‘Don't upset him, Lally.’ Alex looked grave. ‘He's doing his best to help us just now.’
For, in addition to acquiring a sun tan, Ellis had been studying the newspapers. Prompted by Alex's chance remark that he had recently read something encouraging about the East India Company's current financial situation, Ellis sent for a packet of the latest London journals. A fortnight or so after the subject had first come up, he called on his brother–in–law, hauled him into his cubby–hole of a study and closed the door. Lalage was left to entertain Rebecca for an hour. This first hour lengthened into two.
‘Why is he so excited?’ demanded Lalage. Burning with curiosity, she forgot to be cool and aloof. ‘Dear Rebecca, do tell me!’
But Rebecca merely smiled all over her smooth, pale face and told Lalage she would know everything soon.
Lalage sighed, and wondered if it were worth trying to choke it out of the smug little sow.
Eventually, Ellis came out of Alex's study. He was grinning broadly. Soon, he was followed by his friend, who looked just as pleased. ‘We're going to London,’ announced Alex. ‘To mend my fortunes.’
‘Indeed?’ Lalage raised her eyebrows. ‘Ellis? Is this so?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’ Ellis took his sister's hand. ‘I have business there myself. Alex is to be my travelling companion.’
‘But the East India scheme! What — ’
‘Ah. Now we come to it.’ Sitting down, Ellis rubbed his face. ‘Well, Lally. I've recently been in touch with a gentleman who has contacts in the company. He thinks there's a chance we could salvage some of the money Alex invested there. I must write a few letters, get more information.
‘In the meantime, my dear sister, keep your fingers crossed. Be sure to say your prayers.’
It was as if a sudden burst of sunlight illuminated a pathless, rainswept moorland. Lalage beamed in delight. Her prospects, once forever blighted, looked brilliant now. ‘Do you think he can do it?’ she demanded, as she and Alex watched Ellis and Rebecca drive away. ‘Is there a any chance of recovering the cash?’
‘Perhaps.’ Alex shrugged. ‘If Ellis thinks it at all possible, we might as well try. But if it turns out unlikely we'll recoup anything, I shall still go to London. For the ride.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Lalage eyed him narrowly. ‘The chance of a merry jaunt is not to be foregone.’
‘No.’ Mildly, Alex met her eyes. ‘I'm looking forward to it. I admit that.’
* * * *
Ellis and Alex expected to be gone a month or more. Rebecca, it appeared, did not consider herself fit enough to travel. As for Lalage — she was informed her presence was not required.
‘You'd have taken Rebecca!’ she cried. Having instructed Betty to look over and remodel all her hats and gowns, Lalage was very upset. ‘If that creature had expressed even the slightest interest in the scheme, you'd happily have taken her!’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Salting the wound, Ellis nodded vigorous agreement. ‘But Rebecca understands business. You do not.’
‘You'd be so bored, my darling.’ Having had his trip to Derbyshire thoroughly spoiled, Alex was determined to enjoy his month in Town. ‘Even if you understood what we were talking about — which you wouldn't — you'd find it insufferably tiresome to sit in a fusty little office all day, discussing stocks and shares.’
‘I see.’ Lalage grimaced. ‘Then, during the evenings, while the two of you were sitting in some stinking tavern with a whore on each knee, I'd be just as bored alone in my lodgings.’
‘Exactly.’ Alex blinked. ‘I mean — ’
‘When it was time to bring the drabs back for a good rogering, I'd get in the way.’
‘Oh, darling! We'll be doing nothing like that!’ Alex wrung his hands. ‘Lally, please don't be difficult. Look — I'll bring you a present. Anything you want. Something pretty, yes?’
* * * *
So Lalage was left behind. Stuck in the muddy solitude of a Warwickshire village while her husband enjoyed the pleasures of the Town, she brooded and schemed. A invitation from Rebecca to spend a few days at Easton Hall was torn up and thrown down the servants’ privy. ‘How dare she!’ Grinding her teeth, Lalage glared out across the fields. ‘As if I'd wish to seek her out!’
She went over her plan once again. Yes, it would do. Before Alex and Ellis returned from London, Lalage would have taught the trollop a valuable lesson.
Needing a fellow conspirator, Lalage decided to enlist the support of Betty. Dear, loyal Betty, she had served her mistress well, accepting Lalage's fall in fortune as philosophically as she'd accepted her munificence in her heyday of prosperity.
As well she might. Even when Lalage had — in her own opinion, anyway — been near destitute, Betty's wages had been paid. Betty had a warm room, good food and a new gown twice a year, woollen in winter, fine cotton in summer. So, whereas Sukey the housemaid wore Betty's cast–offs, Betty always went to church in smart new clothes. The lady's maid was as beautifully dressed as the lady herself.
‘Betty,’ began Lalage one morning, as the maid brushed her mistress's long, black tresses and began to coil them into an elaborate pleat, ‘do you know of any rascally fellows who might like to earn an honest shilling or two?’
‘Rascally fellows, madam?’ Tugging out a knot, Betty smoothed a lock of hair into place. ‘Felons, you mean?’
‘Maybe.’ Twisting round, Lalage looked up. She met her servant's gaze. ‘Betty?’
‘Yes, madam?’
‘I've always been a kind mistress, I hope?’
‘You have indeed, madam. No one could be kinder.’
‘You have nothing to complain of in my treatment of you?’
‘Nothing, madam. On the contrary.’
‘Then, Betty — ’
‘Madam, wouldn't Mr Darrow be the best person to ask about this?’ Betty resumed her brushing. ‘If you wish to give employment to some poor creature, I'm sure he could recommend — ’
‘You misunderstand me.’ Lalage frowned. ‘Well, leave it for the present. What do you think of yellow satin? Lemon yellow, with a broad black stripe? I need a new morning gown, you see.’
Over the next few days, her mistress gave Betty no peace. Every conversation eventually worked its way round to rascally fellows and honest shillings. ‘You must know someone, Betty,’ insisted Lalage, as Betty laced her into a cherry–red gown which the maid had always coveted. ‘That brother of yours, the one who was taken before the justices on suspicion of trapping deer. The one whom I persuaded Mr Darrow to let off with a warning, even though I had to tell my own brother a pack of lies in the process — surely he knows somebody?’
Reminded of the favour Lalage had done her family, Betty blushed. ‘We were grateful indeed for your kindness,’ she muttered. ‘Poor William would have kissed your hands, had he — ’
‘Your father, Betty?’ Sweetly, Lalage smiled. ‘He goes into the squire's woods. Your mother is not averse to a hare, or a pheasant. All those little brothers and sisters of yours, the ones still at home — I'm sure they know where to look for game–birds’ eggs?’
Poor Betty grew scarlet. ‘We're not a family of thieves,’ she wailed. ‘I can't deny that sometimes in the winter, when there's snow on the ground and my father can't get work, he'll maybe take a few rabbits. But he — ’
‘Rabbits!’ Lalage grinned. ‘Pheasants, more like. Partridges and hares, as well. Oh, Betty! Do you think I'm stupid?’
‘I think you're a dear, sweet lady, and a good friend to me.’ Betty smoothed the folds of the red gown. ‘But I don't know why you're examining me like this! My family is poor. If my brothers take a little game now and then, they do break the law. I admit it. But is it right that they should starve?’
‘Hush, girl. Hush.’ Seeing tears in Betty's navy– blue eyes, Lalage laid a kind hand on her shoulder. ‘I'm no sport–loving squire. I wouldn't care if all the pheasants in Warwickshire found their way into your brothers’ nets.’
‘Th
en why — ’
‘Listen to me.’ Releasing the maid, Lalage walked over to the window. ‘My dear Betty,’ she began, ‘you know how severely poachers are dealt with by the justices round here. You also know how easily a man may be taken up. Sent to the county assize. Sentenced to a public whipping, to gaol — or even the fatal tree!’
‘Oh, madam!’
‘Betty, I need you to help me.’
‘How, madam? What — ’
‘Find me someone!’ Lalage glared. ‘Find me a man. Two men. Criminals if you please, but two strong, hardy fellows, who will — who will — ’
‘What, madam?’
‘Serve me.’ Lalage bit her lip. ‘Who will do as I tell them, and not ask the reason why.’
* * * *
That evening, Betty visited her cousin. He called on a friend, who said he knew a likely pair of men. A chain of enquiry which, had Lalage given the matter a moment's thought she would have seen must lead directly back to her, ended a fortnight later when two scruffy men presented themselves at the kitchen door, demanding to see a Mrs Curtis and refusing to be denied.
Not in her mistress's confidence, Sukey insisted they'd come to the wrong house. But Lalage spotted them from her window, and ran after them as they loped off down the lane. Cloaked and veiled, she caught up with them by the village pond. ‘I am Mrs Curtis,’ she gasped, breathless. ‘You wished to speak with me?’
‘Aye.’ The taller of the men, a thick–set fellow with the marks of irons still fresh on his wrists, eyed her suspiciously. ‘Was told you ‘ad a job for us,’ he said.
‘You've been in prison.’ Observing the bracelets of scars, Lalage glanced at the man's ankles. On his shins, she saw evidence of recent shackling. His friend had been shackled, too. ‘Were you committed by the local justice?’ she asked. ‘Or by the Assize?’
‘By Squire Darrow.’ Wiping his hands on his dirty breeches, the man spat. ‘Six months at stone–breaking, we was. Never even saw the bloody deer!’
Sympathetically, Lalage shook her head. ‘It's that wife of his,’ she said. ‘Upstart that she is. She was born a labouring woman's daughter. She gets above herself now. Teaches her husband to despise her own people.’
‘She does?’ The smaller man, a weasel–faced individual without a single tooth in his head, shrugged. ‘I've heard she's a good lady. She sends food and blankets to the poor, and makes sure the children go to school.’
‘She sends weak broth and mouldy cheese, to the wives of men her husband has sent to prison! She makes their children go to school, but she knows full well those same children are needed in the fields. To earn the pittance her husband pays them.’
Lalage grimaced. ‘Squire Darrow and his wife are hypocrites. They're cruel, they're unjust. They've certainly injured you.’
‘Aye.’ The taller man nodded. ‘You're right, they have.’
‘So now, if you will perform a small service for me, you could pay them back a little.’
‘How's that?’ The weasel–faced man scowled. ‘The likes of us can't strike at people like them.’
‘Ah, but you could.’ Lalage folded her hands. ‘I have a quarrel with Mrs Darrow,’ she began. ‘She has injured me, and I wish to repay her in kind. I don't want her killed, or hurt,’ she added, seeing the men become alarmed. ‘Just badly frightened.’
‘What do you want done?’ The smaller man shuffled a little. ‘Frightening ladies,’ he muttered. ‘I dunno if we're the fellows for that sort of work.’
‘You won't have to touch her.’ Lalage spread her hands. ‘I only want her house set alight.’
‘You want Easton Hall burned?’ The tall man stared. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We're not the men for a job like that.’
‘I'll pay you well.’ Engagingly, Lalage smiled. ‘Look, all you'll have to do is go up there late one night. Sneak into the kitchens. Pile up rags or other rubbish, make a spark. Simple! I'll pay you twenty pounds.’
‘For firing the Hall?’
‘For starting a little, harmless blaze.’ Lalage's eyes flashed. ‘The squire sent you to prison,’ she cried. ‘He punished you for something you hadn't even done. Was that justice? Was that fair?’
‘It wasn't.’ The weasel–faced man shook his head. ‘George, the lady says true.’
‘A few sticks and tinder,’ murmured Lalage. ‘Light a fire, just a little one, then leave the county. Ten pounds apiece richer, to boot.’
But the larger man hesitated. ‘It could turn out to be murder,’ he muttered. ‘It could become a hanging matter for us. Look here — I reckon we'd be taking a big risk. One worth a lot more than twenty pounds.’
Lalage sighed. ‘There'll be no deaths,’ she assured him. ‘The place is full of servants. The alarm will be raised, and everyone will escape.’
‘No.’ The weasel–faced man shook his head. ‘It can't be done.’
‘Fifty pounds,’ said Lalage. ‘A year's wages for you two.’
‘That's true.’ Greed kindled the tall man's dull, grey eyes. ‘Aye, that's true enough.’
‘So?’
‘Twenty pounds down.’
‘Ten.’ Lalage was firm. ‘The balance to be paid when the thing is done.’
‘How do we know you won't cheat us?’
‘How do I know you won't cheat me?’ Lalage glared at them. ‘Ten pounds, and forty to follow. Do it any night this week, and when I hear of your success I'll arrange for forty pounds to be sent to the White Feather on the Addingley road.’
‘Ten pounds isn't much.’ The smaller man was still doubtful. ‘If we're caught — ’
‘Don't be caught!’ Lalage grimaced. ‘They keep no dogs. The service doors are never locked. Most of the upper servants live in the Dower House. Only a few kitchen maids and the butler sleep at the Hall.’
‘I thought you said the place was full?’
‘It is! Well, it sometimes is. Depending on the time of day or night.’ Now in a state of near frenzy, Lalage took out her purse. She clinked the coins. ‘Here,’ she said, counting out money. ‘Gold. More than you've ever had in your lives. Still more to follow. All for striking a flint.’
The men gazed at the cash. Then, grabbing at it, the larger man scooped up his share. ‘It'll be done,’ he said.
‘This week?’
‘Yes. Day after tomorrow. Mrs Curtis?’
‘Yes?’
‘The rest of the money. If it's not a–waitin’ for us, we'll be back to see you. We'll alter the look of your pretty face.’
Lalage shuddered. ‘The money will be there,’ she promised. ‘Ask the ostler, and you'll receive it.’
Lalage watched the men go. Perspiration beading her brow, her heart hammered. She was gasping for breath.
Flopping down on a grassy bank, she waited until she could trust her legs to carry her back up the lane. She would, she decided, give Betty the cherry–red gown tonight.
Chapter 17
Ellis took himself off to London most reluctantly. For, although he knew such a long journey would be bad for her, he was extremely unwilling to leave Rebecca behind.
‘Stay well, Becky,’ he said, as he took his leave. ‘Take care of yourself and the child.’
‘Don't worry, Ellis.’ Feeling more tearful than she cared to admit, Rebecca forced a smile. ‘What harm can come to me here?’
Rebecca missed Ellis badly. In the course of that first week of separation, she was several times on the point of packing her boxes and taking the public stagecoach to London. Only the certainty that Ellis would be extremely angry with her for risking both the child's safety and her own stopped her. So, to assuage her restlessness, she went twice or three times a week to Birmingham, where she walked about the factory and workshops feeling completely redundant.
For Lyddy had taken over. The wretched, dejected, downtrodden Aunt Lyddy of Rebecca's childhood no longer existed — instead, the self–willed, high–spirited Lyddy Searle, whose strong passions had once betrayed her into a reckless love affair which was b
ound to end in disaster for all concerned, was a force to be reckoned with.
‘Orders for buckles,’ she was saying, as she led Rebecca out of the casting–shop and back into the yard. ‘Well, Becky — they're down again. Of course, the shoe buckle is no longer in demand. The fashion for laces has seen to that. But now, every other kind of buckle seems démodé, too. I think we should finish our last order and wind up the process. Concentrate on polished steel buttons and brooches, instead.’
‘Maybe.’ Somewhat breathless now, but inclined to blame the heat and noise of the factory for her nagging headache and general fatigue, Rebecca nodded. ‘Yes, do that. Now — you said you were having problems with one or two of the hands.’
‘Ah. So I did.’ Seeing Rebecca was flushed and looked extremely tired, Lyddy led her towards the office, where she could sit down. ‘John Dixon and Timothy Hartley must go. They steal scrap, they drink to excess, and they swear like Irishmen. Michael tells me their work is poor. They're no use to us.’
‘No, indeed.’ Wearily, Rebecca sighed. ‘Well then, shall we call them in? I'll tell them today. They'll have no more employment here.’
‘I can tell them. When you've gone.’ Lyddy grimaced. ‘But if they then come whining and moaning to Mrs Darrow, she must support me.’
‘Of course she will.’ Rebecca toyed with a teaspoon. ‘Whom had you in mind to replace them? Idle and inefficient they may be, but we'll surely need to find others to do their jobs?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Opening a drawer, Lyddy took out some papers. ‘I wish to speak to you about the furnace,’ she said.
‘What about it?’ Rebecca frowned. ‘It's efficient, isn't it?’
‘Efficient enough. But it could be more so.’ Lyddy passed the papers across. ‘Becky, we need an engine.’
‘Ah.’ Rebecca smiled. ‘I see.’
Of course, as Rebecca knew perfectly well, the big factories in the centre of town all used steam power these days. Engines were the latest thing, and everyone who aspired to any sort of credibility as a manufacturer wanted one. But Rebecca had decided that, in Searle's case, taking into account its diversified, generally small scale of manufacture, mechanisation would probably be more trouble than it was worth.
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