“I wouldn’t be surprised. However, I might just go and enquire. It wouldn’t make you jealous if I called on Miss Hart, would it, Harriet?”
“Do what you like. It’s no business of mine.”
Georgie gazed on her with evident affection before giving Jack a conspiratorial wink. “In that case, I might call on her shortly, and if she has no escort for the dance, I could take her myself. You’ll be going with your family, Harriet, so you won’t miss me.”
“If you want to accompany her there, you’re welcome. I shall assume you’re doing it out of good Christian charity.”
“And I shall assume quite the opposite.” Jack’s lips twitched, but he’d spoken too softly for anyone to hear.
The first few notes of a cheerful waltz came to life under Harriet’s fingers, and Georgie sprang to her side to turn the pages for her. Papa settled down in his chair once more and gazed at the ceiling, while Mama nodded her head in appreciation at Hattie’s superb sense of rhythm. Jack threw back the last of his madeira, and slipped quietly up to his study. Whatever would his family have said if they’d known where he was going to be tonight, and with whom? It was the first time he had done anything so clandestine.
Why had he not been open with everyone? Was he worried they’d think he had an assignation with Miss Hart? No one would think any the less of him if he had—it was expected that a young man in his position should sow a few wild oats. Georgie had no compunction about showing an interest in the girl. Although he probably was just trying to tease Hattie.
Was Jack ashamed? Afraid of their mockery? Damn it, why had he even offered to put himself out for her?
As he slipped into his work clothes and hurried down the back stairs, he smiled and nodded. It was because no other person had shown quite such an interest in his work. He loved the idea of educating an enquiring mind.
There was no more to it than that.
Chapter 24
As Jack silently pushed open the door into the main factory building that evening, Bella’s first thought was that it reminded her of the workhouse. The memory was a knife in her gut, so she concentrated instead on Jack as he uncovered his lantern and the light fell on his face. He seemed in a much better mood than when she’d seen him earlier that day.
The next thing that struck her about the place was the heat. The mill had been shut up all day, and it was stinking and airless, a mingled smell of sheep and oil. As he led her across, a fine layer of dust rose up like a golden cloud in the light of his lantern.
“If I keep the light away from the windows, we’ll be fine.” He gave her an odd look as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there. “We’ll go up. There are steps here. Hold onto me, and I’ll guide you.”
She stumbled up the treads in the flickering darkness, one hand loosely clasped in his as he went ahead of her. Suddenly the walls fell away, and they were in a great open space, faintly illuminated by the evening light penetrating the large windows.
He held his lantern aloft and she stared around at the mysterious, looming shapes of the machinery. The room was larger than any of the halls she’d seen at the Union. The ceiling looked as if it was draped with broad leather ribbons, and a host of metal shafts, tubes and wheels linked these straps to the machines that squatted around the walls.
Jack released her hand. “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this before, Miss Hart. It’s a wonder of modern science, based on age-old principles. If you’d been around a few hundred years ago, you’d have spent all your spare moments carding little bits of wool for your own use. Every woman did—it’s a fact of history. But look how we do it now.”
He waved a hand above his head, and she thrilled at the pleasure in his face. “Look above you. Those are the belts that drive the machinery. The up and down motion of the beam engine is turned into rotary energy by its cogs. Can you see how these belts drive the rollers in the carder?”
She hesitated, and he gave her a gentle nudge forward. “It’s not going to suddenly switch itself on. There’s no need to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
She looked. Each roller in the carding machine sported thousands of tiny metal teeth. What must the pressure of the rollers be like when it was working, pressure that could crush a man’s limb? There was a safety barrier, she noticed, but only for the operator to stand behind. On the wall was a notice reminding the millhand that he—or she—mustn’t wear loose clothing, and that women’s hair should be safely contained in a cap.
Jack was getting into his stride now. Barely giving her time for a good look, he urged her back towards the stairs. “We’ll go up to the next floor, so you can see the mules. They have to be up the top for the best light. You need good light for mending too.”
“Mending?”
“Yes. You get little faults in the cloth when it comes off the loom, places where a thread has snapped, or a bit of slubbing’s not been spun properly. There are people called burlers to remove the lumps, and menders to run any loose ends back into the weave of the cloth so you can’t see the mistake. That’s always work for the women.”
“What do the younger workers do?” Bella’s voice bounced off stone as she was helped up the next dark flight of steps.
“Oh, all sorts. They support the hands on the machines mostly, refilling empty bobbins, carrying the cheeses from place to place, mending the broken threads on the mule—”
“I want to see this mule.”
“Madam shall be obeyed,” he said with a mock bow. “But that’s on the next floor. We’ll go up in a moment. Oh God, that’s torn it!”
They both froze at a rattle of keys and the sound of a door being opened below. As the echoing click of hobnailed boots came up the lower stairway, Jack grasped Bella’s arm and hurried her off to the far end of the room.
“There’s a pile of cloth bales stacked against the end wall,” he hissed. “We can squeeze in behind those.”
She pushed in as far as she could, and Jack followed after, blocking the opening with his broad shoulders. The lantern light was extinguished.
“Ouch! Damn, I’ve burnt myself.” She felt him press against her as he tried to find somewhere in the tiny space to put the lantern down. They were crushed, breast to breast, as far behind the bales as they could go.
This is a pretty pickle and no mistake! Her shocked imagination pictured what was to become of them if they were discovered, lurking like thieves in the empty factory. Would it mean another public flogging? The loss of her teaching post? She tried to distract herself by thinking about Jack. How well would he recover from a flogging? Probably it would dent his dignity more than his back. Funny, how she thought of him as dignified, even when he was black with oil from top to toe.
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, so she grasped him back to show she wasn’t afraid. Even though she was.
As she waited in the dark, head angled to catch the sound of the footsteps if they came onto their floor, came any closer to their corner, she felt a tickle in her nose. Hardly surprising that dust should get up there—it seemed to be everywhere, and they had disturbed a whole cloud of it from the cloth bales. Her shoulders started to shake, and she bit hard down on her lip. At the same instant, she realised the click of boots was louder, and there was a faint light reflecting off the wall above their heads.
He must have felt her shaking, for Jack put his arms around her and pulled her head in against his chest, so she forgot about sneezing. But she was nearly suffocating by the time his embrace relaxed enough for her to lift her head. Breathing hard, but as quietly as she could, she let herself lean against him. The feeling of support, of reassurance from a man, was something she had never experienced, and she liked it. Oh, yes, she liked it!
The footsteps drew off into the distance. They’d escaped detection—at least for now.
Jack was still holding her, his hands on her shoulders, and he whispered, “Are you alright now?” and she told him she was, and she just needed to get he
r breath back—but it was a long time coming.
“That was a close call.” His voice was shaky.
“I thought you said there was nothing to worry about—that you wouldn’t lose your job at least. Why are you trembling so?”
He speedily removed his hands from her shoulders. “It just would have been… embarrassing. For both of us. They’d never have believed our visit here was innocent. Look, shall we go down now? I’ve no heart for this anymore. You can see the mule some other time. It’s just a machine that spins yarn.”
She followed him out, sadly deflated, and wondering why he had lost interest in their adventure all of a sudden. She’d learned a lot already and was eager to find out more. But he was the boss, and it seemed she’d been given her marching orders.
“Do I need to see you across the road?”
“Why, is it dangerous for me to go on me own?” She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but the feeling that she’d missed out on something important galled her.
“Of course—it’s dangerous for any young lady after dark. There might be thieves, and worse.”
“Oh, thieves! I’ve done a bit of thieving in me time, and I’m not afraid of them. I’d just holler and kick. I know just the right places to kick if you ever want me to teach you.”
“No, no. That wouldn’t be at all proper. But I’m glad you feel you can defend yourself.” He made a little explosive noise, and she realised he was laughing at her again. Well, at least he’d cheered up.
“Why don’t you just stand by the gates and watch me indoors? Then, if anyone attacks me, you can see what I do.” She touched his hand in a brief salute of farewell, and added, “I’ll only holler for you if there’s too many for me to handle.”
Like when Annie Tullard and her two friends had held her down and filled her face with ink. Nothing like that would ever happen to her again—never, ever, ever!
Chapter 25
Mrs Uphill was frowning over the original architect’s plans. Here was yet another problem she had to sort out herself; how to rearrange the use of the buildings so families would no longer be segregated. The place had become too awkward to run with people dotted about everywhere. And anyway, the idea of separation was considered outmoded now.
So absorbed was she that she barely took in the names of the man and woman a flushed Mr Pinchmore brought into her room. As her gimlet eye fixed on him, about to upbraid him for allowing strangers in without warning her, he said, “Mrs Uphill. Is the Master not at home?”
“No, he’s not, Pinchmore. What do you mean by this?”
She was ignored. The beadle turned to the gentleman. “I’m sorry, my lord. But Mrs Uphill can surely tell you what you need to know.”
My lord? She hastily bobbed a curtsey to her distinguished visitors. The blond man sighed pointedly. “I’m Lord Sutcliffe, Mrs Uphill. And this is my mother.”
“I’m so sorry. Had I expected you, I would, of course, have made sure we were ready to receive you properly. Please, would you like a seat?”
“No. Our business won’t take long.” Then, as an afterthought, he waved a hand at the lady. “Mother, would you care to sit?”
The lady, a pale, faded beauty who had passed her good looks onto her son, shook her head.
Sutcliffe gestured with his walking cane. “We’re come in search of an Isabella Hart. Is she here?”
Mrs Uphill fought the urge to scowl. “Well, let me see. Yes, I believe we did have a Bella Hart staying with us at one time.” She was proud of the way she made the place sound like a fine lodging house, not a last resort for all the worthless, wicked souls therein.
“At one time?” The man quirked an eyebrow. “So, where is she now?”
“She, er, left us. A few weeks ago now—yes, a few weeks.”
“And where did she go?”
She wondered fleetingly if she should demand a price for her answer, but two things prevented her. First, she didn’t have an answer. She was so glad to be rid of a girl who seemed always to court trouble, that she had never concerned herself with her whereabouts. The other reason was Lord Sutcliffe’s face. Although only a young man, he bore the look of someone who stood no nonsense. Not that she was afraid of him, of course—after what she’d had to put up with over the years, she was afraid of nothing. It probably wasn’t wise to say too much anyway, as she’d accepted a huge bribe to take the baby Bella Hart in, when she didn’t live in the parish.
She lifted her chin. “Miss Hart liberated herself without recourse to me. She may have told Miss Ainsty of course, but I did not think to enquire. I suppose her friend, the club-footed girl, might know. I had no idea anybody else was interested in the young lady.”
“Someone else was interested?” This from the woman, looking anxious and even whiter than before.
“Yes, a gentleman called Mr Finchdean.” Mrs Uphill put a sneer into the name. He had been such a disappointment to her, having neither given her any money to speak of, nor relieved her of Bella Hart. “I assume she was not the person he was after, for he saw her once and never returned.”
“There are all sorts of reasons why someone might be unable to return.” The young lord turned his head. “Have you some water, Mrs Uphill? I fear my mother is feeling faint.”
“No, no, I am just shocked, that’s all. Mr Finchdean was once the family butler, Henry. I don’t know what became of him.”
“Had he anything to do with… what happened?”
Mrs Uphill cocked her head. There was some scandal here—she could smell such things a mile off. Was there any money to be made out of the fact?
“I have no idea. He certainly wasn’t one of the men that took my children away from me.” A sob escaped the lady. “Please forgive me—I can hardly bear to think of that terrible time.”
“Enough. We don’t wish to bore Mrs Uphill with ancient history. So, Mr Finchdean was also searching for a Bella Hart, and he found her here but took no action.”
Mrs Uphill nodded. How much she would have to relate to Mr Uphill when he came home! Then she remembered her own treatment of Bella Hart and wondered if it would be best to be rid of her visitors before they dug any deeper.
“I regret, my lord, that Mr Finchdean left me no means of contacting him.”
“Did he give nothing away in conversation?”
“Nothing.”
He rolled his eyes, and his chest heaved with impatience. “This Miss—”
“Ainsty. She was our schoolmistress.”
“Miss Ainsty. I would like to speak with her.”
“I’m afraid that will not be possible, sir.”
“Why not?”
“She died of a brain fever, just two days ago.”
That put the seal on the conversation. The young lord went red in the face, and his mother hurried him from the room. Evidently a gentleman who didn’t deal well with failure. He looked to have a temper on him, that one.
After they’d gone, Mrs Uphill felt so unnerved she got her savings out and counted the money several times until she felt calmer. She couldn’t help but feel she’d missed out on a golden goose somewhere—if only she’d known Bella Hart had gentry interested in her! But it was too late to make anything of it now. It was enough to make you cry.
There was a tap on the door, a furtive sound, and she knew immediately who had come to see her. Annie Tullard, cast out by her family, had come crawling back to the poor house a few weeks ago. She’d always had a soft spot for Annie.
She opened the door to her acolyte, saying, “You’ll never guess who I had in here just now!”
“You’ll never guess my news either, Mrs Uphill. A note just came to me from the porter. It’s from Marie Froggatt—do you remember her? She’s in trouble and has left her job in service, and the family want a hand. Things are good in the mills at the moment, so I’m going up there to get meself a job and help me old friend into the bargain.”
“What? You can’t go—I was going to make you a warder. There’s no future in the
mills, girl—you’d do far better staying here. Haven’t I treated you well?”
“Very well, Mrs Uphill, but only in return for the things I done for you. I’ve made a lot of enemies, and I don’t care for that anymore. I’m going to make a new start with my own kind of folk. I’ll be catching the carrier into Warbury tomorrow morning.”
After more discussion and persuasive argument, which just stopped short of an offer of money, Mrs Uphill was forced to bid farewell to her most reliable spy. As soon as the door had closed behind Annie, she bustled to the mahogany sideboard and pulled out a dark glass bottle.
“What a day!” She sloshed the gin into a mug. “I wonder what I’ve ever done to deserve a day like this?”
Chapter 26
Bella was smiling to herself as she recalled her visit to the factory. In front of her, the silent children had their heads down, working away at the task she had set them. Phoebe Froggatt was patrolling to make sure everyone attended to their lessons—and because it made her feel important, and she liked that.
When Bella looked back on it, she could laugh—she and Jack all pale-faced and nervous, wedged into a tiny space so no one would catch them in the mill out of hours. And when she thought she was going to sneeze and he half-stifled her!
She came back to earth with a jolt. Right in front of her, Jamie Creegan had just screwed up his writing exercise and thrown it across the room.
One by one the children looked up and regarded teacher and pupil in stunned amazement. This was a caning offence, for sure, and they all wondered if Miss Hart would be as brutal as Mrs Day used to be. Miss Hart hadn’t used the rod as yet.
“You will pick that piece of paper up, Creegan, and apologise to the rest of the class for setting them such a poor example.”
Jamie folded his arms, tucked his chin into his chest and glared.
Bella felt her temper begin to flare, but she must keep hold of it, she must. It hadn’t mattered in the workhouse; the punishments for getting into a fight had been ones she became hardened to. But what was at stake if she did the wrong thing now? The class wouldn’t respond well if she was really angry, and they’d plague her afterwards, trying to rouse her fury again, just to enjoy the spectacle.
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