“You feel the overseer is unreasonable?”
“T’ air is thick and hot as can be. T’ workers are covered in sweat and struggle to keep moving. Mrs. Crossley grew overly hot yesterday and fainted. He didn’t see it as proof that change was needed; he just took her job away from her.”
Dermot hadn’t heard that. The Crossleys would be in dire straits without her income. Evangeline pressed her hand to her heart, listening raptly but in obvious dismay.
“Us father worked there until a few days past,” Hugo continued. “Came home every day smelling of oil from t’ machines and of wool, a stench so strong no amount of washing rid him of it. T’ smell inside t’ mill must be unbearable for him to reek so strongly of it afterward.”
To Mr. Farr’s credit, he sat and silently listened, not interrupting or arguing.
“He’d sit by t’ fire, rocking back and forth, muttering about noise—that he couldn’t bide it. I’ve heard others talk about it. T’ deafening noise of t’ place.”
Evangeline took hold of Dermot’s hand. He felt the clutch clear to his heart. How was it that this woman, who had been less than honest with him from the moment they’d met, still had such claim on his affections?
Hugo wasn’t finished with his evaluation of the factory. “I’ve a friend there. He used to bahn to school but had to start working in thy mill. He’s different now, tired and worn down. He looks”—Hugo mulled over the word before settling on—“broken. My family needs money, but I’ll not earn it that way. Not if I’ve another choice.”
“And so you want to work for Mr. McCormick instead of for me?” Mr. Farr asked, not unkindly.
Hugo nodded. “T’ men what work for him say he works ’em hard, but he’s fair.”
Mr. Farr leaned closer, his elbows and forearms resting on the table. “And the mill workers don’t say that?”
“No, sir.”
Mr. Farr turned toward Dermot. “Have you heard the same thing?”
“I have.”
Evangeline received the same question.
“So have I, though never before in this much detail,” she answered. “Most in this town feel employment at the mill is an act of desperation. I’ve seen families actually grieve over the necessity of seeking a position there.”
Mr. Farr clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them. His thick, white brows inched closer together. “Do you get the impression that this misery is the result of the mill manager more than the mill overseer?”
Evangeline crossed to the table and sat beside him. “You are asking if I think Mr. Barton is to blame?”
“A difficult question, I know.”
“That I cannot tell you. The overseer is almost universally despised. But whether or not his behavior is the result of instructions he has been given by Mr. Barton, I do not know.”
Mr. Farr nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I think that is something I had best discover.”
“The houses Mr. McCormick is building will bring you more workers, something the factory, as I understand it, needs.” Evangeline spoke calmly but firmly. “But if your mill has a reputation for being a purgatory, you will always struggle for workers.”
Mr. Farr rose. “I need to sort this out before I return to Leeds.”
“Of course.” Evangeline stood as well. She saw Mr. Farr out, but upon returning, immediately addressed Hugo. “Will you really no longer be in school?”
“Can’t be. Us family need t’ money.”
She rubbed her temple. “But you have been doing so well, and there is so much more you could learn.”
“Can’t be helped, miss.”
Evangeline paced away from the table. “First John and now Hugo.” She spoke more to herself than to anyone else. “How many of my children will be forced to leave?”
She thought of them as her children. Evangeline Blake might have been kin to Mrs. Barton, but it didn’t seem they were cut from the same cloth at all. Dermot’s train of thought stopped short. Had learning about her family undermined his view of her so much that he had begun thinking of her in terms similar to how he thought of Mrs. Barton?
Evangeline stopped her circuit in front of him. “Ronan won’t have to stop coming to school, will he?”
“He’ll not.” An idea, firm and formed, entered his mind with such force that he spoke it out loud. “I’ve been in need of workers to clean tools and run supplies. If Hugo and John Crossley will agree to it, one of them can come to work in the mornings while the other is here at school, then they can switch in the afternoon. They’d be paid, which should keep them out of the factory, but they can still have some learning.”
Evangeline’s gaze softened. “You’d do that?”
He nodded. “This world requires children to work more often than it ought. But I know John, and I know he’ll work hard. And you’ve told me Hugo will as well.”
“I will, Mr. McCormick.” Hugo was on his feet, watching intently.
“They’ll help me, which’ll make their wages worthwhile. They’ll still get to learn, which’ll improve their lives going forward. That’s worth a great deal.”
Evangeline’s eyes bored into his. “Could it work, do you think? Would their families agree to it?”
“Us family would,” Hugo insisted. “I know it.”
“Hie home, lad,” he said. “Talk this over with your parents.”
“Yes, sir. I thank thee, sir.” Hugo rushed from the room, but popped back in an instant later. “I thank thee for t’ scran, Miss Blake.” He disappeared once more.
“I cannot tell you how many times I heard the children say ‘scran’ before I knew they meant ‘food,’” Evangeline said with a small smile. “Oh, I hope the Palmers and Crossleys will accept your offer. My heart aches to think of those two dear boys losing their chance to learn, their chance for a few hours of peace and calm.”
“I’ll talk with the families,” he said. “I feel certain Hugo and John’ll be back in school come Monday.”
She began clearing the bowls and spoons from her table, cleaning up after her visitors.
“Mr. Farr was here calling on you,” he said.
She looked up at him briefly, confusion in her expression. “You saw him here yourself.”
“I’ve never known him to pay personal calls while in Smeatley.” He left the observation there, leaving the opportunity open for her to tell him the nature of her connection to Mr. Farr. But would she?
She set the bowls on the sideboard. “He wished to talk about the school.”
“And only the school?” He hardly dared breathe while he waited for her answer. Did she intend to keep lying to him?
“We spoke of a few different things.” Truthful, but not thorough. “Perhaps he means to be more personable when he comes to Smeatley now.”
“Do you suppose that’s what it was? A sudden urge to be friendly?”
She stood rooted to the spot, her hands clasped in front of her, her posture one of deep discomfort. “It would not be a terrible thing for him to be a little less formidable.”
She clearly didn’t mean to tell him the truth. Disappointment swelled in his chest. “Ronan was on the steps when Mr. Farr left here yesterday. He overheard your conversation.”
She clearly didn’t realize the significance of that. Though he’d have preferred she tell him her own self, he was too weary of half-truths.
“He heard Mr. Farr acknowledge you as his granddaughter.”
Evangeline’s eyes opened wide. Her face paled. “And he told you?”
“He did, though I shouldn’t have had to hear it from him.”
She took a single step closer. “I was required to keep it a secret. It was part of the terms of my employment. Mrs. Barton—”
“Your aunt,” Dermot pointed out.
She nodded; her eyes pled for him to understand.
“She was very clear that I would be fired if our kinship was made known. I would have lost my job.”
“And you could find no reason to trust me with that bit of yourself?”
“I was not permitted to do so,” she said again. “If my aunt had discovered—”
“You thought me so unreliable?” He shook his head. “Did you not trust me to keep a confidence?”
“It isn’t that.”
“Then what is it? I told you a closely kept bit of information about my life and Ronan’s. I trusted you with that. But you didn’t dare tell me something important to you.”
“Dermot.”
He held up a hand. He wasn’t ready to hear her justification. Too much hurt weighed on his heart and mind. “I’d learned to trust you, Miss Blake. I thought we had a mutual trust, a mutual—” Disappointment cut his words short. “It seemed I was mistaken.”
He collected Ronan, offered a quick farewell to Evangeline, then left. Through it all, she stood still and quiet. But she never looked away from him.
He didn’t turn back, didn’t even glance. He couldn’t. His heart had given itself to her, and she’d not even told him the truth of who she was.
Chapter Thirty
Mr. Trewe’s sermon was, as always, focused on the godly quality of hard work. The lecture Evangeline heard in her heart, however, was one on honesty.
She hadn’t been fully truthful with Dermot, but what choice had she had? When she’d first arrived, she hadn’t known him well enough to trust him with such a sensitive bit of information. And Lucy’s well-being depended upon Evangeline keeping her position, which meant keeping her secret. But she hadn’t told him even after she knew she could depend upon him. Doing so hadn’t even occurred to her.
Heavens, now I’m lying to myself in a church.
She had nearly told Dermot everything Friday evening when he’d held her and reassured her despite her nervousness to face her family. He hadn’t even known they were her family. The words had hovered unspoken on her lips—but she hadn’t told him.
Evangeline closed her eyes, shutting out the sights and sounds of Sunday services. She should have told him long before now. But if he’d known her true origins, he would likely never have allowed her to be his friend.
Friend. He was so much more than that to her. She loved him. She’d known as much for weeks but hadn’t admitted it to herself until that late, lonely moment outside his door. Had he been awake after all but simply hadn’t wanted to see her? He had probably known about her family by then.
I have ruined everything.
Mass came to a close. She followed the townspeople out of the chapel, though her thoughts were far away. Dermot and Ronan did not attend services in Smeatley, and their absence was both relieving and disheartening. She missed them both and wished they were nearby. She wished she knew how to set things right between herself and Dermot.
She still struggled to find comfort in the churchyard—it was hard not to think of her lost family—yet she found a measure of peace as she made a slow circuit of the grounds. The townspeople stood about, chatting as they often did after services. Evangeline didn’t join them immediately. She kept to the edge of the churchyard and breathed through her worry and loneliness. Somehow it would be made right again. Somehow.
She pasted a smile on her face and approached the spot where the Crossleys, Haighs, and Palmers had gathered. They all turned to look at her when she arrived.
“A good morning to you all,” she said.
No one said anything.
Daniel Palmer, a cousin of Hugo’s who worked at Hillside House, stood among them as well. Perhaps he would take up a conversation.
“How are you, Daniel?” she asked.
He dipped his head. “Well enough, Miss Blake.” With a bow not unlike those he offered to Aunt Barton, he slipped quickly away.
Odd. She turned to Mr. Palmer. “I hope I did not offend him somehow.”
Mr. Palmer held his hat in his hands and didn’t look her in the eye. “It’s not for we to be offended, Miss Blake.”
“I understand Mr. McCormick intended to visit you and discuss an opportunity for Hugo,” she said.
Mr. Palmer nodded. “He were very generous. Hugo’ll be back at school tomorrow, mark tha.”
“I am so pleased to hear it.”
Mrs. Palmer snatched up her husband’s hand and they left as quickly as Daniel had. Evangeline often spoke at some length with the Palmers on Sundays. Yet they were clearly anxious to avoid her today.
She turned to the Haighs. “Is Cecilia here today? I did not see her.”
“Aye.” Mrs. Haigh spoke the single syllable in a clipped tone.
“Is something the matter?”
“Neya.” Mrs. Haigh nudged her husband away, but paused to offer Evangeline a curtsey.
A curtsey? Why had she curtseyed? And why had Daniel bowed?
Only the Crossleys remained. Though she was confused and concerned, she was eager to speak with Mrs. Crossley. She had not been able to visit with her for far too long. Her friend had been at the factory; Evangeline had been drowning in her uncertainties.
“How have you been?” she asked.
Mrs. Crossley smiled fleetingly.
Evangeline looked to Mr. Crossley for some kind of explanation.
“Daniel tells we tha are kin to t’ Bartons,” he said.
Her breath froze in her lungs. Daniel had told them. They knew. They all knew. “And—and that is why they don’t want to talk with me?”
“What are we to say?” Mrs. Crossley said.
“The same as always,” Evangeline insisted.
But Mrs. Crossley shook her head. “It i’n’t t’ same, though. It can’t be.”
They stepped away. She received no final word of parting. They offered no indication of regret at the chasm spreading between them. Dermot had left in much the same way the day before. He’d not looked back even once. He hadn’t hesitated even a moment.
Evangeline was alone. So very alone.
The next day, Evangeline pushed through her lessons with a heavy heart. The children behaved differently than they had before. Some of her students had grown quieter, others more defiant. They eyed her with suspicion and a degree of worry that broke her heart. Word of her origins had clearly spread.
The factory families came to claim their children at the usual hour. Evangeline stepped outside to offer her farewells, wishing she knew what to say to mend things between them. Seeing the distance growing between her and these families who had become her friends deepened her heartache.
Mrs. Haigh, who usually greeted her with a wave and a friendly “Ey up,” offered only a quiet “Good evening, Miss Blake” with her head lowered as if she were a servant greeting her mistress.
The Shaws and Sutcliffes struck similarly humble miens. Mrs. Bennett didn’t greet her at all, but hurried off as quickly as she came. No one stopped for a chat. No one offered the usual friendly farewells.
She set Ronan to the task of reading aloud the nursery rhymes she had written down for him. He seemed to like reading, though he did it so quietly she could hardly hear him. If that was what made him comfortable enough to undertake the work, she didn’t mind.
“Rub a dub dub,” Ronan read in a mumble. “Three men in a tub.”
Evangeline stepped to the mantel as Ronan continued. She touched the pad of her finger to her family’s image tucked behind its protective glass.
I am helping here. I think you would be proud of that. She knew this was not the life they had envisioned for her, but she was pleased by all she had achieved. The struggle of facing uncertainty—and the sense of accomplishment she felt at having overcome it—had made her a better person. Stronger. If only her family were with her to share in that.
Into her moment of quiet reflection came a most unwelcome interrup
tion: Aunt Barton’s voice. “Is this how you undertake your teaching? By ignoring your student?”
Evangeline met her mother’s photographic gaze and, for just a moment, could so easily see the expression she had often worn when speaking of her sister. Forbearance mingled with frustration mingled with a kind of sad affection. Evangeline offered a brief smile of condolence; she had come to understand that same blend of feelings quite well over the past months.
She turned away from the mantel and, as serenely as she could manage, said, “He prefers to practice his reading with a certain degree of privacy. Knowing that is how he learns best, I make certain he is afforded it.”
A smirk turned the corners of her aunt’s mouth. “Does his father also prefer a ‘certain degree of privacy’ at this house?”
That was too pointed a remark to be misunderstood. “There are times when I am surprised that you and my mother were at all related. She comported herself with utmost decorum and ladylike civility. She would never have lowered herself to utter such base and unfounded remarks.”
“Yes. Your sainted mother.” Aunt Barton’s nose wrinkled. “She knew how to capture a man’s attention.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Be careful who you idolize, Evangeline.” She moved to one of the narrow back windows and looked out, though not with any obvious purpose.
“If you have come here only to insult me and my family, I would ask you to leave. This is my home, and I will not allow your words to sully it.”
“Is that so?” Aunt Barton actually laughed. “You seemed to have little objection to bandying about my husband’s good name only two days ago.”
“I did no such thing.”
Aunt Barton brushed a finger along the windowsill, then eyed it with distaste, apparently finding more dust than she deemed acceptable. “Mr. Barton was subjected to an inquisition over the running of the mill, something he has not been called upon to endure even once thus far. That, no doubt, was your doing.”
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