Virginia Henley (17 page)

“What is it? Oh, Patrick, you’ve found her!” cried Barbara.

“She’s hurt badly, I fear. Mrs. Thomson, is Julia’s room made up?”

“Of course, sir. Where did you find the poor little lamb?”

He was white, his mouth a grim line, and his eyes terrible to behold.

“I found her working at the mill. There was an accident. I’ve no idea how badly she’s hurt. Stay with her while I get the doctor. I hate to leave her, but that’s the fastest way to get help. Pull back the covers, Barbara. Keep her warm and don’t leave her for a second.”

He was back within fifteen minutes. The doctor said, “Help me disrobe her so I can see how much damage she’s sustained.”

“No! Barbara, help Mrs. Thomson undress her, and for God’s sake, be gentle.” He looked apologetically at the doctor and said, “She’s frightened of men.”

“Indeed?” he said dryly. “Then I will ask you to leave the room until I complete my examination.”

Reluctantly, Patrick left and closed the door behind him, but stood on the landing outside the door in a state of miserable anxiety. Twenty minutes later the doctor came out.

“She’s been in an industrial accident at your mill, hasn’t she?”

“How did you know?”

“Good God, man, I haven’t always been a society doctor. I
started out in the slums. Her color gives her away, like a prison pallor.”

“What’s the extent of her injuries?” he asked apprehensively.

“Well, she’s in shock. She has a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, a large gash on her leg that I’ve just stitched and multiple bruises, cuts and abrasions. Apart from all this she is in a weakened, run-down condition and her blood is very low. She’s seen more dinnertimes than dinners, and the work she’s been doing has been far too heavy for her. It sounds grave, but all she really needs is food and rest. I think the concussion will go away on its own if she’s left quiet, but I’d like you to come and hold her while I try to put her shoulder back into its socket. Would you ladies step outside now for a few minutes?” the doctor asked.

Patrick lifted Kitty gently and put his arms about her firmly. The doctor took hold of Kitty’s arm. “This will hurt her a great deal.” He gave her arm a terrific wrench, and her eyes flew open and she screamed.

“Patrick,” she said weakly, “where am I?”

“You had an accident at the mill, love, but the doctor says you’ll be all right. Try to sleep now. We’ll look after you.”

“I’ll ease the shoulder with a sling and be back to check her again tomorrow.” The doctor hadn’t been gone ten minutes when Terrance appeared and demanded to see his sister.

“The doctor tells me she is going to be all right, Terry, but she needs nursing and decent food and I intend to see that she gets it. Where have you been living? Why on earth was she working in the mill?”

“Haven’t you seen the bloody signs posted, ‘No Irish or Dogs Allowed’?” he asked bitterly.

“Go home and get your things together. I know Kitty wouldn’t have a minute’s peace of mind if you were still at the mill after this accident.”

*   *   *

With the good food and bed rest she received, Kitty’s condition improved rapidly. Barbara was delighted because she had few friends her own age; she insisted upon doing everything for Kitty. A great relief filled Patrick as he watched Kitty blossom under their ministrations, and his guilt fell away. He was determined that this time he would not make such a mess of things. He would go about his wooing slowly and patiently. He forced himself to attend to business each day and only allowed himself half an hour each evening with Kitty. It was beginning to work. Already she looked forward eagerly to his arrival, and he took much pleasure watching her face light up at the sight of him. He kept a great deal of distance between them, at least half the room, and let his eyes convey his tender feelings toward her. He sent her flowers every other day and set about the courtship with a master plan, paying attention to the minutest details, and slowly but surely Kitty began to respond. Never once did the idea of marrying her enter his head.

One day he took Terry into the library. “Would you like to become a mill foreman, Terry?” he asked tentatively.

“I hated every minute I had to spend in that place. Besides, nobody is going to take orders from someone who hasn’t turned sixteen yet.”

“You need more education, you know. How would you like to go to school?”

“School? Me? Don’t be daft! That’s out for certain sure.”

“Talk about gratitude and biting the hand that feeds you! Stubborn bloody Irish! I knew a lad who came here from Ireland and joined the British army just so he could become a deserter!” Patrick shouted.

They both burst out laughing, and Patrick shook his head in resignation.

“I fancy horses!” stated Terry without hesitation. Patrick leaned back in his chair and thought for a few minutes.

“I’m going to give it out that you and Kitty are distant cousins of ours from Ireland so I can’t have you working as a stableboy. I’ll tell you what: I have a friend with a large racing stable over at Doncaster in Yorkshire. Would you like to learn to be a trainer? I have more than a passing interest in horses myself. Learn everything you can! When you return we’ll see what we can do about acquiring some decent horseflesh and enter a few races ourselves.”

Terry’s face lit up brilliantly. “Your smile is exactly like your sister’s when she’s getting all her own way,” he said and laughed.

Patrick came home one day to find that Kitty had been downstairs for the first time. Her figure was rounding out again and her hair was a mass of shiny curls, prettier than it had ever been because of her improved diet.

“You’re looking very well, but you still tire easily, don’t you?”

“A little,” she admitted shyly.

“I think you should be carried up to bed, don’t you?” he asked softly.

She hesitated a moment, blushed prettily and nodded her agreement.

“Terry, come carry your sister up to bed. I think she’s done enough for today.” Patrick hid a smile as a look of disappointment came into her face.

Soon the girls were riding every day and the large house was filled with their happy laughter and madcap antics. One afternoon he returned early from business and discovered both girls filthy, wet, their dresses torn, their shoes and stockings forgotten on the riverbank where they’d been wading.
“You’ve been running around like two Gypsy girls all summer. Not that it probably hasn’t done you a world of good, but I really think school is in order.”

“Oh, Patrick, no, I hate lessons!” protested Barbara.

“What you need are different kinds of lessons, like dancing and singing and all those female accomplishments that turn hoydens into civilized young ladies. Six months is all I’m asking—I won’t separate you, you can be together.”

The girls eyed each other and then nodded agreement. “If you insist,” Barbara said, “we’ll go to the same academy for young ladies that Julia went to, and then you must promise to take us to London so we can meet some young men and begin to enjoy life!” Kitty hid a smile at the anger that distorted Patrick’s features at the mention of young men.

“I want both of you to be on your best behavior tonight. We’re having some very important guests for dinner. Mr. Haynsworth, who owns the oldest bleaching firm in England, is trying to interest me in some new scheme: It’s strictly business, but you’ve driven past their place at Rose Bank and you know how posh they live, so for God’s sake don’t disgrace me.”

They raced upstairs and pulled every article of clothing from Julia’s wardrobe and clothespress that she had left behind. They spread them over the bed and Kitty made her choice easily. It was a gown of red velvet, low in the neck, very full in the skirt. She would have to nip in the waist and take up the hem, but it would be worth the effort. They went through Barbara’s clothes, but she rejected everything. “This pink is so childish, and pale blue is insipid, don’t you think? You’ve no idea how wealthy the Haynsworths are. I think there’s a son and a daughter, and I don’t want to look like a schoolgirl in front of them,” she lamented.

“Well, let’s look at Julia’s things again,” suggested Kitty.

Barbara decided upon an antique-gold taffeta that rustled
deliciously and agreed that they would keep out of Patrick’s sight until the last minute in case he decided they were dressed too boldly for their age and ordered them to change. When the girls finally came downstairs, Kitty knew she looked well because Patrick couldn’t keep his eyes from her. Her lips and breasts invited a man’s mouth, her curls were too much of a temptation to leave untouched and she had such a saucy, knowing look in her eyes tonight. When the guests arrived, Kitty was surprised at how much Samuel Haynsworth reminded her of Jonathan O’Reilly. He had thick gray side whiskers and the same thick-set body. He was another self-made man, of which Lancashire boasted so many, and his speech and mannerisms were almost identical to Jonathan O’Reilly’s.

The son was another type completely. He was a slim blond with lazy-lidded eyes which gleamed with unconcealed lust when he beheld Kitty. Patrick regretted the table arrangements that seated Keith Haynsworth next to Kitty, but it was too late to change them. He introduced his sister Barbara, then quickly passed Kitty off as “our cousin Kathleen.”

Patrick hardly paid attention when he was introduced to Grace Haynsworth, a colorless young creature who could only be described as plain. Patrick was hard pressed to pay attention to what Samuel Haynsworth was talking about, for every time he looked down the table toward Kitty, Keith Haynsworth was whispering to her. First she would look shocked, the next time he looked she would be blushing and then damn, blast and set fire to it all, she would be laughing up at him. Once again he turned his attention to the older man, only to be distracted by Barbara’s giggling. He looked up to see Keith Haynsworth bring his hand from under the tablecloth. The moment he did so, Kitty gave his hand such a vicious jab with her table fork it drew blood, and Keith had to cover it quickly with his napkin. It looked like Kitty was
able to look after herself, but her table manners were appalling. Patrick turned to Grace Haynsworth on his left, and the contrast between the young women struck him forcibly. She wore a simple white gown and her halo of golden hair made her look innocent and virginal. She was quiet and poised and showed breeding in every line. Patrick thought she was the kind of young girl a man should choose for his wife. She’d make the perfect mother for a man’s children. Even though her face was plain, it was sweet and serene, and Patrick thought she’d probably be complacent also, as he couldn’t imagine her making a scene.

“Would you ladies like to leave us to our port now, so we can get down to business?” Samuel Haynsworth asked bluntly.

Patrick noted the rebellious looks but was pleased to see how graciously their guest arose and excused herself. Grace had been named well.

Keith stood up from the table and said, “I’ll entertain the ladies while you discuss your business.”

Patrick was damned if he was going to allow him free rein with Kitty. He put a viselike grip on the young man’s shoulder and said, “Sit down. You won’t want to miss this excellent new port. It’s from my own vineyards in France,” he lied smoothly, then turned to face the older man.

“Well, Patrick, I’ve been toying with the idea of a model mill. Modern, streamlined, the very latest machinery. A really large place capable of employing about a thousand people.”

“I think that’s a marvelous idea, but it would take a lot of planning and a lot of money,” said Patrick, showing immediate interest.

“Well, of course I wouldn’t attempt something of this scale on my own. I’d have to get a few partners.”

“Our mills employ only about a hundred or so. What about housing the employees?”

“We could build a model village close to the mill with an institute for the workpeople and suchlike.”

“I see you’ve been giving it a lot of thought. You’d need a large tract of land to begin with.”

“That’s the one thing I’ve got plenty of. I own all the land at Rose Bank and half of Barrow Bridge.”

“Who besides myself were you thinking of approaching?”

“Well, I had thought of Gardiner.”

“Good choice. How about Bazley?” suggested Patrick.

“Of course! I knew you’d have some good ideas.”

“Would you object to London backing?” asked Patrick.

“Of course not. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I’d suggest we get plans drawn up and publish some drawings in the
Illustrated London News.
Might even get someone in the House interested; they’re forever on about improving the workingman’s condition in industry. Now’s their chance to do something constructive about it.”

“You’d have to handle the London end of things.”

“No problem there; just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Well, hold on a bit. All I really wanted was your ideas on the feasibility of the plan. I’ll kick it about for a while and get back to you.”

After the guests had left, Patrick said, “I was subjected to an appalling display of bad table manners tonight. I think you will both benefit from six months at school. If you’d taken the time and trouble, and if you had an ounce of common sense between the two of you, you could have behaved like Grace Haynsworth tonight.”

“Colorless!” pronounced Barbara, defiantly.

“Whey-faced!” said Kitty jealously.

“As a matter of fact, you both looked rather vulgar beside her,” Patrick said, and left them both with their mouths open.

Patrick wasn’t sure why he had suggested Kitty go away to school; he only knew he could not live under the same roof with her and not have her. His concentration had been shattered and he had developed a physical ache that would not go away, yet he held back because he knew Kitty was not quite ready. Hoping that absence would make her heart grow fonder, he had decided upon the school as a means of polishing her rough edges a bit. Once she was removed from his immediate proximity, perhaps he would be able to concentrate on his business again. Because of the large profit they were making with their wine venture, Patrick had been approached by a food company which wanted to improve its profits. Hind Food Company had its main headquarters in London but had many plants all over the country. It was bigger than Lipton’s, Lyons and Tate … Lyles all rolled into one. They even had a network of food processing plants in New York, Pittsburgh and Chicago. This company did pickling, bottling and the new process of canning food and had new plants springing up everywhere. Patrick knew that anything connected with feeding a nation would be profitable. He took the job on in London and the boardroom often was startled with his unusual suggestions. He discovered that the organization was being run under the mandate of providing as many jobs as possible. Small plants stretched across the country. He closed some down entirely, merged others and expanded the operations in the larger centers. He had been hired to raise profits, and he could only do this by making the organization tough, lean and efficient. He
stopped the manufacture of some brands that didn’t sell well. He planned to cut the prices to the farmer for his crops and standardize the measure of food going into each jar. It was a long-range plan, but after the first quarter the figures showed improvement. Patrick succeeded in fixing Disraeli’s interest in the model mill and village Samuel Haynsworth had proposed and when the Christmas holidays arrived Patrick returned to Bolton quite pleased with the progress he had made in London.