Read Pauper's Gold for Free Online Page B

morning mist shrouding the hilltops. ‘Lord bless you, I’m not Mr Critchlow. I’m his
overlooker, Ernest Scarsfield. I work for him just the same as you’re going to.’
    Hannah’s gaze travelled upwards to marvel at the grand hat he was wearing.
    Reading her thoughts, he laughed again. ‘Ah, now you’re admiring my top hat, aren’t you?’ Hannah grinned and nodded. The man’s eyes twinkled and he bent forward,
resting his hands on his knees. ‘Well, you see, that’s my sign of authority in this place. When folks see my top hat coming, they know they’ve to be working hard.’ He winked
and chuckled. ‘But I’m sure I’m not going to have any trouble from you four, now am I?’
    They smiled a little uncertainly as Mr Scarsfield scrutinized them. Dear me , he was thinking as his glance rested upon Jane, they’re sending them younger and younger . This
little one looks no more than eight years old. ‘From the workhouse, are you?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Hannah answered, once again taking the lead.
    ‘You needn’t call me “sir”, lass. You call Mr Critchlow “sir”.’ He sniffed, ‘And Mr Edmund too, I suppose. But you call me “Mr
Scarsfield”. Now, follow me and I’ll take you to Mr Critchlow’s office. You have to sign a paper first and then we’ll see what jobs we can set you to do.’
    They followed him across the yard and in through a door at the end of the main building, up spiral stone steps to the first floor.
    At another door, Ernest Scarsfield paused and turned to say, ‘This first room is what we call the counting house. It’s where Mr Roper sits to do all the bookwork. Beyond that is the
master’s office. Mr Nathaniel Critchlow is the owner of the mill, but his son, Mr Edmund, is in the business too now. He’s the manager of the mill, really.’ He leaned a little
closer and lowered his voice, as if imparting a confidence. ‘The old man still likes to keep his hand in, but it’s really Mr Edmund who runs the place.’ Ernest straightened up and
winked. ‘With me to help him, of course.’
    The children smiled dutifully, yet they were all feeling apprehensive, not knowing what to expect. Even Hannah felt her knees trembling.
    Ernest knocked on the door, and, hearing a murmur from within, opened it, standing aside to usher the children ahead of him. Finding herself once more in the lead, Hannah took a deep breath and
stepped into the room. Jane, though still clinging to her hand, managed to hide behind Hannah. The two boys followed, with Mr Scarsfield bringing up the rear and closing the door behind him.
    A man – thin, sour-faced and already balding though only in his thirties – was perched on a stool at a high desk, hunched over it, and writing in a thick, leather-bound ledger. He
was dressed in sombre black from head to foot, the only relief being his stiffly starched white collar and blue silk cravat.
    ‘Morning, Roper,’ Mr Scarsfield said cheerfully, but he didn’t pause in moving the children on towards a door halfway down the left-hand side of the room.
    The man at the desk glanced at the children with grey, lifeless eyes over the top of his small, steel-framed spectacles. His only reply to Ernest Scarsfield’s greeting was a disapproving
sniff.
    Mr Scarsfield opened the door to the inner office and stepped in first this time.
    ‘Good morning, sir,’ he greeted the man sitting behind the desk in the centre of the room. This time, Hannah noticed, his tone was far more deferential.
    ‘Morning, Scarsfield.’ His glance rested on the four youngsters. ‘Well, well, and who have we here?’
    The portly man, with a red face, thinning grey hair and long bushy side-whiskers, spread his podgy hands on the desk in front of him. He was dressed in a black frock coat, dark grey trousers and
a light grey waistcoat, with a black stock knotted beneath a white, stand-up collar. Hannah had never seen anyone dressed so grandly in all her life.
    ‘Mr Goodbody’s latest