“No!” It was amazing how the original speaker could control the meeting. “We said we’d try reason first, brothers, and we are going to do it. The time for threats—and not empty ones—is later. But you’ll tell him, Mr. Warrender, if you please, that there were votes for violence. He might as well know his danger.”
“But no names!” The voice from the back of the crowd again.
Kate in turn moved to the front of the platform and looked out over the suddenly quiet crowd. “You know my name,” she said. “You could get me in bad trouble for being here today. I don’t know any of yours.” It was not quite true, but it was as Kate, not as Kit Warrender, that she found several of the faces familiar. “I don’t want to know,” she went on. “A pack of fools who will destroy their own living! Burn the mill, you’re paupers for life. My grandfather built the village for the mill, the mill for the village. How else would you live? By smuggling, and hang for it? Besides—” warned by an angry growl, she changed the subject—“your wives and children need the flour this mill makes. Lord Hawth will understand that. He’s got children of his own.”
“Pack of bastards,” came a voice from the crowd.
“You say that to me!” She managed to sound quite convincingly angry. “And in the same breath ask me to be your messenger!”
“I apologise for them,” said the stranger. “You’re sorry, brothers? Good.” Chastened now, the crowd was comparatively quiet while he spelled out the demands Kate must make of Lord Hawth. A promise that there would be no retaliation for this meeting. Guarantees of continued employment, no cut in wages and no increase in the price of flour.
Kate listened with a sinking heart. Hawth would no more make these promises than he would give the Tide-mills away to the first person who asked for them. But useless, and dangerous to say so. “I’ll do my best, brothers,” she said, “but I warn you, it’s a great deal you are asking. Times are hard.”
“For Hawth? Who can win a fortune, and this mill, at a hand of cards! You tell him from us, Kit Warrender, that hard times is nothing in the kitty and nothing in the pot. Wages, that won’t buy bread for the children. And his with their own governess, and a tutor coming. Tell him to watch himself if he don’t agree to what we say. And his children. What would he say if he woke up one fine morning and found them, gone? Gone to work in a mill like this one, but far away, somewhere he’d never find them, sweating their little guts out like ours do.”
Cold with terror at this new threat, Kate nevertheless managed a cool reply. “What would he say? Frankly, he’d say good riddance, and so I warn you. He doesn’t give a damn for those brats of his, and so any of the servants at the hall will tell you. But I thought you said, ‘No threats’?”
“You’re right. It’s early days for them. We count on you to make his lordship see sense. But if he don’t, trust us to make him. And, a warning for you, Kit Warrender. We’ll know when his lordship comes, Waste no time in seeing him. We’ll be waiting and watching. Our eyes are everywhere.”
It was all too obviously true. Kate had been appalled at how much he knew of what went on at the hall. “Watch too close, and you’ll defeat your own ends,” she told him now. “I’ve said I’ll bear your message. Leave me alone to do it my own way, and tell your spies to do the same.”
“Spies!” He seemed suddenly larger with anger, and the crowd sensed his change of mood and let out a growl. Then, surprisingly, he held out a friendly hand to Kate. “You’ve spunk enough for anything. Pity you’re not the heir instead of that damned Yankee up at the house. Right it is, brother, we leave it to you.” He moved to the front of the platform. “Meeting’s over, brothers. Work as usual in the morning and keep it up till his lordship comes to tell us his answer. In person, mind!”
“He’ll never do it,” said Kate. “Not eat his words in person. You don’t know him, or you’d not ask it. You’ll have to take it—if you get it—in a message through Mr. Bott.”
“Why not you?”
Why not indeed? What could she say? “Because I don’t choose. Because I’m tired of being shouted at, if you like, Or, more to the point, because it’s Mr. Bott’s business.”
“Spunk it is,” said the stranger. “Bully for you, brother, and now, if you’ll come this way, no need to pass through the crowd again.”
“And no chance of recognising faces,” said Kate, following him down the ladder at the back of the platform.
“What you don’t see won’t hurt you. But I wanted a word with you alone, now we’ve met at last.”
At last? What could he mean? “Not now, I’m afraid,” she said. “I borrowed Miss Kate’s horse from the hall, and a groom. He’s waiting. If I’m to be your messenger, I can’t be seen apparently conspiring with you.”
“True for you. I’m glad to have met you, Mr. Warrender. We’ll meet again. Soon, I hope. You’ll find your horse down there.” He pointed to an unsavoury lane that ran from the mill buildings along behind the terrace of houses.
“Thanks! I know my way. You’ll not let them get dangerous drunk tonight and start some mischief that will make all impossible.”
“Not on your life. Home to their wives is where they’re going now. I’ve got them in the palm of my hand.”
“So I saw,” said Kate. “I congratulate you.” And thought about it anxiously, all the way back up the hill. Behind her, James, too, rode silent and subdued. Even waiting as he had out of sight of the crowd, he had heard enough to make him realise just how serious the situation was. “I’ve got a cousin in the village.” He moved forwards to ride beside Kate. “My Cousin Sarah. She opened her window and spoke to me while I was waiting. She’s plumb scared. Says the men are neither to hold nor to bind since that Ned Ludd’s been in the village. Funny sort of name…”
“Perhaps it’s made up,” Kate began, and then: “Listen!” They were coming up towards the place where the lane from Tidemills joined the one round the park wall, and she could hear a carriage coming swiftly up through the woods towards them.
“Christ!” said James. “If it’s his lordship coming the short way from town, I’m out of a job.”
“Does he?”
“Come this way? Often. Road’s bad, but it spares him the holdup in Lewes High Street and by the bridge in Glinde. Can’t bear waiting, can his lordship. Sir, if it is, you’ll speak for me?”
“Of course, and so will Mrs. Warrender. Don’t look so scared, man. He can’t eat you.” She wished she was sure.
“He can fire me, and that’s worse. Oh, Gawd!” They had emerged from the woods in time to see Lord Hawth’s light curricle come bucketing up the hill beside the park wall. He was driving, with his man perched up behind him. At sight of them, a quick word to his horses and a skilful touch on the reins brought them to a sweating standstill at the fork, in the road. Then he sat there! sallow face impassive under the high crowned hat, and awaited their approach.
After the long strain of the errand to Tidemills it was almost too much. If she had been in petticoats, Kate would have burst into tears. As it was, she set her own hat at a slightly more rakish angle, muttered a word of encouragement to James, who had dropped behind her, and raised a friendly hand as she rode up to the curricle. “You are well met, my lord.” She flung the cheerful greeting like a challenge at his stony stare.
“Mr. Warrender.” The ground and the high perch of his curricle gave him a considerable advantage in height, and he looked down at her with the black brows hard together. “You are constantly surprising me. Or—” the hard look moved over to James—“I do not recollect your name, but you have, perhaps, left my service and forgotten to turn in your livery?”
“Nothing of the kind,” said Kate. “Mrs. Warrender very kindly lent me her daughter’s horse, and your man to accompany me. I have been on your errand, my lord.”
The brows went higher. “At my request? I must be growing sadly forgetful.”
“At Mrs. Warrender’s.”
“That, naturally, explains everything.
Then perhaps you will honour me with your company back to the hall, where Mrs. Warrender can enlighten me.”
“I shall be glad to.” Nothing was ever farther from the truth, but what else could she do? If only there was some way of warning her mother. “I wish we had known you were coming so soon, my lord,” she said, as horse and curricle moved forward side by side along a grassy stretch of the lane. “It would have saved me an awkward enough mission.”
“Oh? Well, Mrs. Warrender should know by now. I sent my man ahead. If he has dawdled on the way, he’ll regret it. But, no, I see he has arrived.” They had come in sight of the sea gate to the park, and the gates, usually kept locked, stood open. “After you, Mr. Warrender.” He drew up his horses to let Kate ride first through the gate.
Riding ahead, Kate thanked goodness for the narrowness of the drive, which made further conversation impossible, and equally for the knowledge that her mother must have had warning of Lord Hawth’s arrival. But she would hardly expect to have her come home with him. One way or another, she must be all to pieces with worry, poor darling. No chance in the world of getting together to concert their story. They would just have to brush through as best they might.
Chapter Five
As curricle and horse drew up side by side on the wide carriage sweep, the big doors of Hawth Hall swung open and Parsons came majestically out to greet his master. “Welcome home, my lord. Mrs. Warrender begs that you and Mr. Warrender will join her in the morning room.”
“Morning room?” asked his lordship.
“Her late ladyship’s, my lord. In the west wing.”
“God damn it, Parsons. You think I do not know where my mother’s morning room was! But whether it’s habitable is something else again.”
“You will find a few changes, my lord. Mr. Warrender,” he came, surprisingly, down from the sloping steps to speak to Kate, with his back momentarily to his master. “Mrs. Warrender says not to worry. James!” raising his voice. “Make yourself useful for once. Take Mr. Warrender’s horse.” And was, somehow, between her and Lord Hawth as she dismounted.
That was a dangerous bridge crossed, but this time there could be no question of keeping on her greatcoat. She had to surrender it to a footman’s willing hands, breathe a silent prayer and follow Lord Hawth down the long corridor that led to the west wing. Striding forward in formidable silence, his lordship cast, from time to time, a quick glance this way or that Gleaming paint and shining wood challenged comment. He said nothing. Well, thought Kate, why should he? It was not Miss Kate but Mr. Kit Warrender who was following him.
The morning room was half lit by the afterglow of the sunset and smelled of lavender and beeswax. Rising to receive them, Mrs. Warrender looked pale, frightened, but not surprised. “Welcome home, your lordship.” Her curtsy was graceful as a girl’s. “I am so glad you have met Mr. Warrender. He has doubtless told you what he has been doing.”
“Interfering in my affairs, I collect. No, we did not choose to discuss the matter on the open road.”
“Very proper.” She smiled her approval and gestured them to chairs. “So you do not know that I had Mr. Bott here this morning. Looking for you, of course. We—I sent for you urgently. You have, perhaps, met the messenger?”
“No. Merely came home sooner than I intended. So—what brought Mr. Bott here so urgently?”
“Trouble.” She described Bott’s errand briefly. “In your absence, he seemed to think Mr. Warrender might have a chance of making the men see reason. Did they?” She turned to Kate, colouring suddenly at the problem of what to call her.
“They won’t burn the mill down tonight,” said Kate.
“Burn the mill!” exclaimed Hawth. “Destroy their own livelihood! Are they off their heads?”
“Pretty well, I think,” Kate told him. “And a stranger’s there from London who can make them dance to his tune in a way I don’t much like. He got me a hearing. Ludd, he’s called. Ned Ludd.”
“And you harangued them on my behalf? And expect me to be grateful?”
“Oh, no,” said Kate. “I most certainly don’t expect that.”
“Though, mind you.” Mrs. Warrender had picked up a piece of embroidery and was stitching away at it in the failing light. “I did think it good of Mr. Warrender to ride down and confront the mob for you. As I recollect, the mill is really quite profitable in a good year.”
“So why do the idiots want to burn it?”
“More profitable to you than to them,” said Mrs. Warrender. “I’ve had servants with family there … heard stories I’d not dream of repeating to you.”
“Afraid of shocking me?” His laugh was harsh. “If things are so bad there, ma’am, and you knew it, why didn’t you speak to your husband?”
“Oh, I did.” She left it at that.
He was silent, disconcerted for a moment, then turned to Kate. “So what did you say to those numbskulls?”
“Told them I was sure you had no intention of closing the mill.”
“Closing! What lunacy is this?”
“You went down and made a speech there the other day. Your first visit? Perhaps not the ideal moment to threaten sackings if times did not improve. Gave the man from London a golden opportunity to make trouble. And—he’s made it. You’re going to be so angry when I tell you their demands that I’m plumb scared how to set about it.”
“You sound it! So—to the worst of it. What promises have you made on my behalf?”
“Why, none. What right had I? Or, yes, I promised I’d bear their errand, which I suppose means I’d see to it you listened.”
“I’m listening.” With every exchange Hawth had come nearer to explosion point.
Mrs. Warrender jumped to her feet, letting embroidery silks fall where they would. “How could I be so stupid!” A vigorous pull at the bell. “You must both be parched with thirst. And hungry, too, I have no doubt. My dear father always said business went better over a glass of wine.” A warning glance reminded Kate that she, like Hawth, must rise to her feet when a lady did.
By the time Parsons had ushered in a smartly clad footman with refreshments, the atmosphere had cleared perceptibly. Lord Hawth actually admitted to being hungry, congratulated Mrs. Warrender on the speedy service she commanded, and, reminded of his position as host, took wine with his young guest.
Kate was glad of the nourishing draft of burgundy. “I said you weren’t going to like this.” She plunged in, without further ado, to detail the rioters’ demands.
“And if I refuse?” Hawth was looking black again.
“Various threats. The mill first. Then—some want to burn your barns, attack your carriage. And—I’m sorry—there were threats to the children.”
“The children? What have they to do with anything?”
“The suggestion was that they should be kidnapped, sent to work in a mill in the north country. I took the liberty of explaining you wouldn’t much care if they were.”
“Oh, you did, did you?” Lord Hawth overrode Mrs. Warrender’s horrified exclamation. “Taking a liberty, weren’t you, boy?”
Kate finished her wine and rose to her feet. Any minute now, the candles must be lit. Time to be going. “It seemed a useful moment to tell the truth,” she said. “And now, my lord, I have given you the message I was charged with, and will take my leave.” She bowed over her mother’s hand. “Many thanks for the loan of your daughter’s horse, Mrs. Warrender.”
It brought Hawth, still scowling, to his feet. “But how will you get home? You must take one of mine.” It was the nearest he could get to apology or thanks.
“No, thanks. I’ve not far to go.” She saw with relief that it was Parsons who had answered her mother’s summons.
“This way.” Once safe outside the morning room, he led her through a maze of stairs and passages that got her unobserved to her own room.
Thanking him. “How many of you know?” she asked.
“Only me and Betty, miss. Mrs. Warrender was so good as to tell m
e, to ask my help. Told not to light the candles. It won’t go no further, miss.”
“Thank you.” Alone in her room, she made the quickest possible change into her governess’s drab, then hesitated. To meet Lord Hawth again so soon was to court recognition and disaster, and yet to leave her poor mother alone with him? But she thought she had best do so.
Her poor mother was letting Lord Hawth pick up her embroidery silks. When he had quite finished, she asked him prettily for just a drop more cordial. Then, having urged him to replenish his own glass, she smiled warmly at him. “Awkward, isn’t it?” she said.
“Awkward! I don’t know which is worse: to be told my own business by a boy young enough to be my son, or to have to take orders from a pack of rascally millhands.”
“They’ve had a hard time,” she said. “My lord,” hesitantly. “Could you bear a word of advice from me?”
“From you!” For a moment she thought she had precipitated the explosion at last. Then, surprisingly, he dissolved into harsh laughter. “Well, for God’s sake, why not? I’ve had it from everyone else. What advice have you to offer, ma’am, that I haven’t had pressed down and running over already.”
She took a deep breath. Then: “Get rid of Tom Bowles,” she said.
“Tom Bowles? And who the hell is he?”
She smiled at him kindly. “You are a stranger, aren’t you? Tom Bowles runs the shop down at Tidemills.”
“Oh? Cooking the books, eh?”
“That’s your affair. I expect he is. I always thought so. That’s between you and him. Do you know how the hands are paid?”
“Paid? Weekly, I suppose.”
“No, no.” Patiently. “I can see you don’t know. They don’t get money, my lord. They get tickets on the shop.”
“Convenient. It’s the only shop for miles, isn’t it?”
“Yes. So they are tied two ways. And what do you think they get? Mouldy bacon for the price of best. Meat that’s nothing but bone. Cheese all rind. Do you know what happened last time a king’s ship had her salt beef condemned down at the harbour?”
Red Sky at Night, Lovers' Delight Page 7