by Martha Keyes
The curtain moved to reveal the face of Mrs. Reed, and Georgiana swallowed. She was undoubtedly the last person on earth Mrs. Reed wished to see. The door opened slowly, creaking at the hinges, and the face of Patience appeared. Had Mrs. Reed sent her daughter to respond to the knock after seeing who it was?
“Patience,” Georgiana said softly, extending a hand toward her.
Patience glanced at the outstretched hand and hesitated. She took in a quick, uneven breath, and then her face convulsed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. She offered her other hand to Georgiana, tears beginning to spill from her eyes.
Georgiana pulled her into an embrace, shutting her eyes tightly. “I am so terribly sorry,” she whispered into Patience’s hair.
Patience sobbed into her shoulder, and Georgiana held her, blinking rapidly but failing to keep her own tears at bay.
They stayed that way as the minutes passed, and when Patience’s breath began to come more evenly, Georgiana pulled away, putting her hands on the maid’s arms. “You are under no obligation whatsoever to help me in what I am about to ask of you, but I wanted to offer you the opportunity.”
Patience nodded, taking in a large, trembling breath and wiping at her cheeks.
“I have no reason to think that anything will come of this—I know the Gilmours well enough to harbor sincere doubts—but I must try.”
Patience looked at her questioningly, eyes swollen and red.
“If your mother agrees to it,” Georgiana said, “I would like to take a number of your products with me to Amblethorne Park.”
Patience’s brow wrinkled, and she pulled back slightly.
“I think that the Gilmours will be struck by the quality of the work your family does, and I am hopeful that we can turn that to your father’s account.” She raised up her shoulders. “It may be far fetched, and I sincerely understand if you don’t wish to accompany me—or even if you don’t wish for me to go at all. But I cannot help trying if there is even the slightest possibility that it will do any good at all.”
Patience stared at her for a pregnant moment and then nodded slowly. “I will just speak with Mama.”
Ten minutes later, they made their way to Amblethorne Park, both carrying a basket of woolen items on their arms.
Sir Clyde was not at home, but Lady Gilmour welcomed them into the drawing room, looking on the presence of Patience with a slight raising of the eyebrows followed by a curious scanning of the baskets on their arms.
After exchanging the required civil inquiries, Lady Gilmour looked at Georgiana expectantly.
“The purpose of my visit is likely to seem strange and perhaps even a bit uncomfortable, I fear.” She took in a fortifying breath and continued. “You are aware, no doubt, of the arrest that has been made in connection with the destruction of the machine you and Sir Clyde purchased.”
Lady Gilmour nodded, her mouth drawing into a prim line. “Yes, we were very pleased to have a resolution to the issue so quickly.”
Georgiana suppressed the impulse to glance at Patience. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to hear her father’s likely death being referred to as a resolution.
She cleared her throat. “I must inform you, Lady Gilmour, that Patience—my maid—is the daughter of the man arrested for the crime: Mr. John Reed.”
Lady Gilmour stiffened.
Georgiana sent an encouraging smile at Patience, who looked ready to shrink into the chair she sat upon. “I asked her to accompany me here for a number of reasons, one of which was to assist me with these baskets.” She offered the basket handle to Lady Gilmour, who took it with some reluctance.
“The Reed family has been in the wool-spinning trade for generations,” Georgiana said, rising to sit beside Lady Gilmour. “I have never seen such fine products in all my life.” She extended her arm to display her sleeve. “They were kind enough to make this woolen coat for me after discovering that I had arrived ill-equipped for Yorkshire weather.”
She watched Lady Gilmour’s expression carefully, as it shifted ever-so-slightly from skepticism to reluctant admiration. She ran a finger along the braiding that lined Georgiana’s coat.
“Very fine indeed,” she said, pulling her finger away and sending a sidelong glance at Patience as she shifted in her seat, as though she didn’t wish for the girl to see her admiring the family’s work.
“I think Patience would be the first to admit that what her father did was wrong,” Georgiana offered, and Patience nodded, keeping her eyes down. “But I beg of you, Lady Gilmour, to have mercy on him.”
Lady Gilmour said nothing, keeping her hands folded primly in her lap.
Georgiana decided to press the point. “I think that, given the chance, you would come to see what an asset John Reed is to Rushbury—particularly to the vision you and Sir Clyde have for the village.”
Lady Gilmour let out a skeptical laugh. “I hardly see how a man who destroyed the very beginnings of that vision could be an asset to carrying it out.”
Georgiana nodded. “I quite understand what you are saying. Allow me to explain what I mean.” She shifted in her seat so that her knees pointed toward Lady Gilmour, feeling the importance of how she handled what she was on the verge of communicating. “The same passion which led John to damage your machines might quite easily be channeled into the future of Rushbury. No one knows wool like John Reed. Patience will be able to speak more to this than I, but I understand that he is known all over the West Riding for his skill and knowledge.”
Patience nodded again. “People pay more when they know that John Reed spun their wool.”
Lady Gilmour paused, looking thoughtful. “What are you suggesting, then, Miss Paige?”
“What if,” she said, resisting the urge to swallow anxiously, “John Reed were to oversee your efforts at expanding the wool trade in Rushbury? To act as a manager?”
Lady Gilmour reared back slightly. “Put him in charge of all the machines—the very things he ruined?”
Georgiana nodded once. “It is a risk, I know, but I think that it is one well worth taking. I give you my assurance that he can be trusted, as long as he knows that he is valued and can act in the best interest of the mill—which means balancing the interests of both you and the workers, for the mill will suffer if the workers are unhappy and undervalued. John Reed will have invaluable insight not only into the making of wool but into what will bring out the best work from the employees. It was his desperation which drove him to drink—Patience can attest to that.”
Patience gave a somber but firm nod.
Lady Gilmour ran her thumb along the woolen stockings in her hand.
“I will not pretend to be a disinterested party,” Georgiana said, “for I consider the Reeds to be friends, just as I consider you a friend. But please know that I would not suggest it to you if I did not think that it would be to your benefit. It would be to everyone’s benefit, in my opinion.”
Silence reigned.
“Will you at least think on it, Lady Gilmour?”
Lady Gilmour nodded, setting the stockings back in the basket. “I will speak with Sir Clyde, though I cannot promise anything. He has been very upset by the entire situation, feeling very betrayed.”
Georgiana nodded. “I quite understand. I would be more than happy to talk with him about things if that would be helpful—to vouch for Mr. Reed.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she replied, rising from her seat. “But thank you.”
Georgiana rose slowly, suddenly filled with doubt about Lady Gilmour’s intentions. Would she truly speak with Sir Clyde? Or would this be another instance where the Gilmours didn’t feel compelled to be true to their word?
“I shall just leave a few of these items with you to show Sir Clyde the quality of work of Mr. Reed, then, for I think that will be of interest to him.” She indicated the baskets and then saw the dismay in Patience’s eyes.
With her father gone, every single item they could sell was undoubtedly precio
us—not only for its financial worth but for its sentimental value.
“Perhaps we could leave you with the stockings and my coat?” she suggested.
She began undoing the buttons, and Patience came to her aid, sending Georgiana a look full of gratitude and relief.
“I can send one of the servants to retrieve them when you have had a chance to show Sir Clyde,” Georgiana said, setting the coat on the arm of the chaise longue.
“Oh,” said Lady Gilmour, looking at the coat with uncertainty. “I wouldn’t wish to deprive you of your coat, Miss Paige.”
“Not at all! The weather has turned quite nice, and there is no better demonstration of the Reed family’s skill and reliability, for they were very swift indeed in the making of this.”
Lady Gilmour took the stockings with a polite smile, and Georgiana stifled a disappointed sigh. The likelihood of her making a case to her husband for John Reed’s release seemed very slim indeed.
Chapter 20
Samuel sat at the table at the parsonage, his food growing cold as he stared at it, sitting back in his seat, with his hands clasped in his lap and a frown on his face. He had no appetite. He couldn’t manage even the simplest of life’s tasks without feeling haunted by thoughts of John Reed.
It felt wrong to go about life, enjoying a full and hearty meal, when John was in chains. Samuel had visited him in the Wakefield gaol, and it had been all he could do not to shut his eyes at the sight of his friend in such a place. And John would sit there for the next few weeks, awaiting the assizes—weeks of anticipating and wondering whether his fate would be to hang or to be transported to Australia. If he was transported, it would be for fourteen years at least.
In the dank and dark gaol, John’s remorse and regret had descended upon him like a heavy blanket, nearly suffocating him. He was full of questions about his wife and family, and it grieved Samuel terribly to have to inform his friend that the Gilmours refused to show mercy to him. John had given an infinitesimal nod, his throat bobbing as he looked at Samuel resolutely.
A knock sounded on the parsonage door, and two minutes later, Burke appeared in the kitchen, his eyes moving to the untouched plate of food.
He pulled out a chair and sat across the table from Samuel. “You must eat, Sam. Starving yourself helps no one.”
Samuel picked up his fork, only to put it down again. “I can’t stomach it, Burke.”
Burke pursed his lips and set his hands on the table. “Is this about John? Or is it”—he searched for words—“more than that?”
Samuel’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“Come, Sam,” he said. “I’m not blind. I know as well as you that you’ve fallen headlong in love with Miss Paige, and I saw your falling out. A thing like that doesn’t happen without making a man feel half-mad.”
Samuel pushed away his plate. “It is hardly worth speaking of. And certainly not when John Reed sits in prison.” In truth, he didn’t know if he could speak of it. His throat already felt thick just thinking on Georgiana’s face and the hurt in her eyes.
“Very well,” said Burke. “We need not speak of what happened, but I think we must speak of the way forward. What will you do?”
Samuel felt a flicker of anger. “What can I do? We are from different worlds, she and I. I was a fool to entertain the idea for even a second. I should know better by now.”
Burke watched him thoughtfully. “I understand what you’re saying, Sam. And I agree that you and Miss Paige are not of the same world. But you’d be a fool to put her in the same box as Miss McIntyre.”
“Would I?”
“Yes, Sam. You would. They’re different as night and day. You know I was never an admirer of Miss McIntyre—or whatever her name is now. If not for the pain I saw you in, I would have been thrilled to see her family leave Rushbury for good.” He leaned his elbows on the table, and Samuel reluctantly met his gaze. “But Miss Paige is worth a hundred of Miss McIntyre.”
Samuel stood abruptly. These were hardly the words he needed to hear. “Make up your mind, Burke! Just yesterday you were telling me I had been right all along about outsiders like her. Now you seem determined to persuade me that I was, in fact, wrong all along.”
“I was angry, Sam. Just as you were. But time—and a little food in the belly”—he pushed Samuel’s plate toward him—“brings reflection and wisdom. Don’t misunderstand me. I could wring Archie Paige’s neck for what he’s done. But neither he nor Miss Paige intended ill.”
“Precisely,” Samuel said, letting the fork drop onto the plate with a clank. “They are so far removed from the lives we lead that they can’t help but cause problems, even when they intend to help.” He shook his head. “It was a fool’s dream to think that Georgiana Paige and I could ever be more than passing acquaintances. We are simply too different.”
His heart didn’t believe that, but if he said the words enough, perhaps he would come to accept them in time. He couldn’t allow himself to entertain the thought of a future with Georgiana, much as his heart urged him to grasp at the possibility.
Burke stared at him, his lips jutting out as he sighed and stood. “Different you may be, Sam, but the difference between two people is as short as their willingness to bridge it, and I don’t think it’s Miss Paige who’s unwilling.”
He set a hand on Samuel’s shoulder and then left the room.
Samuel sat still, listening for the familiar thud of the front door.
What if Burke was right? Was Samuel wronging Georgiana by seeing in her the same things that had caused him so much pain years ago? Was he remaking her in the image of Miss McIntyre, when she had given him every reason to believe the best of her?
His thoughts and feelings felt so jumbled that he began to doubt everything about Georgiana—the good and the bad he had come to believe. The only thing that might bring clarity to his mind and heart would be to see her again..
In the chaos of John Reed’s plight, Georgiana had entirely forgotten about the items of business she had meant to record in the parish books the day following statute labor. She wished to leave the records as tidy and complete as possible before departing for London—and she needed to inform Samuel that she would no longer be able to fulfill her role as surveyor.
It was an obligatory post—she knew that. She knew he knew it. But she also knew that he would likely accept her resignation willingly, given how little he wished for her presence in Rushbury. One of the other villagers would take over the position, and Georgiana’s short stint in the role would become a distant memory—the kind one begins to doubt was real.
She was equally terrified and anxious to see Samuel. She couldn’t leave Rushbury without seeing him once more, no matter how painful that encounter proved to be.
The days were lengthening as May emerged in Rushbury, and as Georgiana left Granchurch with the church as her destination, the sun was dipping lower on the horizon. Its golden rays pierced through the few wispy clouds that sat low in the sky, and as she walked down the hill, Georgiana’s heart throbbed at the sight of the village below, bathed in golden rays. This place which, upon her arrival, had looked so dreary and gloomy nearly took her breath away now.
There were only a couple of villagers out in the streets, and Georgiana felt their eyes following her, their harshness intensified by the lack of greeting she received. It hurt her deep inside, reconfirming her decision to leave. Rushbury would be a happier place without her there.
The church door was unlocked, and it made the same echoing creak as she pushed it open and then closed again. She sat down quickly at the vestry desk, hoping that she could write down the necessary things before the light faded enough to require a candle. She flipped through the pages of the record book, watching as the script within changed from the clumsy scratches of her predecessor to her own neat handwriting.
It was only five minutes before she was done and, as soon as the ink had dried, she closed the book, rubbing a hand over its battered leather front,
remembering the notebook she had carried with her on the rides with Samuel as they surveyed the parish roads. She would give anything to return to that time.
But that was impossible.
Her heart pounded against her chest as she left the church and took the small path that led to the parsonage. How many times had Samuel walked that same path? How many times would he yet walk it? He would live and die in Rushbury. Georgiana had no doubt of that. And she envied him terribly for it. Rushbury wouldn’t be Rushbury without Samuel Derrick.
She clenched her eyes shut and walked faster to outrun her dreary thoughts.
She had only been to the parsonage once before—to Samuel’s home. It seemed strange, for she had come to feel that she truly knew him. But she hadn’t any idea what kind of house he kept: how many servants, what his favorite room was to read in, what books he owned.
They didn’t truly know one another. And he had already implied that he regretted what he did know of Georgiana. He didn’t want her in Rushbury—he wanted her to leave.
Please just leave us in peace.
She let out a gush of frustration that trembled with suppressed pain. Would those words haunt her for the rest of her life?
She reached the doorstep of the parsonage and, for a moment, she considered leaving the record book there and avoiding the painful encounter with the man she loved so much.
Forcing her hand to the door, she knocked three times. It would be cowardly to leave the book there, and whatever Samuel now thought of her, she would not allow his last memory to be of her cowardice.
The door opened to reveal a maid, middle-aged with kind eyes and a heavily lined face.
“Is Mr. Derrick at home?” she asked.
The maid nodded. “He is just eating his dinner right now, miss. I shall just inquire with him.”
