‘It can’t be stopped,’ Keithley said. ‘Just like the machines. All we can hope to do is get it modified. Ease the pain, as you put it.’
That was disappointing. Spade felt angry. I would like to be in Parliament, he thought. I’d shake the buggers up.
*
Sal thought the emissary from London seemed unimpressive. Good speakers were often striking-looking, like Charles Midwinter, but Keithley was the opposite. She hoped he would not be like the Rev. Bartholomew Small, who had bored everyone. She wanted the hands to get fired up.
However, the meeting attracted a big crowd. Sal saw most of the major clothiers and several hundred mill hands. The seats were full and people were standing at the back. At the front was a platform with a table. Viscount Northwood sat behind the table in the centre, clearly in charge. Mayor Fishwick was on one side of him and Keithley on the other, with Spade at the end of the row. Sal wasseated in the audience: despite her key role in the strike, no one would expect a woman to be on the platform.
To one side of the room, Elsie Mackintosh sat at a table with paper, pens and ink, ready to collect signatures for the petition later.
Northwood opened the meeting. He was well meaning, but he could not help sounding as if he was giving his troops a pep talk before a battle. ‘Now pay attention, everyone. We’re here to learn about an important bill now before Parliament, so you must all listen carefully to what is said by Mr Keithley, who has come all the way from London to address us.’
Keithley was more relaxed. ‘If this bill is passed in its present form, it will change the lives of every working man, woman and child in our country,’ he said. ‘So if anything isn’t clear, please stand up and say so, or ask a question for clarification. I don’t mind being interrupted.’
This was a better style for the hands, Sal knew: they responded well to informality.
Keithley began with the rushed passage of the bill through Parliament. ‘Announced by the prime minister on the Monday before last, first reading the next day; second reading the day after that. The committee reported a hasty seven days later, which was last Wednesday; and it will be before the House of Lords the day after tomorrow. However, they’re not in such a hurry to listen to the working men and women of the nation they rule. Parliament has not yet found time to consider a petition opposing the bill from the calico printers of London.’
Someone called out: ‘Shame on them.’
‘And what does this bill say?’ Keithley lowered his voice dramatically. ‘My friends, listen very carefully.’ Then he spoke in a crescendo. ‘It says that any workman who gets together with another – just one! – to ask for a wage increase has committed a crimeand may be punished with two months’ hard labour!’
There was a shout of protest from the crowd.
Keithley was more impressive than he looked, Sal thought gratefully. She had underestimated him.
A harsh, penetrating voice said: ‘Just a minute.’
Sal looked for the source and saw Hornbeam standing up.
She noticed Spade whispering to Keithley, and guessed he was explaining who the interrupter was.
Hornbeam said: ‘Allow me to point out that the bill equally forbids combinations of masters.’
‘Thank you for that interjection,’ said Keithley. ‘I’m told I have the honour to address Alderman Hornbeam, is that right?’
Hornbeam said: ‘Yes.’
‘And you’re a clothier, Mr Hornbeam.’
‘Yes.’
‘And a justice of the peace.’
‘Yes.’
‘You used the word “equally”, but let us look closer.’ Keithley turned away from Hornbeam to the crowd. ‘This bill, my friends, will allow Mr Hornbeam to accuse any two of his hands of combination. He will then be able to try their case on his ownwith no second justice and no jury. Finding them guilty, he may sentence them to hard labour – all without consulting a single other person in the world.’
There was a rumble of indignation from the audience.
‘Note the following contrast,’ Keithley continued. ‘Masters accused under this bill will have to be tried by at least two justices and a jury.’
Sal said loudly: ‘That’s not justice!’ People around her voiced their agreement.
‘And that is not the only inequality,’ said Keithley. ‘Working men may be questioned about conversations with their workmates, and it will be a crime to refuse to answer.You will be obliged to testify against yourselves and your workmates – or go to prison for refusing to do so.’
Hornbeam stood up again. ‘I believe you are a lawyer, Mr Keithley, so you must know that combination, or conspiracy, is notoriously hard to prove. This clause is essential to the working of the bill. The accused men must provide the evidence themselves – otherwise no prosecution would ever succeed.’
