While Biddy Cuthbert’s sobs dwindled to sniffles, Mr Greaves said, ‘Please tell me from the beginning, Davie. Under what circumstances did you leave Blenhem and how did you come to return?’
The boy made a derisive noise. ‘Didn’t exactly “leave”, mister. Old Barksdale knocked me over the head and carried me off. Next thing I knowed, I woke up in the middle of this blinding noise of a cotton mill in Manchester, Jeffreys standin’ over me with a whip. Told me Barksdale had sold me and now I belonged to him.’
‘Barksdale…sold you?’ Mr Greaves repeated incredulously.
‘Mr Barksdale told us he caught Davie stealing his watch, that he brung him afore the magistrate, who sent him to Manchester,’ Biddy Cuthbert inserted. ‘But we none of us believed it. Davie were always a feisty lad,’ she allowed, giving the boy a fond smile, ‘but he weren’t no thief. Once he growed bigger, he stopped payin’ much attention to Barksdale. Stood up to ’im, mocked ’im, even. But I didn’t know ’til he snuck back here last night what really happened.’
‘Didn’t your family protest when you were taken away?’ Joanna asked, appalled by the narrative.
The boy shrugged. ‘Ain’t got no family. After Pa died, we couldn’t pay the rent on the farm, so Barksdale turned us out. Ma went to Lunnon to find my sister, who run off with a soldier a few years back. I didn’t want to go to the city, so I stayed, doin’ odd jobs in town and hereabouts.’
‘Did you steal Barksdale’s watch?’ Mr Greaves asked.
‘If’n I’d stole his ticker, would I be fool enough to wait around and let him catch me?’ Davie said scornfully. ‘I’d a scarpered off to sell it, fast as a hare with a garden carrot. But I didn’t steal nothin’. I just got big enough that I didn’t let his threats worry me no more and, coward as he was, he couldn’t abide it. So he ambushed me one night and took me to the mills. I vowed soon’s I come to, even afore I tasted Master Jeffrey’s lash, that I’d get outta there and come back to Blenhem.’
‘Your master beat you with a whip?’ Joanna asked, more horrified still.
Davie gave her a grin that in a few more years promised heartbreak to susceptible female hearts. ‘Oh, the beatings weren’t so bad, nothing much more than I’d got from old Barksdale and my da, too, afore he passed on. It were the mills theyselfs.’
His face sobered abruptly. ‘You can’t imagine the noise, ma’am, a clanging and a clatter like to drive a body mad. Workin’ from the barest glimmer of daylight ’til ’tis so dark you can’t see yer fingers afore yer face. Breathin’ dust and fluff and the stench of bleach instead of clean country air. Though ’twas the littlest had it the worst.’
He shook his head, his eyes taking on a faraway look. ‘They was made to climb under the big power looms, gathering up thread bits or lost spindles. Saw a boy get his fingers caught once. Smashed his whole hand thin as a flat-iron afore he could hardly scream. Then his ma got two weeks’ pay docked for him getting his blood on the cloth they was weaving.’
For a moment the boy’s lips trembled and tears glazed his eyes. ‘I couldn’t do nothin’ but watch,’ he continued, his voice still rough. ‘Not for him nor for any of the other lads. But I promised right then ’n there while he bled to death under that loom that I’d get outta of that mill, get some schooling and go make myself a fortune. Some day, when I’m rich enough, I’ll go to Lunnon and tell the toffs in Parliament itself that it ain’t right. And I’ll make ’em change it.’
For a moment after the boy’s impassioned voice faded away, none of them said a word. Beside her, Biddy Cuthbert wept quietly and Joanna had to hold back tears of outrage and sympathy herself.
First the soldier tossed aside, and now this! Truly, what was England coming to, that children could be abducted, made to work in vile, dangerous places, and no one made a move to stop it?
Shaken, touched, appalled, Joanna wanted to gather the boy in her arms—but a look at that proud young face, so old and determined for its years, told her the boy wouldn’t welcome an embrace. How she wished she could bring him back to the manor and care for him!
‘So you returned here, to the only place you knew,’ Mr Greaves said quietly.
The boy nodded. ‘Heard in the village that old Barksdale be gone, so thought I’d see if I could help out Granny for a while. Much better here in the countryside—kin always find a squirrel or a rabbit—’ he gave the old lady a wink ‘—for Granny’s stew pot.’
‘Can’t you leave him stay with me, Mr Greaves?’ Biddy Cuthbert asked. ‘Like he told ye, he’s got no kin and times being like they is, not many be willing to take in an extra mouth. I haven’t much to offer, but with a snug new roof on the place, ’twill be better for him to sleep here than in them ruined cottages, like he’s been doing.’
‘I kin help ’er, too, chopping wood for the stove and finding vittles. I’m right handy with a slingshot,’ Davie added.
To Joanna’s and doubtless the old lady’s relief, the manager nodded. ‘You mustn’t worry, Mrs Cuthbert. Barksdale had no right to send the boy away and ’tis certainly illegal to “sell” him to a mill foreman. However, young man, if you wish to achieve those lofty ambitions, you’d best not let the gamekeeper catch you snaring something larger than a rabbit or a squirrel out of these woods, for poaching is an offence for which you could be transported. Though you should help Mrs Cuthbert, a lad of your years needs more than that to keep him out of mischief. But what?’ Tapping his chin, Mr Greaves gazed at Davie thoughtfully.
‘Sometimes the groom at the Hart and Hare lets me muck out the stables.’ Turning to Joanna, he said, ‘That’s where I seen the letter you writ for Jesse Russell. I wanna write like that, making all them pretty curvy lines and dots that somebody miles away kin understand. You think I could?’
Even if he hadn’t reminded her of Thomas, loving learning as she did, how could she resist the appeal of a child with such a hunger for knowledge? ‘Without doubt. Mr Greaves, Davie’s occupations must surely include his attending the school.’
The manager nodded. ‘Yes, Davie, for you must master writing and sums as well as reading, if you hope to become a man knowledgeable enough to influence others. You should also help Mrs Cuthbert as you promised, since a man intending to lead must demonstrate he can discharge his own responsibilities. Mr Martin has been a great help to me, but he’s getting on in years. Having an assistant who possesses his intimate knowledge of the farms and the people here could be a great use. If you can demonstrate over the next month that you are such a man, I’ll pay you two shillings a week.’
Mr Greaves stood and held out his hand. ‘Do we have a bargain, Mr…?’
The boy leapt to his feet, almost knocking over the stool. ‘David Smith, sir!’ he cried, seizing the agent’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically. ‘A bargain, indeed, sir.’
Dame Cuthbert’s eyes threatened to overflow again. ‘Ye’ll ne’er regret taking a chance on Davie, sir!’
Hastily Mr Greaves waved a hand. ‘No more tears or I shall have to withdraw my offer! Mrs Merrill, have you finished your cider? We must be on our way if I’m to drop you by the manor and get planting started at the Radnor place before dark.’
‘Yes, I’m ready,’ Joanna said, surreptitiously wiping a tear from her own eye as she started to gather up the mugs. The solution Mr Greaves had devised for Davie was as fitting as the one he’d devised for her—and far more than she’d dared hope to obtain for an orphaned boy with neither wealth nor kin. How compassionate and perceptive Mr Greaves was!
Which, alas, only increased her desire to kiss him.
Chapter Nine
W hile Joanna reflected upon that intriguing but complicating reaction, Dame Cuthbert and Davie walked them to the cottage door.
‘Should I meet you at the manor tomorrow morning?’ he asked Mr Greaves.The manager nodded. ‘Right after you’ve built up Dame Cuthbert’s fire and helped her break her fast.’
‘Mr Greaves, I’d be honoured if ye’d call me “Granny”, like everyone he
reabouts. For sure, though ye be from Kent, no kin coulda treated us kinder!’
Once again a blush coloured Mr Greaves’s cheeks. ‘The honour is mine…Granny. Davie, I’ll see you in the morning. Mrs Merrill?’ He gestured towards the door.
After expressing her thanks for the old woman’s hospitality and exchanging goodbyes, Joanna accepted Mr Greaves’s hand up into the gig. Savouring the feel of his strong fingers linked with hers, she held on, she had to admit, a few seconds longer than absolutely necessary.
Not that he seemed to object. In fact, he stood motionless beside the gig, clutching her hand and looking up into her eyes so intently, her breath caught.
Before she could succumb to the urging of her treacherous body and lean her mouth towards his, the horses stirred, recalling him to his task.
Just as well, she thought as he climbed into the gig, for driven as she was for a physical taste of him, taking that first step would irreversibly change the relationship between them. It might well lead to the intimacy she craved. But there was also a strong possibility that, by tempting him to abandon the high principles he’d avowed, her forwardness might make him retreat, spoiling the closeness and camaraderie that had developed between them. She wasn’t yet ready to risk losing the morning and evening chats that had become the most enjoyable parts of her day.
Contenting herself with relishing the warmth of him as he settled beside her on the narrow bench, determinedly she fixed her thoughts back on the activities of the day. A glow filled her heart as she recalled all the eager young children she’d met and their hard-working, plain-spoken parents.
How much she and Mr Greaves had accomplished together! With the school building nearly complete, she’d soon be able to lead those bright young faces into the world of learning. And the unusual, exceptional Davie Smith.
‘Your offer to employ Davie was as kind as it was generous,’ she said, turning to look up at him.
‘He seems to have a quick mind and a strong sense of purpose, just requiring someone with a firm hand to send him in the proper direction. I’m betting he will excel at assisting me.’
‘Granny Cuthbert believes so,’ she replied. ‘Could the master at the mill in Manchester really track him down and force him to return?’
‘With the hardships in the countryside, so many poor families have crowded into the cities that replacing him will probably be too easy, as Davie said, for the foreman to trouble himself looking for one runaway. Certainly Barksdale couldn’t “sell” him—that claim was probably meant to scare Davie out of running off—but if Barksdale did in fact contact the local authorities about Davie’s alleged misconduct, the boy might have been turned over to the parish. Those in charge of the poor rolls might have sent him out to the mills to earn his keep.’
‘But that’s dreadful!’ Joanna cried, distressed as she recalled the vivid scene Davie had painted of the mill. ‘You heard him describe the conditions!’
Mr Greaves nodded soberly. ‘True. But farm work isn’t without its risks, either, the parish officer would tell you. While men of influence in Parliament would probably allege that workers, by voluntarily accepting employment at the mills, also accept the risks, and that it isn’t the business of government to intervene in what is a private matter between employer and employee.’
‘“Voluntarily” accept the risks?’ she replied scornfully. ‘’Tis work begun no more “voluntarily” than Davie’s if someone with an empty belly and no other prospects of filling it takes such a position. Have, as Davie called them, the “toffs” in Parliament never considered that fact? Do the Lord Masters of the world not recognise they derive their power from the land—land that could be seized from them, if they push people beyond what they can bear?’
A shudder passed through her as she recalled her midnight walk through the rain to Blenhem Hill. Truly, she would have taken whatever honest employment was available to escape the fate Lady Masters predicted for her, had she not found sanctuary within. Despite her horror of bloodshed, even she might have come to the point of supporting a cause that proposed to strip power from those who abused it as Lord Masters had.
Mr Greaves gave her a quiet, penetrating look, as if he could guess the tenor of her thoughts. ‘I don’t know if the Lords have considered it, but if they haven’t, at some point they must.’ He smiled again, obviously trying to reassure her. ‘Hopefully, they will do so well before Davie has grown old enough to confront them.’
As always, his smile distracted her. More—worse—than that, his ready understanding of her concerns and his prompt, efficacious response to the plight of that orphaned child made her want to throw her arms around him and thank him with all her heart for his sterling example of Christian charity.
Of course, if she were to embrace him, after an instant of feeling his warm breath on her neck, his body pressed to hers, the gratitude of her heart would swiftly be swamped by the desires of her body. She smothered a sigh of mingled longing and regret.
His smile broadened. ‘Disappointed that I did not carry the boy off with us? I half-expected you would insist that I clothe and house him at Blenhem Hill.’
Had her compulsion to care for the child been that evident? ‘Not at all,’ she replied mendaciously, feeling heat warm her face. ‘I haven’t the right to demand such a thing, even if I wanted to. Although I would surely have violently opposed it had you suggested the boy be sent back to Manchester! But your plan for his future seems as fitting as it is benevolent.’
‘He was certainly intelligent enough to immediately demand that schooling with you be a part of that future! Not that I was surprised. You possess a special rapport with children, from the littlest begging for a hug to the older ones who initially seemed to think they were too knowledgeable and experienced to be going to school.’
Though she shrugged, knowing he was probably only trying to encourage her for the formidable task ahead, she could not help feeling a rush of gratification. Perhaps, as she fervently hoped, she would be able to meet everyone’s daunting expectations and make a success of the school. ‘You are too kind,’ she murmured.
‘Not at all—merely reporting what I observed this morning. Once the doors are open, I’d wager every youngster you met would sneak away from their chores and find their way to the schoolhouse, had their elders not approved their attendance. Since such rampant disobedience would have earned them quick punishment, ’tis lucky I was able to induce the parents to permit it.’
‘You’ve quite a persuasive tongue yourself, sir! I believe you could have talked the parents into letting their children follow you wherever you led, the Pied Piper of Blenhem Hill. You’ve already demonstrated so much expertise on behalf of and concern for the people of the county, perhaps you ought to petition Lord Englemere to let you stand for Parliament. Certainly, from my observation, the peerage desperately needs a lesson in the proper use of the privileges they acquired at birth—from your friend the Marquess on down the ranks!’
An odd expression passed over his face before he said, ‘I’ve no political ambitions. Like you, my concerns lie closer at hand. I can see why your father turned over to you the management of his house and the training of your sisters, for you’ve excelled both at preparing the school—and charming its future pupils. It must have been a sorrow that your late husband didn’t leave you any children of your own.’
A stab of pain lanced through her heart, so unexpectedly sharp it robbed her of breath. Damnation, she thought she’d made good progress in banishing the anguish and regret! Yet his casual remark recalled it as fiercely as if the double loss had occurred a month instead of nearly two years ago.
In the silence while she tried to master her emotions, he turned his attention from the horses to cast her a glance. Consternation in his voice, he said quickly, ‘Excuse me for broaching so private a matter! But you’ve spoken about your family and the Masters children with such warmth that—I’m sorry, I never meant to upset you.’
She made herself summon up
a smile. ‘I shall be all right in a moment. It’s just…Davie reminded me of my late husband and the…the babe I lost, born three months before his time. ’Twas to help me recover my health afterwards that Thomas insisted I leave India and return home.’
Her smile turned wry. ‘Capricious aristocrats again! I might have recovered faster, I believe, had my family rejoined me in England as expected when Thomas persuaded me to go. But the Earl who’d long promised Papa a living after the incumbent retired chose at the last moment to appoint someone else. So all my close kin remained in India and I was left to grieve alone in London.’
Embarrassed as she suddenly realised how self-pitying her explanation might seem, she exclaimed, ‘Heavens, what a poor helpless soul I make myself appear!’ Thrusting away the bitter memories, she said briskly, ‘I’ve done well enough, everything considered. I do love children, which is why I accepted the governess’s post. Perhaps ’tis also why I was so quick to agree to launch a school, a project on a scale beyond anything I’ve ever yet attempted.’
The compassion he’d shown for Davie gleamed now in his eyes. ‘You are a lovely, accomplished young woman, Mrs Merrill, and you will be a brilliant schoolmistress. But unless the gentlemen from Blenhem Hill to London are blind and dumb, surely you can look forward to marrying again and having children of your own to delight you.’
A wicked little thrill licked at her nerves at the thought of how those children would be created. She recalled the times, lying wakeful in her solitary bed, she had thought about him lying in his own just down the hall. She burned anew with the vision of how he might respond, were she to tiptoe to his room late some night…
Did his eyes glow with ardour now, or was it merely her own desire that made her think so?
And in predicting marriage in her future, did he include himself among the discerning gentlemen who might appreciate her? Or was he only resorting to gallantry to distract her from the distressing memories he’d inadvertently roused?
From Waif to Gentleman's Wife Page 11