Daughter of Trade

by Lesley-Anne McLeod

  She could only wait for John's trip to London and plan to send her message with him. If he did not discover Holly in town, she did not know what she might do.

  With an abstracted air, she went about her business, and prepared for the coming winter with a sense of detachment. Winter was the most difficult of times for the factory labourers, with firing very costly and fresh food virtually unobtainable. It was a time of desperation for some and her undertakings always reflected that mood.

  Nevertheless this year she found her projects taking on a different aspect. She was working to make her programs less dependent upon herself. She was involving the workers themselves more in the organization, as if she would not be there to be relied upon. For she dared to dream that, after Christmas, she might be wed and living elsewhere and organizing aid for different folk.

  She attended at assemblies and routs but her heart was not in her gaiety. Dancing seemed flat if it was not performed with a special partner. Entertainments were without significance if one could not expect to meet one's dearest friend at them. The days had never passed so slowly and she developed a gentle air of aloofness that offended no one but was noticed by all.

  Dinah knew her parents watched over her with concern during the days of cold autumn rain. Her siblings did their best to distract her. Hamilton offered to play games with her, and Geoffrey tried to make her laugh with his sartorial efforts. Adelaide was ever at her side. She could summon little response to their attempts.

  Mention of Holly was avoided by all. Harriet combed the newspapers for allusion to him, but beyond a cryptic line that stated the viscount had returned to London could find nothing about him. She copied the information from Debrett's about Holly's lineage and heritage and left the page where Dinah would find it.

  Dinah sought her out upon discovering it; Harriet and the rest of the family were gathered in the drawing room. Only John was absent, visiting Juliana at her home. Thomas Jamieson had called; he and Adelaide shared the sopha. Hamilton and Geoffrey played at backgammon at the card table and Joseph was reading nearby them. Mr. Driffield was dozing by the fire, and Mrs. Driffield was busily sewing.

  "Did you copy this, Harriet?" Dinah said.

  Harriet looked up from the newspaper she was studying. For a moment, she appeared to be judging Dinah's mood. Finally she ventured, "I did."

  "Then I must thank you. I have read it often enough, but am glad to have a fair copy to keep."

  Relief spread over Harriet's freckled face.

  Dinah picked up her sewing. In her restless anxiety, she had sewed all the babies' clothes that she had vowed to complete, and was now set upon finishing extra small nightgowns and shifts.

  "Imagine having that much family history, and yet no family at all," Harriet said.

  "His parents were dead before he went to school," Mrs. Driffield said. "To be without siblings in such a case is surely sad."

  "He had a great-uncle," Joseph volunteered, looking up from his book. "Holly said the old man looked after his financial affairs but told him, 'If I had desired to be plagued by children, I should have had my own. You cannot think to live with me.' Can't imagine telling a ten year old that myself."

  "Imagine hearing it." Geoffrey said. "How he must have felt. He told me he spent every holiday with a different friend."

  Hamilton abandoned the backgammon game that he was losing. "But he always spent the long holiday at Holly Court. He said he had splendid times there. The vicar was a great batsman, and supported a cricket eleven and was Holly's instructor. The gameskeeper taught him to shoot and fish, and the head groom instructed him in riding and driving. His nurse became his housekeeper and she taught him manners. He said she kept a wooden spoon for reminding him of them, but he laughed when he said it. He could do whatever he wanted in the whole house with no one to gainsay him."

  "He spent many a long hour with his steward, learning the business of his estate. Nevertheless it is a wonder he was not spoiled beyond bearing." Mr. Driffield had not been sleeping so soundly as it appeared.

  "He has a naturally sweet nature I think. And he had the uncommon good fortune of having devoted servants. It speaks well for his parents that their hired help were of such good character," Mrs. Driffield said.

  "P'raps that's why there's so little height in his manner, for a nob." Joseph had laid aside his book. "He learned that servants are people like any other, for they were, in effect, his family."

  There was a brief, breathless pause in the chamber. The fire's crackle seemed overloud, over-urgent in the silence.

  "He did not tell me so much," Dinah said in a small voice, her slender hands for once still upon her sewing.

  "He told none of us a great deal. It is only as we combine our knowledge that we have a clear picture of the young man," her mother said.

  Dinah dissolved into tears, shocking her siblings and surprising herself. She was never one to weep and that she did so now reflected, she supposed, the depth of her feelings.

  She scurried from the drawing room to her bedchamber, and lay down among the plump feather pillows. She had thought she would weep and weep, but she found her tears drying as she mulled over her family's revelations. Sebastian was clearly exposed now, his character and his habits all plainly displayed. She wished she might have understood it before, and wondered again at her capacity to deceive herself.

  She sat up abruptly. Did it not follow that if Sebastian was of an upright character, he would not be the only nobleman so endowed? She had been a fool indeed.

  In the following days it appeared that her uncharacteristic outburst had confirmed everyone's belief in her attachment to Sebastian. And her family, it seemed, redoubled their kind efforts on her behalf. John and Juliana paid her every attention, surrounding her with support at social events, and talking cheerfully and positively of the viscount. Mention of Holly was no longer avoided and his possible future within the family much discussed.

  Dinah rallied under this matter-of-fact treatment, but she remained pensive and aloof. Until she spoke with Sebastian again, she could not be comfortable. If he told her that his regard had died with her refusal, she could accept it, she told herself. If his affection had been a fleeting thing that he found dispersed by his return to London, he had only to tell her, and she would put thoughts of him aside. But she must talk to him, one last time.

  In this mood, Dinah could not entertain advances from any other gentleman. Delicate flirtations, soulful sighs and meaningful glances all were wasted upon her. Her most persistent suitor was Bernard Humberstone and much of her time was taken up with avoiding him. He seemed oblivious to the changes she had undergone, and continued to press his attentions upon her. Juliana had been quite correct in her assessment of his intentions.

  One cold morning, the same day that John left for his business trip to London, Humberstone made his offer. He was shown to the morning room by a new, very young, housemaid, and found Dinah alone. She had no hesitation in entertaining him privately, so little did she regard his company. But she was irritated by his plump, complacent presence when she wished only to think about John's trip and the possibility of his finding Sebastian in London.

  When Bernard began his carefully rehearsed speech, Dinah was appalled by his presumption. By the time he had finished reciting his prudent periods she was thoroughly annoyed by his obtuseness. She had taken every opportunity to avoid his company--how had he not noticed it? She had deplored his constant attentions and increasing confidence--how could he be unaware of it?

  In sharp response to his sudden importunities, she said, "I am sorry Mr. Humberstone. I cannot wed you. I regret if I gave you the notion that I cared for you in that way." Despite her annoyance, Dinah thought this rejection was rather like kicking a friendly dog.

  Humberstone's round face sagged with dismay. "But--but--you have given me every reason to think you favoured my suit. You have danced with me, taken tea with my mother, driven out with me."

  "Not in the past two months. Besi
des I have done the same with Abraham Gott, and a dozen others," she pointed out.

  "But not with the same regularity."

  "And not at all recently!"

  "I thought, I assumed..."

  "Assumptions are always dangerous, sir."

  His expression stiffened with something less kind, more cunning in nature. "Well if you think to wait for that viscount chap to offer for your hand; you're fair and far off. He'll not soil his family tree with the likes of us. A daughter of trade wed to a scion of a noble house--most unlikely." He snorted.

  "Really Mr. Humberstone, I expect no one to offer for my hand in the near future. And I certainly entertained naught but feelings of friendship for the viscount." Dinah crossed her fingers behind her back for the lie. "Now if you will excuse me?"

  "Aye, aye I'll go. But you'll rue this day; mark my words, you'll rue this day." He forgot himself so far as to slam the door behind his departure.

  Dinah sagged with relief, and sank into a nearby chair. His arguments had not surprised her, but she had had no expectations of threats. Still he was an astute businessman and he would certainly recognize that he had gone too far. He meant nothing by it, surely; it was merely the emotion of the moment. Besides his mother in whom he would surely confide, would congratulate him on his escape from her toils. Yes, Mrs. Humberstone would convince him that he was well rid of the independent Miss Driffield.

  She rubbed her brow, and sighed as her gesture reminded her of Sebastian. He had been gone a month. How did he go on? Was he recovered from his illness? He apparently had not the tenacity of Humberstone. To all appearances he had taken her refusal as final, which was of course as she had intended. Was she wrong now to hope?

  She could only pray that John encountered him in London and delivered her message.

  * * * *

  Within days her prayer was answered. She arrived home from her evening school with Pippy in train, to find the family assembled in the drawing room. Harriet said, as Dinah stepped into the chamber, "There's a letter from John delivered--Mama is to read it aloud. Come along do; I think he has found Holly!"

  Dinah put off her bonnet and cloak with trembling hands and gave them into Pippy's care. The little maid curtseyed and departed.

  Dinah sank to a seat beside Adelaide who gave her sister a sympathetic look.

  "All was well at the school, my dear?" Mr. Driffield said.

  Dinah, her gaze fastened upon the parchment in her mother's hand, did not reply.

  Mr. Driffield, shaking his grey head, said to his wife, "Best you read us John's letter, Mrs. Driffield, before some among us expire."

  There were subdued chuckles from the younger members of the family, but Dinah was still unconscious of it.

  Mrs. Driffield donned the spectacles she had only recently begun to wear for reading and fine sewing, and scanned the page. "It is very short," she said. "His trip was uneventful." She read, "'I racked up at Limmer's and went the next day to Holly's house in Bruton Street. He was in residence and greeted me with eagerness and warm welcome. He looked in prime twig, but a little blue-deviled. Something of my news has bucked him up no end. I have delivered Harriet, Hamilton and Dinah's messages.'"

  Mrs. Driffield paused. The glances of the entire family traveled to Dinah and she blushed, she knew, with vivid colour. Her mother took pity on her and continued, "'He has insisted that I stay with him, and I am comfortably situated. It is a fine home with pleasant staff. I expect to finish my business by Tuesday and I shall start for Leeds on Wednesday. Holly will accompany me; we shall travel by stage. Holly begs me present his compliments to you all. I remain your affectionate son and brother, etc.'"

  There fell a brief silence and then a babble of conversation broke out. Dinah smiled tremulously at her mother and patted Adelaide's hand which unconsciously she had gripped during the reading of the letter. "It is Tuesday today!" she said apropos of nothing.

  "Hurrah, they shall begin the journey tomorrow." Hamilton capered about the room unrebuked.

  Dinah slept soundly that night, hugging to her the knowledge that Sebastian was traveling to Leeds, that she would see him again, and have opportunity to speak with him of what was in her heart. When she woke it was with the consciousness that John and Sebastian would already have begun their journey to Leeds.

  She danced her way through the day to dinner. Then a casual statement of her father's interrupted her delight. "I am glad that Holly is to come to see the plan for the manufactory," were his words. They instilled a doubt in her happy dreams. Sebastian was perhaps coming only because of business. John had delivered her message, but Sebastian had sent no reply especially to her. He had asked that his compliments be presented to the family, not her alone. Mayhap she was a fool to set such store by John's account of Sebastian's spirits. Perhaps he had only been pleased to hear about the Driffield family, to know he had their friendship still.

  Her joy was no longer unalloyed. She dared to hope, but not too much. She disciplined her transports, and began to view the imminent arrival of her brother and his companion with as much trepidation as delight.

  On Thursday morning it rained in Leeds, an icy cold rain that chilled the body, and dampened the spirit. Dinah scarcely noticed as she prepared for her usual visit to the dame school. Her customary calm and sensible nature had been completely overturned. She was prey to a disordered spirit as the day progressed, one moment filled with excited anticipation, the next cast down by negative possibilities.

  By the time she left the school, the afternoon was waning to a crisp, clear dusk. She would walk home, she decided, and sent the carriage on with a word to Thomas Coachman. She had purposely remained in ignorance as to the arrival time of the stage, and would have her curiosity satisfied only when she arrived in Park Square.

  When she and Pippy reached Briggate and Commercial Street, Dinah sent Pippy on an errand and proceeded on her way. It suited her to walk alone. She had only to bow and smile at friends and acquaintances, and could travel the familiar streets with her thoughts full of Sebastian.

  She paused as she approached the East Parade and went cold again with the thought that perhaps Sebastian was coming to Leeds only on business. She had no assurance that he had greeted her message with anything other than indifference. He might not wish even to see her. How empty her life would be without him.

  As she gazed blankly into the future, she realized it had become quite dark. She must take the carriage in the future, she reminded herself. Winter was almost upon them. She shivered again, this time with the damp chill, and made a move to hurry on.

  But she had paused too long. Two men rushed out of the gloom of a nearby alley and swirled a blanket over her head. She was lifted off her feet, and such was her surprise that she did little to prevent her capture. By the time she thought to scream a rough fold of the blanket had been inserted into her mouth. She kicked and squirmed but to no avail. The blanket was secured about her head, something held the fold in her mouth. Her legs were bound and her arms pinioned behind her.

  "Luddites," was her first thought, and then, "Oh, poor Mama and Papa!" Berating herself for her folly, she knew she should have taken the carriage. Thinking herself safe in the town of her birth, she had gone against conventional wisdom in walking home alone from her school. She was well served for her foolish assumptions. Since the early autumn the Luddite activity had fallen off noticeably; now she found herself hoping that her captors were indeed Luddites. If they sought to hold her to a ransom, she might at least be able to talk to them, discover their grievances, bargain with them. If they were ordinary ruffians, her fate might considerably worse.

  She pushed that thought aside, and strained every nerve to discern the course taken by her abductors. They seemed most familiar with the city, and once she thought she heard water. They must have kept to alleys and lanes for she could hear little traffic, and when at last she was dumped into a chair, and became aware of the crackle of a fire, she could not at all have told where she was. S
he tried to kick out with tied ankles; though her wrists were fastened she managed to toss the blanket from her head. Her gag fell away. In the dim light of a small fire she stared at her captors as they backed away from her. They were particularly innocuous looking fellows, having not at all the look of ravishers, murderers or thieves. If she could believe her instinct and impression, they were extremely nervous.

  She swallowed the scream that she suspected would benefit her not at all and drew the shreds of her dignity and courage around her. She was shivering with chill and fright. "What can you want with me? Are you Luddites? Abduction shall not impress my father."

  The pair exchanged an anxious look. "We ain't worried about your father, miss. It's Mr. Bernard Humberstone we fear," the taller of the two recited in an incongruously high voice. It seemed almost as if he had rehearsed the speech.

  Puzzlement replaced fear in Dinah's mind.

  "He's a fierce one, and so much in love with you that we fear his followin' us," the other man, a rotund sort of fellow, agreed.

  "Mr. Humberstone, fierce?" Dinah echoed. She now was thoroughly confused; what had Humberstone to do with any of this. She stared about the barren little room. A bright fire burned in the grate, and the floor was clean enough. She sat in the only chair; a pallet was spread near the fire and a small table held a broken loaf of bread and a battered pewter jug. She shook her head. "What is your purpose?"

  "No more questions, miss." The taller of the two men approached and before Dinah knew what he was about he had fastened a gag securely around her mouth again. She should, she thought, have screamed when she had the chance.

  "We has to go, miss, but we'll be back. We'm be goin' to ask a ransom, but indeed we hopes Mr. Humberstone don't find ye--or us."

  They tripped over one another out the door. A key rattled in the lock. Their quiet voices faded in the distance and there was nothing left but the crackle of the fire.

  Dinah examined the room again. A shuttered window, a locked door, a shadowy doorway into an empty chamber beyond that in which she sat. She could do nothing but wait. She wondered if the jug on the table held water. The thought tantalized her. The men might remove her gag to give her a drink when they returned. If they did, she might be able to talk them into releasing her; they seemed very nearly as frightened as was she. She bent her mind to the possibilities of escape, and found herself wondering again why her kidnappers had been so concerned about Bernard Humberstone.