Theo shook his head, banishing the frown in the process. “Not troubled, exactly. I was just—thinking.”
“Won’t do to be daydreaming,” Tom cautioned him.
“What’s going on here?” demanded Wilkins, causing both men to jump as he came up behind them. It was a mystery to Theo how such a big man could move so silently. A natural gift for shiftiness, he supposed. Or, more practically, the noise from the looms drowned out the sounds of approaching footsteps.
“Tom here was giving me a bit of advice,” Theo said smoothly. “I asked him for help. Still learning my way, you know.”
Wilkins glared at him, but could hardly reprimand him for wanting to do his job more efficiently, nor Tom for assisting him in this ambition. “Ought to’ve learnt it by this time,” he muttered, then, apparently realizing the weakness of this argument, added a bit more forcefully, “Anyway, that’s enough talking, both of you. You’re not being paid to chatter like magpies.”
As Wilkins stalked away, Theo gave Tom a conspiratorial grin. Tom, however, met this with a slight frown and a barely discernable shake of the head as he glanced back to observe the foreman’s departure. “You really mustn’t do anything to provoke him, Tisdale.”
“He’s not paying us any heed, not any longer,” Theo pointed out. “No doubt he’s off in search of some other poor blighter to torment.”
“So you would think,” Tom acknowledged without much conviction. “But he has ways of knowing.”
“Spies?” Theo glanced about the cavernous space, but the only men within his range of vision were all apparently hard at work.
“I’ve said too much already,” Tom demurred hastily. “If we don’t want to bring down his wrath on our heads, we’d best get back to work.”
Theo would have asked what, if anything, Tom knew about the meetings held at the boardinghouse, but he had the distinct impression that his co-worker’s lips were sealed on any subject that might make him a target of Wilkins’s displeasure.
Once again, Theo wondered at his brother-in-law’s allowing such a state of affairs to continue. When he had dispatched his letter to London, Theo had fully expected Sir Ethan to descend upon the mill in righteous indignation, breathing fire and losing no time in turning the odious Wilkins out on his ear. But there had been no sign of him at all, nor had Theo received any letter in response. Granted, his brother-in-law might not wish to give anyone cause to wonder why a common laborer should be receiving letters from the owner of the mill in which he toiled, but surely there were other, less direct ways of informing Theo that his correspondence had been received; it was the least he could do, Theo thought in some annoyance, given the clandestine methods he had been forced to employ in sending the damned thing.
Was it possible that the letter had never reached him? Had it been lost somewhere en route to London? Or, more ominously, had Wilkins or one of his cronies somehow intercepted it, guessed at its contents, and made certain that it never reached its destination?
“You’d best have a care, my lad,” Theo chided himself under his breath, “you’re beginning to sound as fearful as Tom there.”
“Eh?” called Tom, cupping one hand about his ear in an approximation of an ear trumpet. “What’s that?”
Theo shook his head. “Never mind.”
He was still pondering the question when work was temporarily suspended for noon refreshment. He could do no more than nod at Ben, as there were no vacant seats at the long table where the older man sat. Instead, Theo took a place next to a very young man—no more than a boy, really—at the opposite end of the room.
“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked the youth, a towheaded lad of, Theo thought, about fourteen.
“Suit yourself.”
The words were, perhaps, unpromising, but as he lost no time in rearranging the bread, cheese, and pickles before him in such a manner as to make more room on the table, Theo felt no compunction in stepping over the bench and plopping down upon it. He was generally considered by the ton to possess a delightfully disarming smile, and he now bestowed this upon the boy.
“Whew! It feels good to get off my feet.”
“You’ll get used to it,” his tablemate assured him.
“Theo Tisdale,” he said, offering his hand. “How long have you worked here, then?”
“Davy Williams,” said the boy, returning his handshake. “I been here almost two years, ever since I was twelve.”
“Oh?” asked Theo in some surprise. “I thought E—that is, I’d heard Sir Ethan wouldn’t put children to work in his mill.”
“No more he won’t, usually,” Davy said with some pride, as if he had accomplished no small feat in achieving employment despite this prohibition. “But when Da passed, Ma had no way to put bread on the table without I should go to work, since I’m the eldest. So Sir Ethan gimme a job, but first he made me prove to him that I could read good enough to be leaving school. Read the whole first chapter of John right out of the Bible, I did.”
Theo made suitably admiring noises, but privately thought that, however skillful his reading might be, Davy’s grammar could have used additional work. Theo confessed that he, too, had recently lost his father, and having established this bond, they conversed for some time on the topic of family (a seemingly innocuous subject on which Theo was hard-pressed to form answers that contained, as much as possible, some modicum of truth) until he finally posed the question that most interested him.
“What about these meetings at Mrs. Drinkard’s boardinghouse?” He jerked a thumb in the general direction of his residence. “Have you been to any of them?”
Davy was instantly on his guard. “I been to the first,” he admitted warily.
“Do you plan to go tonight?” Seeing that his new friend was reluctant to commit himself, Theo added, “I’ve been wondering whether I should attend, since I live at the boardinghouse and work at the mill. I’ve a foot in both camps, so to speak.”
It was a tactical error, for Davy seized upon this new subject at once. “Oh, you live there? What d’you think of that Miss Daphne? She’s a looker, ain’t she?”
“She is, indeed. In fact, I wonder if I should attend tonight’s meeting myself, just to make sure she is treated with the degree of respect that her birth, if not her current circumstances, ought to entitle her.”
There was an edge to Theo’s voice, but his purpose was accomplished. Davy had nothing more to say on the subject of Miss Drinkard, for his mind was once more fully fixed on the meeting itself. “I—I don’t think I would, if I were you.”
“Oh? Why not?”
Davy glanced about wildly as if seeking for help, but none of the men seated around them seemed to be paying the slightest heed to their conversation. “Well, it’s just that—that it’s not the sort of thing you’d likely enjoy.”
“A dead bore, is it?” Theo asked knowingly.
“Aye, that’s the thing,” Davy said, seizing upon this excuse. “Just a bunch of men carping about how ill-used they are. You wouldn’t like it at all.”
Theo would have encouraged him to enlarge upon this theme, but at that moment the bell clanged, calling them back to work. Biting back an oath, Theo rose to his feet. He would have liked to discover more about the nature of the men’s grievances, to say nothing of just how they intended to set about demanding redress. One thing, however, was becoming increasingly clear: One way or another, it behooved him to discover exactly what was going on in Mrs. Drinkard’s dining room.
IN THE END, THIS AMBITION was made a great deal easier by the innocent machinations of Miss Drinkard, who, upon his return to the boardinghouse, waylaid him as he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber.
“Oh, Mr. Tisdale!”
He paused with one hand on the banister and smiled down at her. “Good evening, Miss Drinkard. I understand Sir Valerian is to hold another of his meetings here after dinner. I hope you are not too inconvenienced by them.”
“No—that is, I fear we cannot allow our boarders
to linger over their dinners, but everyone has been very obliging, so if you do not object—you and the others, that is—then I am sure I must have no cause for complaint.”
No cause for complaint. She wore a coarse cotton apron over her workaday gown of faded muslin, and her dark curls were confined, not entirely successfully, beneath a frilled mobcap better suited to a much older woman—or a servant, Theo thought, suddenly indignant on her behalf, that the daughter of the house should be forced to wait upon a set of persons less well-born than she was herself. And yet she, bless her, claimed to have no cause for complaint. He thought she was very probably the bravest person he had ever known. He supposed he must hope, for her sake, that her mother’s fondest wish would be realized and some eligible suitor would appear and whisk her off to his castle in Spain. But he was not as noble as she; he hoped this paragon would not appear too soon, for her presence was the only thing that made his present situation bearable. Mrs. Drinkard had been waiting for three years; surely she could wait just a little bit longer, until his father’s will had been probated and he was free to return to London.
The thought of Mrs. Drinkard served to remind Theo of the need to make haste. “You may not, but your mother will have a great deal of cause for complaint if I keep you all waiting on your dinners. But I believe you had something to say to me?”
“Yes.” She darted a quick glance around the hall, then, finding no one within earshot, hurried up the stairs to join him. “It’s about the meeting. When Sir Valerian stopped by this afternoon to check on the arrangements, I suggested he might like to have someone to take notes of whatever business they discuss. Since it’s likely that at least some of the men at the mill can’t read or write, I recommended you for the task. I could do no less, after—after what you did yesterday for me. With Mr. Potts, I mean.” Color bloomed in her cheeks at the memory, but her voice was firmer as she added, with some urgency, “Only think, Mr. Tisdale—if Sir Valerian should be pleased with you, it could lead to your being offered a permanent position as his secretary!”
On that earlier occasion when she had first proposed that he should seek employment with his brother-in-law’s political opponent, he had found the suggestion ludicrous to the point of hilarity. Now, however, as he looked down into Daphne’s bright, dark eyes, he hadn’t a thought to spare for Ethan, much less Sir Valerian. Nor, for that matter, did he find anything particularly amusing about Daphne’s efforts on his behalf. Instead, he found it touching that she should be concerned with helping him find some way out of his temporary difficulties, while she herself was permanently trapped in a hopeless situation, forced by circumstances to labor in a boardinghouse while her youth passed her by and her beauty faded.
“Thank you, Miss Drinkard. It was very kind of you.” Obeying a sudden impulse, he added, “It’s impossible for me to repay you as I ought—or as you deserve, for that matter—but I should like to try. I have a length of unbleached cotton from the mill—the blisters on my fingers had burst, and it was stained with my blood, so it couldn’t be sold—and I should like you to have it. The stains might come out, or you might be able to dye it and cover them up. If not, perhaps you could think of something to use it for—stockings, perhaps, or something else that no one would see.” He flushed at the sudden vision this evoked of Miss Drinkard clad in nothing but her shift—and that stained with blood from his blistered fingers, almost as if his hands had been on her. Really, Theo thought, he was no better than Mr. Potts!
Daphne, clearly unaware of just how undeserving of her kindness he was, gave a little gurgle of laughter. “Stockings are knitted, Mr. Tisdale, not woven.”
“What? Oh, yes—I suppose they would have to be, wouldn’t they? Still, maybe you can think of—something—to do with it. Of course, if you don’t want it, you don’t have to—I could always—”
“Surely you don’t intend to withdraw the offer, after having made it! No, Mr. Tisdale, I should like very much to have the fabric. As for what I shall do with it, why, making that decision will be half the fun!”
It was clear enough that few pleasures came her way, and Theo was glad to have given her one, no matter how small. Alas, Mrs. Drinkard’s determination to hurry her boarders through dinner made it impossible for him to make good on his promise immediately, and he supposed that by the time Sir Valerian’s meeting broke up, the night would be too far advanced to do so. After making these observations aloud, he promised to deliver the fabric to her the next day upon his return from the mill.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I must wash up for dinner.” In a more serious vein, he added, “Thank you again for advocating for me with Sir Valerian.” After a moment’s awkward pause, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
She made no attempt to detain him, but when, some minutes later, Mrs. Drinkard was obliged to leave the kitchen and go in search of her absentee daughter, she found the truant standing halfway up the stairs, nursing the back of one hand to her cheek.
13
The people are a many-headed beast.
HORACE, Epistles
JUST AS BEFORE, MRS. Drinkard rushed her boarders through their evening meal in order to prepare the dining room for Sir Valerian and his gathering of mill workers. Miss Drinkard, Theo noticed, had done something different with her hair. He was not familiar enough with ladies’ hairdressing to put a name to the difference, but he was apparently not the only one to take notice.
“Why, Daphne, how fetching you look tonight!” tittered Mrs. Drinkard with a coy smile. “Dare we speculate as to the reason for your new coiffure?”
Daphne, blushing crimson, stammered something about having copied it from an old issue of the Ladies’ Monthly Museum which the squire’s wife had been so obliging as to lend her.
“Sir Valerian, you know, has been most particular in his attentions,” Mrs. Drinkard confided to the entire table in a whisper that might have been heard even by old Mr. Nethercote.
Theo might have cautioned his hostess that no aspirant to a seat in the Commons would entertain thoughts of marriage to a lady with neither fortune nor connections to aid him in achieving his ambitions. But as he had no desire to embarrass Daphne even further (much less knowing of no way to express these sentiments that would not sound insulting in the extreme), he could only hope that Miss Drinkard did not share her mother’s hopes regarding Sir Valerian.
When Mrs. Drinkard rose to signal the end of the meal, Theo did not repair to his bedchamber, as was his usual practice, but lingered in the drawing room with the others to await the parliamentary candidate’s arrival. On this occasion, Daphne had been excused from clearing the table; Theo could only suppose her mother dared not run the risk of having Sir Valerian catching sight of her engaged in so menial an occupation.
They had not long to wait before the door knocker sounded. As Mrs. Drinkard employed no footman, much less a butler, Daphne excused herself to answer it, and returned a moment later with Sir Valerian in tow. The aspiring Member of Parliament was all affability, bowing to Mr. Nethercote as if he were visiting royalty and raising Mrs. Jennings’s hand to his lips with what Theo considered an oily grace, assuring the elderly lady that she grew lovelier every time he saw her and determinedly ignoring the fact that the rings on her fingers were badly in need of cleaning. At length he turned his too-bright smile onto Theo.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Mr.—?” he inquired, offering his hand.
“Tisdale. Theodore Tisdale.” Some demon of mischief led him to add, “And you are—?”
He had the satisfaction of seeing the man’s smile grow rather brittle. “Sir Valerian Wadsworth, sir, your very obedient servant.”
Daphne gave Theo a rather reproachful smile, but addressed herself to the parliamentary candidate. “Sir Valerian, Mr. Tisdale is the one I told you about.”
“Ah, I see! I believe you are to serve as my secretary tonight, Mr. Tisdale.”
“That is my understanding,” said Theo, inclining his head.
“If there is anything else you need, Sir Valerian, you know you have only to ask,” Daphne assured him. “Now, if you will excuse me, I shall leave you alone to make whatever further preparations are needed.”
Having delivered herself of this speech, she hesitated, clearly hoping for an invitation to stay. But as she received no encouragement beyond a rather bland smile from Theo and a nod of dismissal from Sir Valerian, she was left with nothing to do but dip a curtsey and betake herself from the room. After the door had closed behind her, Sir Valerian withdrew a small notebook and pencil from the inside pocket of his coat.
“You may take notes in this, Mr.—Tisdale, was it?” His brow puckered. “I say, you look deuced familiar. Have we met before, by any chance?”
Theo, assuring him that they had never met, recalled his oft-remarked-upon resemblance to his sister, and thought it much more likely that Sir Valerian had at some point glimpsed Lady Helen Brundy; perhaps she had even been pointed out to him as the wife of his opponent.
“There is one more thing,” Sir Valerian said, lowering his voice. “Anything that is said in this meeting, either by myself or any of the men, is to be kept in strictest confidence. Is that understood?”
The Desperate Duke Page 13
