yes, I see now that you’re not a miner.You speak well and your coat is cut from good cloth.’
‘My father is an ironmaster.’
‘Then he will know of the bank’s failure. A bad business. The rich will suffer as well as the poor.’ Tobias Holmes grimaced. ‘But I care only for the poor.’
‘The Methodist chapel in town has a growing following.’
‘Give us time and we shall set up missions with poor funds in every pit village in the Riding.’
‘I wish you well.’
‘Thank you.Will you not join us on Sunday? I hold a meeting in the barn at the old farmhouse.’
‘I might.’
Jared’s mother and father were church people and he was expected to worship with them. He noticed the last of the miners hurry away as a rider approached. It was the constable from town. He slowed and picked his way carefully through the debris of stones, broken glass and charred wood.
‘We had better leave,’ Tobias Holmes suggested.
They parted, and as Jared hurried home he thought that Tobias Holmes was a different kind of chapel man from the ones he had known in the town and at school. For one thing he was physically strong, more like the miners he wanted to help than the church leaders Jared had known. But, then, he had travelled to America and probably knew how to look after himself. Jared did not have much time for God in his adolescent life but he reckoned he might have time for Tobias Holmes. If he wasn’t a preacher, he wondered what kind of meeting he would have. He would go and see for himself.
‘Is that you, Jared?’ his father called, as Jared closed the door from the kitchen behind him. He stood quite still, hoping his father would go back to his reading. The door from his study next to the kitchen stood open, casting a glow from the candles into the hall.
‘Come in here now. We must to talk. And close the door quietly.’
Jared dusted down his clothes with his hands, but could do little to improve his appearance. Why hadn’t he thought to clean himself up in the scullery? He joined his father in the small study. It had once been a morning room, but now that Jared and his younger sisters were growing up, and they had a maid who slept in the attic, they breakfasted in the dining room.
‘Where have you been? Your mother’s been worried.’
‘I’m sorry, Father. Where is she?’
‘Gone to bed, so leave her be.’ His father approached him with the candle. ‘Which is just as well, with the state of you. Have you been fighting? You shouldn’t have stayed out so long. Don’t you know there’s a deal of unrest?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘You may think you’re a man at nigh on seventeen but, believe me, my lad, you still have much to learn. Did you see any trouble?’
‘A gang of ironworkers gathered down by the canal. They went down the towpath to Mexton.’
‘And on to your uncle’s pit, no doubt,’ his father continued sourly.
‘Uncle Hesley hasn’t paid his men. I heard about the bank. Has Mexton Pit failed too?’
His father gave a short, dry laugh.‘Not yet, son. Hesley always manages to scrape by somehow. He’s lost his capital, though, and he was going to use it to sink another shaft and install a new steam engine. I - I was going to invest in it, too.’
‘Did Mother know
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