And besides, he may not know she had wandered off the main streets at all. It may have been no more than a guess. So she replied to his comment with a polite nothing.
‘No, indeed,’ she said. ‘It would not do to forget that the streets of Manchester are not always safe.’
He made her another bow. Then said, changing the subject, ‘But all this talk of attacks and Luddites is out of place in a ballroom. You must forgive me for having mentioned it. It is only my concern for your well-being that prompted me to speak. But let us talk of other things. You have not forgotten that you have promised me your hand for the first dance, I hope?’
‘I have not.’
He glanced at the small orchestra, who were just tuning their instruments. ‘Before it begins, would you do me the very great favour of allowing me to introduce you to my mother?’
Rebecca readily assented. She found that she had little to say to Mr Willingham, and the diversion of meeting his mother was a welcome one. Besides, she and Louisa were engaged to take dinner with Mrs Willingham, and Rebecca was curious to see what sort of person she might be.
Mr Willingham led her over to the far side of the room, where an old woman with sharp, bright eyes was sitting. Mrs Willingham was swathed in black from head to foot, and wrapped up in a voluminous black shawl.
Mr Willingham made the introductions and Rebecca greeted his mother politely. But the same cold feeling came over her as it had done when Mr Willingham had paid her a compliment.
Willingham is ambitious, Joshua had told her, and she could well believe it. And she could also believe it of his mother. There was something cold and calculating about her. Even her continued wearing of mourning for a husband who had been dead for more than ten years seemed calculated, as though she wanted to stand out in any gathering and knew that wearing black would always allow her to do it. Of the late departed Mr Willingham she spoke only in the most scathing terms, leading Rebecca to realize she did not continue to wear mourning out of love or respect for her husband.
Rebecca made some observations on the size of the room and the elegance of the gathering, but Mrs Willingham did nothing to help her maintain a polite flow of conversation. Instead, she watched Rebecca with shrewd eyes, before finally saying, ‘It has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Foster.’
Rebecca flushed. The sentence, whilst seeming to be polite, was an unmistakable dismissal.
‘Please don’t mind my mother,’ said Mr Willingham, seeing her flush, as he led her away. ‘She is an old lady, and often in pain. It can make her rather abrupt.’
Rebecca made a polite rejoinder, but she did not altogether believe Mr Willingham, and felt he was making an excuse for his mother’s bad manners.
However, the orchestra was striking up the opening chords of the first dance. She took his hand and together they went out onto the floor.
Rebecca was pleased to see that Louisa was there, curtseying to Edward - the two made a delightful couple, Rebecca thought - and then she caught sight of Joshua. He was looking magnificent in a black tailcoat and breeches, with a snow-white shirt and a simply tied cravat.
He was also dancing with Miss Serena Quentin.
Rebecca felt her stomach tie itself in knots. He seemed to have been paying a lot of attention to Miss Quentin recently.
But it was really none of her business, she told herself. She tried to fight down the feelings that filled her breast on seeing the two of them together.
But it was impossible.
The evening passed slowly. Rebecca had hoped that Joshua would ask her to dance, but her hand was rapidly claimed by other gentlemen and she could not in all politeness refuse them. But although the hours passed slowly, they did pass, and midnight drew ever nearer.
At last the clock showed a quarter to twelve.
It was still a little early to go and meet Joshua in the library, but fearing her hand might be sought for the next dance if she remained in the room, Rebecca slipped out into the corridor. Once there, she decided to make sure she knew where the library was, and having found the room she decided to stay.
The library was a handsome one. Although not as large as the library in a country house, it was nevertheless spacious and was well furnished with a large collection of books. Two chairs were placed one on either side of the fire, a sofa nestled against the far wall, and directly ahead of her was an attractive window seat, padded with a peacock-blue cushion. Matching peacock-blue curtains were tied back at either side of the window, allowing the light of the moon to shine faintly in at the window. It shone on two fine pieces of porcelain – a matched pair - which were set on the window ledge, one on each side of the embrasure, and complemented the light of the candles that glowed on the mantelpiece.
Rebecca amused herself by looking along the spines of the books then she selected a book of engravings, carrying it over to the window seat. It would give her something to look at until Joshua arrived.
She had hardly seated herself, however, when she heard footsteps coming towards the library. They did not belong to Joshua, they were quicker and lighter.
She did not want to have to make polite conversation with another guest and so she drew her legs up in front of her and pulled the curtains across the window and its seat. She hoped that whoever it was would not stay long.
The door opened and a gentleman came into the room.
Mr Willingham, she thought in surprise, as she saw him through a tiny gap in the drapes.
She was doubly glad she had managed to secrete herself behind the curtains. Mr Willingham’s attentions were becoming marked, and she suspected he was looking for her. Seeing the library was empty he looked puzzled, but instead of going out again he moved further into the room.
Rebecca was annoyed. He was heading straight towards the window-seat and she suspected he meant to pull back the curtains.
But at that moment the door knob rattled and, distracted by the sound, he turned towards the door.
It opened, and Joshua walked in.
Through the tiny gap in the curtain, Rebecca could see that Mr Willingham and Joshua were looking at each other with expressions of barely concealed dislike.
‘Kelling,’ said Mr Willingham stiffly after a moment.
‘Willingham,’ said Joshua, making him a slight bow.
‘What brings you to the library?’ asked Mr Willingham. ‘And in the middle of a ball?’
Joshua eyed him coldly. ‘I could ask you the same question.’
‘You could indeed,’ said Mr Willingham smoothly. ‘And I will be happy to tell you - if you come in and shut the door.’
Now why did Mr Willingham want Joshua to do that? wondered Rebecca.
She could tell by his face that Joshua was wondering the same thing.
Did Mr Willingham have some information about her assailant? Rebecca asked herself. Was that why he wanted Joshua to close the door? Did he have something sensitive to say? It would certainly fit in with the things he had said to her earlier in the evening.
Joshua seemed to suspect something of the same sort. He stepped further into the room and closed the door softly behind him.
‘Well, Willingham? Do you have something to say to me?’
‘I do indeed.’ Mr Willingham indicated a chair.
Joshua glanced at the chair and then looked back at Mr Willingham. ‘Thank you, but I’ll stand.’
‘As you wish,’ said Mr Willingham. He took his cue from Joshua and remained standing himself. ‘I understand you’ve been having trouble at your mill. A Luddite slogan painted on the wall. A fire.’
‘And how would you know about those things?’ Joshua asked curiously.
‘Let’s just say, a little bird told me.’
Joshua’s glance hardened. ‘If you’ve something to say to me, Willingham, say it. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.’
‘My, my, we are in a hurry,’ said Mr Willingham.
Joshua turned to walk out of the door.
‘I wouldn’t do that if
I were you, Kelling,’ said Mr Willingham.
There was something in his tone that made Rebecca sit bolt upright. It was something chilling.
Through the crack in the curtains she saw Joshua turn round.
And then to her horror she saw Mr Willingham pull out a gun.
She stifled a gasp. From her vantage point she could only see Mr Willingham’s back but the gilded mirror on the wall showed her his front clearly, and she could see without any shadow of a doubt that he was holding a pistol.
Thank goodness he hadn’t realized she was concealed behind the curtains, after all.
Joshua’s eyes went to the pistol and then back to Mr Willingham. ‘So it was you,’ he said.
‘Not me personally,’ said Mr Willingham smoothly.
‘Of course not,’ said Joshua scathingly. ‘You wouldn’t have the courage to do anything personally. Painting slogans, starting a fire - even attacking a woman. They are cowardly acts, admittedly, but even so, far too daring for you.’
‘I’d remind you, Kelling, that I’m the one holding the gun,’ said Mr Willingham angrily.
‘And just what do you intend to do with it?’ asked Joshua with contempt. ‘As soon as you fire it, people will come running from all directions. True, you might manage to kill me, but you’ll be caught red handed. Give it up.’
‘Give it up? When I hold all the cards? You’re right, people will come running when they hear a shot, but what of it? All I have to do is drop the gun, run out of the library, turn round and run towards it again, waiting only long enough to make sure someone witnesses me entering the library just ahead of them. They will simply think I have heard the shot and come running, like everyone else. It is just that I will be the first person to get here. And when I do, I will find you shot dead - killed by Luddite agitators.’
‘Who will believe a story like that?’ asked Joshua in disgust.
‘Everyone. I’m a well-respected member of the community. If I see a rough-looking man with a curious loping gait leaving through the window, and if it comes to light - as it will - that your mill has recently been targeted by Luddites, then the authorities will know who to blame. They will mount a search, and unless I’m very much mistaken they will not find it difficult to discover the man, and to find that he is in possession of a tin of red paint.’
‘You’ve thought it all out!’
‘Of course I have. You don’t think I’d leave anything to chance in a matter as important as this? The man will duly be arrested. I will testify that he is the person I saw leaving through the window - and the lovely Miss Foster will of course testify to the fact that he was the man who attacked her on the streets.’
Rebecca felt her anger rise as she realized the part she was expected to play in all this, the part of unwitting dupe.
Joshua’s face darkened at the mention of her name. ‘I suggest you leave Miss Foster out of this,’ he said.
‘You’re not in a position to suggest anything,’ said Mr Willingham, but he took a step backwards all the same. He raised the gun intimidatingly.
Rebecca’s heart missed a beat. For all Joshua’s high-handed ways, she could not bear to see him in danger. But even as she thought it she noted the fact that Mr Willingham’s step backwards had brought him closer to the curtains. Her mind worked quickly and she realized that if Mr Willingham would only take one more step backwards he would be within her reach.
But what could she do against him, even if she could reach him? And without putting Joshua at risk?
‘Why, Willingham?’ demanded Joshua. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why did you hire someone to paint a Luddite slogan on the mill wall? Why did you pay someone to start a fire, and to attack Miss Foster? What can you possibly hope to gain?’
That’s right, Joshua, keep him talking, thought Rebecca, casting round for some way of helping him that would not get him killed. If she tried something and failed then the gun would go off and Joshua would be finished.
She thought of hitting him over the head with her book, but it was too slim to do him any harm.
‘If you shoot me, it won’t benefit you in any way,’ Joshua was saying. ‘It won’t get you cheaper cotton to use in your weaving mill. So what is the point?’
‘Cheaper cotton?’ mocked Mr Willingham. ‘Are you really so short-sighted? Do you still not see? I don’t want cheaper cotton, I want your mill. With your cotton mill and my weaving and dyeing mill, I will have control of the whole production process. That means a drop in costs, and a huge rise in profits.’
‘But killing me won’t get you that,’ said Joshua. ‘My share of the mill doesn’t go to you if I die.’
Mr Willingham smirked. ‘I know. It goes to the lovely Rebecca.’
Rebecca had to bite back an angry exclamation.
‘How in Hades do you know that?’ asked Joshua, taking a step forward.
‘I know which firm of London lawyers Jebadiah Marsden used. It wasn’t difficult to bribe one of the clerks to tell me the terms of his will,’ said Mr Willingham, taking a step back.
Rebecca recalled the unctuous clerk who had let them into Mr Wesley’s office. She had thought there was something shifty about him, and she was in no doubt that he was the clerk who had been bribed.
‘And he, I suppose, was responsible for the attacks on me in London.’
Mr Willingham shook his head. ‘He would not have been capable of it - sneaking is his forte, not daring action - but it was another low-life in my pay.’
‘Another mystery explained,’ said Joshua. ‘Even so . . . even though my share goes to Rebecca, I don’t see how . . . ’ And then his face changed. ‘You mean to marry her. Once you kill me, my share will go to her, and once you marry her it will pass to you, as part of her dowry. Giving you control of the mill. But you’re mad if you think she’ll do it. Rebecca will never marry you.’
Rebecca’s heart soared as she heard the words. There was something in Joshua’s expression that suggested he felt much more than the scorn he might have been expected to feel at Mr Willingham’s belief she would marry him. There was a look of contempt that told her he respected her, as well as a flash of jealousy that made her wonder, against her better judgement, if his feelings for her had changed over the last few weeks, becoming deeper and more complex; in fact, if they matched her feelings for him.
Mr Willingham spoke dryly. ‘Rebecca won’t get a choice. You can’t seriously believe I intend to let her decide for herself? I shall propose, of course, next week, after she has dinner with my mother and myself —’
‘She won’t accept you.’
‘No. I don’t suppose she will. Which is why I intend to have a special licence in my pocket and a clergyman standing by. She will marry me before she leaves the house, or she will not leave it at all.’
Rebecca, seeing at last how she could help, seized one of the jugs that decorated the embrasure and leapt to her feet. Standing on the window seat she pulled back the curtain. The noise distracted Mr Willingham, who looked round, and Joshua, seeing his chance, lost only a fraction of a second in surprise before hurling himself at Mr Willingham. Mr Willingham, turning his attention back to Joshua, lifted the gun - and Rebecca brought the jug crashing down on his head. He stood for one moment, and Rebecca thought her efforts had been wasted - but then he swayed and fell, crumpling up in a heap on the floor.
Joshua caught the gun as it dropped out of his hand and checked that Mr Willingham, now lying prone, was really out cold, and then turned to Rebecca, who was still standing on the window-seat.
The strain of the last ten minutes, coupled with her cramped conditions - which had left her with pins and needles in her legs, so that they could barely hold her - made her begin to sway. Joshua held out his arms, and as she lost her balance he caught her in his strong embrace.
‘Becky,’ he said, with such a look in his eyes that she felt herself melting.
‘Josh,’ she said breathlessly, feeling the heat of his body against her own.
; He looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then, as if remembering she had been through something of an ordeal, he carried her over to one of the chairs and set her down gently in it before kneeling in front of her.
‘Your hands are cold,’ he said. He began to chafe them.
‘It was cold in the window embrasure,’ she said. ‘And I forgot my shawl. It’s still in the ballroom.’
He moved her chair closer to the fire.
‘But what were you doing behind the curtains in the first place?’ he asked as he continued to chafe her hands.
Briefly, she explained why she had taken refuge there.
‘It’s a good thing you did. Otherwise I may well be —’
‘Don’t, Josh,’ she said with a shudder, putting a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t even say it.’
He took her hand and kissed her fingers, then, turning it over, he kissed the palm and the inside of her wrist.
Could his feelings have changed? she wondered again as the most intoxicating shiver washed over her. Could they have developed into something as deep and sincere as her own? For she was no longer in any doubt as to the nature of her own feelings for Joshua. She was in love with him.
Oh, yes, she was in love with him, and no matter how hard she had tried to deny it, she knew that she had been so for a long time.
To begin with, she had felt no more for him than physical attraction, but her feelings had soon begun to undergo a transformation. When she had been caught in the path of the charging horse in London and he had pushed her to safety she had been filled with a sense of security that had warmed her through. His tenderness towards her following the incident had surprised her, revealing that there was a gentler side to his nature than the one he generally showed the world. His concern for her reputation had earned her esteem, and his obvious devotion to her beloved grandfather had earned her affection and her gratitude. His drive and ambition had struck a chord in her own nature - she was not Jebadiah’s granddaughter for nothing! - and his ruthlessness, once she had realized it did not spill over into cruelty, had roused her respect; for she knew it would be impossible to succeed in his chosen sphere of business without it.
One Snowy Night Page 17