One Snowy Night (16 page)

He replied
politely but coolly. ‘Of course.’

‘I thought
perhaps Friday,’ went on Rebecca. ‘If you do not have time to show me round
yourself, perhaps the manager can do so,’ she said, her courage suddenly
faltering.

‘Of course
Joshua will have time to show you round!’ exclaimed Louisa.

‘I would be
delighted to be of service to you,’ he said formally. Though whether he would
have said it if not for Louisa’s exclamation, Rebecca had no way of knowing. ‘Shall
we say,
two o’clock
?’

‘
Two o’clock
,’ Rebecca agreed.

She took a sip
of wine.

‘And I suppose
I must go with you as your chaperon,’ said Louisa doubtfully.

‘You must do
no such thing,’ said Rebecca. She knew how timid Louisa was, and knew Louisa
would not like to visit the mill. ‘Betsy will come with me.’

‘Well, dear,
if you’re sure,’ said Louisa. She tried to appear unconcerned, but there was a
note of relief in her voice.

‘Perfectly
sure,’ said Rebecca reassuringly.

Feeling Joshua’s
eyes on her she turned just in time to see a hint of warmth in his eyes before
he turned away again. He, too, had known how little Louisa would like a visit
to the mill, and was pleased Rebecca had spared her the ordeal.

But the warmth
was quickly quelled, and later that night, as she readied herself for bed,
Rebecca found herself wondering whether it had really been there, or whether
she had imagined it.

Miss Serena Quentin’s
beautiful face wore a scowl as she sat before her dressing table whilst her
maid unpinned her hair. The evening had not been a success. Bored of the young
men who habitually frequented
Manchester
’s social gatherings she had turned her attention to the
harshly attractive Joshua Kelling, only to have him dismiss her as casually as
if she had been an elderly dowager, instead of worshipping her as the beautiful
and alluring young woman she was. It was bad enough that he had walked away
from her - Serena walked away from gentlemen, they never walked away from her -
but the fact that he had been seen doing so by Miss Lavinia Madely had made it
a hundred times worse.

Serena’s scowl
deepened as she thought of Lavinia Madely, her only serious challenger for the
position of
Manchester
’s greatest beauty. The
two had been rivals ever since they had come out. Lavinia’s flaxen hair
contrasted with the beauty of Serena’s guinea-gold curls. Each had their own
court of admirers, but Mr Kelling did not seem to want to belong to either set.

"You’re
losing your touch," Lavinia had smirked when Joshua had walked away from
her.

To which she
had replied, seriously angry, "I can soon bring him to heel."

Lavinia had
lifted one beautifully arched eyebrow. "A wager?" she had asked. "To
make it more interesting. Ten guineas declares you cannot bring him to propose."

Fired up by
Lavinia’s taunting, Serena had accepted. And she had done it with style!
"Ten guineas?" she had asked disdainfully. "It’s hardly worth my
while. Let’s make it twenty."

On which sum
they had agreed.

Twenty guineas
if Mr Kelling proposed.

And
humiliation if he did not.

It would have
been a rash wager, even for Serena, if not for one thing.

Dismissing her
maid she crossed to her escritoire and took out a folder in which she kept her
correspondence. Her female correspondence, that was. Her letters from gentlemen
were kept in quite a separate place. But her innocent letters, from relatives
and the like, were kept in plain view. She took out a recent missive from her
cousin and, climbing into bed, read it through again.

The letter had
been sent from
London
,
where her cousin Sarah was staying with an aunt. Serena, too, had been invited,
but she did not like
London
out of Season, and so she had refused. But Sarah’s letter
had made interesting reading. Especially the bit about Lady Cranston’s ball.

Serena found
the right page and read it through.

You’ll
never guess who I saw last night, at Lady Cranston’s’ ball. Mr Kelling! Though
what he is doing in
London
I don’t know. I thought he was still in
Manchester
, running Marsden mill. He
is looking more devilishly handsome than ever. But that is not what I want to
tell you. Miss Foster is here too! And what do you think? I just happened to be
passing the door of the morning-room, quite by chance
—

Sneaked out of
the ballroom after Mr Kelling, and put her ear to the keyhole more likely,
thought Serena spitefully.

—
and what
do you think I heard? A conversation, revealing Mr Kelling had compromised Miss
Foster! I didn’t hear all the details, for some clumsy person knocked over a
chair and the sound disturbed them
—

Really, Sarah,
you must be more careful when you are eavesdropping, thought Serena with
contempt, realizing at once what must have happened.

— but that
is not the end of it, for I happened to see them together at Frost Fair the
following day, and as I was skating past
—

Sarah is
becoming an accomplished spy, thought Serena.

—I
accidentally overheard Mr Kelling proposing to her in order to save her
reputation. But what do you think? Miss Foster refused him!

Serena scanned
the letter again and then folded it thoughtfully, putting it back in her satin
folder.

It was this
letter which had decided her not only to accept Lavinia’s wager, but to double
it, for it told her that Joshua Kelling, for all his wild appearance, was in
fact a gentleman, and that he would, if he could be manoeuvred into
compromising her, propose. That being so she would win her wager and give
Lavinia Madely the biggest set-down of her life.

Whether she
would actually marry Mr Kelling once she had trapped him into proposing to her
Serena did not know. Something about his wildness alarmed her, and she had a
feeling that, although she might be able to force him to offer her his hand,
she would not be able to control him if they wed.

Still, she did
not have to marry him. All she had to do was get him to propose. After that her
wager would be won and the betrothal could be broken off at any time.

Putting her
letter folder back in her escritoire she climbed back into bed, and with her
head full of plans for trapping Mr Kelling she finally fell asleep.

‘Oh, what an enjoyable
evening we had yesterday,’ said Louisa the following morning over the breakfast
table. ‘I don’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.’

‘You looked to
be getting on famously with Mr Sidders,’ said Rebecca with a smile.

‘Do you know,
seeing him again took me right back to my girlhood? For of course I saw quite a
lot of him as Emily and I were friends. I had forgotten just what good company
he could be. I have been thinking, Rebecca, that we must host an entertainment
of our own. Nothing so grand as a soir
ée, but a small supper party, or perhaps an evening of
cards. It will not do for us to go about like this and offer nothing in return.’

Rebecca sipped
her hot chocolate thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I agree.’

Not only would
a small entertainment enable them to repay their friends’ hospitality, but
making plans would help to take her mind off Joshua, for despite her best
intentions she had dreamt of him again last night. Which did not bode well for
Friday, and her visit to the mill.

It was with mixed feelings
that Rebecca prepared to set out for Marsden mill. Although a part of her was
looking forward to learning about her inheritance, another part of her was
apprehensive about spending the afternoon with Joshua. His attitude towards her
had been distant since leaving
London
, but there had been moments when she had been uncomfortably
aware that he remembered their tense encounters just as clearly as she did.
What was more, she had to admit that she missed them, as she missed the fire of
his presence and the way he made her feel inside.

However, a
cool manner would be much more appropriate this afternoon, and Rebecca
determined to be business-like about the mill.

‘You will not
be lonely whilst I am gone?’ she asked Louisa as she put on her bonnet.

‘No, my dear,’
said Louisa. ‘To tell you the truth, I will be pleased to have a day of rest. I
have enjoyed our expeditions and our shopping trips, but I am not as young as I
was and my joints still trouble me from time to time. Besides,’ Louisa added
casually, ‘Mr Sidders may, perhaps, look in.’

‘Edward?’
asked Rebecca.

‘Yes.’ Louisa
coloured slightly. ‘He has business near here, and he said he might call if he
is passing.’

‘The very
thing,’ said Rebecca. ‘He will keep you amused whilst I am out without
overtaxing your strength.’

The door
opened and Betsy came in. ‘The carriage is here, Miss Rebecca,’ she said.

‘Thank you,
Betsy,’ said Rebecca.

She donned her
pelisse, a simple brown kerseymere which she felt would be suitable for the
business-like nature of her visit to the mill. Then, taking her place in the
carriage with Betsy beside her, she set off.

To begin with,
the carriage rolled past the grand houses that had been built in recent years
for the mill owners whose fortunes had been made in the city. But as it
approached the canal, on whose banks the mill was built, the scene began to
change. Run-down buildings sprawled behind the splendid houses of the rich.
They were dirty, grimy dwellings, and an unpleasant smell filled the air. Betsy
wrinkled her nose, and Rebecca did likewise. But even as she did it she felt a
growing determination to make sure that the people who worked for Marsden mill
were never subjected to the inhuman conditions of workers in other mills.

Feeling glad
she had decided to take an active interest in her inheritance, she stepped out
of the carriage when it finally came to a halt beside the gates of the mill.
There, right next to it, was the
Bridgewater
Canal
,
which linked
Manchester
to
Liverpool
. Rebecca remembered her
grandfather’s pride as he had told her about his choice of site for the mill.
"Right next to the canal, Becky," he’d said. "That way we can
get all the coal we need quickly and cheaply, and the raw materials, too!
Everything comes to us on barges."

Rebecca looked
at the canal with interest. She saw the sense of siting the mill next to the
canal, and thought with pride of her grandfather’s abilities, which had allowed
him to take advantage of the new era in manufacturing and rise from being the
poor son of a cobbler to being a wealthy and well-respected man.

Then she
looked up at the mill itself. It was a large building, and her grandfather had
been very proud of its four storeys. Rebecca had to admit she found it ugly but
she, too, felt a sense of pride in it, as it was one of her beloved grandfather’s
greatest achievements. As she looked at the large letters that spelled out the
name, MARSDEN MILL, she felt she was a little closer to her grandfather, and
she felt a quickening of her interest as to what lay inside.

She was just
about to go through the gates when she saw Joshua walking across the mill yard
towards her. He seemed very much in charge there, as though he had been the
owner of the mill since its beginning instead of for only a few weeks. But then
he had been actively involved in the mill during her grandfather’s lifetime.

‘Well,
Rebecca,’ he said, after greeting both her and Betsy, ‘what do you think of
your inheritance?’

‘It’s much
bigger than I expected it to be.’ They went through the gates, which were
closed behind them by the gatekeeper.

‘And uglier?’
he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

She laughed.
It was no use trying to keep anything from Joshua. Despite their differences he
seemed to have an innate understanding of her, and of the way she thought.

‘And uglier.
But I am still proud of it, and I am looking forward to seeing inside.’

‘You should
prepare yourself. Cotton mills are hot and noisy places. Come and have a look
round.’

She was
pleased to find that his manner was welcoming, and she felt on safe ground,
knowing that for this afternoon at least they could converse easily on the
neutral topic of the mill.

They went into
the large building, with Betsy following behind.

‘This is the
first stage of what goes on here,’ said Joshua. He took Rebecca into a long,
low room and encouraged her to look round. ‘The bales of cotton have to be
opened and the impurities removed, ready for carding. Not long ago, it used to
be done by hand. The cotton had to be spread out on a mesh and beaten with long
sticks to remove the impurities. I can still remember watching the men and
women doing it. But now we use a scutcher.’