One Snowy Night

by Amanda Grange

  Emily and Rebecca exchanged glances, then smiled as they realized they had both had the same idea regarding Louisa and Edward.

  Rebecca took advantage of Monsieur Toulouse’s skill next, with Emily kindly waiting until last. By the time he left, they had all had their hair trimmed and styled in the most becoming way.

  ‘Monsieur Toulouse may not be able to attend us on the day of the ball, but at least we know what we are aiming at,’ said Emily as she regarded her hair in the gilded glass.

  Well pleased with their morning the ladies parted, and Rebecca and Louisa returned home.

  They were just about to get out their workbaskets, after partaking of a delightful luncheon, when there was a knock at the front door.

  ‘I wonder who that can be?’ said Louisa, eyebrows raised.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Rebecca. Privately she hoped it was Joshua. It was not impossible that he might call. He had told her he would let her know what had caused the fire when he knew himself, and she had been half expecting him to call all day.

  The drawing-room door opened and Betsy announced Mr Willingham.

  Rebecca tried to hide her disappointment, and was glad that Mr Willingham turned to Louisa first. It would not be polite of her to let him see she had been hoping for someone else.

  Mr Willingham was looking smart and confident. Not for nothing was he one of the most prosperous mill owners in the area. He bowed politely over Louisa’s hand before turning and greeting Rebecca.

  ‘Mr Willingham. This is a pleasant surprise,’ said Louisa.

  ‘You were good enough to say I might call on you.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Louisa. ‘Pray, be seated.’

  He settled himself in a heavy mahogany chair.

  ‘I have called to issue an invitation,’ he said, after they had enquired politely into each other’s health. ‘My mother is holding a dinner party at the end of next week and she would be honoured if you would attend. I have the card here.’ He drew a gilt-edged card out of his pocket. ‘It is short notice, I’m afraid, but she feels she must make the most of the opportunity to get to know you, before you leave us again for Cheshire. She is eager to meet you,’ he said, turning to Rebecca. ‘I have told her so much about you.’

  ‘Oh, the end of next week. How fortunate,’ said Louisa, taking the card. ‘We have no engagement for that night. Yes, indeed, we would be honoured to attend.’

  ‘My mother will be glad,’ he said. ‘And so will I.’

  ‘You will be going to Mrs Camberwell’s ball, I take it?’ asked Louisa.

  ‘Yes, indeed. I am looking forward to it. I hope I may beg the favour of the first dance?’ he said to Rebecca.

  Finding she had no valid reason for excusing herself, Rebecca was forced to agree to his proposal. But she would rather have given her hand to Joshua, no matter how confused he made her feel.

  ‘Good. We mill-owners, Miss Foster, must stick together,’ said Mr Willingham with a smile.

  At that moment there was another knock at the outside door and a second visitor was admitted.

  ‘Joshua!’ exclaimed Rebecca as she stood up to welcome the new guest.

  ‘Joshua! How delightful to see you,’ said Louisa.

  ‘Marsden,’ said Mr Willingham coolly.

  Joshua nodded. ‘Willingham.’

  There was a coldness between the two men that Rebecca could not fail to notice. Nevertheless she was glad of it because, when Louisa offered the two gentlemen refreshments, Mr Willingham declined, saying, ‘Alas, I cannot stay. I came simply to bring you the invitation. I am delighted to be able to tell my mother that you accept.’

  And with that he bowed himself out of the room.

  ‘You will take some refreshment, Joshua?’ asked Louisa. ‘I was just about to ring for tea.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I would be delighted.’ He settled himself in a Hepplewhite chair.

  Louisa went over to the fireplace and pulled the bell. Nothing happened.

  ‘These rented houses,’ Louisa said. ‘There is always something that isn’t working. Never mind, I will go down to the kitchens and tell Mrs Neville myself.’

  She had scarcely left the room when Joshua turned to Rebecca and said, ‘Invitation?’

  ‘Yes. Mr Willingham’s mother has invited us to dine with her at the end of next week.’

  Joshua hesitated. ‘I would rather you did not go. Willingham’s an ambitious man. His family own a weaving mill in Stockport —’

  ‘I know,’ said Rebecca. ‘You are afraid, perhaps, that he intends to play on my lack of business experience, and you are worried that he will try to secure preferential rates for his family when buying cotton from Marsden mill?’

  Joshua laughed. ‘The thought had crossed my mind. But I see it had also crossed yours.’

  Rebecca smiled. ‘I am not my grandfather’s granddaughter for nothing,’ she remarked.

  ‘No, indeed.’ Then Joshua’s expression became more serious. ‘I may be maligning him, but Willingham seldom does anything without an ulterior motive and all I am saying is that I think it would be better if you were to decline his invitation.’

  Rebecca sighed. ‘I’m afraid that will be impossible. Louisa has already accepted.’

  Joshua frowned. ‘That’s unfortunate. Still, what’s done is done. But be on your guard, Rebecca. If Willingham strays onto the subject of the mill, try and turn him away from it. It isn’t just that I think he may try to gain preferential terms from you, I think he may also try to find out details of the running of Marsden mill - what salaries we pay our workers, for example, or how profitable the mill has been in the last year. It would all be useful knowledge for a man who buys his cotton from us. No, I know you would never tell him,’ he said, seeing that she was about to declare it, ‘but he is skilled at conversation, and may well have the information out of you before you know what you are about. You would not be the first mill owner to fall foul of his devious methods.’

  Rebecca nodded. ‘I sensed from the moment I met him that he was an ambitious man.’

  ‘But that’s enough of Willingham,’ said Joshua. ‘That isn’t why I came here today.’

  ‘You have found out how the fire started?’ Rebecca asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Rebecca sat down, and Joshua sat opposite her.

  ‘As I suspected, it was started quite deliberately,’ he said. ‘A lighted flambeau had been left in the bottom drawer of the desk.’

  ‘To destroy the documents?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Joshua. ‘That’s what’s so puzzling. You see, the documents are kept in a locked cabinet beside the door.’

  ‘So anyone wanting to destroy the documents would have tried to burn the cabinet and not the desk,’ said Rebecca slowly.

  ‘Yes. If they knew where the documents were kept.’

  ‘And Hill? Does he know?’

  ‘Yes. He does.’

  ‘Which would seem to rule him out,’ said Rebecca thoughtfully. ‘Were any additional documents destroyed? When you checked them the morning after the fire?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then Hill is not the culprit. It must be someone else. But who?’

  At that moment the door opened and Louisa entered the room.

  ‘Tea is on its way,’ she said.

  Rebecca bit back her frustration. She did not want to abandon her conversation, but now that Louisa had returned it was impossible for her to continue it. She would have to wait until she could have further words with Joshua in private, and who knew when that would be?

  Still, there was no help for it. She put her frustration to one side and joined in with Louisa’s light-hearted conversation. And Joshua, no less frustrated by their lack of privacy, was forced to do the same.

  Chapter Nine

  Two new footmen soon found their way into Rebecca and Louisa’s house. Fortunately Louisa accepted their appearance at face value, and was too polite to enquire into the origins of th
e broken nose of one and the cauliflower ear of the other. She was pleased that dear Joshua had sent the men along to add to her consequence and convenience, and expressed herself delighted with their presence

  Rebecca was genuinely glad to have them there. So far she had not been threatened in any way, but if the unexplained attacks on Joshua were indeed connected with the mill there may come a time when she herself was in danger, and it was reassuring to have two large ex-Bow Street Runners, disguised as footmen, standing in the hall.

  Rebecca was reading in the drawing-room on the afternoon of the ball when Louisa came in looking flustered. ‘Oh, my dear, it is too vexing,’ she said. ‘I have broken my fan. I don’t know how it happened. I simply opened it to see if it would go with my new gown, and it snapped in my hand.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Rebecca. ‘It’s still early. We can go and choose another one. Something that will go with your gown.’ She closed her book and set it down.

  ‘It is a nice idea, but my legs are feeling a little stiff, and I fear if I go out this afternoon I may not be able to dance this evening.’

  Rebecca understood at once why Louisa was so concerned. Edward had claimed Louisa’s hand for the first dance, and that dear lady had spent all week looking forward to it.

  ‘Then I can go on my own,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘Oh, no, my dear, you mustn’t think of it. You will be wanting to get ready yourself soon.’

  ‘Not for another couple of hours at least,’ said Rebecca. ‘What kind of fan would you like? A lace one would go well with your dress, I think. Or would you like a painted fan? Or maybe one made out of ostrich feathers?’

  ‘Oh, no! Ostrich feathers would be far too flamboyant! A lace fan would be perfect, it would match the lace trim on my sleeves,’ said Louisa. ‘But of course it is not important. I can do very well without.’

  ‘I would like a breath of fresh air,’ said Rebecca, standing up and stretching. ‘I have not been out all day. An hour’s shopping will help blow the cobwebs away. I can still be back in plenty of time to dress.’

  She had soon donned her outdoor clothes and then she summoned the carriage and was on her way. Accompanied by one of the new, protective footmen she set out for Deansgate, where she meant to purchase the perfect fan to go with Louisa’s new gown. There were several shops that sold fashionable items, and she spent a pleasant half-hour browsing in them before selecting a delicate lace fan with ivory sticks.

  Feeling pleased with her purchase she returned to the carriage and made herself comfortable for the short journey home. Or at least, it should have been a short journey, but the streets were busy, and to make matters worse a cart had overturned ahead of her, shedding its load of vegetables all over the road. Urchins, drawn by the calamity, were stuffing their pockets with potatoes and carrots, whilst the carter was trying to alternately pick up the produce and shoo them away.

  Rebecca watched the scene for a few minutes and then her attention began to wander. As her eyes drifted away from the main thoroughfare and down the narrow streets that led away from it she found herself wondering again about the poor housing that lay behind the fashionable areas. She was determined to provide suitable housing for the workers at Marsden mill, and wondered whether any of the run-down buildings she could just glimpse might be suitable for renovation.

  As her eyes began to adjust to the gloomier conditions that prevailed beyond the main street she began to make out more detail: houses, pavements - and then something caught her attention and she sat up straight. There! Loping down the dingy back street was the man who had daubed the Luddite slogan on the wall of the mill!

  There could be no mistake.

  Deciding quickly on a course of action, she opened the carriage door and jumped out, calling to the footman as she did so, ‘Follow me!’

  Once free of the carriage she hurried down the narrow street, following the man with the loping gait. He turned down a cross street and Rebecca followed. The street was narrow, and when he turned again it was into an even narrower one.

  The houses crowded in on her but Rebecca did not give up. If she could apprehend the man she could discover why he had painted the slogan on the wall. And if he had been paid to do it, she could discover who had paid him.

  She saw him hesitate outside a mean house and then he went in. She turned round to signal to the footman, only to find he was not there.

  He had been following her when she left the carriage, she had made certain of it, but now he was nowhere in sight. He must have lost her after one of her many twists and turns.

  She crept closer to the house, pressing herself against the wall next to the window, determined to learn anything she could, when suddenly the door opened again and the furtive man came out.

  ‘What the ‘ell are you doing?’ he demanded, his foxy eyes boring into her.

  Lifting her chin, she brazened it out.

  ‘I am looking for the Exchange Hall,’ she said resolutely. ‘You will give me directions, if you please.’

  As she spoke she took in details of the man’s appearance, in case she had to identify him at some future date. He was short, only an inch or two taller than she was herself, which put him at about five foot six. He had dark, lank hair and long side whiskers. His eyes were small and set close together. His lips were thin and his chin was pointed. His body, too, was thin and wiry. Though small, she guessed he would possess a great deal of strength.

  ‘Lost your way, did you?’ he sneered. ‘Looking for the Exchange ‘all?’ His tone was menacing. ‘Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.’ Then his eyes became sharper and he stood up straight. ‘’ere, ’aven’t I seen you somewhere before?’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ she said, giving him a quelling glance.

  ‘I know where I’ve seen you before,’ he said, as realization dawned on him. ‘You were at the mill. Thought I didn’t see you, didn’t you? Slinking back into the shadows. Well you were wrong.’

  His hand whipped out and caught her arm. His grip was like iron and his fingers bit into her, even through her cloak. Then, opening the door behind him he tried to drag her into the house.

  Rebecca wrested herself free and kicked him hard on the shin before turning to run, but he caught her arm again and said menacingly, ‘You’ll pay for that.’

  He raised his hand to her and Rebecca lifted her arm to shield herself - and then, before she knew what was happening, someone was standing in front of her and blocking the man’s blow.

  Joshua! But what was he doing here?

  Regardless, she was very glad to see him.

  He caught the fist that was aiming at his head, then deflected a second blow which was aimed at his mid-section. With a few moves he defended himself and then turned the tables on his assailant, just as the footman ran up.

  ‘Where have you been?’ demanded Joshua, glaring at the footman. ‘You were supposed to be protecting Miss Foster. Where were you when she needed you?’

  ‘I lost her —’ began the footman.

  ‘Call yourself a Runner?’ asked Joshua fiercely. ‘A blind beggar could have made a better job of protecting her than you’ve done. What am I paying you for, man?’

  ‘A Bow Street Runner?’ asked the wiry man, his small eyes darting from one to the other of his captors.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Joshua. ‘A Bow Street Runner. And one who can testify to the fact you attacked a young lady.’

  ‘Lady?’ sneered the wiry man. ‘If she’s a lady, what’s she doing creeping around the back streets of Manchester on her own. Doesn’t seem very ladylike to me.’

  Joshua tightened his grip on the man. ‘I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head,’ he said.

  ‘Oh! So that’s the way it is, is it? Sweet on ‘er, are you?’ he leered. ‘I wouldn’t mind a bit of that myself —’

  ‘Take him in charge,’ said Joshua, ignoring the man’s taunts and pushing him towards the footman. ‘He is guilty of attacking Miss Foster. And don’t let him g
et away.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t let him get away,’ said the footman, looking at the wiry man with a crooked smile. ‘I’ve got a bone or two to pick with him.’

  Rebecca and Joshua looked at the footman curiously.

  ‘Do you know him?’ Joshua asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. He’s known to us, is Cyril Dunn,’ said the footman.

  ‘’Ow do you know my name?’ asked the man who had just been identified as Cyril Dunn.

  The footman removed his powdered wig.

  Dunn’s face fell. ‘Well, I’ll be . . . Odgers,’ he said, going white.

  ‘Yes, my lad. Odgers,’ said the footman with relish. Then he turned to Joshua. ‘This cove’s wanted for any number of things. He’ll do any amount of dirty work, so long as he’s well paid. We’d have got to him sooner or later.’

  ‘It’s a pity it wasn’t sooner,’ remarked Joshua.

  The footman looked abashed. ‘But if I’m meant to look after Dunn, who’s going to look after Miss Foster?’ he said, in an effort to make amends for losing her earlier.

  ‘Miss Foster,’ said Joshua curtly, ‘is coming with me.’

  Rebecca opened her mouth to speak but in fact she would be very glad to leave the maze of narrow streets behind. She could tell he was angry but their argument could wait until they were somewhere more respectable.

  They walked in frosty silence, traversing the maze of dark streets and then emerging into a more respectable area, where they arrived at an impressive residence.

  ‘Thank you for your assistance,’ said Rebecca. ‘I believe I can find my own way from here.’

  ‘Your carriage has gone on without you,’ he said. ‘You can wait inside. This is my house.’

  ‘I can’t go in without a chaperon,’ Rebecca remarked.

  ‘Indeed you can,’ he said.

  She knew how difficult it would be to find a hansom and so she preceded him into the house.

  He waved away the lackeys who would otherwise have greeted him and guided Rebecca through into the sitting-room. It was furnished in a simple and masculine style. There were no floral curtains or cushions scattered around. Everything was of good quality, but plain.