“I do. While there, I can gather enough information to see this Mr. McRae is held accountable for his various violations.”
“Excellent. His present overseer will be met with a dire family emergency, and will have to leave the country for two months. Your name, Aidan Black, will be put forward in his stead for temporary employment,” his father said.
Aidan’s eyebrows shot up. “How are you going to arrange this?”
His grandfather chuckled. “The wheels are already in motion. This overseer will do as bidden if he wishes to have employment the future. After all, he has a wife and five children; he does not want to be ruined, nor invoke the wrath of an earl and a viscount.”
Aidan laughed. “You would never ruin the man.”
“He doesn’t know that,” Garrett stated. “But beyond the particulars, this sounds as if it could turn into a dangerous circumstance.”
“We will put provisions in place for Aidan’s safety. You’ve been reading up on the various rules and laws regarding mills and factories the past two weeks?” his father asked.
Aidan nodded. “Yes, I have.”
“Excellent. You will train on the spinning looms and carding equipment for a couple of weeks, as well as learn the inner workings of a cotton mill.”
“Where is this place? You never said.”
His grandfather referred to his papers. “I didn’t? Well, let’s see…here it is. It is located about one hundred and forty miles north and west of here, in Leicestershire. The name of the village is Earl Shilton.”
Chapter 7
Gazing out the window, Cristyn watched as the countryside passed by. She had never been on a train, and she had been excited to learn she would be traveling on one partway. The train would go as far as Hinckley, which was five miles from Earl Shilton. Cristyn was an independent woman, and how thrilling to be making the journey on her own.
Once Cristyn’s father wrote to Dr. Middlemiss, all had fallen into place quickly. It was agreed that Cristyn would be billeted with a widow whose residence was located near his practice.
She and her father managed to mend the fracture between them before her departure—not that it was much of a crack. Cristyn had been more annoyed at his interference than truly angry. Though she had a quick temper, she believed life was difficult enough without holding grudges. Her father had pressed several pound notes in her hand before she left and made her promise to keep them well hidden, and to write if she needed further funds.
Steam expelled and the shrill whistle blew as they pulled up to the recently constructed train station. To think that one day all of Great Britain would be accessible by rail. Cristyn scanned the platform, trying to speculate which person was Paris Middlemiss. Standing in the rear of the crowd was a tall, slim man with sandy blond hair and spectacles. This must be him. Cristyn grabbed her small case and opened the door of the train car.
The bespectacled man stepped forward. “Miss Bevan?”
“Yes. You are Dr. Middlemiss?”
He smiled. My, what delicate, attractive features. He looked younger than forty-eight years. His eyes were the darkest brown; she could not make out the iris from the pupil. The color was a startling contrast against his fair hair. “I am. Please, call me Paris when we are alone. I am pleased to meet you.” He took her case. “You have more luggage?”
“Yes, a small trunk. Ah, there it is.” They strolled along the platform toward the baggage car, where the porters were unloading. “And I am pleased to meet you, Paris. Dad spoke highly of you.”
Paris blushed. “Gethin always was a kind soul. We keep up a rigorous correspondence, and because of it, I’m fully aware of your training and medical skills. I must say, they will be put to good use in Earl Shilton.” Paris motioned to a porter. “I will need assistance loading a trunk onto a wagon.”
Cristyn’s gaze slid to a rough-hewn wagon hitched to a black horse.
“Not fancy as such, but serves the purpose,” Paris said good-naturedly.
“And the trunk, sir?” the porter asked.
Cristyn pointed to hers, not far from where they were standing. Once loaded, Paris assisted her up on the bench, then climbed on next to her. Taking the reins, he clicked his tongue, moving the gelding forward. “Enjoy the fresh air between here and the village,” Paris said. “Because of the cotton mill and its use of coal as well as steam, the air is rather foul at certain hours of the day. The village is rife with lung ailments, not only from the coal haze, but from working in the cotton mill. Most of the workers suffer from varying degrees of byssinosis.”
He paused, as if waiting for her to ask what byssinosis was. “It’s also known as brown lung disease,” she said, “caused by exposure to cotton dust in poor ventilation. Because of a narrowing of the airways, it can lead to respiratory failure and death.” Cristyn gave him a satisfied smile that caused him to laugh.
“Brilliant. Well done.” Then he sobered. “It is a blasted shame. I tried on numerous occasions to appeal to the owner to install a wheel, which is often used in cotton mills to dissipate a portion of the dust and fluff in the air, but he claimed that the expense would cut into his profits. Also, the mill has to be kept hot and humid, to prevent breakages in the threads, which in turn exacerbates the lung conditions.” Paris sighed. “There will be work aplenty, and, I’m sad to say, not much in the way of payment. Because of the Truck Act, all goods and services must be paid in cash, which hits the poor hard. Some pay me with what they can spare, but mostly I offer my services gratis; it was the only way I could encourage the villagers to come for treatment. I will pay you a salary, never fear, as well as your room and board with Mrs. Ellen Trubshaw.”
“Oh, Dad gave me several pounds, I would never expect—”
He patted her hand briefly. “You keep that money. I can well afford the expense. Besides, I am grateful for the assistance. Shall we say a weekly salary of four and ten?”
Four pounds a week? “My, that is much more than I expected. Thank you.”
“You will be earning every shilling. There are near to twenty-three hundred souls living in and around Earl Shilton, and nearly all have one type of malady or another.”
“I cannot wait to start. Inasmuch as I’ve enjoyed working at the sanatorium, I do wish to use all I have learned in a more general practice.”
When they neared the village, the air turned hazy as Paris had predicted. The roads became rougher, with deep ruts carved into the earth, jostling her until her teeth rattled. Paris pointed to several homes. “Some of these are empty. Many villagers have sought temporary shelter at the Union Workhouse in Hinckley, known to the locals as the Bastille.”
“Heavens, things are that dire?”
Paris nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.” He turned the wagon down a narrow lane. “See there? That is my practice. I live in the few rooms above. Two doors beyond is Mrs. Trubshaw’s house.”
A group of people wearing tattered clothing was standing outside Paris’s office. “I have patients,” he stated.
“I can assist you right away.”
“Tomorrow morning is soon enough to begin. I have breakfast with Mrs. Trubshaw, and often supper, and as a result, we will be in each other’s pockets for the next three months.”
Cristyn glanced at Paris. She wouldn’t mind. Already she liked him. His face was kindly, his eyes reflecting genuine warmth. His soft voice was calming, perfect for a physician. She couldn’t wait for this new chapter of her life to begin.
* * * *
After spending two and a half weeks in Manchester learning about cotton mill operations, Aidan returned to Wollstonecraft Hall for a brief respite before heading to Earl Shilton and his covert mission.
The hall had even more occupants, as Riordan, Sabrina, Mary Tuttle, and the orange and white tabby, Mittens, had recently arrived with the end of the school term in Carrbury. Riordan was given a larger por
tion of the wing, and Mary had her own small suite—not far, Aidan noticed with amusement, from his grandfather’s rooms.
Surprisingly, after a wary introduction, Mittens and Laddie hit it off, and most afternoons the two could be found curled up before a fireplace in one of the three libraries. Also, a governess was hired for Megan, Miss Eliza Barton, and nurses were being interviewed for the upcoming birth of Riordan and Sabrina’s child.
The hall was more alive than any time in Aidan’s recent memory. He found all the activity caused a roll of disquiet to move through him, which had him wondering, once again, if he were fully recovered. After months of tranquil peace at the clinic, he’d forgotten life could be noisy and chaotic. Would he be tempted to relieve his anxiety the way he had done in the past? Would he be able to pull off this ruse at the cotton mill?
The men were attending a brief meeting in his grandfather’s study; the ladies decided to forego this particular assembly in favor of other duties. It was the first time the men had all been together since last September. How much had changed.
“I’ve invited Bastian Faraday to visit us for the month of August,” his grandfather stated.
Garrett beamed. “Brilliant. Aidan, it’s too bad you will be away and not only miss the birth, but Bastian’s visit. I believe the two of you would get along famously.”
His uncle and the doctor had become good friends after Faraday was called in to treat Garrett’s gunshot wound in February. Being his grandfather’s exclusive physician gave Bastian a standing in society he might not otherwise have achieved, because his mother hailed from the West Indies. Though the prejudice existed, the Wollstonecrafts did not tolerate it at all.
“Not only is he a family friend, but he’ll also be on hand to oversee Sabrina’s care. How shrewd,” Aidan teased.
His grandfather held up a fancy envelope. “Communication from Prince Albert.” He turned the envelope around to show them. “The royal seal. Now that we are all here…” His grandfather broke the ornate wax seal and scanned the letter. “Well, news on the Marquess of Sutherhorne. He has been relocated to the British colony of Newfoundland in the North Atlantic, a rocky, rugged island six hundred miles off the east coast of Canada. He was settled on the west shore; it is sparsely populated, and he will have to learn to fish for his supper.”
The men laughed, but soon sobered.
“Truly, is this just punishment for kidnapping Sabrina and shooting Garrett?” Riordan asked.
“It was the best we could hope for under the circumstances,” his father replied.
“He will be living under reduced conditions, barely enough to survive. If he leaves the island or has money sent to him and the crown discovers it, the prince will put the Bill of Attainder into effect and Sutherhorne’s heirs will lose the title, lands, and money. He won’t chance it,” his grandfather stated.
“Good riddance,” Garrett snarled. “May we never discuss him again.”
“I concur, Son. The case is closed.” His grandfather placed the letter in the envelope and slipped it under the pile of papers. “On to Aidan. I’ve inquired as to train routes to Earl Shilton. Alas, it would take four different changes of trains, and layovers, with part of the journey by mail coach. It would take twice as long as if you traveled by our private carriage. Samuel Jenkins will accompany you. He is an ex-soldier and a trusted employee of our stables.”
“I cannot arrive in an earl’s coach,” Aidan mused. “There may be questions.”
“True. We thought to install Samuel in nearby Hinckley, close enough you can reach him if you need his assistance, but far enough not to reveal your true identity and purpose. Bring Nebula on the journey, and Samuel can leave you on the outskirts with the gelding. He will see to it your trunk is delivered to the Dog and Gun Inn. You will be staying there,” his grandfather said.
Aidan nodded with approval. “That makes more sense.”
“There is one thing,” his father said. “Confide in no one. Your identity must remain secret. If this is to work, you must gain the trust of McRae. It will be a fine line to straddle in order to gather the damning information that we require, and there cannot be any doubt as to your masquerade. You may have to act the part of a superior, a cruel bastard, at least around McRae. Perhaps others.” His father gave him a grave look. “No one can be told.”
“If you wish,” he replied. “No one.” Realistically, it would depend on what situation he found at the mill. Best to decide for sure once he arrived.
“Messages and reports may be sent to Hinckley. Samuel will send them on to us,” his grandfather stated.
“Five miles is quite a distance,” Riordan interjected. “What if Aidan is in danger? What good is Samuel in Hinckley?”
“Not sure what danger I will find in a village full of poor souls barely eking out an existence,” Aidan replied.
“Exactly that. Grandfather said thievery and other crimes are rife in the area. It could have potential for peril,” Riordan stated.
“If I feel the situation, in whatever way, becomes a hazard, I will send for Samuel immediately. Besides, if this mill owner is as horrible as we hear, I may not need the full two months to collect the evidence. Trust me to handle this.” Aidan glanced around the table.
While his family nodded, Aidan couldn’t help but notice faint expressions of doubt from them. He frowned. “If you don’t believe I am up for the task, speak, or forever hold your peace,” he retorted.
“Son, I do not doubt your abilities, I only question your readiness for taking this on after what you’ve been through. Perhaps we can do this in the autumn, and you can take the rest of the summer to rest and recuperate,” his father offered.
Aidan fought to control his temper. His family meant well, but they didn’t understand. No one could, unless they had experienced it for themselves. “It’s hard to describe what led to my slide into hopelessness. This sounds rather self-indulgent, considering I am rich, heir to an earl, and am attractive enough to have the world handed to me. Dr. Bevan claims I have a disease, not merely a bad habit. I do not use that as a justification, but as an explanation. I no longer wish to live that way. I want my life to have meaning. I want to care about something other than myself and my own pleasures.” Aidan expelled a shaky breath. “There has to be hope for a better future, or why even try? I’m fighting for my life, to reclaim what I have lost: my dignity. Support me, by all means, but do not facilitate me too much. I must stand on my own two feet.”
“Well spoken,” Garrett murmured. “We will do as you ask. But the moment you feel unsafe, extract yourself from the situation with all haste. Since you brought up your state of affairs, and we’re speaking of dangerous propositions, I’ve had a letter from Edwin. The final report.”
Edwin Seward was an ex-Bow Street Runner who’d assisted Garrett in locating Aidan in London last January. He was also the one who suggested the Standon Sanatorium.
“As you know, I asked Edwin to find out anything he could about Colm Delaney, Sutherhorne’s hired man,” Garrett said.
At the mention of Delaney’s name, Aidan’s apprehension kicked up a notch.
His uncle continued, “The landlady at his flat stated he was quiet and paid his rent on time. He left many of his meager possessions behind when he vanished, instructing the landlady in a note to sell and keep the proceeds. Edwin found out where he engaged in his illegal boxing. Delaney had a reputation as being a brutal and merciless fighter; not many wished to face him.”
Garrett took a sip of his tea and continued. “From what he could glean, Delaney is forty years of age, arriving from Ireland about twenty years past. No mention of family. No attachments of any kind, except he often frequented molly houses. There was not much more to discover there, as you imagine there is a code of secrecy in order to protect the men from arrest, as sodomy is a capital offense.”
Aidan winced inwardly. God, how uncomf
ortable this was; it reminded him of how he had debased himself in order to procure drugs. “And your point in mentioning this man once again? And why even open an investigation in the first place?”
“To ensure he will stay well clear of this family. That he is not a threat. But since we do not know where he is, you must remain vigilant. Samuel knows what he looks like; he will keep an eye out, in and around Hinckley and beyond.”
“I appreciate your thoroughness, Uncle. I will take your advice. But I believe we have seen the last of this man.” At least, Aidan hoped. How he wanted that harrowing chapter of his life closed once and for all. He’d already acknowledged his mistakes, accepted assistance in recovery, and was determined to travel a different path. Dr. Bevan was correct: “Accept your mistakes, learn from them. Wear them like badges of honor.”
Aidan had emerged from his traumatic experience a different man. Not better as such, but he thought he should give it a go. “I do not know who I am; perhaps I never have. But this fall from grace allowed one article of worth—for me to begin anew. To reshape myself into the man I always should have been.”
“And what man is that?” his father asked softly.
“I wish to be a compassionate man who genuinely cares for the world and its inhabitants. A man of honor. A man with a heart. In other words, a Wollstonecraft. For I have been none of this, for more years than I care to count. I am selfish at the core; perhaps I always will be, to some extent. For I do this for me—to cleanse my soul. And it needs a rigorous scrubbing, I assure you. But I also do this for altruistic reasons. I wish to make a difference, as you all do in your various ways. Thank you for supporting me in this venture. I will make you proud.”
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