At the railway station, the band stopped playing and filed into the station.

Chapter Seventeen

I parked a little way from the prison, remembering Philip’s insistence that parking close by was not allowed.

As we walked towards the prison, the Arkwrights told me that they had worked at the children’s home, as superintendent and matron. “We was heartbroken when the Bluebell Home closed,” Mrs. Arkwright said, turning to her husband. “Tell her, Simon.”

“Heartbroken,” Simon said. “We’d seen ’em grow up and we’d seen ’em into the world and would have gone on doing so with the little uns.”

Mrs. Arkwright straightened her scarf. “At least we have Joan. She wasn’t happy in her digs and Mrs. Brockman, give her credit, let us have free rent of the little house we’re in. We was able to give Joan a home, just as Mrs. Farrar did for Stephen.”

Mr. Arkwright shook his head. He spoke as if Stephen’s imprisonment was a minor inconvenience, a mistake that would soon be put right. “What will the lad do now, without Mrs. Farrar behind him?”

“And what about you, Mr. and Mrs. Arkwright? Have you found work since the home closed?”

“Why Simon has a job in the mill –”

“Sweeping,” Mr. Arkwright admitted.

“I knit coats for a shop in Wakefield, and we have the garden.”

There was no sign of the band yet, but the police must already have been alerted.

A sergeant and a constable appeared. They stood by the prison gates.

We looked at them. They looked at us. We were a few yards apart.

Mrs. Arkwright smiled.

Mr. Arkwright nudged her. “Don’t make it obvious.”

“What?” I asked.

“She can lipread, from her mill days.”

Mrs. Arkwright turned her head, as if suspecting that the police shared her skill. The sergeant said, “Have you ever heard of a protest march where they come by train?” She glanced at the pair again, and then said, “The constable asks if they’re to turn them back. Sergeant says that wouldn’t look good, not when it’s the Temperance Band.”

As the band rounded the corner, playing “Jerusalem”, the sergeant looked over at me. Through my dad, I know many local police officers by sight. Neither of us acknowledged the other.

The band’s followers had increased. They started out with fifty or so. Now there were over a hundred.

The police always need to find the organiser, so they can deal with that person. I expect it was a relief to assume that the band’s conductor was the man in charge.

The officer had to wait until the last note of “Jerusalem” before the conductor would acknowledge him.

Joan called, “William Tell! That’s a favourite of Stephen’s.”

There was a brief exchange between the sergeant and the conductor.

The band began to play “The William Tell Overture”.

It was Joan who took up the chant as the music ended. “Stephen Walmsley is innocent. Stephen Walmsley is innocent.” Others took up the refrain.

Mrs. Arkwright whispered, “Let’s hope the lad hears them.”