Taking great care not to make a noise, he crept down the stairs and turned towards the kitchen, where a light was showing under the door. As he got there, he heard a rap on the back door and the sound of the bolt being drawn back.
“You’re late,” his father said in that harsh, carping tone he used with underlings and employees.
The man who replied had a very hoarse voice. “Had to wait till it was safe, Mester Brindley. Didn’t want anyone seeing us.”
What was his father plotting now? Peter moved closer to the door and didn’t scruple to listen to what they were saying.
“Tried to get Porter tonight, as you wanted, but Seaton came after him an’ we had to leave things be. He’s a good fighter, for a millowner, and Porter’s not bad either.”
“Damn him! Will that fellow never stop interfering in my business?” After a pause Noll added, “I’m not best pleased by your efforts this time, Jack. You failed to stop Seaton’s new machines getting here and you can’t even kill one man for me. What do you think I’m paying you for?”
Suddenly, things his father had muttered fell into place in Peter’s mind. Oh, hell! As if it wasn’t bad enough to have a grasping mill-owner for a father, now he found the old man was engaged in criminal activities. He shivered, wishing himself anywhere but here and with any other father on earth.
Then he heard the sound of the back door opening again and hurried back up to his room, his bare feet making no sound on the carpeted stairs.
It was a long time before he got to sleep. He didn’t want to get involved in what sounded like murder. What the hell was he to do? Should he write to his uncle, try again to get some help there? But even as that thought occurred to him, he shook his head. His uncle was a skinflint who had declined to help in no uncertain terms because his nephew had a father with plenty of money.
Without thinking he rolled over on to his bad arm, let out a low groan and tried to move to a more comfortable position. It was a long time before he managed to get to asleep.
The following morning, the ladies moved out of the inn as soon as they’d eaten breakfast. Delighted to be in their own home and determined to set it to rights as soon as possible, Martha and Penelope put on their oldest gowns, enveloped themselves in aprons and covered their heads with mobcaps, laughing at their reflections in a mirror propped against one wall. They decided to start with the parlour, so that they would have somewhere comfortable to sit in the evenings or when receiving visitors, and managed to rearrange all the furniture except for the piano.
“It’s just too heavy to pull across the carpet!” Martha said, after it had defied all their efforts to move it more than an inch or two.
Penelope flung herself down in a chair, fanning her red face and panting from her exertions. “Oh, bother, there’s someone knocking at the door.”
“I’ll go.” Martha pulled off her mobcap and stuffed it into her apron pocket, oblivious to such details as ruffled hair and whether there was a smut on her nose—until she opened the front door and discovered Mr Seaton standing on the doorstep. Only when he grinned at her did she realise that she hadn’t checked her appearance, by which time he’d stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
“You find us still in chaos, Mr Seaton,” she said pointedly, not moving from the hallway. “What can we do for you?”
He moved forward until he was standing very close and brushed one fingertip gently against her nose. “Smut,” he offered by way of explanation.
The touch, gentle as it was, set off a current of warmth that hummed through her body and the familiarity startled her so much she could only stare at him in shock.
He looked almost as disconcerted as she was feeling. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have—um—touched you like that.”
Her voice came out too high-pitched. “That’s all right. You were only trying to—um, help. Let me show you into the parlour.”
He didn’t move. “I came to see if you were all right, not pay a social call and also to ask if there’s anything I can do to help you settle in. I’m sending some men to help move the heavier furniture but they can’t come until the early afternoon, I’m afraid.”
Penelope came to the parlour door, having overheard the whole conversation, including the intriguing silences between the bursts of speech. “Good morning, Mr Seaton. If you really mean your offer of help, there is the piano. It’s too heavy for us to move, but with your help we might just manage it, then we can finish off this room.”
“Show me.” He entered and glanced round the parlour, making no attempt to hide his interest. “You’ve got some nice things.”
Martha stiffened. Not only had he caught her looking like a housemaid—why had she answered the door at all?—and touched her as if she was a housemaid, too, but he was now commenting on the quality of their furniture. Perhaps these were northern manners, but she wasn’t sure she liked them.
He moved across to the piano and looked back at her. “Where do you want this?”
Martha said nothing, just continued to scowl, so Penelope jabbed an elbow into her sister’s side and said, “Over there.”
He was already eyeing the path along which they had to push the piano. “I’ll just move this chair. Right. If you two get to that end and push, and I pull from here, we should be able to move it without too much trouble.”
After that task had been accomplished he hesitated then said, “I also came to ask a favour of you.” He hesitated again, biting his lips as if uncertain how to start.
“Do sit down and tell us what we can do for you, Mr Seaton,” Penelope prompted when her sister continued to stare at him in that strange, puzzled way.
“To be frank, I need to keep Georgie occupied. Can I send her across to you while I’m at the mill from tomorrow onwards? I know the school isn’t open yet, but she’s upsetting the servants and they don’t have the authority to keep her in order. She and Hepzibah had a big quarrel yesterday about the state of her bedroom, but I’m on Hepzibah’s side about that.” He scowled at the memory of Georgie’s subsequent tantrum.
“Of course you can send her. Can’t he?” Penelope glanced sideways at Martha for confirmation.
“Yes, certainly, Mr Seaton.”
“Thank you. I’m grateful to you.”
Penelope watched in fascination as the other two gazed at one another and the silence lengthened again. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Martha was definitely reacting to him, growing flustered when he spoke to her—Martha of all people! She had always felt a great sense of pity that her practical and loving elder sister should never have experienced what it was like to love someone. Was it possible that the attraction that was so obvious between these two might develop into something more enduring? Oh, she did hope so. She could imagine nothing that would make her happier than to see Martha get married.
In the end he stood up and broke the spell. “I must go now.”
Penelope murmured something she was sure neither of them heard and made no attempt to escort him to the door.
Martha followed him down the hall, then realised suddenly that she was alone with him once again. Why had Penelope not come with her? She took care to keep her distance from Mr Seaton as he opened the front door himself.
“I’ll bring Georgie round tomorrow morning, if that’s all right? Don’t hesitate to set her to work helping you. I suspect it’s boredom that’s making her so cross. It’s been like living with an angry wasp.”
Martha nodded, watching him stride down the path, nod to someone in the street and disappear from view. Not until she shivered in the chill breeze did she remember to close the door again. When she turned round, she saw her sister standing in the parlour doorway watching her with a quizzical expression on her face.
“Why is that man always so rude?” Martha demanded, hands on hips. “Just tell me why!”
“You bristle at the mere sight of him and I think he can’t resist teasing you. He’s been extremely kind to us, actually. And if he does speak rather brusquely at times, I believe it’s only his way, not a sign of rudeness.”
“Well,
I
think his manners are appalling!” declared Martha, tossing her head. “Telling me I had a smut on my face. A gentleman would have ignored it.” And no gentleman that she’d ever met would have removed it without her permission. Though his touch had been very gentle, very . . . She went back to work in the parlour, using excessive energy as she polished the furniture with beeswax.
Penelope smiled at her own reflection in the hall mirror then paused for a moment to listen to the sound of Sally’s voice uplifted in song coming from the kitchen. And one of her more cheerful hymns too. Another excellent sign.
She returned to the parlour, added more coal to the fire and watched Martha for a minute or two, then said quietly, “I’ll make a start on the schoolroom, then, shall I?”
Since the bookcase there was in the position they wanted it, she began to unpack a box of books, humming the same tune as Sally under her breath. It was good to be busy, good to have an aim in life again.
But what she wanted most of all from this move was Martha’s happiness. Her sister had given so much to others and now deserved something for herself.
Surely fate would be kind to her?
* * * *
In the mill office at the end of the day Noll and Gerry shared a glass of gin, his favourite tipple, though his son considered it a low and vulgar drink. “Had a visit from bloody Harmer today.”
“Oh, aye?” Gerry knew that perfectly well, since he’d seen the magistrate’s carriage standing outside the mill house and a maid come scurrying across to fetch her master.
“He came to warn me to stay away from Porter. Said I’d be the first person he came hunting for if anything happened to the fellow.”
“Probably as well to back off for now.” Fighting and riots didn’t get the spinning done. In fact, Gerry couldn’t see that they’d done anything useful at all.
“It was Seaton as came to Porter’s rescue, so it must be him as called in Harmer.” Fuming, Noll drained his glass and poured another. “He should mind his own business, that one.”
Gerry refrained from commenting that it
was
Seaton’s business now Porter was working for him. He eyed the decanter longingly.
“Pour yoursen another,” Noll said, reverting to the speech of their childhood as he often did when they were alone together.
“Thanks.”
“I shan’t forget about Porter, though. I’ll let him be for now, but one day I’ll make him regret crossing me.” He scowled darkly at the fire, seized the poker suddenly and broke apart a large piece of coal with a quick thump. “That’s better. Bloody cold out.”
“How’s that son of yours going?”
Noll rolled his eyes. “How should I know? I never could understand what goes on inside his head. He spends half his time fiddling with his clothes and hair, too bloody much time. He looks like a man-milliner to me. Eh, I’ve got to find the stupid bugger a wife because he’s not shaping up to do owt else for hissen.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard. After all, he’s your heir.”
“Not if I can get me some grandsons, he isn’t.” Noll glanced at the clock and drained his glass. “I suppose I’d better go back to the house and get mysen summat to eat. Told ’em to keep dinner waiting till I was ready.” He grinned. “Peter will be famished by now. He has a decent appetite for one as does no work. You lock up here, Gerry lad.”
His friend watched him go, sat on for a few minutes longer sipping his gin, then checked that everything was settled for the night and the watchman in place in his little room near the gate. He walked home in a thoughtful mood, wishing Noll wouldn’t get het up about things. So what if he couldn’t buy Seaton’s mill? He already had one of his own. Most folk would think that more than enough.
If he didn’t watch out, Noll would be getting into trouble with nobs like Harmer and who knew where that would lead? And what for? Money, that’s what, when he already had more than a man needed to live comfortably.
Gerry only wished he owned a tenth as much as his friend did. He’d not waste his time on getting his own back on folk, nor he wouldn’t work as hard as Noll did, either. He’d enjoy himself, that’s what he’d do, and make sure his wife did as well. She always worked hard and been a good wife to him. There were the grandchildren too. He wanted better for them than to toil in a mill as he’d done during his childhood, much better.
* * * *
On their third day in the house the sisters were sitting in the parlour enjoying a rest between labours and chatting lazily to Georgie, who seemed desperate for conversation. Once she’d realised they didn’t intend to treat her as a child, she’d relaxed her guard a little.
Someone hammered on the door so loudly that Martha felt annoyed even before Meg hurried to open it. But Sally had made it very plain to them that she considered it wrong for “her ladies” to answer their own door, so she sat waiting to be enlightened. Who could it be? She could hardly go and peep out of the window with Georgie sitting there, so had to contain her impatience.
“Are your mistresses in?”
What a harsh voice it was! And so loud they could hear it all too clearly in the parlour. Martha frowned, not liking the sound of it.
Meg answered in a scared, breathless voice. “Yes, Mr Brindley. I’ll see if they’re receiving visitors.”