Chapter 20
Several days later, Philip paused his new carriage some distance from the mill and turned to Emily. “I do not wish to alarm Canfield or have him take action against any of the workers who speak to me,” he said. “I shall pretend to be quite reluctant to be at the mill. An utterly frippery fellow.”
She nodded, for they had talked of this before. “I understand and ask only that you truly look about you and listen to what the workers say and think how you would feel in their shoes.”
It was Philip’s turn to nod. He had not and did not intend to tell her that he would also be looking about him for a way to verify Harry’s suspicions. And to make contact with someone who would be willing and able to help him prove them. The fewer who knew his purpose the better. And in any event, ignorance would serve to keep Emily, Miss Ashbourne, safe. Or so he hoped.
With a growing sense of unease, Philip set the horses once more on their way toward the mill. He wished he could quash this growing sense of impending disaster.
The mill was noisy and full of fabric dust and busy with workers rushing from one point to another. Canfield surveyed first the mill and then Philip and Emily.
“Why did you say you wished to see my mill?”
Philip yawned while Emily tapped her foot impatiently. “Oh, I promised Miss Ashbourne I would visit,” Langford said carelessly. “She would have it that you were in need of a number of improvements but I can’t say that I think so. Your workers seem most, er, efficient.”
Canfield seemed to swell with pride. “They are,” he conceded. “My workers are the top producers in the county. Indeed, I’ve just managed to get a new contract for uniforms for the military because they know I’ll have no problem meeting the deadline they set.”
Emily tugged at his sleeve. “You must come talk with some of the workers, Philip!” she said.
He rolled his eyes at Canfield. “Do you mind terribly if we do so?” he asked, almost hopefully.
Canfield seemed to take a malicious satisfaction in waving his hand and saying, “Not at all. First I shall give you a tour and then you may speak to whomever you wish.”
“Thank you so much,” Philip replied with what seemed to be heavy irony.
Canfield smiled. He did glance at Emily who pretended to pout. The smile broadened. And he led the way toward the nearest group of workers.
“We make the fabric here and in the next building are my cutters and seamstresses who will make the fabric up into uniforms.”
“How fascinating,” Philip said in a voice that implied he found the entire matter deadly boring.
“Philip, you promised you would pay attention!” Emily said, pinching at his arm.
Again Canfield and Philip exchanged speaking glances. By the time Canfield had shown them through the mill he seemed satisfied that not only did Philip pose no threat to his interests, but that he himself had had a narrow escape from being leg-shackled to Miss Ashbourne.
“Now may we speak with the workers?” Emily demanded petulantly.
“Really, is it absolutely necessary?” Philip asked, in the same bored voice he had so carefully cultivated.
“Please, by all means, speak to whomever you will,” Canfield said, grinning spitefully.
With a sigh, Philip allowed himself to be led toward a nearby group of workers. The moment Canfield had left the floor of the mill, however, all of Philip’s languid air instantly dropped away, as did Emily’s petulance.
The workers nearest the couple formed a circle around them and Emily made the introductions. Philip shook hands with each worker. The questions he asked would have raised a distinct alarm with Canfield had he overheard them.
Emily, meanwhile, found herself surrounded by a number of the women. Philip seized his opportunity to make certain arrangements. By the time he was done, he had a promise that several of the workers would be here to let him into the mill on the following evening.
And then, before Canfield’s curiosity or alarm could be raised by too long a delay, Philip and Emily left the mill. Philip was careful to praise the mill, yet again, to Canfield and Emily managed to look as though she were about to burst into tears. Only Canfield looked happy.
When they were well down the road, Emily looked at Philip and said, doubtfully, “You didn’t mean all those things you said, did you?”
Philip smiled at her and shook his head. “Was I that convincing? Perhaps I ought to take to the stage. What do you think?”
Relieved, she smiled in return. “I think we put Mr. Canfield off the scent, just as you said,” she replied. “Conditions truly are dreadful in the mill and the worst of it is that he is so proud of himself and I have no notion how to stop him.”
Philip hesitated. Then, slowly, he said, “If there were a way to cause Canfield trouble, do you think the workers would help us?”
“Will the mill be closed? As bad as the conditions are, they have no other place to work or they would already have gone,” she countered.
He had no immediate answer for her. But the justice of her question could not be denied.
“I shall stand warrant that even if Canfield were to lose the mill, I should undertake to buy it and keep it open,” Philip said at last.
“Then they will help.”
“It is that simple?”
“Yes.”
But of course it wasn’t. Nothing was simple that day. They had gone not a mile farther down the road when the carriage suddenly lurched to the side and overturned, tumbling Emily and Philip and the groom into a ditch.
Philip looked down at Emily with concern. “Are you all right?” he asked, helping her to her feet.
She was shaky and pale. Her light blue dress and dark blue spencer were slightly the worse for wear and her bonnet was askew, but she nodded. They both turned to survey the damage. One wheel of the carriage lay in the ditch beside the road and the carriage itself was overturned. The horses were struggling in the traces, but the groom was trying feverishly to get them in hand again.
Miss Ashbourne moved to study the carriage closer, but Philip did not bother. What was done was done. The immediate question was what they ought to do next. He tried to think. How far were they from a village? Useless to ask the groom. He asked Miss Ashbourne.
She hesitated, then told him, “We are no more than a mile, I should think, from my father’s house.” To the groom she added, “We shall send back help as soon as possible.”
That gave Philip pause. “Are you certain you wish to walk so far?” he asked. “Perhaps we ought to send the groom and you and I wait here.”
She surprised him once again. “I have looked closely at your carriage, even if you have not, and if the wheel was not tampered with, I should be very much surprised. Someone presumably did not like our visit to Mr. Canfield’s mill and I should not like to have them follow and find us helpless here. I should much rather take my chances on foot, across the fields.”
The groom made some sound of protest at these words and Miss Ashbourne turned to him and said kindly, “No one would have any reason to harm you. They will presume you know nothing about this. You will be perfectly safe here. It is only Mr. Langford and myself who need worry.”
Then catching up her skirt with one hand she leaped over the ditch. “Coming Mr. Langford?” she called back to him.
There was nothing for it, Philip decided, except to do as she wished. He took a moment to give the groom some additional instructions, then leaped over the ditch after her. Miss Ashbourne was not, he thought irritably, a conventional young lady and he was getting very tired of the consequences of that.
But conventional or not, Miss Ashbourne knew the way across the fields and they reached her home far sooner than he would have thought possible. She stopped short, however, at the edge of the woods that bounded the house from one side.
He started to ask why, then noted the carriage pulled up before the door. Canfield’s carriage. Philip drew in a deep breath. The man had just arrived and was even
now striding up the front steps.
“I think,” Miss Ashbourne said, in a small voice beside him, “that we should perhaps wait until he leaves.”
Philip was inclined to agree. Though it went against the grain not to confront the man openly, he had a more important duty to protect Miss Ashbourne. And he had no doubt, that if her suspicions about the wheel were correct, that it would be far safer for both of them if Canfield did not at once discover they had returned to Miss Ashbourne’s home.
And yet, why should Canfield have taken the drastic step of sabotaging their carriage? After all, what had he to fear? No one had listened to Miss Ashbourne in London. Why should he think anyone would listen to Philip, either? Or had it simply been a matter of revenge? Anger that Emily meant to marry him instead of Canfield? Or had he somehow guessed the suspicions directed at him by men like Harry? And somehow guessed that Philip was their agent. The thought made his blood run cold.
Apparently Miss Ashbourne was asking herself questions as well for a puzzled frown creased her brow. Philip wished he could reassure her. But to speak of Canfield’s reasons for what he had done, if indeed he had done anything, would mean speaking of Harry and what Harry had asked him to do. And he could not.
Softly he asked her, “Is there anywhere else we could go? Any place Canfield would not expect us to be?”
Philip waited patiently, guessing it would not be an easy question to answer. But finally she looked at him and said, a tiny frown between her eyes, “There is one place. I do not think Mr. Canfield knows of it. An abandoned cottage where we might stay.”
He recoiled. “I-I meant,” he stammered, “some place with people. Your reputation—and mine—would be at risk were we to go this abandoned cottage.”
She shook her head impatiently. “You do not understand. There are few, hereabouts, who are not dependent upon Mr. Canfield, in one way or another. And the few who would help us, well, I will not put them at risk of his anger.”
“My groom,” Philip said, grasping for something with which to turn aside her plan, “we must send someone to help him with the carriage.”
But she was looking past him and now nodded toward the house with her chin. “It would appear, Mr. Langford, that someone has already come to his aid.”
She was right. A man Philip recognized from the mill was pulling up in a cart with the groom by his side and the horses tied behind. As they watched, the groom jumped down, thanked the man, and untied the horses.
Philip was out of excuses. “Where is this cottage?” he asked, with an air of defeat.
Miss Ashbourne gave him a speaking look and then headed off through the woods in still another direction than the one from which they came. She moved silently, no easy task when her skirts kept catching on the bushes. She solved that problem by hiking them high enough that Philip had a scandalously generous view of her ankles.
The cottage was farther away than he expected and already it was growing dark when they finally pushed open the door. It was dirty and dusty and full of cobwebs. Still, there was some wood stacked by the fireplace and the windows unbroken.
“You will be cold,” he said. “I had best light a fire.”
She stopped him. “I should rather be cold,” she said, “than alert others hereabouts that we are in the cottage by the smoke from the chimney.”
He nodded. She was right, of course. And had he been alone he should never have considered lighting a fire. But he found himself worrying about her and how he could protect her, whether she wished it or not.
“You will be hungry soon,” he said.
“It will not be the first time,” she countered. At his look of surprise she went on, “I was used to wander away from home, hiding from my governesses, and more than once found myself lost overnight. I survived then and I shall survive now. I am sorry, however, for the discomfort you must suffer, Mr. Langford.”
“We shall both be sorry,” he retorted grimly, “should anyone discover that we spent the night here alone.”
“You forget,” she said softly, with a hurt in her voice that tugged at his heart, “I have no reputation to lose, hereabouts. I was once before stranded with a man and refused to marry him. It will surprise no one when I refuse to marry you as well.”
He could not bear what he saw in her eyes. Instinctively, he reached out and tilted up her chin. Gently, he said, “I swear I shall not let you suffer for this.”
But she pulled her head free of his touch. There was anger, now, in her eyes as she retorted, “Do give over this notion that you must forever be rescuing me! I am not a piece of porcelain to shatter at the least bit of trouble. I have never lived my life by force of gossip and I do not intend to begin now.”
For all her brave words, Philip thought he could catch a glimpse of the pain behind them. He did not try again to persuade her, but merely made a private vow to do what he must to protect her.
Aloud he said, carelessly, “Well, how shall we pass the time? And how soon do you think Mr. Canfield will give up searching for us?”
She hesitated, confusion evident on her face. “I do not understand why he is searching for us, in the first place. But given that he is, he won’t give up until he finds us. It is not in his nature to do so,” Miss Ashbourne said soberly.
That gave Philip pause, though her answer was not entirely unexpected. He paced about the room for several moments and then finally said, slowly, “He will not lose interest in us unless he believes we have no interest in him. Or, rather, unless he believes I have no interest in him.”
“How could you manage to make him believe that?”
Philip smiled and it was not a pleasant smile. “We cannot hope to keep our absence secret so I shall make Mr. Canfield believe that I was doing with you the very same thing that he did. I shall somehow let him know that I believed you were about to break off our betrothal and I acted to prevent you from doing so.”
She colored up but did not protest. “Yes,” she said slowly, “he would believe that. And it would serve the purpose very well, I should think.”
And then it seemed the most natural thing in the world to hold his arms open to her and she walked straight into them. She rested her head against the breast of his coat and said, “I promise I shall not weep but I am so very weary of this nonsense.”
He hugged her tightly, knowing he ought, if he had the least sense, put her away from him. But he could not. He wanted to hold her and protect her and promise her she need never feel this way again.
And when she tilted up her head, to look at him, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to bend his neck and kiss her.
It ought to have been a chaste kiss. A gentle kiss. But it became so very much more. And with a shock, Philip did put Emily away from him. He set her at arm’s length and then took a step backward. And then another.
He began to pace, with some agitation.
“After dark, in another hour or so, I shall take you home,” he said. “And then I shall go and call upon Mr. Canfield. I shall tell him you slipped away from me and does he know where you might have gone. It will confuse him. I shall plant the notion that I meant you no good and he will believe it because it is what he would do. Then, tomorrow, we return to London before he can do any more mischief toward you.”
Even as he paced, Emily came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “Must we go back?” she asked.
He misunderstood. “There is no need to be afraid,” he said resolutely. “He will not think to go back to your home tonight. And even if he does, you will be surrounded by loyal servants.”
“I am not afraid,” she answered quietly.
He turned to look at her then and was stunned by what he read in her eyes.
* * * *
She ought not to be doing or saying any of this. It would put her beyond the pale should any one ever come to know of it. But Emily could not help herself. She wanted to spend this night with Mr. Langford. With Philip. Alone. With no one to hem them about a
nd force them to speak only conventional courtesies.
Not that there was anything conventional about either one of them. But still, she had never been alone with him long enough that they could truly speak their minds, truly share how they felt. About one another. About life. About so many things. And a night together would give them such a chance.
He was going to refuse. She could see it in his face. Nor could she blame him for if he did stay here, with her, then he would be well and truly caught once her family knew. It was selfish to think only of how she felt and she said so aloud, then turned away.
This time it was Mr. Langford, Philip, who caught her shoulders and stopped her flight.
“I wish we could stay,” he said in a voice that was husky and low. “But I will not do that to you, or to myself. One hour, and then I take you home.”
One hour! So short a time. Emily wanted to waste not a moment of it. But when she risked a look at his face, she knew he would not take her in his arms again. He would not kiss her any more, nor even touch her if he could find a way to avoid doing so.
Well, she could not blame him. Emily swallowed hard and moved away, to make matters easier for him. It was not kind to tempt them, either one.
“So,” she said, with an attempt at brightness, “will you now support my cause?”
He hesitated. “I will allow that the conditions I saw were appalling. But no worse than many face on the streets of London or as chimney sweeps or such.”
“Does that make it right?” she demanded hotly, forgetting, for the moment, that they were supposed to be allies.
“No, of course not. But it will not be easy to bring about change. To be sure, Lord Beaumont did seem inclined to listen. And I can think of one or two others to approach. But Emily, you must prepare yourself for the notion that change will take years, not days or weeks or months.”
The Reckless Barrister Page 16
