Jack of Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  Patrick almost laughed out loud in his surprise. The high-and-mighty Miss Wheeler asking for his opinion? But she was right. It looked as if they had emerged from another world, one suspended in time and space.

  “ ‘Tis indeed, Miss Wheeler. But it is no mystery, only the change in temperature.”

  Sarah felt irrationally hurt. She had been spontaneous and open, and it did look mysterious, whatever the mundane explanation.

  “Of course, Sergeant,” she replied stiffly.

  Dia, the woman hadn’t been friendly since he’d been hired and the first time she was, he went and offended her. “Ye were right, though, Miss Wheeler. Ye’d almost expect to see one of the sidhe walking out of that mist.”

  “The sidhe?”

  “The shining ones, we call them in Ireland.”

  “Oh, faerie folk. In Northumberland, where I come from, we have a story of a man who spent seven years with the queen of Elfland or Faerie. In thrall to her. I have always loved that phrase.”

  “It means to be in bondage. So that man was really her slave, wasn’t he?” Patrick remarked.

  “I suppose you are right,” said Sarah thoughtfully. “I never thought of it like that. I always thought of him as caught by her charm, in thrall to love.”

  “Now what kind of eejit would want to make himself a slave for love? Sure, and that’s the last thing love is about.”

  Sarah felt like she had been slapped in the face. Here she was, discussing her feelings with a mere groom and a crude Irishman at that, and he threw them in her face!

  “I wonder that you would know anything of love, Sergeant Gillen, having spent so many years at war.”

  Jasus, the woman was as prickly as a hedgehog. He could easily have countered with something like, “And ye’ve spent as many years as a spinster, Miss Wheeler, so neither of us is much of an expert!” But he didn’t have the heart to insult her like that, so he took a deep breath before he spoke again. “Now, Miss Wheeler, I wasn’t criticizing you, but those songs and stories. It’s silly to be quarreling about a thing like that.”

  “I am not quarreling, Sergeant,” Sarah replied frostily and, turning her gelding, she rode on ahead, leaving Patrick to trail behind.

  Damn the woman, he thought. But there was something about her that made him feel protective despite himself. Perhaps it was her beauty, for she was beautiful in a pale English sort of way. Maybe it was that, despite her age and experience, she seemed in some ways more fragile than Miss Heriot. He admired his employer, he enjoyed serving her, but when all was said and done, she had more choices in her life than Miss Wheeler had ever had. And he knew what it was like to have few choices.

  * * * *

  When they arrived back at the stables, one of the maids from the house was waiting with a folded piece of paper for Patrick.

  “From Miss Heriot, Mr. Gillen.”

  “Thank you, Rosie.”

  Rosie gave Patrick a quick smile before she walked away, making sure to lift her skirts a little so as to keep them out of the muck of the stable yard. And also, Sarah suspected as she watched, so Sergeant Gillen would have a view of her ankles!

  Maybe it was something in the air that Rosie had left behind, but when Patrick Gillen helped her down from her horse, Sarah was very conscious of his hands around her waist. They were rough and large, not gentleman’s hands, she told herself, but that didn’t seem to lessen the sensation of his touch, which lingered even after he let her go.

  “Good day to you, Miss Wheeler,” he said as he turned away.

  “Good day, Sergeant Gillen,” Sarah called and lifted her own skirts, as conscious of the fact that he wasn’t watching her neat ankles as she would have been if he had!

  * * * *

  “Did Patrick get my note, Sarah?” Anne asked her.

  “Oh, yes. Rosie was waiting when we got back.”

  “Rosie delivered it?” Anne asked with a smile. “I gave the note to Frank. She must have charmed it out of him. I’ll have to watch that girl.”

  “I thought she and James were courting?”

  “I am sure James thinks so, too. Rosie just can’t resist the challenge of a single man!”

  “You should speak to her, Anne,” Sarah said in a sharp tone so unlike her that Anne looked at her curiously.

  “For James’s sake, of course,” Sarah added.

  “Of course. I asked Patrick to get the carriage ready. He will be driving me over to Shipton, so I will not be able to go into the village with you. I am sorry, Sarah.”

  “You are driving to Shipton? Why, you haven’t been there since your father took you years ago.”

  “Joseph came to tell me of some problems at the mill. It seems there is a young troublemaker there who is making the workers feel ill-used. I thought if I showed an interest and announced a small Christmas bonus, I could defuse whatever grumbling he has tried to start.”

  “Shouldn’t Joseph be taking care of that sort of thing?”

  “Actually, I am almost glad this came up. It is silly of me to know so much about the mill on paper and never see the real thing. Joseph will be there to meet me. And I’ll have Patrick. I think he looks strong enough to discourage any disrespect.”

  “Perhaps I should go with you?”

  “No, Sarah, it isn’t necessary,” Anne said firmly. “I appreciate your offer, but as owner of the mill I wish to appear as secure in my position as my father was, and bringing my companion would make me look more like I am going to a local assembly than a place of business. Besides, you had shopping to do.”

  “All right. But please be careful.”

  * * * *

  The carriage was ready within half an hour. Patrick handed her in and then placed two hot bricks at her feet.

  “It may be a bit warmer today, but ‘tis a long ride.”

  “Thank you, Patrick. I appreciate it.”

  Anne enjoyed watching the scenery change from large, stone-fenced pasture to small rocky fields. She dozed a little, but at last they reached the town. The mill was on the other side of town, but Joseph had arranged to meet her in the courtyard of the local inn. He was there waiting and climbed in with only a nod to Patrick and a look of disapproval for Anne.

  “I still think this is unnecessary, cousin.”

  As they drove through the town, the houses became smaller and poorer, and Anne commented on this.

  “Aye, t’north side is where most of t’workers live.”

  Despite the poverty, many of the houses had small gardens, and Anne was moved by the skeletal rosebushes and the last frozen greens. Clearly an effort had been made to add something pretty as well as practical to life. But as she looked down the small lanes, she saw other houses, hovels really, in poorer condition.

  “And there is one of t’local pubs,” said Joseph, pointing to the other side of the road. Anne leaned over to see better, and as she did, met the eyes of a man who had just come out of the Hart and Horn. He was rough and red-faced and looked at her with such hostility that she drew back immediately.

  “Tom Gibson,” said Joseph. “Drunk before sundown, as usual.”

  “He looks so angry. Could he have known who I am?”

  “I doubt it. He is angry at everything, Tom Gibson is,” Joseph said dismissively.

  “Is this Ned Gibson like his brother?”

  “He didn’t seem to be, but then, violent natures will always show themselves, sooner or later.”

  When they reached the courtyard of the factory, Joseph handed Anne out of the carriage.

  “Will I come in with ye, Miss Heriot?” Patrick asked her after he climbed down from the driver’s seat.

  “I think it better if you stay here, Patrick. I am in good hands with Joseph.”

  * * * *

  “We will walk through the weaving loft, Anne, which is on the second floor. I have told the foreman you are coming.”

  “I had hoped to tour the whole mill, Joseph.”

  “Oh, I see no need for that.”

/>   Anne said nothing, but decided that if she felt the need to go further, she would do so.

  As they climbed the stairs, the racket of the looms grew louder and louder, and by the time they reached the loft, Anne thought her head would come off with the noise. She stood in the doorway and watched as an older, heavyset man hurried toward her.

  “This is Peter Brill, Anne,” Joseph told her.

  “Pardon me? I can’t hear anything.”

  “This is your foreman,” Joseph said loudly.

  “It is a great honor to have you visiting, Miss Heriot,” the foreman said. Or at least that’s what Anne thought he said. She certainly hoped so, as she replied, “The honor is mine, Mr. Brill.” Please God she had heard his name correctly. How did anyone survive the noise? she wondered as they started down the aisle.

  In addition to the noise and the frightening speed of the shuttles, Anne realized that what had seemed to be a haze in the room was actually a cloud of lint.

  She had noticed some men and women with handkerchiefs tied around their faces, and now she understood why, as the particles in the air tickled her nose and throat.

  When they reached the end of the loft, Brill motioned them outside and shut the door, which cut off the noise a little.

  “As you can see, Miss Heriot, your workers are happy and productive. And very well paid, I might add,” said Brill, with an unctuous smile.

  Anne wasn’t sure how he could tell they were happy, but she certainly had the impression that they were swift and efficient, and supposed they would have to be reasonably content to achieve that.

  “I thought I might surprise them all and order the machines shut down for a minute or two. Mr. Trantor says you have a small Christmas bonus to announce?”

  “I do, but perhaps I could see the carding shed first?”

  Brill didn’t seem to have heard her. Opening the door, he gave a hand signal and all of the machines stopped.

  The silence was almost disconcerting after all that noise, thought Anne. She assumed that after a time her ears would have become accustomed to it. Clearly her workers had had years of this, so the silence was probably nothing to them at all.

  Although everyone’s eyes were upon her, no one had moved from behind their machines, so Joseph led her forward a little.

  “We have the honor of a visit from your employer.”

  There were a few lifted eyebrows, but for the most part their faces remained expressionless.

  “She has a few words to say to you.”

  Anne’s knees suddenly felt shaky, and her throat felt even drier, if that were possible. Just as she was about to open her mouth, she felt a tickle in her nose. She wrinkled it quickly and lifted her hand, but she was helpless before the sneeze.

  “God bless tha, miss,” called an old man two rows down from her, and everyone laughed, breaking the tension.

  “Thank tha, sir,” she said with a smile. “Soom of tha may remember me, for I visited t’mill when I were fifteen. But that was more than a few years ago,” she added with a smile. “I have been keeping t’accounts of the Heriot mills for many years. When I looked at this year’s results, I told Joseph I wished to pay another visit and thank tha for all tha hard work.”

  Many of the men and women smiled proudly, but there were still a number of faces that were unresponsive. Anne was sure her next words would change that.

  “I told Mr. Trantor that I wanted to do something to honor my father’s memory and reward you. There will be a small bonus added to tha Christmas pay envelopes.”

  There were certainly more smiles and the old man who had said “God bless tha” added another one. Yet still some of the workers looked at her expressionlessly and Anne, feeling puzzled and a bit hurt that she hadn’t been able to reach them, found herself adding something she had not intended to.

  “I also have heard some sad news—that a young child suffered an accident a few weeks ago. I intend to pay an extra bonus to that child’s family.”

  Anne could feel Joseph’s disapproval, but the nods of approval from the workers in front of her convinced her that she had done the right thing in mentioning the accident.

  “We should let everyone go back to work, Miss Heriot,” said Brill. “We don’t want them to ruin their production rate now, do we?” he added, with an attempt at humor.

  “No indeed, Mr. Brill.” Anne had barely finished speaking when the foreman gave another hand signal and the noise began again. As she walked down the aisle, looking right and left and smiling her approval, she received a few curtsies and tugging of hair, but most were intent on their machines.

  As they started down the stairs, Joseph said, “I didn’t think tha was going to mention anything negative.”

  “It just seemed the right thing to say, Joseph.”

  “And I think it were, Miss Heriot,” said Brill. “Seemed tha were concerned-like. That and t’bonus should take care of any trouble brewing.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Brill. And now I would like to see the shed where the accident took place.”

  Both men began to protest, but Anne held up her hand. “I want to satisfy myself that we are taking sufficient safety precautions, Joseph.”

  There was only the one large machine where the children worked, so the noise was less. Although Anne knew that children as young as six came to work with their parents, she wasn’t prepared for the sight of such small bodies busily picking at the wool and pushing it into the carding machine.

  “I am surprised there aren’t more accidents,” she said, as she watched the small fingers coming so close to the rollers.

  “They are well trained, Miss Heriot. See how all of them have short sleeves or their sleeves pinned up? The girl who was hurt had let her sleeves down and one caught in the rollers.”

  “That is enough detail, Peter,” Joseph said sharply. “The child was careless, Anne,” he added coldly. “We haven’t had an accident here in years.”

  “You are sure the machinery is in good repair?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Anne sighed. She supposed the men were right. A moment of carelessness in any occupation could lead to injury. Her young kitchen maids, for instance, had to be reminded constantly about the danger of burns.

  * * * *

  As they walked back to the carriage, Anne asked Joseph where Ned Gibson worked.

  “He was in the main loft, Anne.”

  “So he heard everything I said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, let us hope he feels satisfied now.”

  When they reached the carriage, Patrick was not in sight.

  “Where is your groom?” Joseph asked, annoyed.

  Anne looked around and then spied Patrick reading a poster next to the entrance. Her curiosity aroused, she walked over to see what interested him.

  “What are you reading, Patrick?”

  “Sorry, Miss Heriot. I didn’t see ye come out.” Patrick’s voice did not hold his usual friendliness, and as he walked back to the carriage, Anne examined the poster. It seemed to be a list of rules for the workers.

  ALL WORK WILL BE DONE IN SILENCE.

  ANY INSUBORDINATION TO AN OVERSEER WILL BE PUNISHED BY IMMEDIATE DISMISSAL.

  ANYONE WITH LIQUOR WILL BE FINED 2 SHILLINGS.

  ANYONE SINGING OR WHISTLING AT HIS WORK WILL BE TURNED OFF.

  “What is this, Joseph?” Anne asked, motioning her cousin over.

  “That was posted by tha father years ago. Obviously we can’t have spirits on the premises, given the machinery we use. Or men wandering around t’mill, leaving their work behind.”

  “But to be turned off for whistling? Or singing?”

  “Think about it, cousin. Anyone with time or inclination to whistle cannot be serious about her work—is, in fact, a careless person and probably very liable to accident.”

  “I suppose you are right,” Anne said hesitantly.

  “These rules are no different than any other factory owner’s, Anne. In fact, tha fat
her was careful to keep fines lower than most. And of course, t’best way to judge is by t’results.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, your visit has proved very successful,” Joseph continued heartily. “The news of bonus will spread very quickly, I’m sure.”

  * * * *

  They dropped Joseph off in the village, and Anne dozed most of the way home.

  Sarah had ordered a light supper for them, knowing Anne’s appetite was always diminished after a long carriage ride.

  “Was your visit successful, Anne?” she asked when her employer came down to the table.

  “I think it was. I managed to get to see the sorting shed as well as the looms, even though Joseph wanted to rush me in and out. I announced the Christmas bonus, and most people seemed pleased…” Anne’s voice trailed off.

  “But?”

  “It is one thing to add up the price of raw wool and the cost of steam. It is quite another to walk the floor and not be able to hear yourself think! I never realized how noisy the looms are. And yet people seemed satisfied. Or at least, not dissatisfied,” she added. “Many of them didn’t seem to have any reaction to my visit. I couldn’t tell whether they appreciated it or not.”

  “And the accident?”

  “I must confess it is difficult to watch small children feeding the carding machines, but the safety precautions are made clear to them. The child who was injured evidently forgot to roll her sleeve up, and it got caught in the rollers.”

  Sarah shuddered involuntarily. “It is hard for a small child to remember or even understand such precautions, though.”

  “Yes, that occurred to me, too. But without the children’s wages, most families wouldn’t survive, would they?”

  * * * *

  Anne went to bed early and Sarah stayed up watching the fire in the parlor as it died down from flames to glowing orange coals and then began to go out. What would it be like to send your six-year-old off to a mill? she wondered. Or to hear that your daughter’s hand had been crushed in the machinery?

  Years ago, when she realized she would be forced to hire herself out, when it became clear that despite her education and gentle birth, she would never enjoy any of the privileges associated with either, Sarah had felt very sorry for herself. Although the self-pity had diminished over the years, there were times even now when a wave of it would wash over her, leaving her feeling bereft of hope and joy. Then she would remind herself how lucky she had been. She was treated more like a friend than an employee. Her duties were very light, and she lived in virtual luxury in a beautiful house with plenty of food. And she was well clothed, she thought, fingering her dark blue kerseymere gown.