‘Is it always like this, do you think?’ asked Louisa a little fearfully.
‘I think it must be,’ said Rebecca. ‘But I dare say we will soon get used to it.’
‘I have not been to Manchester for some time, and I had not realized how much it had grown,’ said Louisa.
At last they turned down a broad street and approached the house they had rented for the next six weeks. They had been in the coach for only two hours, as Manchester was no more than fifteen miles from their Cheshire home, but the day was cold and they were glad to arrive.
‘Here we are,’ said Rebecca, as the coach rolled to a halt.
‘We have made good time, then,’ said Louisa. ‘I was hoping we would be here for lunch, and we are.’
They walked up the steps to the imposing town house and went inside.
‘This is lovely,’ said Rebecca, looking round with interest.
‘Oh, yes it is,’ said Louisa as her eyes, too, roved round the hall. ‘I am so relieved. It was very good of Emily and Camilla to handle so many of the arrangements. Their brother, Edward, helped too. He is a widower now, and Emily keeps house for him, since her own husband is dead.’
Rebecca and Louisa untied the strings of their bonnets as the coachman unloaded the coach, and they were just about to remove their cloaks when Louisa noticed some cards on the console table.
‘Oh, look, Rebecca,’ said Louisa delightedly, picking up one of the cards. ‘It is from Emily - Mrs Camberwell. And another one from Camilla. And an invitation to one of Emily’s soirées, to be held at the start of next week.’ Then her face fell.
‘Is anything wrong?’ asked Rebecca.
‘Oh, no, dear. It’s just that I thought there might be one from Joshua.’
‘He probably does not know we are here,’ said Rebecca lightly.
‘Yes, he does,’ said Louisa, ‘for I wrote to him and told him all about it. Still, never mind. I told Emily and Camilla he was here, and no doubt we will meet him at the soirée.’
The house in Manchester soon became a busy one. Louisa’s friends, Mrs Emily Camberwell and Mrs Camilla Renwick, were both well known in Manchester, and through their good offices Rebecca and Louisa were quickly made to feel at home. Visitors called, cards were left, and invitations flooded in. Rebecca and Louisa attended a number of dinner parties and other entertainments, but most of all they were looking forward to the soirée.
‘Have you decided what you will wear to the soirée?’ asked Rebecca. She herself was uncertain as to what she should wear.
‘Well, I thought I would wear my new grey silk.’
‘The one you had made up with the London material?’ asked Rebecca.
‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘I wonder . . . ?’
‘Yes?’ asked Rebecca, pleased to see the happy gleam in Louisa’s eye.
‘My long white evening gloves have been darned twice, and I was wondering about a trip to the shops this afternoon.’
‘An excellent idea,’ said Rebecca. ‘I have a few purchases I wish to make as well. I am in need of a new pair of clocked stockings.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Louisa approvingly. ‘I do so like clocked stockings - though why stockings with embroidery on the ankles should be called clocked stockings I really do not know.’ She laughed. ‘When I was a little girl I used to think it was because they were decorated with pictures of grandfather clocks!’
‘Where shall we go for them, do you think?’
‘Emily says the Exchange Hall is the best place for that kind of thing.’
‘Then we’ll go there after lunch.’
Having settled the afternoon to their satisfaction, the two ladies set out, after a light meal, for the Exchange Hall.
‘Mrs Camberwell shares a house with her brother, I think you said?’ asked Rebecca as the two ladies climbed into the carriage.
‘Yes, my dear. You remember Edward.’ Louisa went slightly pink as she spoke.
‘No,’ said Rebecca, shaking her head. ‘I’m not sure I do. I remember Emily and Camilla, but I don’t remember Edward.’
‘I suppose it is not surprising. I don’t think he ever visited with the girls. He is five years older than Emily.’ Louisa gave a sudden smile, which took ten years from her face as she remembered the days of her youth. ‘And didn’t he make the most of it! He used to tease us all shamefully when we were children.’
‘You knew him, then?’
‘Oh, yes, my dear. I used to see a lot of him in the holidays, when he was not at school. I went to stay with Emily on a number of occasions and Edward was often there. He asked me to dance with him at my very first ball. I felt terribly grown up, even though it was only a private family gathering and I cannot have been more than fourteen.’
They soon arrived at the Exchange Hall, which was home to a colourful bazaar that sold all kinds of interesting and elegant goods. Gloves and stockings, ribbons and purses, all could be bought there, and Rebecca and Louisa spent an interesting hour looking round before finally making their purchases. They were just about to leave the Exchange Hall and venture further afield when they bumped into Mrs Camilla Renwick, accompanied by her husband and by another gentleman.
Rebecca smiled as she recognised Mr and Mrs Renwick. The other gentleman was one Rebecca did not know.
‘Well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ said Mrs Renwick. ‘I had not looked to see you before Emily’s soirée this evening. You remember my husband, Henry?’
Henry doffed his hat, and the ladies declared they remembered him very well.
‘And this is Mr Willingham.’
Mr Willingham also doffed his hat. He was of middling height with dark brown hair, and was smartly, though unostentatiously dressed. A pair of cream breeches and a blue tailcoat could just be glimpsed beneath his caped greatcoat. On his head he wore a tall hat and he carried a silver-tipped cane.
‘Mr Willingham owns a number of mills in Stockport,’ said Mrs Renwick; Stockport being a nearby town.
‘Really?’ said Louisa politely. ‘How interesting.’
Rebecca smiled. Louisa had done her best to make it sound as though she really found it interesting, but Louisa was in reality rather appalled by the mills, which could be glimpsed from the coach when the two ladies went out for a drive.
‘Indeed,’ said Mr Willingham.
‘If you are not too busy, why don’t you join us?’ said Mrs Renwick. ‘We are just about to repair to the library for a rest. We can take the weight off our feet, and they also serve splendid ices.’
Rebecca and Louisa happily fell in with this plan, and the five of them turned their steps towards the library. Before long the pavement narrowed and Mr Renwick, who had his wife on one arm and Louisa on the other, went ahead, whilst Rebecca and Mr Willingham walked behind.
‘I understand you are Jebadiah Marsden’s granddaughter,’ said Mr Willingham, turning to Rebecca and making polite conversation.
‘I am.’
‘He was a well-loved figure in Manchester, and is sorely missed.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You have recently become a mill owner yourself, I hear,’ he said, offering her his arm as they crossed a busy street.
‘Half a mill owner,’ Rebecca corrected him, as they safely reached the other side.
‘Ah, yes. Half a mill owner. And which half is it you own?’ he asked her.
She laughed. ‘I really cannot say.’
‘You are to take an interest in it, Mrs Renwick says?’
‘Yes. I feel that, as my grandfather left it to me, I should acquaint myself with what goes on there.’
‘A laudable attitude. However, if I may issue a word of warning? Although it is a lot easier to be a mill owner today than it was a year ago - the Luddites seem to have accepted that they cannot go around breaking up machinery and times are quieter than they were - there are still outbreaks of unrest from time to time. I hope you won’t think it impertinent of me if I ask you to take care. There are those who like the mills, as
they bring prosperity to the region, but there are also those who resent the mills for producing goods cheaply and efficiently, and for using machines that take work away from men.’
‘Do you think there will be further trouble?’ asked Rebecca. She felt she must gather as much information as she could about the situation, and Mr Willingham, being a mill owner himself, seemed to be knowledgeable on the subject.
‘That I cannot say. But I believe it would not be wise to rule it out. The ringleaders might have been dealt with, but the name of Ned Ludd lives on.’
Ned Ludd. Rebecca shivered. ‘I don’t even know who he was, and yet his name inspires fear nonetheless.’
‘Reputedly he was a simpleton who lived in Leicestershire,’ said Mr Willingham. ‘One day, or so the story goes, he broke his stocking frame in anger because he had been punished for some trivial offence. But whether the Luddites really took their name from him, or from King Ludd, one of our ancient rulers, or General Ludd - another name they use to inspire terror - I cannot say.’
‘Are there any precautions we can take against attack?’ asked Rebecca.
‘Alas, very few. A determined man can cause havoc if he wishes to, by breaking into a mill and attacking the machines with hammers, or by setting it on fire.’
Rebecca shivered.
‘Forgive me. I should not have mentioned it.’
‘No. I’m glad you did.’
‘It is not a pleasant thought, particularly for a lady, but forewarned is forearmed. But you have no need to worry about that kind of thing, I am sure. You will have night watchmen at the mill.’
Rebecca frowned. ‘I’m not sure. That is something I will have to find out.’
‘You have a partner, I understand? He will no doubt see to the mill’s security and take care of any difficulties that may arise.’
By this time they had reached the library and Rebecca’s conversation with Mr Willingham was brought to an end.
The gentlemen stood back to allow the ladies to enter first and Rebecca was able to free herself from Mr Willingham’s company, falling in beside Mrs Renwick instead.
Conversation then became more general. The ladies exclaimed on the wonderful things they had seen in the shops, whilst the gentlemen fetched them ices. Though the weather was cold, the shopping had heated the ladies and they were glad of the cool refreshment. Whilst they ate, they showed each other their purchases, and the gentlemen contented themselves with talking about the war. An hour later, feeling much refreshed, Rebecca and Louisa took their leave.
‘For we must get ready for the evening’s entertainment,’ Louisa said, before she and Rebecca departed.
Rebecca found herself looking forward to the soirée as she stepped out of the carriage later that evening and made her way, beside Louisa, into Mrs Camberwell’s house. She was dressed in a becoming gown of white satin with an underskirt of deepest crimson. Deep reds were still fashionable, according to the Ladies’ Monthly Museum, and Rebecca was glad of it. Strong colours had always suited her snow-white complexion and her rich, dark hair.
Mrs Camberwell lived with her brother in one of the fashionable new houses that were going up in Manchester all the time. It was similar to the house Rebecca and Louisa had rented, but its furniture and decorations were much more elegant and reflected Mrs Camberwell’s fine taste. Gilded mirrors hung on the walls, Buhl furniture graced the living rooms, and Aubusson carpets softened the floors.
‘My dears, I am so glad you could come,’ said Mrs Camberwell, taking them by the arm and leading them in. ‘There are so many people I am longing to introduce you to. My sister, Camilla, you already know,’ she said, indicating Mrs Renwick, ‘and . . . .’
Rebecca heard no more. Standing at the far side of the room, which had been arranged ready for the evening’s music with rows of chairs facing an ornate music stand, was Joshua.
Now that matters had been resolved between them, Rebecca had hoped they could look forward to a normal working relationship. But all such reasonable thoughts flew out of the window when she saw him at the other side of the room.
He was looking more devastatingly attractive than she had ever seen him. His clothes were immaculate, clinging to his body as though they had been formed around him, revealing the hard contours of his broad shoulders and the firm lines of his powerful chest. His hair, by contrast, was rumpled, as though he had run his hands though it. But instead of making him look untidy it made him look vigorous and vital. His face, catching the shadows created by the candles, was sharply contoured, and where his cheekbones caught the light they glowed.
He turned as she walked into the room, but there was nothing burning in his gaze. Instead it was cool.
His apparent indifference hurt her. Despite the fact she had refused his hand she found she could not be indifferent to him. It was not simply because she was attracted to him, it was because of the way she felt in his company - truly alive.
But she must quell such unruly feelings. Because having given her a cold nod he turned his attention back to the young lady he was talking to, and to make things ten times worse, that young lady was Miss Serena Quentin.
Rebecca had met Miss Quentin at a number of the recent dinner parties and she did not like the coquettish blonde, who had a hard, ruthless streak - but then, Rebecca reminded herself, so did Joshua.
Rebecca averted her gaze, but not before she noticed that Joshua was apparently enjoying Miss Quentin’s bold sallies.
Rebecca forced herself to give her attention back to Mrs Camberwell.
‘ . . . Mr Willingham,’ finished Mrs Camberwell.
Rebecca managed a polite smile as Mr Willingham bent over her hand.
‘We meet again,’ he said.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Rebecca.
‘You have already met?’ asked Mrs Camberwell in surprise.
‘I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Foster this afternoon, outside the Exchange Hall,’ said Mr Willingham. ‘I was with Mr and Mrs Renwick,’ he explained. ‘We repaired to the library and partook of some ices.’ He gave his attention back to Rebecca. ‘I may be allowed to sit next to you, I hope, when the music begins?’
Rebecca said that he might.
As the musicians set up their music stands he began to tell her all about the excellent concerts that were held in Manchester.
‘I wouldn’t want you to think the mills are the sum total of the city,’ he said. ‘We are as cultured as our fellows in London, I hope. Concerts in the Cornmarket are a regular feature of life in Manchester.’
Rebecca answered him politely, but couldn’t help her eyes once again drifting to Joshua. Was he really finding Miss Quentin so diverting? she wondered, as he smiled again at something the young lady said.
As Rebecca talked to Mr Willingham about her impressions of Manchester, Mrs Camberwell drew Edward, her brother, aside.
‘I want you to pay particular attention to Rebecca this evening, Edward,’ she said to him in an undertone.
Edward looked mildly surprised.
‘She seems to be getting on very well with Willingham,’ he said. ‘He’s a very wealthy gentleman, and a man of some influence in Manchester. I thought you would be keen to promote the match.’
‘Willingham? Nonsense! Rebecca was made for Joshua.’
Edward glanced at Joshua. ‘I hate to contradict you, Emily, but his interests lie in another direction. He seems to be very taken with Miss Quentin.’
‘Serena Quentin is a scheming hussy who wants to add him to her list of conquests. But Joshua has too much sense to be taken in by her. He is simply passing the time.’
‘He seems to find it a very pleasant way of doing so.’
‘Nonsense,’ declared Mrs Camberwell. ‘Didn’t you see the look on his face when Willingham kissed Rebecca’s hand? He looked as if he’d like to strangle the man with his bare hands.’
‘Really, Emily,’ said Edward, but without any hope of changing his sister, or of encouraging her to use less dramatic turns of
phrase.
‘Which is why I want you to pay attention to her,’ said Emily.
‘Why?’ he asked her innocently. ‘So that Joshua can strangle me with his bare hands?’
‘Nonsense!’ said Emily in exasperation. ‘Of course not! So that he’ll be jealous, of course.’
‘I cannot see the point of making him jealous, when Rebecca, too, is clearly interested elsewhere. She is looking avidly at Mr Willingham,’ he protested mildly.
‘Only because she has impeccable manners and therefore looks at him when he is talking to her. But the second he looks away from her, her eyes go straight to Joshua. There is evidently some bad blood between them but they are finding it difficult to keep their eyes off each other. See!’ she declared triumphantly, as Mr Willingham helped himself to a drink from a tray carried round by a waiter and Rebecca’s glance went at once to Joshua. ‘What did I tell you!’
Unaware of Mrs Camberwell’s well-meaning interference, Rebecca continued to talk politely to Mr Willingham, whilst wishing he would betake himself off to one of the other young ladies who glided round the room. However, he seemed to want nothing better than to stay by her side - as Miss Quentin seemed to want nothing better than to stay by Joshua’s side.
Serena was teasing him about something, that much was obvious, and the harder Rebecca tried not to take any notice of it the more the conversation seemed to reach her ears.
‘Do let me!’ Miss Quentin was saying laughingly, tugging at Joshua’s hand. ‘It is such a pretty ring, and would look so lovely on my finger.’
Rebecca realized with a sinking feeling that Miss Quentin wanted to try on Joshua’s signet ring, the one that had been left to him by her grandfather.
Joshua evidently shared her feelings on the subject, however, for his voice, deep and masculine, carried towards her across the room. ‘No.’
Rebecca glanced in his direction and saw him put his hand down firmly by his side. Miss Quentin pouted, but he remained unmoved. ‘I will allow no one else to wear that particular ring,’ he said.
‘Not even your future bride?’ asked Miss Quentin, looking up at him with a sideways glance.
One Snowy Night Page 10
