Tom O’Connor stepped out and, producing his trusty umbrella, declared that he would see Laura safely home. It was the least he could do, he said, since she had been so kind as to spend most of her Saturday helping at the fair, and neither his mother nor his sister could disagree.
As they walked, Laura pointed to the cloudless skies and asked, “Do you always expect it to rain without warning?” at which her companion laughed and said, “So would you if you had lived most of your life in Ireland, Miss Gardiner. But I must confess that today I was not thinking only of the rain.”
“What then?”
“I had intended to accompany you if you decided to walk home this evening and felt the umbrella would provide me with an appropriate accessory,” he replied, and when she laughed, he abandoned the pretence of seriousness and laughed with her.
“Well, thank you for your kind intention. No doubt the accessory would prove quite useful as a weapon were we to meet with footpads or villains on the way,” she quipped, whereupon he exclaimed, “Footpads and villains! Good God, I had not thought we would be in danger from them in these parts, but I assure you, Miss Gardiner, if they do dare to appear, I shall protect you not just with my umbrella but with my life.”
As she laughed again, he stopped and asked in a more serious voice, “May I call you Laura Ann?” to which she replied lightly, “Only if I may call you Tom.”
“Of course you may,” he said, and there was no mistaking the expression of delight that transformed his grave countenance. Here was a young man clearly very pleased with the unexpected way things had turned out that afternoon.
They were not far from Camden Park, and as they walked on, speaking of many matters, trivial and serious, Laura decided that she was going to tease her companion a little. Curious as to why he had looked so irate when he had arrived at the fair, she asked if anything had happened to displease him.
“Displease me?” He seemed not to understand.
“Indeed, because you did look as though something very disagreeable had occurred,” she said. “I wondered at your being so upset.”
“Perhaps I was. I will admit that I am more concerned than my mother and sister about the appearance in the district of this man Barwick from Birmingham. I have heard some bad stories of the things such men do.”
“Why? If he means to build a mansion for his family, why should that disturb you?” Laura asked.
His handsome face darkened, and she was surprised by the passion in his voice as he explained, “Because, Laura Ann, they are capable of ruthless exploitation and destruction of small communities. All over the north of England, and indeed even in some parts of Ireland, these men have turned poor people into slaves working in the mills and factories; men and women and even young children who used to live and work on farms have been herded into squalid slums, working long hours in vile conditions to earn a pittance. That is how they make the money that enables them to buy up land and build their mansions.”
Laura Ann, who had led a somewhat sheltered life at Camden Park, had heard of the factory towns in places like West Yorkshire and the Midlands, but had never seen one, nor had she had the misfortune to meet anyone who had endured the conditions that Tom O’Connor described.
As she listened in silence, he told her of his experiences trying to find work in two of the textile towns and the appalling, insanitary conditions in which many men and women lived and worked. “It was too horrible; I could not, even if I had to starve, I could not do it, nor could I subject my mother and sisters to that dreadful environment.”
“And do you believe Mr Barwick is one of these men?” Laura asked quietly.
“I cannot say for certain; he may be an exception, but I doubt it. If he were, he would not make sufficient money to build a mansion for his family. No, Laura Ann, they are all intent upon making more and more money, and the only way is to take advantage of the poor, who have no alternative but to work for them.”
He spoke with great seriousness, then suddenly stopped and, seeing tears in her eyes, said, “But I am sorry; I must be boring you with all this, forgive me,” and though she protested that she was certainly not bored, he determinedly changed the subject and asked about her interest in music, saying again how much he had enjoyed her playing and looked forward to hearing her play again. “Will you?” he asked, and she promised that when next they were together and there was an instrument available, she would gladly oblige, although, she added, “I shall want you do the same, because as I told my sister, Lizzie, I have never heard a gentleman play with such a fine touch as you.”
At this artless compliment he blushed and protested that she must not be so extravagant with her praise. “It will make your sister think I am some kind of a show-off who performs in order to be praised.”
This time it was her turn to protest. “Indeed she will not; Lizzie knows you are not a show-off, because I told her that your sisters had mentioned that you played, else we would not have known at all. Besides, Lizzie plays very well herself and appreciates anyone who can. She would never think ill of you for playing the pianoforte.”
Her spirited response surprised and delighted him, and he spoke very gently. “Thank you, Laura Ann; it was very kind of you to speak so well of me, and I apologise for upsetting you. I should love to meet your sister, Lizzie, and hear her play. Please forgive me.”
Clearly delighted, Laura Ann forgave him without delay, so their conversation could proceed as amicably as before. As they walked through the grounds of Camden Park, Laura wondered how much of this evening’s happenings she was going to reveal to her sister, Lizzie. She could not recall any other gentleman with whom she had maintained a conversation with so much ease, nor a companion she had found so interesting and agreeable as Mr Tom O’Connor.
Arriving at Camden House, they found a carriage at the entrance. Laura did not immediately recognise the vehicle, which was smart and new, but as they went to the door, she heard her Aunt Caroline’s voice in the hall.
She had been visiting her brother Richard and his wife and was about to leave when Laura Ann and her companion came up the steps into the hall.
Tom O’Connor surrendered his umbrella to a servant and was introduced to Mrs Fitzwilliam, who had been complaining about the arrival in the district of a certain Mr Barwick. “The hardware manufacturer from Birmingham?” asked Tom.
“The very one, do you know him?” Caroline demanded accusingly.
“No, but I do know he means to build a mansion in the grounds of the old workhouse,” said Tom, proceeding to reveal what he had learnt that morning. Caroline seemed not in the least surprised, but added ominously, “That is not all he means to build. I am informed reliably by a friend in the council that Mr Barwick intends to buy up several of the older properties in the district and build a series of Roman villas for other rich businessmen who may wish to own a county residence in Derbyshire. Doubtless he hopes to turn a very nice profit in the process.”
“Roman villas! That would be horrible!” said Laura Ann, and Tom O’Connor stood shaking his head. “One mansion was bad enough, but a series of villas…?”
“Indeed, set among the foothills of the Peak district! Can you imagine?” Caroline was furious. “I intend to see the council on Monday, and if I get no satisfaction there, I shall approach Walter Tate and ask him to begin a campaign in the Review and the Pioneer. It is unthinkable that these men can ruin our peaceful villages with their hideous, opulent buildings. Oh, how I miss my Fitzy; he would have known exactly what to do. When he purchased our little farm, it was precisely because there was nothing that could despoil the surrounding countryside. This dreadful scheme would have broken his heart,” she declared.
After fulminating for a little longer, Caroline rose to leave, and as she did so, so did Tom O’Connor, retrieving his umbrella from the hall. Light rain was falling as he bade them good night. “Are you intending to walk home, Mr O’Connor?” Caroline asked, and when he said he was, said, “Well, if you would wai
t a few more minutes, I can take you. There is no sense in your walking three miles in the rain when there are empty seats in my carriage,” she said.
Tom thanked her, and having given Cassy further instructions for her husband, Caroline said her farewells and left, taking young Mr O’Connor with her, leaving Cassy and Laura Ann to ponder at the strange coincidence of their meeting.
“I wonder what Mr O’Connor will make of Caroline. She is exceedingly angry about this Barwick person’s plans for Roman villas,” said Cassy.
“I am not surprised, Mama,” said Laura. “Tom saw Barwick’s men at the old workhouse, and he was angry too. So it is quite possible Aunt Caroline may find in him an ally in her battle against the hardware merchant, which would be useful, especially if he gets work with the Review.”
“You may well be right. Things have been quiet here recently; they may get quite interesting, especially if Caroline gets a campaign going against this man Barwick,” said her mother as they went upstairs to dress for dinner.
That night, at dinner, Laura Ann asked her father about the mills and factory towns in the Midlands and West Yorkshire, relating a little of what Tom O’Connor had told her. “Is this true, Papa?” she asked and was surprised when he replied that it was.
“Indeed,” he said, “there were parts of the north country where things were much worse, because the mill owners joined forces to push down the wages of the workers by refusing to compete with each other. It means a man accepts what his employer offers or starves, because no one will pay him any better, and if he makes too much of a fuss, he gets branded a troublemaker and will not be hired at all.”
Laura was appalled. “Will not the law protect them?” she asked, to which her father replied that the men who made the laws were the representatives of the men who ran the mills, and they were unlikely to concern themselves with protecting the workers.
“It seems so unfair. I am not surprised now that Mr O’Connor is so angry about it,” she said. “He said he would rather starve than work for them.”
Her father smiled and said quietly, “Well, he is fortunate that he has an education and is not a man with a family of young children to feed, clothe, and keep warm. Most of the men do, and they have not the luxury of refusing work, however menial or poorly paid; often their wives and children must work too, in equally horrible conditions.”
Cassy saw tears in Laura’s eyes and said gently, “It is a hard, unfair system, Laura dear, and at least Mr O’Connor is sufficiently compassionate to be concerned. Many young men, especially wealthy or educated ones, are too busy pursuing their own ambitions to care.”
Laura was somewhat comforted by her mother’s words, but hoping desperately that Walter Tate would offer Tom O’Connor work, knowing how much it would mean to him, she said no more and went quietly to her room.
There, she curled up in her favourite chair beside the window, and gazing out at the darkening park, she wondered again about Tom O’Connor. The more she turned over in her mind his words and ideas, the more she felt he was a man she had never imagined she would meet—inspiring yet modest, compassionate and angered by injustice yet gentle and softly spoken; poetic too and, yes, very handsome. Laura Ann had to accept that she liked him a good deal more than she had admitted even to herself.
Chapter Four
Caroline’s visit to the council chambers coincided with the arrival at Willowdale Farm of a messenger from the legal firm representing Mr Barwick. A rather cocky young man, very well attired and with an attitude to match, introduced himself and handed Marguerite a letter.
“What is it about?” she asked, somewhat bemused, but he told her in a patronising tone of voice that she need not worry her pretty head about it.
“Just hand it to your father, my dear,” he said and departed before she could explain, leaving poor Marguerite in tears, recalling that she had no father to whom she could hand it over. With her brother away in town, Marguerite decided to open the letter. After all, she argued to herself, it would make no difference either way.
When she had it open and had read part of the way down the page, her bewilderment increased considerably, for the letter contained an offer to purchase Willowdale Farm and its adjacent meadows, orchard, and pastures, at a sum even she knew was considerably less than what they had paid for it. Despite the turgid legal jargon in which it was couched, Marguerite could make out that the offer was being made by the firm acting on behalf of their client, who intended to purchase several properties in the area in order to “improve” them and claimed they were offering to pay “above the market price” for the land. Clearly, Marguerite thought, they did only want the land, for if this client was the same one their brother had mentioned on Saturday, the hardware merchant from Birmingham, who was building a mansion on the site of the old workhouse down the road, it seemed unlikely that he would spend any time or money on “improving” an old Georgian residence. Rather, he would most likely pull it down and build another mansion in its place.
Knowing her mother’s propensity for overdramatisation, Marguerite decided that she would keep the letter and show it to her brother first. She therefore concealed it in her pocketbook, which she took with her when she went into the village. It would not signify at all, she thought, if her mother knew nothing of their predicament for a few more hours.
In the village, she went into the haberdashers and bought some thread and some buttons, and was walking past the book shop when she saw Laura Ann emerge with a small parcel in her hand.
The thought occurred to Marguerite that Miss Gardiner, having been born and bred in the area and whose family owned much property here, may well know something more about the situation. At least, she may know whom they could consult, Marguerite thought, and on an impulse, she approached her and, after they had exchanged greetings, said in a confidential whisper, “Dear Miss Gardiner, I am afraid we have had some very worrying news, and I wonder if I may ask your advice.”
Laura, though quite surprised at being asked for advice, could easily discern that Miss O’Connor was very upset. Despite her apparent composure, she was pale and her voice trembled when she spoke. “Marguerite, of course you may, but what is this bad news? I hope it does not concern any member of your family—your mother and sister are well?” she asked, very concerned.
“Oh yes, they are all well, though I doubt they will be for much longer when they have read this letter,” she said, extracting it from her pocketbook and handing it to Laura, adding, “It was delivered to our house this morning.”
Noticing that her companion was clearly nervous and looked more than once over her shoulder, Laura suggested that they should walk down to the park, instead of trying to read the letter in the main street, and Marguerite agreed immediately.
Taking a seat in a secluded part of the park, where they could not be overlooked, Laura read the letter and was horrified by its significance. Purporting to be a benign offer to purchase, it contained the veiled threat that a refusal of this offer might seriously disadvantage the present owner of the property. There was even an implication that the client would get his way by means of council acquisition, and in such an eventuality, the recalcitrant owner may be the ultimate loser, since the price paid may well be far lower than the present offer.
While Laura read, Marguerite watched her and, as she reached the end of the letter, asked, “Can you understand why I did not wish to show this to Mama?”
“Yes indeed, I can. It would have frightened and worried her. But what I cannot understand is how they are able to do this. By what authority do they make such offers and such implied threats?” Laura knew she was out of her depth, but she knew also that her aunt Caroline would not be. Many years of dealing with councillors and their minions had given her the experience and courage to question just about anyone in authority. “I think we should let my aunt Caroline see this letter. She is already aware of people who are trying to buy old properties and build mansions on them for the newly rich; several Roman vi
llas are planned.”
“Roman villas!” Marguerite was incredulous. “Where?”
“Presumably, wherever they can persuade or compel people to sell their land,” Laura replied, “including at Willowdale Farm.”
“I cannot believe it, Laura; my family put all the money we could gather together after my father’s death, every penny from his old business and all our savings went into Willowdale Farm. We were led to believe that nobody wanted this property, it had been abandoned, and now a few months later, we are being asked to sell it for less than we paid for it.”
Laura tried to comfort her. “I am quite sure they cannot legally do any such thing, but either Aunt Caroline or my brother Darcy, who lives across the river from Willowdale Farm, will be able to tell us more. If you come with me, we could find Darcy and ask him.”
Marguerite, who had few other options, agreed, but needed to stop at home first. “I must take these things to my mother; she will want to be getting on with her work and will worry if I am delayed. But what shall I tell her?”
“I shall come with you, and we will tell her that we are going across the bridge to take tea with Kate and see how well her roses are doing. We could bring some back for your mama,” Laura suggested, and Marguerite was grateful indeed.
“Thank you, I’m sure Mama will like that,” she said.
Darcy and Kate Gardiner were not surprised to see Laura Ann; she was a frequent and welcome visitor to their home. They were, however, unprepared for the appearance of Miss Marguerite O’Connor, particularly in a state of some discomposure.
When, after their initial greetings and an invitation to take tea or lemonade, she sat quietly while Laura explained the reason for their visit, it soon became apparent to the Gardiners that Marguerite and her family had a very real problem on their hands.
Legacy of Pemberley (The Pemberley Chronicles; Pride and Prejudice Sequel Series) Page 34
