Jack of Hearts

by Marjorie Farrell

  “What will he do, Mr. Trantor?” Sarah asked.

  “He’ll never find work in a mill again, I’ll make sure of that. Happen he’ll get something on a sheep farm soomwhere.”

  Anne took a deep breath. “I can’t ask you to rethink your decision, Joseph, for I have no time to hear both sides out. We are leaving for London the day after tomorrow. But I am not sure I agree with it. Despite his insubordination, it sounds like Ned Gibson did the right thing.” Anne hesitated. “It also sounds like we need to replace that machine.”

  “Now, Anne, a new machine would be an enormous expense.”

  “Yet we are considering a steam-powered loom?”

  “But that will pay for itself,” Trantor protested.

  “I want you to have the machine inspected. I also want you to visit some mills that have the newer machines. I am sorry to add this to your responsibilities, Joseph.”

  Anne could see that her cousin was angry, but he merely said politely, “Of course, cousin.”

  “Do you have time to join us for nuncheon?”

  “I have too much to do already, and given tha requests, I’d better decline. I wish you well in tha London, er, ventures.”

  “I want you to know that I appreciate your good wishes and your hard work for me, Joseph,” Anne told him. Despite her sincerity, however, she was relieved to see him go.

  Anne never slept well before traveling, but she got hardly any sleep the night before they left, what with her usual nervousness and the horrifying images of a child caught in the carding machine.

  “You look dreadful, Anne. Did you sleep at all?” Sarah asked her sympathetically the next morning.

  “Very little,” Anne confessed. “I could not help thinking about the accident at the mill. I hate leaving all that unfinished business behind. And leaving Patrick here! I’ll have to hire an interim groom in London, but I want someone at the hall who is capable of dealing with any trouble that may arise. Ned Gibson has even more reason now to wish to harm the Heriot family.”

  “I had already thought of that,” Sarah admitted.

  “Well, there is nothing he can do to either of us once we are safely on our way, and Patrick will inform me if anything happens at the mill.”

  * * * *

  After Anne went upstairs to see to last-minute packing, Sarah walked over to the window. She supposed she should be excited at their return to London, but instead she felt reluctant to leave Yorkshire. The truth was, as she was well aware, she, too, was reluctant to leave Patrick behind.

  It wasn’t that she expected anything more from him. In London, the social distance between them would have been more emphasized, for she would be taking part in the Season, albeit peripherally, while he would be restricted to taking care of the horses and accompanying them on rides in the park. Where it was possible they would meet a prospective suitor, like Captain Scott.

  She had never expected anyone to take much notice of her, but Lord Faringdon and the Astons had made sure that a few suitable men had sought her out. The trouble was, she didn’t want any of those suitable men. She wanted someone utterly unsuitable—a one-eyed Irish soldier whose kiss had stolen her heart. And she hadn’t even had the opportunity to say good-bye to him.

  Sarah could feel her heart beating a little faster. Her packing was done. There was no reason in the world she couldn’t walk down to the stables to bid her mare good-bye. And if Patrick Gillen happened to be there…well, then, she would say her farewell to him too.

  * * * *

  Patrick was nowhere in sight. “I just wanted to wish Gypsy a good-bye,” she told the stable lad, feeling very self-conscious.

  “Sergeant Gillen has got her out back, Miss Wheeler. She picked up a stone and he’s picking it out.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she whispered and made her way to the paddock.

  Patrick had Gypsy’s hoof on his knee and was probing it with his hoof pick.

  “Good morning, Patrick.”

  He looked up in surprise. “Good morning, Sarah. I thought ye’d be packin’ yer last ball gown this morning.”

  “I wanted to wish Gypsy good-bye.”

  It seemed the flimsiest of excuses to Sarah, but Patrick only smiled, and releasing Gypsy’s hoof, led her over to the fence.

  Sarah reached out and stroked the mare’s nose. “I’ll miss you while I’m in London,” she murmured. She felt so foolishly obvious that she actually started blushing.

  “I’m sure she’ll be missing ye, too, Sarah. Sure and we all will,” Patrick said with a smile.

  Sarah took a deep breath and, keeping her voice steady, said, “I am very sorry you won’t be with us, Patrick.”

  “To tell the truth, Sarah, I’m not,” he confessed. “I had enough of London to last a lifetime, and I’m needed here.”

  Sarah blushed even deeper. Clearly Patrick Gillen wouldn’t miss her at all. The few moments that she cherished probably meant nothing to him. She reached out and patted Gypsy again, muttered a good-bye, and turned to go.

  “I suppose ye’re lookin’ forward to it? ‘Tis the world in which ye really belong, isn’t it?”

  Patrick’s tone was light, but Sarah heard something more in his question. She could ignore what might be there or she could take a risk. She turned back and, looking at him directly, said quietly, “I have been very happy here this winter, Patrick. And I will miss you as well as Gypsy.” She extended her hand.

  He captured it between his, warming her with his body heat and something else entirely. “I will miss ye too, Sarah. I wish the best for ye.” After a moment or two he let her go, and mumbling another good-bye, Sarah hurried away.

  Patrick looped the reins over Gypsy’s neck, and she turned and nuzzled his shirt. “She deserves the best, yer mistress. I should be hopin’ she meets someone in London, someone better suited for her than an old soldier like me. But God forgive me, I can’t, for I want her for myself.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once again, they were fortunate in the weather. There was one rainy day on the trip, the last, but the rain was light and intermittent and the roads stayed fairly dry. But it seemed they had brought the rain with them to London, for the whole first week it rained every day. By their third day in the city, Anne knew Sarah was going crazy, but she herself was quite satisfied to stay in bed until late morning and return to her bed in the afternoon for a nap. All her excitement over the Season and deciding on a husband and the direction of her new life seemed to have drained away, leaving her uninterested in anything. She knew part of her strange lassitude was a result of the trip and the dreariness of the weather, which kept them from morning exercise. But she also suspected that her mood had something to do with the unsolved problems she had left behind. Now that her eyes were opened to the realities of the mill, she couldn’t close them again. At the same time, she had no idea what she could do. Children shouldn’t be working in such dangerous circumstances. But if she didn’t hire the children, their families would lose much-needed income and send them to work elsewhere anyway. She could replace the carding machine and perhaps even reduce their hours without reducing their wages, but whatever small changes she made would hardly affect the British factory system. Surely more widespread reforms were needed, but how could she help make them? She couldn’t vote, couldn’t run for Parliament.

  The only influence she might have would be through her husband.

  But where on earth had her sense of satisfaction from being in charge of her own destiny disappeared to? The practical Anne Heriot who had come to London in the fall and matter-of-factly drawn up her list of prospective mates seemed to have disappeared, and in her place was a reluctant young woman who only wanted to pull the covers up over her head.

  Anne’s behavior was so unlike her that by the fourth day Sarah decided she needed to address it.

  “Are you quite sure you are not coming down with something, Anne?” she asked her employer at breakfast.

  “Other than a severe case
of the blue devils, I don’t think so,” Anne replied with a painful smile.

  “Can you talk to me about it?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. It is the mills, in part, and my worries about Joseph. And this weather! If t’bloody rain doesn’t stop soon, I will scream!”

  “And I will join you,” Sarah said lightly, ignoring Anne’s swearing. “But it has to end sometime, and these invitations are beginning to pile up. Aren’t you looking forward to seeing Lord Windham again? Or even Lord Aldborough?” she added teasingly.

  “I thought I was. Oh, I am sure I will be, once the weather clears and we can ride and walk again.” Anne sighed. “But it seemed very simple in November, Sarah. Make a list, meet the men on it, decide upon one, and marry him!” Anne laughed. “Now that I look back, I think I was being much more naive than practical. I was thinking so much about what I was moving toward that I forgot what I might leave behind. Or be putting into another’s hands.”

  “The mills?”

  “I have been thinking, Sarah, that I want to institute some reforms in the mills. Perhaps even go so far as to cut the hours, but not the wages, of the children,” she said hesitantly.

  Sarah gave Anne a warm smile. “An excellent idea.”

  “But perhaps not a practical one, Sarah,” Anne said, a little spark of humor back in her eyes.

  “I doubt that it would cut into your profits excessively, so we can acquit you of being impractical,” Sarah responded, happy to see some life back in Anne’s eyes.

  “Yet a very small change when one takes into account all the children in all the factories. I’d like to do more, but once I am married, I will only be able to make changes through my husband.”

  “So now you have an added consideration in making your choice. Is that part of what is bothering you?”

  “Yes. I have no idea what Windham’s or Leighton’s opinions are.”

  “And Lord Aldborough?”

  “From our conversations over the holidays, I think he might be open to my ideas. But I cannot imagine the Jack of Hearts as a reformer, can you?”

  “I think you will need to question all three of them.”

  “I suppose you are right.” Anne looked over at her friend and smiled. “Putting all this into words has been helpful, Sarah. Thank you.” She glanced out the window, where the rain seemed finally to be letting up. “You know, despite the fact that we will get a soaking, I am inclined to send for the carriage. We could have a drive to Hatchard’s or the bazaar.”

  * * * *

  Anne was right. Even with their pattens, cloaks, and umbrellas, they were wet just walking from the carriage to the front door of Hatchard’s. She didn’t mind the discomfort, however, for it was so good to be out and moving again after her unusual lethargy.

  They were so intent on avoiding the deeper puddles that she ran right into a departing customer as they approached the door.

  “I beg your pardon,” she apologized.

  “Not at all, miss. Why it is Miss Heriot, isn’t it?”

  “Lord Windham! What a delightful surprise,” said Anne.

  “You cannot stand here in the rain, Miss Heriot.” He held the door open for them and ushered them inside before he folded his umbrella and followed them in.

  “When did you return to London?”

  “The end of last week, my lord. And we have been prisoners of the rain ever since,” said Anne with a smile. “We had to get out today, no matter how wet it is.”

  “I know what you mean. I have been keeping myself busy with paperwork and estate business, but there is only so much energy one can devote to that. I needed a diversion. Are you looking for anything in particular? Can I recommend Mrs. Radclyffe’s latest? My cousin tells me it is delightful.”

  “Then Sarah must have it,” said Anne. “I am torn between educating myself in the poetic tradition and the newest ideas on labor reform,” she said lightly, but she watched Lord Windham’s face very carefully.

  “You are interested in reform, Miss Heriot?” he asked, his curiosity apparent. “But, of course, you have been very involved in your father’s mills. I forgot.”

  “Then you don’t think it odd for a woman to concern herself with such things?”

  “Not a woman like you, Miss Heriot,” he answered warmly. “Of course, at some point in the future, I am sure your husband will want to share these concerns.”

  “Indeed, I am hoping so, Lord Windham.”

  “Well, this table holds the latest in poetry, Miss Heriot. Did you want to read a contemporary, like Mr. Wordsworth?”

  “I suppose I should become more familiar with his work, but for now, I am looking for a collection.”

  “Here is one.”

  It was the collection Jack Belden had been reading, and for some reason Anne had been hoping to obtain a copy.

  “Thank you, my lord. That looks just the thing.”

  Sarah, who had been paging through a book on the other side of the table, said, “I think I will choose poetry this time also, Anne. Here is a volume of Robert Burns’s work.”

  “One of Elspeth’s favorite poets, Sarah. I don’t know if I can stand it if you start reciting in broad Scots, though, the way Elspeth does!”

  “I doubt I can roll my ‘r’s the way she does, not having been born to it,” said Sarah, attempting a Scots accent as she spoke.

  Lord Windham laughed. “You do very well, Miss Wheeler. Mr. Burns is not to everyone’s taste, of course, but if you are familiar with him…”

  Anne, whose warm feelings for Lord Windham had become stronger at his seemingly favorable response to her talk of reform, found herself a little irritated by his protective stance. She knew that Mr. Burns had written some very bawdy poetry, because Elspeth had recited one to her at school. They had both gasped and giggled. “Wherever did you learn that, Elspeth?” she had asked her friend. “My father has several volumes of Burns’s work. Of course, I was forbidden one of them, but that only made me more curious.”

  But Burns’s more explicit poetry was hardly likely to be on display in the middle of Mayfair!

  “I think it is refreshing to read a workingman’s thoughts, don’t you, Lord Windham?” Sarah asked sweetly.

  “Why, yes, Miss Wheeler. And Burns is quite a popular poet.”

  “As popular as Lord Byron?” Anne asked with feigned innocence.

  “I believe Lord Byron’s popularity has waned recently,” Windham responded.

  Anne was about to ask, “Oh, why is that?” when Sarah, familiar with her sense of humor, gave her a warning look. Anne may not be familiar with his poetry, but she was very familiar with his reputation and knew he was not a proper topic for conversation.

  “May I escort you two ladies to Gunther’s for a cup of tea and some pastries?” Lord Windham asked after Anne paid for their books.

  “Another day I would be delighted, my lord, but I don’t want to keep the coachman in the rain too long,” Anne replied.

  “Then I will hope to see you at the Hairstons’ supper dance?”

  “I look forward to it, my lord.”

  * * * *

  “Lord Windham seemed genuinely happy to see you, Anne,” Sarah declared once they were settled in the carriage.

  “As I was to see him. He has always been my favorite, and today he expressed some openness to my ideas,” Anne gave Sarah a mischievous smile. “He seemed overly proper in his attitudes toward poetry, though.”

  “I am glad I caught your eye before it was too late. There was no need to embarrass him.”

  “You must admit, it would have been amusing to see him trying to explain Lord Byron’s fall from grace!”

  Sarah smiled. “Indeed, it would have.”

  “He is a thoroughly nice young man,” Anne said emphatically.

  “Is that a problem?” Sarah asked humorously.

  “I don’t think so. And he is a full year older than I am. But his sense of humor is not as well developed as Leighton’s.”

&nbs
p; “Perhaps you will end up preferring humor and experience over seriousness after all,” Sarah responded lightly.

  * * * *

  Anne had left most of her new wardrobe in London over the winter, so it was almost like shopping all over again to rediscover her evening gowns and walking dresses. For the supper dance, she’d decided on a dark rose silk with a smoky gauze overdress and a bodice embroidered with jet and crystal. Although young women usually wore pastels, she had fallen in love with the color at first sight and decided that since she was not really a member of Society, she could get away with something darker.

  She was very happy with her choice. She wanted to sparkle on her first appearance of the Season, and in this dress she would do so quite literally, she thought, as she appreciated the tiny fires flashing from the crystal embroidery.

  They arrived a little late due to a horse’s lameness and were greeted only by their host, the duchess having just gone downstairs to join her guests. Anne apologized, explaining their delay.

  “There is no need to worry, Miss Heriot. Indeed, I am happy that your off-wheeler went lame, for now I have the opportunity to take you down to the ballroom myself and claim your first dance. I am honored to be with the most scintillating young lady at the ball,” he added with an approving smile.

  Anne smiled back, and she and Sarah went down the steps arm in arm with their host. Sarah was quickly whisked away by Captain Scott, who had been watching for her.

  “Miss Wheeler seems to have made a conquest last fall,” commented the duke as he led Anne into a country dance.

  “Two or three men became quite fond of her, I suspect. It is just what I was hoping for. But I am not sure any of them have captured Sarah’s interest,” she added.

  “Well, they have all spring to do so. As do your admirers,” he added with a smile.

  * * * *

  “Look, Val, there is Anne with Hairston. She looks lovely, doesn’t she?” Elspeth added. “How I wish I could wear a dress like that. But it is not at all my style or color.”

  Val looked at his wife and smiled. “Ah, but you look even lovelier in your green, Elspeth. And I prefer simplicity.”