by Martha Keyes
Archie ducked into the coach and seated himself across from Georgiana. The coach rumbled forward, and Georgiana gave a final wave through the small window.
“I think we can make it as far as Rotherham tonight,” Archie said, “as long as you don’t intend to spend an inordinate amount of time in Wakefield.”
Georgiana shook her head, feeling the strangest mixture of contentment and sorrow as Granchurch disappeared from view behind the hill. “Just a short conversation with Mr. Reed will do, but I must first request the company of the constable.”
When Mr. Burke opened the door, he smiled kindly upon her. His eyes flitted to the carriage in the road, and his brow pulled together slightly.
“Miss Paige,” he said, pulling his eyes from the coach. “Good day to you.”
“I am sorry to disturb you,” she said. “But I believe your presence may be required—or at least prudent—for the errand I am on.”
His brow wrinkled more. “How may I be of assistance?”
She glanced back at the coach and saw Archie standing on the steps, watching her, his foot tapping. He was determined to make it to Rotherham, where he had apparently enjoyed the most delicious meal in all his travels, and the detour to Wakefield might set them back if it was not accomplished speedily.
She pulled Sir Clyde’s note from her reticule, handing it to Mr. Burke. “I need to deliver this,” she said, “and I think that your presence may be necessary.”
He opened the note and scanned its contents, his jaw slackening, and his eyes widening with every word. His eyes traveled to hers. “How did you manage this?”
“I can explain it on the way to Wakefield if you are agreeable?”
He nodded quickly and handed her the note again. “Of course,” he said, reaching for his hat on a nail in the wall.
“Unfortunately, my brother and I will not be returning this way afterward,” she said. “Could I accompany you in your wagon on the way there?”
A horse was quickly readied and attached to the wagon, and Mr. Burke helped her in. There was a rushed energy to his movements that spoke to his impatience to better understand what had happened to elicit such a development.
Archie’s carriage went before them, and Georgiana was grateful that she would be journeying to London in it rather than in Mr. Burke’s rickety wagon.
Explaining her visit to Lady Gilmour and the subsequent one to Sir Clyde, she watched Mr. Burke listening carefully, his eyes on the road but his ear cocked toward her.
“God bless you, miss,” he said in a hoarse voice when she had finished. “God bless you.”
She shook her head, feeling her cheeks warm at the praise. She watched the passing countryside around them. “John Reed wouldn’t even be in this situation if it wasn’t for me.”
Mr. Burke shook his head. “It is not your fault, miss. Don’t think it.”
“How can I not?” She lowered her eyes and shut them. “Everyone else does.”
“In such situations, everyone is looking for someone to blame,” he said. “It makes them feel as though they can avoid similar hurt in the future, if only they can pinpoint where the fault lies. It takes time for people to come to their senses—but they will. You have only tried to help us—and gone far and beyond what anyone expected in order to do that.” He indicated her reticule with a tip of his head. “That note is yet more evidence of that fact.”
She swallowed the lump insistently rising in her throat.
Mr. Burke glanced at her, hesitating a moment before he spoke. “Do you know any of the history of Rushbury, miss? Our experiences with the tenants of Amblethorne?”
She shook her head. “Mr. Derrick mentioned that it has been frequently occupied and then abandoned.”
Mr. Burke nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “That it has. We have gone through periods of neglect—where no repairs could be made for months due to the absence and indifference of Amblethorne’s tenants—and then periods of interference—where sudden changes were made at great cost to the village, only to then have the residents leave abruptly. It has not endeared members of your class to the village, I am afraid.” He cleared his throat. “To Sam, least of all.”
She thought she saw Mr. Burke steal a glance at her out of the side of his eye.
So that was how Samuel still viewed her? As another meddling busybody?
“He became quite close with one of the families that lived in Amblethorne for a time,” Mr. Burke continued. “This was years ago—five or six, I believe. There was a young woman there in whose company he was frequently found. I believe Sam thought that they had a future together—we all did. But one day she and her family left without a word.”
Georgiana pulled her lips between her teeth, fighting off the jealousy that pricked her already-sore heart. “What happened?”
“We found out weeks later that she had married a baronet in Derbyshire.”
Silence reigned for a moment as Georgiana thought on the light the information shed upon Samuel’s bias against outsiders. Did he still love the woman? Was it a broken heart that was fueling his distrust? The thought brought a hand to her stomach, which felt sick with aching want.
“Sam’s father was a doctor, you know,” Mr. Burke continued. “Moved to Rushbury not long after he married, buried his wife and two children in the village cemetery, and stayed here till he died a few years ago. He had a great mistrust of the Quality, despite being educated at Oxford himself.”
Mr. Burke scanned their surroundings with a sigh. “He preferred to live here over anywhere else, despite the inconvenience to his duties as doctor, insisting that he would take a man or woman from Rushbury over a duke any day.” He glanced at Georgiana. “Sam inherited that same mistrust, and when Miss McIntyre left so suddenly, it only confirmed it to him. I was very happy indeed when he took to you so quickly after your arrival here—it seemed like he was healing. But…”
She shut her eyes. She and Archie had ruined everything, giving him even more reason to distrust outsiders.
“Don’t be too hard on him, miss. He is hard enough on himself.”
The town of Wakefield came into view, and along with it, the noise and bustle. Georgiana was grateful for the distraction it caused, requiring Mr. Burke’s concentration, since she didn’t know if she could have spoken. Her heart ached for Samuel and what he had experienced—it ached to show him that she was not like Miss McIntyre.
She shut her eyes and cringed as she thought on her own arrival in Rushbury and how it must have appeared to Samuel—yet another stranger intent upon changing the village. She smiled wryly as she thought of his attempt to teach her her place by offering up the role of surveyor and how she had surprised him by accepting it.
Whatever his first impressions of her had been, he had been unfailingly kind and helpful to her despite her clumsy attempts to belong.
But knowing Samuel’s history did nothing to change what he had expressed: his regret at Georgiana’s ever having come to the village. It didn’t matter how she felt about him if he couldn’t return her regard.
As the coach pulled in front of the gaol, Georgiana felt her stomach churn. The stone building was small and cramped-looking, with puddles of old stagnant water lining the road around it. A wooden board extended over one of the larger puddles leading to the door.
“Shall I come in?” Archie asked, meeting them in front of the board. “With Mr. Burke here, I thought perhaps my presence might not be necessary.”
“If it isn’t too much trouble, sir,” Mr. Burke said, “I think it would be best for you to accompany Miss Paige. I must go speak with the powers that be to show them Sir Clyde’s instructions.”
Archie nodded with a bit of reluctance, and Georgiana extracted the note from her reticule again, handing it to Mr. Burke. “I hope it will be sufficient,” she said.
Mr. Burke assisted her in stepping across the board and then spoke with the man who answered his firm rapping at the door.
They were led down a narrow, da
rk hallway with ceilings so low Georgiana was obliged to remove her bonnet and then crouch slightly. Mr. Burke seemed to know his way around, though, and he left them at an intersection of the dark corridors, turning to the right where more light illuminated the way.
The prison guard ushered Georgiana and Archie farther into the goal, finally slowing and saying, “John Reed. Visitors.”
He turned to Georgiana and Archie expectantly. Georgiana handed her bonnet to Archie and opened her reticule, taking out her small coin purse and setting a coin in the guard’s hand. She thanked him, her eyes watching the emerging form of John Reed.
The cell where he was being kept was dark as night, with no candles that Georgiana could discover. Only the beams from a small tallow candle in the walkway between cells illuminated the area.
Mr. Reed looked at Georgiana and Archie warily, his eyes full of a dark despair Georgiana hoped was merely accentuated by the dim lighting in the prison.
“Mr. Reed,” she said, suddenly feeling a wave of nerves wash over her, causing her hands to tremble. She gripped her coin purse more tightly to still the shaking. “I imagine that we are the very last people you wish to see, but I hope that you will grant me a few moments of your time.”
He gripped the bars of his cell, giving them a jostle. “Even if I didn’t wish to, I don’t have much of a say in the matter, do I?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I am not so unkind that I will force you to listen to me if you don’t wish to. Mr. Burke is here and may convey the information to you if you prefer it.”
He shook his head. “Go on, miss.”
“First, I wish to convey my deepest regret at what has occurred. My brother”— she indicated Archie with a hand, and he shifted uncomfortably—“hadn’t any idea what he was involving himself in when he laid information against you.”
Mr. Reed’s eyes moved to Archie, and Georgiana braced herself for the inevitable anger, but he only frowned. “I don’t blame anyone but myself for where I am today. I was a selfish fool, and I’m paying the price. I and my family.” His voice cracked on the last word, and Georgiana laid a gloved hand on the fingers he held curled around the iron bars.
Archie lowered his head beside her, his hands clasped in front of him, holding his hat.
“We all make mistakes, Mr. Reed,” she said. “And I don’t believe that yours should cost you your life or your family. I have come to offer you hope in that regard.”
He looked up at her, and even in the dim light, she could see the sheen of tears in his eyes.
“It will require great humility on your part,” she said.
He nodded, inviting her to go on.
“I have spoken with Sir Clyde Gilmour, the man who purchased the machines you destroyed. I made a proposition to him regarding your future, and he has accepted it, on a few conditions. It will not give you back the life you had before, but it will give you a new opportunity—to support your family more easily than in the past, but also to take a front seat in guiding the changes which will be taking place in Rushbury.”
Mr. Reed’s brows knit together, but he watched her with alert eyes.
“If you can demonstrate to Sir Clyde that you will be a loyal and dependable worker, he is willing to consider employing you as the manager of operations in the mill he hopes to grow in Rushbury.”
Mr. Reed’s mouth opened and fingers slackened on the bars, sliding down a bit before he resumed his tighter grip.
“It will be a probationary period initially,” she said, “with the potential for permanence—as long as you can demonstrate your value and dedication to him. You would be a go-between of sorts, reporting to Sir Clyde and ensuring that the mill functions to the standards he wishes to maintain, while also acting as an advocate for the mill workers, to make sure that they can produce the best work under fair conditions and pay.”
Mr. Reed looked at her wonderingly, blinking as if he thought he was hallucinating. “But…but…why?” he stammered. “Why should he do such a thing?”
Georgiana took in a breath. “Because I assured him that he would not regret it. And I rely on you to make good on my word.” She smiled, and he nodded quickly, hope shining from his eyes through the tears.
“I won’t disappoint him, miss. Nor you. I’ll do anything—anything—to be with my family again.”
She nodded, her own eyes filling so that the dark cell quivered and blurred. “You will be obliged to forgo a percentage of your wages in order to reimburse Sir Clyde for the expense of the machines.”
He dashed away tears with the back of a dirty hand, nodding rapidly. “I will work twice as many hours until it’s paid—plus interest.”
Georgiana gave a watery chuckle, relief flooding her at Mr. Reed’s reaction. His time in gaol had softened and humbled him. She knew some people whom it might have hardened instead.
She clasped her hands together. “If I might make a suggestion, I believe that a small gesture on your part might go a long way in helping Sir Clyde feel at peace with his offer,” she said. “An apology—a recognition of wrong and a promise to make restitution.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Mr. Reed said quickly.
Georgiana smiled at him. “I pray that Sir Clyde will see the wisdom of it and the potential within you.”
She looked at Archie, who had been silent the entire time, and noted his deeply furrowed brow and the way his mouth turned down at the sides. Was he feeling uncomfortable, seeing this softer side of Mr. Reed? He had been certain that the man was an angry drunkard. It couldn’t be pleasant to see the results of his choice to inform on the man.
She turned back to Mr. Reed. “I wish you the very best, Mr. Reed. Mr. Burke is speaking with the authorities right now. Provided everything is in order, he will be able to escort you home.”
A little sob escaped him on her last word, and he nodded, screwing up his mouth in an expression that spoke volumes of his gratitude and emotion. “Thank you, miss.” His voice broke, and he took a moment to regain control over himself. “I shall never forget your kindness.”
“It was the least I could do for a friend.” She smiled and sniffled softly, turning away.
“Wait.” Archie was looking down at the floor, but his head came up to meet Mr. Reed’s gaze. He drew in a breath and then searched in his coat pocket, drawing out a handful of bank notes.
He looked at them for a moment and then extended them toward Mr. Reed. “Take those.”
Georgiana stared incredulously.
Mr. Reed hesitated, looking at Archie with wide, uncomprehending eyes. He shook his head. “I couldn’t.”
“Take it. You need it more than I do, and I don’t want it.” He shrugged. “It’s not enough to pay back Sir Clyde, but it will give you a decent start.”
Mr. Reed’s lip trembled and he took the notes slowly, entirely unable to speak for the emotion that had overcome him.
“Good luck, my friend,” Archie said with a nod.
Chapter 23
Samuel swallowed the last gulps of ale in his tankard, glancing at the record book that sat on the table. His eyes found it no matter where he put it, drawn to it whether it sat by the front door, on the chair in the study, or on the table in the kitchen. It was just a book, but he couldn’t look on it without seeing Georgiana, without thinking of her.
The parsonage was set back far enough from the main road that he often couldn’t hear passing equipages, but his ears had been straining for their sound all the same.
Today Georgiana and Archie would leave for London, and Samuel found himself anxious and restless. He had bolted through the front door twice at the sound of wheels, but both times it had just been villagers going about their daily activities.
He pushed open the side door that led to the garden. He needed to busy his hands or he would go mad thinking of her, fighting the desire to beg her to stay.
But she wanted to leave, and he wouldn’t stop her from pursuing what she wanted. No doubt her few weeks in Rushbury had be
en ample time to make her see that she didn’t wish for the life she had been living here. She belonged in a fine London townhome, not a small, dirty village like Rushbury.
He knelt on the garden dirt, and his knees settled into the soil, which was much softer than it had been a few weeks ago. Surveying the small garden and its neat rows of growing plants, he sighed. The plant he had kicked at leaned awkwardly toward its neighbor, a dent in the dirt surrounding it. He scooped some loose soil from nearby and filled in the furrow.
He was not angry anymore. He was simply in pain.
He had hurt before—the passing of both his parents had brought him down into the depths of sorrow; Miss McIntyre’s departure had wounded his pride and his heart. But he had never known his heart could physically ache so that nothing he did distracted him from it.
Pulling off a few leaves that had been almost entirely consumed by the slugs, he startled as a large, black beetle emerged from beneath the leaves.
He let out a relieved breath, watching it toddle over the uneven soil. “So you didn’t leave,” he said softly. “I thought you had taken a look at the state of things here and abandoned me.”
He lifted a few more leaves, looking for signs of slugs. He saw none. “It appears I underestimated you,” he said as the beetle disappeared under one of the cabbage plants. “You and your friends have been doing good work. I should have trusted you, shouldn’t I? Perhaps we can yet salvage some of this garden together.” The beetle disappeared entirely, and the garden was silent. He pursed his lips and rose to a stand. “Perhaps I should stop talking to insects.”
He stared thoughtfully at the plants and then at the place where he had stepped on the first ground beetle he had seen a few weeks ago. Perhaps his garden would be in a much better state if he hadn’t killed the thing.
He had always been wary of outsiders—one of his duties as a small child had been to inform his father whenever anyone new appeared in the village—and that wariness had served him well in the past. But perhaps he was too quick to mistrust the unfamiliar, to assume ill intentions.
