Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1)

by Tracie Peterson

  “Talk to Mary Caruff and Rachel Filmore,” he said, apparently observing the confusion etched upon her face. “They’ll tell you how, shall we say, profitable, their extra time with me has been.”

  Lilly was incredulous. “Am I to understand that you actually pay Mary and Rachel for their company?”

  “I didn’t say that I pay them,” he said, tugging her closer. His mouth was against her ear. “They grant me certain privileges, and I do the same thing for them. Understand?”

  Pulling her head away, she looked into his beady eyes. “You give them special favors at work, is that what you mean?”

  He looked at her as though she didn’t have sense enough to come in out of the rain. “Of course that’s what I mean—for those who willingly cooperate. I overlook the fact that they come in late on occasion, and I make sure they have the best machinery. It’s good that you are beautiful. If you were required to depend upon your intelligence or wit to figure things out, you’d die a certain death.”

  Lilly didn’t acknowledge his comment. “What about the girls who don’t cooperate? What do you do for them?”

  His eyes glistened and his fingers moved up her back. “If you must know, they have a great deal of difficulty accomplishing their work to meet specifications, and within a few weeks they find themselves out of work. And without their good conduct discharge, they are unable to work in any other mill. Most are required to return home. I’m told one of them was so distraught that she jumped from Pawtucket Falls to her death, although I assured Mr. Boott it was most likely an accident, that the girl surely wouldn’t have taken her life over losing her job. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I find it difficult to believe such a vile man as you is able to sleep at night. Do you ever wonder what the elders of the church would think of your behavior? I seem to recall that you are among the leadership at St. Anne’s.”

  His look of surprise was worth every ounce of fear in her heart. It was obvious Thaddeus Arnold was not accustomed to being confronted. Their conversation lapsed at the same time as the music.

  “There you are,” a voice boomed from behind them. Both Lilly and Thaddeus turned to see John Farnsworth striding toward them. “I’ve come to claim a dance,” he said. “I’m sure you won’t object.” The Englishman dwarfed Thaddeus, who was visibly irritated by the intrusion. He finally acquiesced, releasing Lilly’s hand and walking toward the door.

  Lilly breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that she had seen the last of Thaddeus Arnold for the evening. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but Miss Addie said she thought you would enjoy a new partner,” Farnsworth said as they began to circle the floor.

  “Miss Addie is a very perceptive lady. I am extremely pleased to have you as my partner, Mr. Farnsworth. Have the two of you been enjoying yourselves?”

  “Yes, indeed. Miss Addie is excellent company.”

  Lilly considered the morsels of information she had been fed by Miss Mintie concerning Farnsworth. Surely they weren’t enough to consider him a man set upon treason. He was kind and generous, a true gentleman who would be a fine match for Miss Addie. Yet seeing him secreted in the shadows with those men the other night gave her concern. She wanted to encourage him to call upon Miss Addie, yet if there was a question of character . . .

  “I’ve been giving thought to asking Miss Addie if I could call on her. Do you think she would accept an invitation?” John asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  “Yes, well—I imagine she would consider such an invitation,” Lilly stammered.

  John gave a hearty laugh. “You don’t sound overly convincing. Perhaps I should rethink my plan.”

  “No, don’t do that—I’m sure she would be very pleased to have you call on her,” Lilly quickly replied. She wasn’t going to stand in the way of a possible suitor for Miss Addie.

  “I thought I saw you with some other men last Sunday night when I was returning from Belvedere,” Lilly continued as Mr. Farnsworth twirled her about the floor in a surprisingly agile manner.

  Farnsworth gave no sign of recognition. His brows furrowed, as if he were thinking where he might have been that night. “What time?” he asked.

  “It was getting dark, around seven-fifteen, perhaps. Our carriage came down Jackson Street. When we approached the corner, I saw three men having a loud discussion. Two of them ran off. I didn’t recognize either of them, but the third bore a striking resemblance to you, Mr. Farnsworth.”

  He appeared to be sifting through her words. “It may have been me. I believe I was out with several other gentlemen on Sunday evening. I can’t say that I recall them running off when we parted company, however. Was there some reason you were concerned about my whereabouts?”

  Lilly felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “No, not at all. I was merely surprised to see you. I didn’t realize you had already developed friendships here in Lowell.”

  He smiled down at her. “With the number of Englishmen working at the Merrimack, I’ve had little difficulty becoming acquainted. Thank you for the dance,” he replied as the music came to a halt. “I’ll trust your advice in regard to Miss Addie and hope she doesn’t disappoint me when I seek permission to call.”

  Lilly quickly surveyed the room, hoping she could slip out the side door without being noticed. There hadn’t been any stipulation as to how long she was to remain at the party, merely that she attend. Weaving her way through the crowd, she passed the punch table and was only steps from the door when someone boldly grabbed her by the waist.

  “Not planning to run away, are you? We weren’t finished with our little talk.” Mr. Arnold had pushed her against the stone wall, the cold slate cutting into her shoulders as she backed away from him. “I believe you were commenting that the arrangement shared between several of the girls and me might be of interest to others. I would strongly suggest that you refrain from such remarks.” His face was taut, his jaws clenched as he continued to block her movement.

  Trembling, Lilly tried to bolster her courage. She twisted her hands together, hoping he wouldn’t see how badly they were shaking.

  “Is this some new dance where you block your partner’s movement, Mr. Arnold?” Matthew asked as he neared where they stood.

  Thaddeus quickly dropped his hold and stepped away. “No. We were merely having a discussion about the excellent working conditions in the spinning room. Miss Armbruster is learning how to adapt to her new surroundings.”

  “I’m sure you don’t mind if I interrupt your conversation. Miss Armbruster owes me a dance,” Matthew replied, never taking his gaze off of Lilly.

  Acting the proper gentleman, Mr. Arnold bowed from the waist and uttered his consent. Lilly avoided looking in his direction, but she could feel his gaze upon her even after Matthew led her onto the dance floor.

  “Charming fellow. I didn’t realize you cared for his type. And isn’t he married?”

  “You’re not amusing.”

  “Ah, dear Lilly, you used to think I was quite amusing,” he replied, pulling her a bit closer as the orchestra began a waltz. “Remember this song?” he whispered. “Remember how some of the matrons thought us mad to allow waltzing in our gatherings?”

  The music, the dance, and his arms all blended together, transporting her back to a time when she was safe and when life made sense. Without thinking of how it might look, she rested her head on his shoulder, desperately wishing her life could return to those happier days. Her fear of Arnold had left her feeling quite weak, and Matthew’s supportive embrace renewed her strength.

  “It pleases me that you’re finally able to show you still have feelings for me, Lilly,” Matthew said as he gently pressed her fingers to his lips.

  “What? Because I agreed to one waltz you think I’m still in love with you?”

  “No, not just the dance—your head on my shoulder, the look in your eyes. I’d have to be blind not to see your devotion, and it pleases me very much.”

  Mortified, Lilly couldn’t believe what he was say
ing. How dare he assume such utter nonsense? Had she not been cornered by that lecherous Thaddeus Arnold, she wouldn’t have even considered dancing with Matthew. “You’re completely wrong, Matthew. In fact, you would be astounded if you knew just how loathsome I consider you and the life you’ve chosen.”

  Matthew glanced down at her. His gaze was piercing. “Lilly, it’s time you stop lying to yourself and to me.”

  “Really? Is that what you suggest?” She smiled sweetly, lifted her foot, and stomped down on Matthew’s foot as hard as she could. “Consider that a token of my love, Matthew,” she said as he groaned and lifted his foot slowly.

  “There you are, Matthew. I have a young lady here who’s anxious to dance with you,” Kirk Boott said as he and Isabelle walked onto the dance floor. “Good evening, Miss Armbruster,” he added.

  Lilly nodded at Kirk and Isabelle. “I’m sure Matthew will be delighted to dance with you, Isabelle. He seems to be in fine form tonight. Aren’t you, Matthew?” Without waiting for an answer, she rushed from the dance floor.

  Chapter 17

  Matthew fussed with his shirt collar, wondering if he would ever feel comfortable when Kirk Boott summoned him. He had no reason to be concerned—at least no reason of which he was aware. Yet the delivery of Kirk’s engraved stationery emblazoned with his handwritten scrawl filled Matthew with trepidation. Come to my office now. Boott. Minimal phraseology was all that Boott needed to bring any employee running, but most especially one who aspired to become a member of the elite Associates.

  Ten minutes later, Matthew knocked on the door of Boott’s office. “What kept you?” Boott inquired without looking up from the paper work scattered across his desk. Glancing up, he emitted a loud guffaw. “You needn’t look terrified, Matthew. It was my feeble attempt at humor.” Kirk pointed toward one of the chairs sitting opposite his desk. “Do be seated, my boy. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, nothing. How can I be of assistance?”

  Kirk leaned back in his chair and propped his lanky legs across the desk. “Isabelle tells me she thoroughly enjoyed spending time with you at the Lighting Up Ball. I believe she was hoping you would extend an invitation for dinner or perhaps the theatre in the near future. Since it’s been nearly a month since the ball, I thought I would inquire as to the problem.”

  Matthew squirmed in the chair, wondering if Isabelle’s social calendar was the sole purpose Boott had summoned him. “The distance between Boston and Lowell makes it difficult for me to keep company with your niece and stay abreast of my duties for the Corporation. However, I’m pleased to hear she enjoyed the ball,” Matthew hedged.

  “Isabelle speculated that you might be interested in the Armbruster girl. I’m certain Isabelle has drawn that conclusion based upon seeing you in Miss Armbruster’s company each time she has visited Lowell. I told my niece it was mere happenstance.” Kirk’s forehead furrowed into deep creases as he lifted his eyebrows and looked at Matthew. “I know you’ll be pleased to hear that my sister and Isabelle will be visiting next weekend. I was hoping you could join us for dinner on Saturday evening, shall we say around seven o’clock?”

  Matthew longed for the courage to tell Boott he wouldn’t be available. Instead, he nodded his agreement. “Was that all you wished to discuss?”

  Kirk rose from his chair and moved toward the window looking out on his gardens at the back of the house. “No, no, of course not. There are several matters that need our attention. Did you have an opportunity to investigate the accidents at the Appleton?”

  Kirk continued staring out the window with his back toward Matthew. “Yes, and I believe your assessment was correct. After spending some time talking with Mr. Arnold, he agreed that he may have overreacted to the incidents. As you know, he’s new to his position and is anxious to make a good impression.”

  “That’s not a bad thing—wanting to impress me. Wouldn’t you agree?” Kirk inquired, turning the unwavering gaze of his steel-blue eyes on Matthew.

  They both knew there was only one acceptable answer to Kirk’s question. Matthew hedged momentarily, not certain where Kirk was headed. “I would agree as long as it doesn’t compromise one’s personal beliefs,” he finally replied.

  A wry grin wrapped itself around Kirk’s lips. “Not willing to sell your soul for a position with the Associates? Is that what you’re telling me, Matthew?”

  “Is that what the Associates require?” Matthew questioned in return.

  Kirk ran his hand across the stubble of his jaw. “Let us hope not, for I fear you would fail to meet the prerequisites, my boy,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. “I’ve asked Hugh Cummiskey to join us. He should be arriving momentarily. The Associates agree we should begin working out the arrangements we’ve made with Bishop Fenwick. Cummiskey is our starting point. I’ve decided to assign this project to you since you were instrumental in presenting the church as a solution to the increasing Irish problem.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Matthew considered the consequences of Boott’s assignment. If the project were a failure and the Irish continued with their infighting, Matthew would be held accountable. He wondered, however, if the project proved successful, who would receive the accolades. A knock sounded at the front door. Moments later a mobcapped servant escorted Hugh Cummiskey into Boott’s office.

  “Hugh, good to see you. You remember Matthew Cheever, don’t you?”

  “Afternoon, gentlemen.” The burly Irishman nodded at both men as he made his way into the room. Pulling a flattened cap from his head, he ran broad fingers through a mass of disheveled black curls before seating himself beside Matthew.

  “I know you’re busy with the canal, Hugh, but I think I have some interesting information for you,” Kirk began. Over the next hour, he laid out the Associates’ decision to bring a priest to Lowell on a somewhat regular basis and commence building a Catholic church. “You don’t appear overly pleased,” Kirk said as he completed his explanation.

  Hugh leaned forward and rested his brawny arms atop the highly polished desk. “Oh, I’m pleased by the idea of having a church for the men and their families, but here’s my concern—where are you gonna put it? We’re already divided. I fear a church in one camp or the other will only add to the turmoil.”

  Kirk gave him a knowing smile and nodded. “We suspected the division of the clans could be problematic. Matthew made a suggestion that appears to have some merit with Bishop Fenwick as well as the Associates.”

  “What’s that?” Hugh inquired.

  Kirk pointed to Matthew, and Hugh immediately turned his attention toward the younger man.

  “If we build the church directly between the camps, it could serve as a point of unity,” Matthew explained. “There’s a parcel of land the Associates have agreed they will deed to the Catholic diocese for that purpose. The agreement, however, is hinged upon a labor force consisting of your fellow Irishmen. While the land and materials will be furnished at no cost, labor would be the responsibility of the men living in the camps. We’re insisting upon your men supplying the labor for several reasons. One, the cost of the project would be prohibitive from the Associates’ point of view if they were required to furnish labor; second, working together on a joint project could aid in bringing the Irish community together; and third, your men are skilled laborers, as well as being the ones who will benefit from the structure.” Matthew turned toward Boott for affirmation, but Kirk’s gaze was riveted on Hugh Cummiskey.

  “What do you think, Hugh?” Kirk asked.

  “Quite an undertaking for my men. They’d have to do the work on their off hours, and we both know they don’t have many of those—leastwise not during daylight or good weather. These men have got families to feed, and whether those mouths are in Lowell or Boston or Ireland, their families look to them for provision. Don’t get me wrong—I think the idea of a church is a good one, but how do I ask them to give up their wages and donate time to build a church?”

  �
��You don’t. We’ll designate that privilege to good Bishop Fenwick. I’ll make arrangements to have the bishop come and speak a week from Sunday if he’s available. I doubt he’ll have difficulty convincing the men that it’s a privilege rather than a sacrifice to give their time.”

  Hugh gave a low laugh. “I don’t know if I’d go quite that far, but the bishop’s influence will go further than mine.”

  Kirk rose from behind the desk. “I’ve assigned Matthew to oversee this matter. In fact, I may send him to Boston to talk with the bishop. I’m sure he could find time to make at least one other call while he’s in the city.” Kirk cast a sidelong glance at Matthew. “What do you think, Matthew? Are you up to a trip to Boston in the next few days? It will give you an opportunity to set Isabelle’s concerns to rest.”

  Matthew was pleased at the prospect of visiting the bishop on his own. The fact that Kirk considered him capable of conducting a high-level meeting without accompaniment was flattering. If it was his ability Kirk truly believed in. Kirk’s caveat that he pay Isabelle a visit gave him pause to wonder. “I’ll leave in the morning,” Matthew agreed.

  “Why don’t we walk over to the Acre and take a look about,” Kirk suggested as he moved around the desk. Matthew and Hugh rose in unison. There was no doubt in either of their minds that if Kirk wanted to visit the Acre, they would visit the Acre.

  Cummiskey’s Irish brogue filled the air as the three men made their way to the acre or more of land that contained a ramshackle collection of board, tin, and sod cabins and shanties. The pungent smell of cooking cabbage and potatoes mingled with the odor of human bodies permeating the air. Kirk pulled a crisp, neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket and placed it to his nose.

  Cummiskey grinned. “Smell of cabbage bother ya?”

  Kirk immediately tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and gave a strained laugh. “Let’s say that cabbage is not among my favorite foods. Now, this camp is primarily Corkonians from the southwest of Ireland, and they occupy the original acre. The Connachts, from west-central Ireland, are on the other piece of land, the half-acre site. Is that correct?” he inquired, smoothly changing the topic of conversation.