Rebecca's Refusal

by Amanda Grange

  The clock chimed the hour. “I believe we should be going,” said Rebecca.

  “Yes,” agreed Louisa.

  They went out to the carriage.

  * * *

  As they did so Rebecca felt a shiver of presentiment; as though something momentous was going to happen that very evening.

  Then, dismissing the presentiment as nothing more than foolishness, she turned her attention to the evening to come.

  Chapter Ten

  As soon as Rebecca entered Mrs Renwick's house she looked round for Joshua. She was eager to see him and discover what he had learnt from Dunn. She could see no sign of him in the hall, however, and moved on to the impromptu ballroom, but here she fared no better. After scanning the brilliantly-dressed people for any sign of him, she realized he had not yet arrived.

  “Oh, my, doesn't it look lovely,” said Louisa.

  The ballroom did indeed look lovely. It was brightly decorated with such greenery as could be found so early in the year, all displayed in delightful porcelain vases. Together with the highly- polished mirrors, the glittering chandeliers, and the silk-and-satin clad guests, it was a splendid sight.

  The most important people in Manchester were all gathered together, Rebecca noted with interest, turning her attention to the other guests. Mill owners, politicians, and a smattering of titled and other fashionable young men, together with their wives and sisters. There were also a number of eligible young ladies, fluttering around in their white muslin gowns.

  Louisa's attention was soon claimed by Edward, and Rebecca was quickly accosted likewise.

  “Miss Fossington.”

  Rebecca's relief vanished as she turned to see Mr Willingham. Ah, well, she would have to greet him politely.

  “May I say you are looking truly exquisite this evening?” he went on, bowing over her hand.

  She was made slightly uneasy by the way his eyes ran over her as he straightened up. There was something cold about him, and she had the feeling that he was looking at her in the way he would look at a beautiful painting or a fine piece of china — as though he was calculating her worth. However, she was a guest at the ball, and he was a respected gentleman, and so she ignored her distaste and thanked him politely for his compliment.

  “And may I also say you are looking remarkably composed.”

  Rebecca's eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “It cannot be easy to be so calm after what happened this afternoon,” he said.

  Her eyebrows raised still further.

  “News travels fast,” he explained. “Particularly among the mill owners. My mill is in Stockport, but I still get to hear of things that might be likely to affect business, and the unfortunate attack on you this afternoon is one of them.”

  “I hardly think it is likely to affect your business,” she remarked.

  “Forgive me, but if the Luddites are active again, it will affect everyone's business.”

  “I don't believe — ” Rebecca started to say, before stopping herself.

  “You don't believe?” prompted Mr Willingham, looking at her with a deceptively bland expression.

  Rebecca remembered Joshua's warning, that Mr Willingham was a skilled conversationalist, and that he was used to getting information from people without them even realizing it. She did not know why, but she felt the less she told Mr Willingham about what she and Joshua suspected, the better. So instead of saying, “I don't believe it was the Luddites who attacked me,” she said instead, “I don't believe it was anything to worry about.”

  “You will forgive me if I disagree. When so much beauty is attacked, it must worry the heart of each and every gentleman.” He made her a bow as he said it. “But you must not take the Luddite threat lightly, Miss Fossington. The Luddites are desperate people, and after the daubing on your mill wall, you must take care.”

  “You know about that?”

  “As I say, Miss Fossington, there is little I don't know about what goes on in and around Manchester. It pays me to know. If you are sensible, you will not ignore them.”

  “I assure you, you need have no concern on my account,” said Rebecca coolly. “The whole matter was trivial, and not worth worrying about.”

  “I'm glad to hear it. Even so, the Luddites are no respecters of persons and although this attack may have been trivial, the next one may be more serious.” He stopped himself, and then said, “Not that there will be a next one, I'm sure. But it is perhaps worth remembering that the streets of Manchester are not always safe, particularly if one ventures off the major thoroughfares.”

  How does he know I ventured off the major thoroughfares? wondered Rebecca. Was it really, as he said, that the local mill owners came to hear of anything unusual that happened to one of their number? Or could he be having her followed?

  No, of course not. The idea was nonsensical. It was true he seemed to have an interest in her, but as she was an eligible young lady with a handsome dowry, to say nothing of owning half a mill, that in itself was perhaps not so surprising. But not even the most ardent suitor would have a young lady followed, and on so short an acquaintance.

  A new and even more unwelcome thought occurred to her. Was it possible that he was in some way responsible for the attacks, both on Joshua and the mill?

  But no. She dismissed the idea. Mr Willingham may have something to gain by paying court to her, if that court was successful, but he could have nothing to gain by setting fire to the mill, or by killing Joshua. On the contrary, he would have something to lose. Marsden mill provided Mr Willingham's mill with the cotton it needed for weaving and dyeing, and if anything happened to disrupt Marsden mill, it would also disrupt the supply of the cotton. And Mr Willingham needed the cotton if his own business was to be run profitably.

  And besides, he may not know she had wandered off the main streets at all. It may have been no more than a guess. So she replied to his comment with a polite nothing. “No, indeed,” she said. “It would not do to forget that the streets of Manchester are not always safe. It is, as you say, necessary to be careful.”

  He made her another bow. Then said, changing the subject, “But all this talk of attacks and Luddites is out of place in a ballroom. You must forgive me for having mentioned it. It is only my concern for your well-being that prompted me to speak. But let us talk of other things. You have not forgotten that you have promised me your hand for the first dance, I hope?”

  “No, indeed I have not.”

  He glanced at the small orchestra, who were just tuning their instruments. “Before it begins, would you do me the very great favour of allowing me to introduce you to my mother?”

  Rebecca readily assented. She found that she had little to say to Mr Willingham, and the diversion of meeting his mother was a welcome one. Besides, she and Louisa were engaged to take dinner with Mrs Willingham, and Rebecca was curious to see what sort of person she might be.

  Mr Willingham led her over to the far side of the room, where an old woman with sharp, bright eyes was sitting. Mrs Willingham was swathed in black from head to foot, and wrapped up in a voluminous black shawl.

  Mr Willingham made the introductions and Rebecca greeted his mother politely. But the same cold feeling came over her as it had done when Mr Willingham had paid her a compliment.

  Willingham is ambitious, Joshua had told her, and she could well believe it. And she could also believe it of his mother. There was something cold and calculating about her. Even her continued wearing of mourning for a husband who had been dead for more than ten years seemed calculated, as though she wanted to stand out in any gathering and knew that wearing black would always allow her to do it. Of the late departed Mr Willingham she spoke only in the most scathing terms, leading Rebecca to realize she did not continue to wear mourning out of love or respect for her husband.

  Rebecca made some observations on the size of the room and the elegance of the gathering, but Mrs Willingham did nothing to help her maintain a polite flow of conversation. Instead, s
he watched Rebecca with shrewd eyes, before finally saying, “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Fossington.”

  Rebecca flushed. The sentence, whilst seeming to be polite, was an unmistakable dismissal.

  “Please don't mind my mother,” said Mr Willingham, seeing her flush, as he led her away. “She is an old lady, and often in pain. It can make her rather abrupt.”

  Rebecca made a polite rejoinder, but she did not altogether believe Mr Willingham, and felt he was making an excuse for his mother's bad manners.

  However, the orchestra was striking up the opening chords of the first dance. She took his hand and together they went out onto the floor.

  Rebecca was pleased to see that Louisa was there, curtseying to Edward — the two made a delightful couple, Rebecca thought — and then she caught sight of Joshua. He was looking magnificent in a black tailcoat and breeches, with a snow-white shirt and a simply tied cravat.

  He was also dancing with Miss Serena Quentin.

  Rebecca felt her stomach tie itself in knots. He seemed to have been paying a lot of attention to Miss Quentin recently.

  But it was really none of her business, she told herself. She tried to fight down the feelings that filled her breast on seeing the two of them together.

  But it was impossible.

  The evening passed slowly. Rebecca had hoped that Joshua would ask her to dance, but her hand was rapidly claimed by other gentlemen and she could not in all politeness refuse them. But although the hours passed slowly, they did pass, and midnight drew ever nearer.

  At last the clock showed a quarter to twelve.

  It was still a little early to go and meet Joshua in the library, but fearing her hand might be sought for the next dance if she remained in the room, Rebecca slipped out into the corridor. Once there, she decided to make sure she knew where the library was, and having found the room she decided to stay.

  The library was a handsome one. Although not as large as the library in a country house, it was nevertheless spacious and was well furnished with a large collection of books. Two chairs were placed one on either side of the fire, a sofa nestled against the far wall, and directly ahead of her was an attractive window seat, padded with a peacock-blue cushion. Matching peacock-blue curtains were tied back at either side of the window, allowing the light of the moon to shine faintly in at the window. It shone on the three fine pieces of porcelain which were set on the window ledge, one on each side of the embrasure, and complemented the light of the candles that glowed on the mantelpiece.

  Rebecca amused herself by looking along the spines of the books. She had not been there long when she heard footsteps coming towards the library. A glance at the long-case clock in the corner showed her that it was still only five minutes to twelve, but she was pleased that Joshua was to be early. She was longing to know what progress he had made with Dunn, and whether he had discovered who had employed the man to daub a Luddite slogan on the mill wall.

  But as the footsteps drew nearer she felt a sudden sinking of her spirits. The step did not belong to Joshua. She would know his firm tread anywhere, but this step was quicker and lighter. Not quick enough to be the step of a woman, but not Joshua's step nevertheless.

  The last thing she wanted was to have to make polite conversation with another one of the guests, and besides, she did not want whoever it was to stay. She wanted them to find the library empty, take a book and leave again, before Joshua arrived. But she had no time to leave the room. If she did so she would certainly be seen and a conversation must ensue.

  Her eyes went to the window seat. Was it large enough to conceal her? she wondered. There was only one way to find out. She slipped across the room and sat down on the peacock-blue cushion, drawing her legs up in front of her and pulling the curtains across the window and its seat. She had just time to tuck her skirt beneath her and settle herself comfortably before the door opened and a gentleman came into the room.

  Mr Willingham, she thought in surprise, as she saw that gentleman through a tiny gap in the drapes.

  She was doubly glad she had managed to secrete herself behind the curtains. Mr Willingham's attentions were becoming marked, and she did not want to see more of him than was necessary. A part of her wondered whether he had entered the library with the express purpose of finding her, and wondered whether he had followed her out of the ballroom. It certainly seemed as though that might be the case, as he looked round the room with the air of someone searching for something. Seeing the library was empty he looked puzzled, but instead of going out again he moved further into the room.

  Rebecca began to feel uneasy. He was heading straight towards the window-seat and she had the unnerving feeling that he meant to undraw the curtains.

  Had he seen her enter the library? she wondered. But surely, even if he had — even if he guessed she was behind the curtains — he would not be so ungentlemanly as to expose her?

  She was just wondering whether she ought to pretend to be asleep, so as to avoid any embarrassment if he did indeed pull back the curtains, when to her relief the door knob rattled and, distracted by the sound, Mr Willingham turned towards the door.

  It opened, and Joshua walked in.

  Rebecca's relief evaporated. The situation had just become even more complicated. Through the tiny gap in the curtain she could see that Mr Willingham and Joshua were looking at each other with expressions of barely concealed dislike.

  “Kelling,” said Mr Willingham stiffly after a moment.

  “Willingham,” said Joshua, making him a slight bow.

  “What brings you to the library?” asked Mr Willingham. “And in the middle of a ball?”

  Joshua eyed him suspiciously. “I could ask you the same question.”

  “You could indeed,” said Mr Willingham smoothly. “And I will be happy to tell you — if you come in and shut the door.”

  Now why did Mr Willingham want Joshua to do that? wondered Rebecca.

  She could tell by his face that Joshua was wondering the same thing.

  Did Mr Willingham have some information about her assailant? Rebecca asked herself. Was that why he wanted Joshua to close the door? Did he have something sensitive to say? It would certainly fit in with the things he had said to her earlier in the evening.

  Joshua seemed to suspect something of the same sort. He stepped further into the room and closed the door softly behind him.

  “Well, Willingham? Do you have something to say to me?”

  “I do indeed.” Mr Willingham indicated a chair.

  Joshua glanced at the chair and then looked back at Mr Willingham. “Thank you, but I stand.”

  “As you wish,” said Mr Willingham. He took his cue from Joshua and remaining standing himself. “I understand you've been having trouble at your mill.”

  “Do you indeed?”

  “A Luddite slogan painted on the wall. A fire.”

  “And how would you know about those things?” Joshua asked suspiciously.

  “Let's just say, a little bird told me.”

  Joshua's glance hardened. “If you’ve something to say to me, Willingham, say it. Otherwise, don't waste my time.”

  “My, my, we are in a hurry,” said Mr Willingham.

  Joshua turned to walk out of the door.

  “I wouldn't do that if I were you, Kelling,” said Mr Willingham.

  There was something in his tone that made Rebecca sit bolt upright. It was something chilling.

  Through the crack in the curtains she saw Joshua turn round.

  And then to her horror she saw Mr Willingham pull out a gun.

  She stifled a gasp. From her vantage point she could only see Mr Willingham's back but the gilded mirror on the wall showed her his front clearly, and she could see without any shadow of a doubt that he was holding a pistol.

  Thank goodness he hadn't realized she was in the library, concealed behind the curtains, after all.

  Joshua's eyes went to the pistol and then back to Mr Willingham. “So it wa
s you,” he said.

  “Not me personally,” said Mr Willingham smoothly.

  “Of course not,” said Joshua scathingly. “You wouldn't have the guts to do anything personally. Painting slogans, starting a fire — even attacking a woman. They are cowardly acts, admittedly, but even so, far too daring for you.”

  “I'd remind you, Kelling, that I'm the one holding the gun,” said Mr Willingham angrily.

  “And just what do you intend to do with it? As soon as you fire it, people will come running from all directions. True, you might manage to kill me, but you'll never get away with it. You'll be caught red handed. Give it up.”

  “Give it up? When I hold all the cards? You're right, people will come running when they hear a shot, but what of it? All I have to do is drop the gun, run out of the library, turn round and run towards it again, waiting only long enough to make sure someone witnesses me entering the library just ahead of them. They will simply think I have heard the shot and come running, like everyone else. It is just that I will be the first person to get here. And when I do, I will find you shot dead — killed by Luddite agitators.”

  “Who will believe a story like that?” asked Joshua in disgust.

  “Everyone. I'm a well-respected member of the community. If I see a rough-looking man with a curious loping gait leaving through the window, and if it comes to light — as it will — that your mill has recently been targeted by Luddites, then the authorities will know who to blame. They will mount a search, and unless I'm very much mistaken they will not find it difficult to discover the man, and to find that he is in possession of a tin of red paint.”

  “By God! You've thought it all out.”

  “Of course I have. You don't think I'd leave anything to chance in a matter as important as this? The man will duly be arrested. I will testify that he is the person I saw leaving through the window — and the lovely Miss Fossington will of course testify to the fact that he was the man who attacked her on the streets.”

  Rebecca felt her anger rise as she realized the part she was expected to play in all this, the part of unwitting dupe.