Amanda Grange - Rebecca’s Refusal

“I think we could do with a little light,” remarked Joshua.

Rebecca marvelled at his voice. He was once more in command of himself, only a slight rapidity of words betraying the fact that he had so recently been in the grip of a strong emotion. No one hearing him now would know that just a moment ago he had been holding her face passionately between his strong hands and kissing her so deeply her whole being had shuddered with the ecstasy of it.

“Of course.” Mr Hill felt his way over to the gas jets that were set into the walls.

Rebecca made the most of the last few seconds of darkness to pull her bonnet firmly back onto her head. She took a deep breath to settle her breathing, because despite her best efforts to calm it, it was ragged and shallow. But by the time the gas was turned up she had regained sufficient composure to meet Mr Hill's surprised gaze with equanimity.

“Miss Fossington!” he exclaimed. What are you doing here? That is,' he said hastily, as if realizing that it was not his place to question one of the owners of the mill, “I was not expecting to see you.”

He looked from Rebecca to Joshua in confusion.

“I lost my reticule,” explained Rebecca. “When I got home I found it was missing and a search of the house and carriage proved in vain. Thinking I must have dropped it whilst looking round the mill this afternoon I returned, only to find smoke filling the corridor and —”

“And to find that she had to help me quench the flames,” interrupted Joshua smoothly.

Rebecca looked at him in some surprise. It was not like Joshua to interrupt her so rudely. But one glance at his bland expression told her that Joshua did not want the mill manager to know the full details of the fire. Why, Rebecca did not know, but he must have a reason for it and so she said no more.

“How did the fire start?” asked Mr Hill.

“That is something we don't yet know,” said Joshua, fixing him with a penetrating glance.

Mr Hill nodded in agreement. “It will take time to discover the cause. But you are all right, I hope?” he asked, looking from one to the other of them and taking in the full extent of their dishevelment. “You have not taken any hurt from the flames?”

“Fortunately, no,” said Joshua. “My study is a mess and will need re-decorating, and it will take me some time to discover if anything of value has been burned, but Miss Fossington and I are both perfectly well.”

“That's a relief,” said the manager. “Still, the fire could have been catastrophic. A lot of important documents are kept in that room.”

“As you say,” replied Joshua.

Rebecca, watching and listening to both men, detected an edge in Joshua's voice. Did he suspect the manager of having started the fire? she wondered. She frowned. Perhaps she should tell Joshua of what she had seen on entering the mill. She looked at him, intending to say something, but stopped short. He was giving her a warning look, and she realized that he did not want her to say any more whilst Mr Hill was present.

“See to things here, will you, Hill?” Joshua asked. “Check the documents and see if anything of importance has been burned. Then see to the mill. Look for structural damage, have the buckets of water re-filled and make sure nothing is amiss elsewhere. I will be leaving now. I am engaged to take dinner with Miss Fossington and her cousin.”

“Of course,” said Mr Hill. “I check everything personally, right away.”

He left the room.

“I thought you couldn't come to dinner,” said Rebecca once his footsteps had died away. She wondered what had caused Joshua to change his mind.

“Had you told Louisa I couldn't come?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted.

“Good. I wouldn't have liked to throw her arrangements out. But I have my reasons for wanting to leave the mill. Reasons which didn't exist this afternoon.”

“And what are they?” asked Rebecca.

“Hill,” said Joshua succinctly.

“Hill?” Rebecca was thoughtful.

Joshua nodded. “Yes.”

“But why should Hill make you change your plans? What does he have to do with anything?” she added with a frown.

“I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Someone started the fire in my personal office, and I want to know if it was him. I told him just now that I didn't know if any important documents had been burned but it was a lie. I know exactly what has and has not escaped the flames.”

Rebecca quickly grasped his point.

“If it was Hill who started the fire, and if he did it to burn incriminating documents — documents which showed he had been stealing from the mill, for example — then as soon as we have gone he will check to see if they have in fact been burnt,” she said.

“And if they are still intact, he will no doubt avail himself of the opportunity to destroy them,” said Joshua.

“So if any more documents have been burnt in the morning — documents which are perfectly all right at the moment — we will know it is Hill who started the blaze. And we will know why: to hide his own misdeeds.”

“Exactly.”

“But I don't think it was Hill,” she said. She shivered slightly as the scene she had witnessed on arriving at the mill came back to her. “I don't think he started the fire. I think it was the Luddites.”

The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor alerted them to the fact that they were about to be disturbed as Mr Hill organized a party of men to check the mill.

“We can't stay here,” said Joshua. “The men are coming to check for fire damage and refill the water buckets. You can tell me why you think the fire was started by Luddites on the way out to the carriage.” He paused. “You did come in a carriage?” he asked.

“Yes,” she smiled. “With Betsy. Only Betsy fell asleep on the way!”

He laughed. “It has been quite a day for Betsy!” He became more serious. “And for you. Are you sure you are all right?”

“Positive.”

“Very well.”

He offered her his arm and they left the study, going along the smoky corridor and down the first flight of stairs.

Rebecca was pleased to be leaving the mill. They could not talk further without being interrupted, and besides, something had occurred to her that did not seem to have occurred to Joshua. Regardless of who had started the fire, whether it had been Mr Hill, Luddites, or some other person, it might not have been important papers they had been trying to destroy.

It might have been Joshua.

Recalling the incidents that had occurred in London — a horse being ridden at Joshua and the rider aiming a whip at his head; the stone being thrown through the window, narrowly missing him and landing in his soup — she felt that if someone really was bent on killing him, he would be safer at Louisa's than at the mill. The thought of which made her keener than ever to leave, and leave quickly.

“Now,” said Joshua, as they reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs. “Tell me why you think the fire might have been started by Luddites.”

“Because when I arrived I saw a man painting LONG LIVE NED LUDD on the mill wall,” Rebecca said.

Joshua stopped dead. He turned to look at her. “A man painting the wall?”

She nodded.

He drew in a sharp breath. “Then it would seem the Luddites are still active.”

Despite his words, Rebecca detected a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“But you are not sure?” she asked.

“The Luddites are well organized and don't attack without reason. They target mills where the wages have been lowered, for example, and not mills like ours. It is possible they have been frustrated by their recent defeats and have changed their ways, but let us just say I am not convinced.”

They went down the next flight of stairs.

As they reached the bottom Rebecca caught sight of something glittering on the floor — a red spark. Could it be another fire? she wondered with a shock; before realizing it was the beading on her missing reticule. She breathed a sigh of relief. In all the excitement she had almost forgotten about it, but here it was, waiting patiently for her to find it. She bent to retrieve it.

“Your reticule,” said Joshua.

“Yes.” She closed her hand round it gratefully.

“The braiding on the handle has frayed,” she remarked as she examined it. “It must have fallen off when the braid wore through.”

She put it away in the pocket of her pelisse and together she and Joshua left the mill.

Joshua stopped briefly in the yard to examined the words, LONG LIVE NED LUDD scrawled on the wall. His eyes narrowed as he took in the large red letters, which were still wet and glistening in the moonlight. Then they continued on their way to the carriage.

“Did you get a good look at the man who did it?” asked Joshua as the gatekeeper greeted them, expressing delight that Rebecca had found her reticule.

“Unfortunately, no,” said Rebecca as they passed through the gate. “I couldn't see him clearly. He was just a figure in the moonlight.”

“Then you would not recognize him if you saw him again.”

Rebecca considered. “I think, actually, I would. Although I did not get a good look at him, he had a curious way of moving. He walked with a loping gait. I wouldn't recognize his features, but I'd recognize the way he walks.”

“Good. That will be useful for identifying him if we ever manage to catch him.”

They approached the carriage, and Rebecca's thoughts turned to Betsy, who had been left outside all this time. Although she had not been in the mill for very long — everything had happened so quickly that it had taken far less time than it had seemed — she was still worried about the elderly maid. But she need not have been. As Collins let down the step and Joshua handed her in she saw that Betsy was still tucked up in the travelling rug. With two stone hot-water bottles at her feet she was snug and warm and still fast asleep.

As Rebecca took her seat, Betsy stirred.

“Why, Miss Rebecca,” she said. “Are we here already?”

“We are. And ready to go home. I have found my reticule,” said Rebecca.

“That was lucky,” Betsy said, “finding it so quick and all. I'm glad you didn't have to go into that nasty mill again.”

Rebecca did not enlighten her, or tell her how long she had slept. If Betsy had realized she had been asleep for half an hour, and that Rebecca had gone into the mill without her, she would have been mortified.

“Mr Joshua is returning with us” said Rebecca as Joshua followed her into the carriage.

“A good idea” said Betsy comfortably as Joshua shut the carriage door. And then they were away, before long arriving at the house, to find Louisa waiting for them.

“I was beginning to get anxious” she said. She greeted them with relief as they went inside.

“No need” said Rebecca, smiling reassuringly. “We are here safe and sound.”

“Did you find your reticule?” asked Louisa.

“I did.” Rebecca held it up to show her. “It must have slipped from my wrist. Look, the braid has worn through.”

“I thought that must have been what had happened. But never mind, all's well that ends well. And you have brought Joshua with you. I was so hoping he would be able to come. Oh!”

This last exclamation was wrung out of her by the sight of Joshua, dusty and grimy, who was bearing all the signs of having been trapped in the recent fire.

Catching sight of himself in one of the gilded glasses that hung on the wall, Joshua realized that his appearance would need some explaining.

“Unfortunately, I did not have time to wash before I came,” he said. “Mills can be very dirty places.”

It was not the truth, but Louisa accepted his explanation, and Rebecca was glad that Joshua had spared Louisa any worry, not telling her about the real events of the evening.

“I can quite imagine,” Louisa said. “You will want water and soap. And towels,” she added, going into hostess mode. “Betsy, will you see to it that Mr Joshua has everything he needs? Use the guest room,' she said, turning back to Joshua. “I am so glad you are here. Dirty or not, we are always pleased to see you.”

Betsy, much refreshed after her short sleep, bid Joshua follow her and Rebecca excused herself, saying she, too, would like to wash and change before dinner.

“Of course, dear,” said Louisa approvingly. “And then, as soon as you are ready, we will eat.”

After the excitement of the afternoon Rebecca was glad to be able to relax and eat a superb dinner in the company of her favourite people. She had not forgotten what had happened in London, when a stone had been thrown through the window, but the dining-room in Manchester was at the back of the house and so she was able to unwind, safe in the knowledge there could be no repeat of that incident.