He had never shown a sign of remorse! After her own servants’ conversation had proclaimed him devilish with women!
Lydia realised the odds were stacking up against Mr Vyne. But what could be presented in his defence? A visit to Annesley House with offers of help? But, even that was finished with a warning against his younger brother.
The more Lydia thought of the evidence, the more it pointed to him. But there was something inside her which didn’t want to believe it. Although the man was arrogant and domineering, she had seen something in his eyes which made her stop short; told her to take care not to accuse him lightly...
As the bailiff said they had no proof and she knew she would have given a great deal to find some person unknown guilty of the crime rather than Mr Caleb Vyne. It was at that moment she decided as soon as she had seen to the task of raising salt production again, she would challenge Mr Vyne herself and have the matter out with him!
*
Feelings were running exceptionally high. There was talk of sabotage and even murder and one name only was on everyone’s lips. Strettons!
There was hardly one Annesley salter who didn’t believe that someone working for Strettons or even a Stretton himself had cut Miss Liddy’s brine pipes.
Their anger was particularly directed towards Billy Sheridan and his foul young son. The latter was the devil in disguise. And there was the business of Sally Shrike and Mr Caleb!
The landlord of The Talbot was afraid he was going to have to refuse to serve both young masters soon. He had no qualms in banning Charlie but Mr Vyne was no Sheridan. Like many of the locals, he shared the opinion Upwych would be a better place if Caleb Vyne was master of Raven’s Mill.
People had nothing against poor ailing Lavinia, who’d been duped by that Irish bastard. Her dead husband had been much loved and there had been general sorrow when he was lost in the riding accident. It had been rumoured too that even Miss Elizabeth had been sweet on him.
All over Upwych, heads were shaken hopelessly. The thought of no wages was dire. They kept asking each other whether the new heiress had enough brass to lay new pipes. She had said she would order the work to be done, but would a young lady, fresh from the delights of London, bother?
Sam Shrike took it badly. He had everything to lose. He was now the head of a fatherless family and his sister, Sally had that devil Sheridan’s bastard growing inside her. It was not the child’s fault, but how could he sustain it?
And he couldn’t speak of the matter to anyone having promised Mr Vyne, who was goodness itself. And he was being blamed. Suddenly, Sam Shrike was making a vow. That he would get even with the Strettons whatever he did and Charlie Sheridan would pay dearly for the evil he’d done to Sally.
The morning after the Annesley pipes had been cut by persons unknown, the salt workers’ thoroughfare was busier than usual. The workers were collecting outside the gates again, stamping their feet and blowing their fingers to warm them. The night had been particularly cold and not many of the salters were dressed adequately for the weather.
Most of the women wore a thin coat only over their calico and the woollen shawl covering their heads and shoulders was about the best protection they had against the frosty weather.
The few bare trees outside the factory walls only tended to make the industrial aspect starker and more miserable if that was possible.
As Lydia’s carriage rolled down to the works, she thought she’d never seen such a desolate sight. The six great Covercroft chimneys dominated the scene like ghostly monuments to an industry stricken with ill-luck. The low buildings were dwarfed completely by these gigantic reminders of her present and difficult situation.
The workers, hearing the approaching carriage, were craning their necks to see the lucky visitor who was snug inside. Then they recognised the driver.
“Miss Annesley.” The mutter ran around the waiting salters and men were pulling off their caps in a gesture of respect. Women all around were bobbing awkwardly.
As Lydia caught sight of all those livelihoods dependent on her, she prayed she could find a solution. Blanchard was slowing while the gates were opened. Suddenly, a face appeared at the window of the carriage. Lydia heard Blanchard shout:
“Get away, man!” But Lydia called out:
“No!” The carriage stopped and Lydia waited. She was hoping to hear what the salter wanted. Blanchard’s face appeared, his nose red from riding outside and his eyes were watering.
“It’s not advisable, Miss Annesley. The salters are in a rare mood, not knowing where their next wage packet’s coming from!”
“More reason why I should speak with them then,” decided Lydia. “I intend to go to my meeting fully informed!” The Annesley chin was thrust out once more. Blanchard had lost again!
“Very well, miss,” he said, opening the door. “You - come here.” The man appeared. He was pale like the rest, shivering in his threadbare working coat, a muffler about his throat and a cap which he carefully removed in front of his mistress.
“Timmy Boone!” introduced Blanchard.
“Well, Timmy?” asked Lydia kindly, conscious of her own warm clothes and not wanting him to be standing bareheaded before her.
As spokesman for the salters, Timmy was more used to Miss Elizabeth’s scorching tongue. He would have preferred dealing with the old lady as he was not used to kind words. But as he was set up as spokesman, he had to continue.
“Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but we wants to know what’s happenin’ over yon. Shall we be let in?” His strong Upwych accent was hard to pick up. But the real problem was she could give him no answer. She decided on a compromise.
“You will be told, Timmy, I promise you. I will send the foreman out after my meeting and you and your fellow workers will be fully informed. I know you are gravely worried. However, I hope to resolve matters quickly.”
“So you ain’t shuttin’ down, miss?” Lydia sensed how much anxiety had fuelled the clumsy question.
“Don’t be impertinent, Boone!” said Blanchard. “Miss Annesley will not be questioned!” Timmy Boone backed away.
“Stop, Timmy,” she said and Blanchard stared in astonishment. “You can tell this to all my salters. I have no intention of closing the pit. The brine will flow again soon and your jobs restored. I promise.” Blanchard’s mouth remained open like a fish.
Timmy replaced his cap and touched its side with a respectful gesture. Then he and the other salters stood back as Lydia’s carriage passed through the gates. She could feel their eyes boring into her, as keenly as they cut her salt blocks.
She had to keep her promise, whatever the cost. Now all she needed was to attend the meeting to try and salvage her business and discover what was best to be done.
She had taken the bank manager’s advice and ignored the doctor’s. Her aunt, though very weak, had delivered the names of those gentlemen best suited to help and they had answered the summons. But if they’d be prepared to help was quite another matter.
The spacious board room was smart but hardly fit for such a rare young lady as Miss Annesley. The heavy oak panelling appeared not to have seen a feather duster for weeks, for over the wood was the shimmer of salt, which blew in through the window crevices and beneath the heavy door.
The red-bloom of the mahogany table was dulled and there were lighter marks in the wood grain. The handsome piece of furniture had been brought back from the Tropics by some distant Annesley ancestor while the chairs matched its dull severity. If one looked closely, there might be a button missing from their leather backs or a shininess of seat from age.
Yet the pictures on the walls were fine; one, a heavy oil painting of a livid sea attempting to engulf a three-master. Once again, a testament to the family’s fondness for foreign travel.
The men who waited for Lydia that morning had the company’s success at heart; if it went down they were ruined - with one exception - Mr Smith, whose bank represented all the salt aristocracy of Upwych.
However, he felt sympathy for the lovely girl, who’d been forced to take on such a troubled inheritance when she should have been enjoying youthful pleasures. Mr Smith coughed into his handkerchief, then blew his nose.
“Chilly,” he said and sniffed.
“’Tis that,” replied the foreman, rubbing his hands.
He was extremely uncomfortable. He had no experience of the board room, but he’d been called in because he knew how the factory worked. The chief engineer was away and thus he was the only substitute.
He had already seen something of the new young heiress. He hadn’t agreed with her decision then and he was almost sure he wouldn’t now. Her treatment of the Shrike girl had been in keeping with a young lady’s charity but there was no place for softness in the hard world of business.
He could feel his colour heightening at the thought of his brine pipes being cut. To cover his sudden anger, he concentrated on looking at Doctor May.
The doctor’s eyes were closed. He’d been called out twice in the night. One to a difficult confinement in the notorious Vynes, where the child had lived. One to a consumptive case, who had died. He would rather have been in his bed as he waited for Miss Annesley. He knew why he was present. To report on Miss Elizabeth’s shocking state of health.
Two others on the board had not yet met the heiress. One, the vicar of Dodderhill, who was a shareholder in his own right and Lord George Tulham, whose land bordered on the Annesleys and who had in the past allowed the family to bore holes in his fields.
Besides being a beneficiary when they found salt, he had grown up with Elizabeth and had some feeling for her since boyhood. He had felt it his bounden duty to attend the meeting and give the young lady any protection he could.
“Any sign of her, man?” asked Lord George. He’d given up a morning’s hunting.
“Yes, here she is,” cried the foreman. “I can see the carriage now. It must have been held up by the salters.”
“They say she is much like her grandfather,” said the vicar, straightening his stock.
“Then she’ll be no beauty,” quipped Tulham, “and we’d best watch out!” There was a gust of laughter around the table, which raised the atmosphere.
Lord George was wrong only on the one count. He caught his breath as he and the others rose to their feet as Blanchard ushered in the caretaker mistress of Annesley Works.
She’s some looker, thought George, as they took their seats again. He and his fellows were to find out very soon that they needed to watch Miss Liddy most carefully for she had a number of radical ideas which were entirely her own!
“And that’s it, miss.” The foreman finished his explanation of the damage. “The only way we can recoup some of our losses is to lay more pipes. We’re lucky to have another small outlet to the brine seam, but it isn’t coming quickly!”
“Can we bore another?” asked Lydia. The bank manager sniffed, then cleared his throat delicately:
“Miss Annesley, may I remind you boring is a very expensive business.”
“Ah, we cannot afford it?” smiled Lydia. There was a general clearing of throats. Lord George smiled too.
“Miss Annesley doesn’t shrink from the truth. It’s an expensive business, I agree, but it could be considered, Mr Smith.” The manager was wriggling in his seat. He nodded:
“I don’t wish to disagree, my lord, but, I, personally, couldn’t take such a decision. I would have to refer it to Head Office.”
“Head Office, Miss Annesley,” repeated George. Lydia liked his expression. He was elderly but had retained a sparkle of youth. Could Lord George help her? At that moment and against her will, she was wishing for Caleb Vyne’s opinion.
“So what do you suggest, my lord?” she asked.
“If it was my brine, I would re-lay, not go to the expense of re-boring nor recourse to Head Office approval!”
“Really, my lord!” said Mr Smith.
“It’s just the truth, man. There’s no need to re-dig with such punishing interest.”
“Thank you,” said Lydia, sensing an awkward moment. “And I agree with Lord George. I want my pipes re-laid. But who is to say they’ll not be severed again?” There was absolute silence. “Isn’t it a possibility? Can I afford to take such a risk?”
The foreman stood up and leaned over the table, his calloused palms pressed against the smooth mahogany surface.
“Begging your pardon, miss,” he said slowly, “if you cannot, then Upwych is finished!”
“Thank you,” replied Lydia. “Now, gentlemen, I see it this way. Dr. May tells us my aunt needs time to recover. And no anxiety. I have thought about everything very carefully and, indeed, spoken to her of it.
“It would be easy for us to offer Annesley House and the works to the highest bidder. From what I deduce, that bidder would be a Stretton. And, if a Stretton is guilty of the crime against me, I can see no way to sell anything to him!”
“Bravo!” said Lord George.
“I will hold on to Annesley. I will set guards on my pipes on the land and I hope Lord George will help me with that. While the workmen are re-laying, I don’t think we shall be attacked. If an attack comes, I shall take full recourse to law and hunt the culprits down. In short, they will be made to suffer!” Her eyes were very bright.
“I do not like being bullied,” she added. “And my salters will not starve.” The foreman was open-mouthed. “Dobson, I want you to tell my workers that their jobs are safe. From personal funds I will add an extra coin to their wages if the work of re-laying gets underway by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes, miss,” replied the foreman, “may I go and tell them now?” As the man hurried from the room, Lord George was thinking how magnificent Annesley women were when roused - and was remembering Elizabeth. Then Lydia was turning to the bank manager.
“I will call at your office at ten tomorrow to go over my accounts.”
“I’m afraid, Miss Annesley, that you may be extremely disappointed,” said Mr Smith.
“Hush, man,” said George. “You and I will have a talk as well. What’s the use of neighbours if they cannot be neighbourly? In any case, some of the pipes are on my land. Miss Annesley, we shall make this a joint venture.” The bank manager’s eyes were glinting. With Lord George Tulham’s wealth at her disposal, the Annesley girl might name her terms.
“Thank you, my lord,” cried Lydia.
“God bless you,” added the vicar. Suddenly, the outlook for his shares was becoming so much brighter.
“There’ll be happier talk in the Vynes tonight,” remarked the doctor. What a way the young lady had with her! He’d be a lucky man who set his sights on Lydia Annesley, but he’d have to be a strong one!
“And, Dr. May, I have some plans for my workers’ welfare. I should like to discuss them with you very much indeed.”
“Only too glad, Miss Lydia, but if this meeting is nearly over, I beg to be excused. I’ve had a broken night.”
“Of course. I’ve kept you far too long already,” cried Lydia. She took out the pretty watch which had belonged to her mother. “Goodness, nearly lunch time. Can I extend the hospitality of Annesley House to any of you?”
All but one declined. Lord George was very keen to see and hear more of this amazing young woman. He also intended to make her a handsome joint offer for the re-laying of her pipes.
They left together in his brougham and, as they passed through the factory gates, a cheer went up from the shivering salters. They had decided to stay outside until the young mistress left the premises.
Timmy Boone stepped forward, removed his hat to doff it to Lydia and Lord George.
“I speaks for all the salters, miss,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Thank you!” The carriage moved off and Lord George noticed the brightness in Lydia’s eyes.
“You have accomplished what we have not, my dear.”
“What’s that?”
“The respect and approval of the workers.”
“I hope so
with all my heart,” said Lydia. “They have miserable enough lives and I’d like to change some of that.”
“Well done, Miss Lydia, well done,” said Lord George as his chestnuts trotted on down the wide thoroughfare past the ugly Upwych chimneys... Later Lydia was very glad she’d invited him as he was able to give her some further insight into her family history...
She was touched by his evident concern for her aunt. He had asked to be brought up to see her but, finding Elizabeth fast asleep, he and Lydia had tip-toed out.
There was still a tender look on his face as they descended the staircase and entered the drawing-room side by side.
“You’ve known my aunt a long time, my lord?”
“Since we were both children. Although I was at Eton, I was a frequent visitor to Annesley in the holidays.”
“You were boarded out then?” asked Lydia.
“Yes, but not happily. My father had more preference for the place than I. If I had married, I should not have sent my own son.” Lydia could see the remembrance of schooldays long ago was painful. so she didn’t pry.
“And my aunt? Did she have a governess?”
“A fine one, but exceedingly severe. And an excellent chaperone.” He was evidently feeling better because his eyes were twinkling under the heavy white brows. “Ah, yes, quite excellent - and now - poor Elizabeth. To think she has come to this.”
“I’m sure she’ll be well again,” Lydia interposed, hoping he wouldn’t be sad again. She was wondering if Lord Tulham could have been her aunt’s suitor, he spoke so tenderly of her.
“You have a kind heart, Miss Lydia, like your aunt.” He got up and walked over to the window to look at the park. “She and I have been ever close. In fact, I would have asked her to marry me but she had other plans. A strong-willed young woman.” Lord Tulham cleared his throat. “Very much like you, my dear. I thought it when I listened to your speech today.”
The Price of Beauty Page 11