It was an English custom, to be sure, but somehow it made Patrick feel at home, for the story came from the same roots as the wren ritual during the darkest time of the year, something had to die, and the darkness had to become even darker for a while in order for the light to return and the earth to come back to life.
When Timothy pranced around, emphasizing his “bosom,” Patrick heard Sarah giggling, and without thinking, he put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. He leaned down and whispered, “I like a woman who can laugh.” He was about to drop a kiss on her lips when he remembered he was no longer in the army, teasing one of the laundresses, but holding Miss Sarah Wheeler, the granddaughter of a viscount. He let her go immediately and was so embarrassed by his lapse of manners that he turned his attentions to Rosie, who was standing on his other side.
Sarah, who had been warmed down to her toes by Patrick’s embrace, grew cold all over again when he withdrew his arm and let Rosie pull him into a conversation. And later, as they all walked back to the house, she had to ask herself just why it bothered her so much that she was caught between Mrs. Collins and the cook while that saucy little baggage had both James and Patrick leaning down to catch her every word.
* * * *
Patrick saddled his gelding early the next morning and arrived at the Astons’ a few hours later. Samuels made him wait in the front hall while he went to the morning room to announce him.
“Mr. Aston,” he whispered into Val’s ear.
“Yes, Samuels?”
“There is an…Irish person here to see Miss Heriot. He claims he is her groom.”
“Sergeant Gillen?”
“I believe that is his name, sir.”
“Then show him into the library, Samuels.”
When the butler had left, Val went over to the sofa where Anne was sitting, working a small square of embroidery.
“Anne, Patrick has ridden over to see you.”
Anne looked up in alarm. “What would Patrick be doing here today? There must be something wrong at home.” Anne jumped up, scattering her silks over the rug.
“Do you want Elspeth or me to come with you?”
“No, let me talk to him alone.”
* * * *
Patrick was standing by the fire when Anne entered.
“I am really sorry to be interruptin’ yer holiday, Miss Heriot,” he apologized when she came in.
“Is it the mill, Patrick? Or is Sarah ill?”
“I suppose it is a bit of both, miss. Why don’t ye sit down and I’ll tell ye.”
Anne sank onto the sofa. “Sarah is ill?”
“No, no, Sarah is fine. But she might not have been.”
Anne barely noticed that Patrick was calling her friend by her first name. “Tell me, Patrick.”
“We went out on Christmas Eve in the morning to gather a little greenery for the house.”
“But we decorated the hall before I left.”
“Em, yes, but Miss Sarah said she wanted some holly and ivy for the drawing room mantel, and I offered to help her. We were halfway there when her saddle gave way.”
“Gave way?”
“Started slidin’ off. Luckily she felt it happenin’ and kicked free before the mare took off.”
“Was she hurt?” Anne asked anxiously.
“Just a little. A sprained elbow.”
“Thank God. But what has this to do with the mill, Patrick?”
“Ye see, Sarah was using yer saddle, Miss Heriot. And when I examined it, I found the girth had been sliced halfway through.”
“How could that have happened?” asked Anne, not quite able to grasp what Patrick was telling her.
“Someone cut it very carefully. Since it was yer saddle, ye would have been the one hurt, the next time ye went for a ride.”
“I still don’t see how the mill comes into this,” said Anne, and then her puzzled expression changed. “Ned Gibson? Do you think Ned Gibson had anything to do with this?”
“ ‘Tis a possibility that occurred to me.”
“But what good could it do him if I were hurt?”
“Sarah was lucky that she freed herself so quickly. It could have been much worse if the rider had been dragged along. ‘Tis very rocky out there…”
Anne closed her eyes and shuddered as a picture of Sarah or herself, foot caught on the pommel, head hitting the ground over and over, took shape.
“She could have been seriously hurt. Or even killed. I could have been,” Anne whispered. “But could Ned Gibson have been that eager for revenge?”
“Ye don’t really know him that well, do ye?” Patrick hesitated. “He was me first suspect, but then another person came to mind—Mr. Trantor.”
“Joseph! Why ever would he want to hurt me!”
“He has a very good motive, Miss Heriot. Miss Sarah tells me he wants to marry ye, but ye’re looking elsewhere.”
“He was disappointed, I know. Even angry that I was going to London. But Joseph could never be a murderer. I can’t believe it.”
“He inherits all if something happens to ye, isn’t that true?”
“Yes, he’s my father’s only living relative aside from myself.”
“Sure, and that’s reason enough, I’d say.”
“But how could he be sure I’d be killed, Patrick? After all, Sarah escaped serious harm. No, it can’t be Joseph. It must be Ned Gibson, out for revenge.” Anne was quiet for a moment. “But how can we prove anything?”
“I’d like to do a little investigatin’, Miss Heriot. Take a trip over to Shipton. Have an ale or two at one of the pubs. Maybe I’ll hear something more about our boyo.”
“But they know who you are, Patrick. Why should anyone talk to you?”
“I can complain about what a hard mistress ye are, miss,” said Patrick, giving her a quick smile.
Anne rose from the sofa. “Patrick, I want you to come and tell Mr. Aston your story. Perhaps he will have some ideas.”
* * * *
Anne led Patrick over to the cozy little circle of chairs around the morning-room fire. “You all know Sergeant Gillen.”
“You must be cold after your ride, Sergeant. Will you have a cup of coffee?” Elspeth offered.
“I’d love some tea, ma’am.”
Elspeth rang for a pot of tea and more scones.
“Now, come over here and sit down, Sergeant. Anne, you look worried. What has happened at Heriot Hall?”
Elspeth’s easy way of taking charge calmed Anne a little.
“Patrick has just told me of an accident that Sarah had.”
“Miss Wheeler is all right, I hope,” said Lord Faringdon.
“Yes, sir, I mean, my lord,” Patrick answered.
“But it wasn’t really an accident,” continued Anne. “Her saddle girth was cut—except it wasn’t her saddle, it was mine…”
“What are you saying, Anne?”
Anne gave Elspeth a rueful smile. “I know I am being a little confusing, but I haven’t taken it in yet myself.”
“So you suspect that someone intended harm to Miss Heriot, Sergeant Gillen?” Val’s tone was that of someone used to getting information quickly and efficiently.
“Yes, sor. And Miss Wheeler was very lucky to escape serious injury.”
Jack Belden stood up and walked over to lean against the mantel. “Have you any idea who would do this, Sergeant Gillen?”
Before Patrick could say anything, Anne quickly replied, “There is a young man at the mill who came to see me just before Christmas. He was very upset that his fiancée had been dismissed.”
“What did he want from you, Anne?” Val asked quietly.
“I suppose he wanted me to intervene with Joseph for her and have her rehired. But of course I wouldn’t do that. It would create all sorts of problems if I went over Joseph’s head. I told him that I would make sure she got a Christmas bonus despite the fact that she was let go before I announced the bonuses.”
“What was his reaction?”
>
“He was still very angry,” Anne admitted.
“At you personally?”
“I suppose so. Certainly at Joseph.”
“What was the girl dismissed for, Anne?”
“Whistling.”
“Whistling?” Val said incredulously.
“I suppose it does sound minor, but my father’s rules made sense as Joseph explained them to me. And they are no different than the rules set by the other mill owners,” Anne said defensively.
“Is Trantor a hard man?” Val inquired.
“Not an unjust one,” Anne said with some annoyance in her voice. She was beginning to feel interrogated, which felt unfair, given that she had been the intended victim.
“So you admit he is hard?”
“Surely Miss Heriot doesn’t have to admit anything, Valentine. She was, after all, the probable target.” Jack smiled as he mildly rebuked his friend.
“I apologize, Anne,” Val said stiffly. “I worked under a hard man myself as a boy and encountered my share of ‘just’ officers when I served in the ranks. It’s difficult for me not to feel sympathetic to your workers.”
“You are not suggesting that Ned Gibson is justified in putting someone’s life in danger!” exclaimed his wife.
“Of course not, Elspeth. I was just thinking about motive. Wouldn’t he have more reason to go after Trantor?”
“And then there is Mr. Trantor himself,” Patrick pointed out.
“I am sure Joseph would never wish me harm,” Anne protested.
“But if ye’re looking for motive, Mr. Aston, then Trantor’s got one. He wants to marry Miss Heriot. Beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am, for speaking of yer private business.”
Anne sat there, irrationally furious that Jack Belden was hearing all this. She felt she had suddenly become the center of a sordid drama, through no fault of her own.
“He is your father’s second cousin, Anne. He would inherit everything if anything happened to you, wouldn’t he?” Elspeth reflected.
“Oh, Elspeth, not you too. Joseph cares about me. I admit I have disappointed his hopes, but he would never harm me. I am sure it is Ned Gibson. His family has a history of following General Ludd, and we all know the violence they brought to Yorkshire.”
“I understood it was mainly directed at machines,” said Val.
“William Horsfall was shot to death, all because he was bringing in a new steam engine,” Anne told him.
“But hasn’t it all calmed down over the past few years?” Elspeth asked.
“There may still be a few men who are resentful,” commented Jack, his tone conciliatory. “This Gibson may be one.”
Anne looked over at him gratefully. “Thank you, my lord. I was feeling that I was the one on trial, merely for running the mills the way my father ran them!”
“I don’t think a discussion on the labor question is one we want to continue, is it, Val?” Jack continued smoothly. “I think the question here is to find out who did this and why. Obviously, Ned Gibson is the one to start with.”
“Thank you again, my lord,” Anne said warmly.
Jack smiled at her and then continued apologetically, “We cannot overlook your cousin, Miss Heriot. But we will start with the person who is the most obvious suspect.”
* * * *
After Anne left the room to see Patrick off, Elspeth looked at her husband. “You were hard on Anne, Val. You sounded as though you were cross examining one of your men.”
Val ran his hand through his hair. “I know. I’ll have to apologize. It is just that I know what it is like to work for a living and be at the mercy of the one who is your master.” He hesitated. “You must admit, Elspeth, Anne has never had to worry about anything. Her father’s mills have provided her with the life of a lady.”
“That’s not her fault, Valentine,” Jack protested.
“I am not saying it is a fault, Jack. It is just that Anne would have a hard time imagining the life of a mill worker.”
“Her father knew, and he didn’t seem to let it get in the way of his profits,” countered Jack.
“No, but I’d be willing to bet Trantor is much harder on the workers. I think a visit from Patrick is a good idea.”
“And what about Trantor?”
“I think we must trust Anne’s perception that he is too fond of her to wish her harm.”
“Surely he only wants to marry her to gain control of her fortune,” Jack said indignantly. “If she married elsewhere…”
Val gave Jack an ironic smile. “Your anger is a little out of place, Jack. You yourself need to marry Anne for her fortune, after all.”
It took all of Jack’s self-control not to respond to Val’s thrust. And why was he so furious, he asked himself, as he took a deep breath and turned to stir the fire. He clenched his hands on the warm iron poker. When he turned back to Val, however, his tone was bland. “Touché, Val. I suppose I am a little annoyed to have to add a fourth to Miss Heriot’s list of suitors.”
“Oh, stop, both of you! Joseph Trantor is most certainly not one of Anne’s suitors—not that it is any business of yours, Jack.” Elspeth turned to her husband. “And since she has turned elsewhere for a husband, it could well be that her cousin is behind the attack, Val,” she added worriedly.
Val gave his wife an apologetic smile. “I know I was hard on Anne, Elspeth, and I will ask Patrick to keep a careful watch on her.”
Elspeth gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, saying, “Come, you can make your apologies to Anne and invite her to join us on a ride. Do you want to come, Jack?”
“Thank you, Elspeth, but having just stirred up the fire, I think I will take advantage of it and read my book.”
* * * *
Jack stared at the pages blankly for a while, then finally gave up trying to read. He leaned over and gave the fire an aimless poke. Why should he resent Trantor so? Especially since it was clear that Anne Heriot would never entertain the man’s suit. Val was right. How was he any different from her cousin, pursuing Anne for her money?
He pushed at a fallen log. Somehow his feelings for Anne Heriot were beginning to change. Or, to put it more accurately, he was beginning to have feelings for her. He certainly had had none at the beginning. He had seen her only as a means to an end, as a woman with whom he was trying to negotiate a business arrangement.
Some negotiator he’d turned out to be. Not only had he failed in convincing her that he would make the best husband, but he was beginning to think that she would make a very good wife indeed, with or without her fortune. Didn’t that make him some kind of a fool, starting to care for a woman who had no interest in him? He poked at the fire again.
“If you keep doing that, Lord Aldborough, you are going to make it go out altogether!” said an amused voice behind him.
Anne sat down on the chair opposite, and Jack gave her a rueful smile. “You are right, Miss Heriot. I am stirring things up too much,” he agreed, replacing the poker and then wishing, for some reason, that he had something else to do with his hands.
“I wanted to thank you for supporting me, my lord,” Anne told him quietly.
“It seemed to me that Val was being a bit harsh. I am sure your father was fair to his workers.”
“I know he was. Especially compared with some of the other owners.” Anne sighed.
“I am sure you must miss your father, Miss Heriot.”
“I do. I trusted all his decisions about the mills. But I had only seen the mills on paper, you see. It is very different to examine account books than to walk through a weaving loft.” Anne hesitated, then looked up at Jack, her confusion clear in her eyes. “Have you ever been in a factory, my lord?”
“No,” Jack admitted.
“It is very noisy…so noisy I don’t know how one can think. There is a rule against talking, but that seems unnecessary to me,” said Anne with an ironic smile, “for I can’t imagine how you could carry on a conversation with the looms going. And then there is the sorting shed. I
t’s where the children work, pulling the wool and feeding it into the rollers. I found out that one little girl had her hand caught…” Anne was silent for a moment. “Do you know something, my lord?”
Jack could hear from her voice that she was on the verge of tears. “What, Miss Heriot?” he asked gently.
“I have tried to put all this in the back of my mind. I have tried to tell myself it is the same everywhere. That, in fact, it is possibly better in the Heriot mills and our workers are lucky to be there…as indeed they are,” she added, her confusion almost palpable. “But how can I call anyone fortunate who is deafened by the looms, or a child who is always in danger of crushed fingers or worse?”
“Yet without their jobs, where would your workers be? There is not enough work on the land for them all. It is no longer easy to support oneself as a hand weaver. Their future is in the mills. Without them, they would be begging along the highways.”
“Yes, I keep telling myself that. But I never realized before that everything that was given to me came from their hard work.”
“And your father’s. He started out in the mills, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Anne sighed again. “I just wish I knew what was the right thing to do.”
“Let Sergeant Gillen investigate, Miss Heriot. He can find out just who Ned Gibson is and how justified his complaints. In the meantime, I suggest you enjoy the rest of your holiday.”
Anne gave him a grateful smile. “I suppose you are right. I can’t do anything until Patrick discovers more. And I will enjoy the holidays, but not here, I am afraid,” she added regretfully. “I must get home to see how Sarah is. I can’t leave her alone after such a frightening experience.”
“I will be sorry to see you leave, Miss Heriot,” he told her, and the sincerity in his voice was obvious.
“Thank you, my lord. And thank you for listening to me.”
After she’d gone, Jack went to the window and looked out. The day was a gray one, with an occasional breakthrough of wintry sunlight. It didn’t look like snow, and he realized that he was wishing for it. Hoping for a regular blizzard to keep Anne Heriot at the Astons’.
Jack of Hearts Page 14