Molly gave Amelia a sharp look through her spectacles. “I was excited to see someone with a spine among us.” Josie squirmed. She was not someone to admire. If they only knew how she would misuse courage. “Usually spine comes with an intellect, and we value such things around here.” Molly tapped her temple and crossed her arms. “Why not have a newsletter with substance?”
The air thickened with silence, and once again, all eyes were on Josie. She cleared her throat. “So, you have a newsletter to put your intellect to good use?”
A ripple of laughter filled the crowd. “Yes, yes. That’s it!”
“Good for you.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “I cannot interview tonight. Amelia is correct. I am exhausted and would just like to sleep.”
“Very well, we’ll wait until Friday,” Molly said.
A flurry of chatter went through the crowd while Molly whispered in one gal’s ear. Josie opened her mouth to object, closed it, then finally found her voice. “I … I do not think an interview—”
Molly interrupted. “Oh, you will be fine by Friday evening. Do not worry. The work will become mundane enough that you will enjoy evenings of conversation.” She leaned in and spoke low. “Second floor is so much more entertaining. We know everything about anything in town. Including available suitors and all the insights of a socialite without the fuss of stuffy parents breathing down our necks.” She tweaked the corner of her lip. A flash of mischief brightened her green eyes.
“I have no interest in suitors.” Josie sighed. But the opportunity to find out more about the folk in Gloughton caught her attention and she continued, “Insights, though. That’s always exciting, isn’t it?” She gave a thin laugh to encourage the interest this gal had shown her, an interest that might deflect the use of mill girls for a scheme and find true strangers for the robbers. Would that make this wait easier? She could only hope.
Josie climbed the stairs after a brief farewell to all who gathered and watched through the rails along the staircase. The women retired to their rooms. Josie’s stomach soured as she turned from the landing. Night had fallen outside. This second day of hiding her purpose had proven a touch productive and gave her hope that she might not know any of Dr. Chadwick’s victims on this side of death. Like the calm of a patient’s relief once the ointment began to work, the plan was taking its root. The initial pain became numb at the opportunity to learn about the social comings and goings of Gloughton—the names and news of those who could fulfill her ransom, and her father’s.
Chapter Five
Even after Josie’s long hours, sleep was still scarce. The slumbering room became a wide empty stage for her mind to prance about and pluck any peace within her. Dr. Chadwick was a hungry vulture waiting for her replacement, yet Father’s debt to the grave robbers seemed more pressing. The moon shone through the thin curtains, forbidding her eyes to stay closed for very long. Josie sat beside the window, shivering in her nightdress as she began letter after letter to the doctor, begging him to forget her and release her from the debt of … a body. Her script was as shaky as her confidence in the plea to change Dr. Chadwick’s heart though. She tore the pages in tiny pieces and stuffed them into her drawer.
Each night, sleep escaped her once the room darkened and the soft sleeping breaths arose from the others. Josie would pace the floor until the creaking boards seemed to stir her roommates. Then she’d crawl into bed and weep into her feathered pillow, careful to not shake too violently with Liesl sleeping so close to her. Pity flooded her at the thought of Father’s surprised face being seen assisting such gruesome work—work that shamed him enough to keep hidden from his only beloved daughter. How frightened he must have been that eve in New York, and how foolish his being caught made him seem in front of Alvin and every other man. She balled her fists. What a wretched creature she was to pity the man whom she’d exchanged all her goodness for. Even if he was her father.
When the small wall clock struck four hollow chimes, she was easily aroused from a fitful doze. Josie crept downstairs before the rest of the house awoke and stole away to the garden. The old ritual of spending her morning hours among plant life had been lost during her own illness, presumed death, then sudden resurrection. Her garden at home had been a footstool for prayer and praise. She met God there before she fell ill. After these miserable nights though, she did not sneak to the garden to cast herself before a God who she’d presumed hardly recognized her now. No, she hurried to the boardinghouse garden to find the only sure relief, temporal as it was, among the scents, textures, and memory of a less complicated time.
On Friday evening, Josie lit the lamp hanging from the stand and sat on the bench half-invaded with ivy. Even if she’d managed to engage in little conversation these past days, that Molly O’Leary was adamant about this interview. Josie prepared herself to think on nothing but her knowledge of plant materials.
Fran scuttled along the flagstone path, her apron brushing against the long spindles of purple salvia flowers. “Miss Clay, how was your first week?” She knelt beside the bench, snipping some thyme from its sprawling bed and plopping the tufts in her apron pockets.
“’Twas tiresome. But the work is reasonable, and I expect the pay will be good.”
“I have not heard much complaining from the ladies these few years that the mill has been open—” Her lips parted as if she would say more. Perhaps about the accidents? She gave Josie a sideways glance, probably deciding it best not to scare the newest mill girl. A fruitless endeavor, Josie thought. Laughing nervously, Fran continued, “Most enjoy their freedom from home, so I’d say they don’t have time to dwell on negativity.” She dropped her shears in her pocket. The evening bells from a nearby church began to chime, and Fran smiled up at the fading colors of twilight. “Only one half day of work and then a day of rest. Have you been through town?”
“I have not.” Josie plucked some rosemary leaves and rolled them between her fingertips. The spicy sweet fragrance filled the night air. “I have been anxious to see beyond the walls of the factory though.”
“Ah, well you can follow the girls on the Sabbath. They are expected to attend worship. Gloughton boasts three churches.” She turned back toward the kitchen. “I am of the reformed religion.”
“I attended the same back home.”
“We can walk together, if you’d like?” She stopped at the door. “Of course, there are plenty of girls who go as well.”
“I should like to walk with you—”
Molly came up from behind Fran and shoved past her then bolted to the garden gate.
Josie bounced a look between Molly, who was propped up on her toes with her hands wrapped around the wrought iron spires, and Fran, who huffed and scowled in the woman’s direction.
“Is anything the matter?” Josie asked.
“Shh.” Molly waved her hand as if shooing a fly. Josie crept up behind her to see what had her in such a frantic state. A soft spring breeze spilled from beyond the walls carrying the soothing sounds of dancing leaves and chirping crickets. Only Molly’s curious behavior gave the surrounding softness a sharp edge.
“What is she doing?” Molly whispered. Josie peered over the gate also. The figure of a woman disappeared down the steep bank to the canal, just beyond the bridge.
Molly spun around, nearly knocking Josie back into an elderberry shrub. “She’s gone.” Her eyes flashed. “As always.”
“Wh–who is she?” Josie brushed off the back of her skirt and sidestepped her way to the bench.
Molly sat right next to her and leaned in. Mischief flashed in her eyes. “That’s Audra Jennings. She’s more spy than factory girl. At least, that’s what the rumor is. Always last to dinner and first to work. She’s hurt her arm, but won’t let anyone know how. Every Friday evening she slips out after dinner.”
“Has anyone asked why?”
Molly snickered. “I’m a reporter, aren’t I?” She winked. “Audra has a good excuse—saying she’s off to see her sis
ter who works at the Bates estate. But—” Her black curls slid across her shoulder as she glanced at the gate. She whipped around, her nose only inches from Josie. “Most wonder if she’s trying to snag the attention of Mr. Taylor. Supposedly, they were brought up here together.”
“Brought up here?”
“From the south.” Molly pulled out some parchment and ink from the satchel at her side. “’Twas a long time ago. But many women have seen the two in heated conversations. Cannot tell who’s pursuing who, nor who is refusing.” She giggled. “I’ve been watching her. Even have a story snippet in our newsletter.” She ruffled through her papers and pulled one out from the middle of the stack. She handed it to Josie. “Here.”
Mistress Mystery Sighting:
She skims the grounds of Gloughton Mill,
slips in and out like cotton dust.
Give us a clue, miss, if you will,
as to what you wish to hide from us.
Josie scrunched her nose. “If you know who she is, then how is it a mystery?” Although the thought of another woman stealing away some suspicion was just fine by Josie.
“Ah, that is partly in jest. She loves the game of it. Often brags about her knitted heartstrings with the Bates men.”
Josie thrummed her fingers on her knees. “Or perhaps she just wants attention. Most snoops do.”
Molly burst into a hearty laugh. “My! For someone who has been here only a week, you have pegged Audra Jennings with the appropriate title.”
“It was the word that Mr. Taylor used, I believe.”
Molly arched an eyebrow, now seemingly more intrigued by Josie than the subject of her jingle. Josie cleared her throat and looked down at the top paper on Molly’s stack. A pretty drawing of a woman in black graced the side column of the jingle. An empty square below was titled “A Healing Angel among the Girls.” Josie glanced up at Molly. Her white teeth gleamed in the soft glow of the lamp hanging across the path.
“That’s where your interview will go.” She tucked the sheet with the verse back in her stack again.
“Angel?”
“Of course. Amelia coined it, actually.” Molly set her inkpot by her feet and poised her quill above a blank page. “I will write it out here, then transcribe it neatly in that box. You shall provide a different kind of conversation around here. An honorable, less suspicious object.” She winked.
Josie gave a tight smile. Her shoulders slumped, but not enough that Molly might wonder. Before the interview began, Josie said a quick prayer of forgiveness for the deceptive mask of an angel that she seemed to wear.
That Audra Jennings was no doubt more innocent than the spying Josie Clay.
Sunday morning carried a cheerful buzz about the boardinghouse. Nobody had made a sound at the usual early waking hour—at least, Josie had slept through any noise, stirring when the sunshine kissed her eyelids. She’d finally found rest. Her body was desperate for it, or willing, since Sunday held no possibility of a factory accident. Her roommates all woke up at the same time, and they readied for church with an extra ounce of sleep than on a regular work morning.
Josie followed the sisters and Liesl downstairs. The second floor’s bedroom doors were propped open as girls chatted in the hallway while braiding their hair. A small group of women stood in a huddle in the common room practicing a hymn.
“We are lucky to have our peace upstairs, are we not?” Sally whispered as they rounded the banister to the final flight of stairs.
Sarah and Liesl both said, “Oh yes,” simultaneously.
Josie nodded, trying to push away the wonder of what it might be like to be a girl on the second floor. She’d shied away from Ainsley’s social events. The girls gossiped, and her parents had needed her. Now, the thought of her allegiance to this insidious scheme pierced her well-rested mind with a sliver of resentment—even for her father.
They broke their fast in the bright dining room. The serving girl, Abigail, had traded her black frock for a lovely mauve dress, protected from the crumbs and splashes by an apron. As each table of six filled in, the room buzzed with conversation. When the meal was over, Josie stayed back, waiting for Fran at the small nook outside the kitchen.
Audra Jennings approached her as she put on her bonnet without tying the ribbons. Her sling was hidden behind the folds of her cloak. “I trust that your first week went well?” She spoke in a cool tone. “Or at least, uneventful, after the scene you caused.”
“It was a good week.” Josie offered her hand for a shake. “I am Josie Clay. And you are Audra Jennings.”
The woman smacked her lips together. “Of course. You’ve been informed, I see.” She only considered Josie’s outstretched hand with a glance then turned her nose up and away. “I have been here the longest of this lot, so it’s no wonder they talk. Braham and I are cut from the same cloth, if you will.” She laughed with a fiery glint in her hazel eyes.
Josie raised her eyebrows at the woman’s familiar use of the manager’s first name. “I hear you are both from the south.”
“We are. Escaped the heat and much hardship. Has grown both of us strong and capable.” Audra spun on her heel, looking over her shoulder. “You have much to learn, Miss Clay. And if I were you, I’d be more careful on the factory floor. It seems to me Mr. Taylor is keeping watch on you only because of a lack of trust.”
“Have you spoken to him about it?” A small thread of fear sewed into her spirit. There was no doubt that Josie’s time at the factory was in a fragile balance. One more snag—like her overwhelming need to help Amelia—would ruin everything.
Audra just shrugged. “I know him well. Better than any other woman.” She smiled and disappeared around the corner.
“Do not listen to her.” Fran appeared at the bottom of the kitchen steps. “Everyone knows she has an eye on something well out of reach.”
“I am not concerned by her. Not when what she says contradicts what I’ve been told.” Josie rolled her eyes. “Or who has told me so.”
Fran bounded up the stairs and hooked arms with Josie, guiding her out the front door. “And who is that?”
“Why, the man who Audra thinks she knows so well.” Josie laughed. “He warned me about her on my first day.”
Fran chuckled. “She’s not as mysterious as she might like to seem, is she?”
“Not at all.” Josie did take the woman seriously though. Audra’s words were a sobering warning to stay on task at work. And she’d also sparked Josie’s curiosity about Braham Taylor.
What had he escaped down south, and could Josie grow just as strong from the hardship she’d left behind?
“Aunt Myrtle, our neighbor will take you to the church.” Braham kissed her cheek. “I will join you shortly.”
“What is this, Braham?” Aunt Myrtle leaned forward as he leapt down from the carriage and headed toward the factory gate. “You will not work on the Sabbath!”
“Of course not,” he said. “I just have to check on the office door. I worry that I did not lock up last night.”
“Very well.” She was resigned. “Do not be long.”
“Yes, Aunt.” Braham gave her a wink and then jogged along the canal that flowed into the back of the mill. He prayed for forgiveness for his fib. But he could not share the truth of his errand. It might only frighten his aunt. That man who was with Josie Clay had lurked about last night, and when Braham called out to him, he disappeared into the wood north of town. Braham’s excuse was only partially untrue though. He did want to check on the security of the place. He also hoped to confront Miss Clay, whose arrival had brought about this uncertainty since her very first day.
As Braham crossed the bridge to the factory courtyard, he spied Audra strutting toward town. He ducked behind the old elm tree. Braham did not want to be trapped by her flirtations or, worse, insistence that he accompany her to church. She breezed past, her nose up in the air and her flaming hair as crimson as a fox.
He cupped his hand over his mouth to suppress a chu
ckle at his childish hiding.
The woman was sly. He’d never trusted her. Ever since he’d seen her mocking and stealing from Terryhold’s youngest kitchen help, he chose to stay clear of Minnie’s older sister. When Braham warned his uncle after he placed Audra as bobbin girl their first year in the factory, the wise man insisted that the journey north was good for leaving things of the past behind them. A motto Braham had found attractive for himself.
He stepped out from his hiding when Audra turned the corner. Another figure snagged his attention. Miss Clay crossed the courtyard accompanied by the boardinghouse cook. His pulse raced at the sight of her. Braham must be more anxious about her acquaintance than he thought. When her eyes met his, his pulse quickened all the more. She appeared cheerful on her first day off. Her blue eyes shone bright, and her ruby lips tilted in a soft grin.
Braham took in a breath of the crisp morning air and diverted his gaze to the ruddy complexion of Fran Parker. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning, sir,” Miss Clay replied.
The cook cocked her head. “Are you to work this fine Sunday, Mr. Taylor? I would think your aunt would not be happy with you.”
“You are right, dear woman.” Braham chuckled. “Of course, you know her nearly as well as I do.”
The cook informed Miss Clay, “I was once the cook at the Bates estate. Miss Myrtle and I became rather close. But then Mr. Bates insisted I take on the boardinghouse when the factory was built.” She pursed her lips. “Or rather, when that Audra Jennings needed watching over.”
Braham tried earnestly to keep his gaze between their two bonnets, avoiding the pretty mill girl beneath the periwinkle brim. From the corner of his eye, he caught the cook’s crooked smile. “You were one of the first overseers, weren’t you, sir?”
“I was.” He grinned wide. “Seventeen and ready to work.”
“Yes, and today you are more eager than you should be on a Sunday, I suspect,” Miss Parker said, wagging her finger.
The Yellow Lantern Page 6