These Tangled Threads

by Tracie Peterson

  “Good evening,” Daughtie replied, glancing into the parlor. “You have no patients waiting to be seen?”

  In a grand sweeping gesture, Ivan whisked a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. When Daughtie didn’t reach out to accept the offering, he thrust the droopy gift directly in her path. “For you,” he said, glancing first at her and then at the wilting arrangement. “With my sincere apologies— to make up for last night. And to ask if you would be my guest at the Merrimack House for dinner this evening.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve already made plans for this evening,” she replied, edging toward the stairs.

  “Tomorrow, then?” he asked while still holding the flowers.

  “No. I’ll be working at the library,” Daughtie said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must go upstairs.” Without waiting for a reply, she raced up the stairs at breakneck speed.

  Daughtie was sitting on the bed darning a pair of black lisle stockings when Ruth walked in and dropped the bouquet onto the bed beside her. “You forgot your flowers. Ivan asked me to see that you got them. How could you be so cruel, Daughtie?”

  “Would it be kinder to lead him on? I’ve attempted to convince him I have no interest in a social relationship. Unfortunately, he doesn’t appear to believe me. I didn’t take the flowers because I don’t want to accept his gifts. Such behavior would only serve to encourage him.”

  Ruth grabbed a book from the shelf before turning back toward Daughtie. “You make no sense. You don’t want to accept a dinner invitation from an eligible doctor, yet you’ll place your reputation at risk by going to the home of that Irishman.” Ruth stalked across the room and grabbed the flowers. “I’ll return these for you. I wouldn’t want you to keep an unwanted gift.”

  The door slammed, and Daughtie listened to Ruth’s heavy footsteps as she descended the stairs. Prolonging an encounter with Ivan Ketter was going to make a prickly situation even more uncomfortable. Folding the darned stockings, she tucked them into a drawer, summoned her courage, and went downstairs to supper.

  CHAPTER 21

  London

  Barlow Kent was waiting when William ar r ived at Crouch’s, a small pub carefully tucked between a tailor’s shop and tobacconist’s store on Murdock Street.

  “Surely I’m not late,” William said, snapping open his gold pocket watch.

  “No, I arrived early,” Barlow replied. “Have a seat.”

  William pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. “You must be anxious for my report.”

  Barlow leaned forward, resting his arms upon the table. “I’m anxious to hear something of value. For nearly four months you’ve been spoon-feeding us scraps of information with little substance. It’s time to make our move.”

  “You look dour, Barlow. Did they run out of your favorite whiskey?” Chauncy Fuller asked as he approached the table.

  Barlow leveled a glare at Chauncy. “If you had any sense, you’d be annoyed, too. I just told Thurston that I’ve grown weary of this silly charade. Either we’re going to agree to do something about Farnsworth or I’ll take care of this matter myself. We’ve been listening to these incessant reports for months, but we’re no closer to making definitive plans than we were back in November. Thurston has appeared more intent on tracking down the comings and goings of Farnsworth’s nephew, Taylor Manning, than on reining in Farnsworth.”

  William held his anger in check and gave Barlow a patronizing smile before replying. “Chauncy thought it imperative the information regarding young Manning be substantiated.”

  “To be honest, I think with the information you had we could have falsely accused him and no one would have been the wiser. Your continued investigation has only served to corroborate his innocence. What earthly good did that do us?”

  “We don’t want to be made fools when we bring in the law, Barlow,” Chauncy explained as though he were speaking to a child. “And the information regarding young Manning came through my friendship with Wilburt Talley. Had we gone off ill-advised as you suggest, it’s likely we would have caused a breach between Armstrong and Tal-ley’s design business and the Lancashire mills. Such an incident would have proved disastrous. Caution and good sense will bring a sound resolution to this situation.”

  “I’m weary of both of you. Talk—that’s all either of you want to do. Well, I for one, am tired of your incessant chatter!”

  “Settle yourself , Barlow. Whether you wish to acknowledge the value of William’s information is of little consequence. This matter needs deliberate planning, and the reports we’ve received from William have been indispensable. I don’t understand your constant wish to expedite our undertaking. As I said earlier, if we’re to be successful, we must prepare well-thought-out plans using all the information available. We now know young Manning is of no concern, and William has been able to focus his attention entirely upon Farnsworth. It makes this matter simpler knowing Manning is of little consequence to us. It appears you’ve become obsessed over Farnsworth leaving the country; however, all your worry serves no purpose.”

  Barlow set his glass down with a thud. “Don’t speak to me as though I were an unruly child. You don’t necessarily know what’s best, and there’s no guarantee Farnsworth isn’t preparing to board a ship for America as we speak. William’s sources and his unsubstantiated reports don’t ease my concerns in the least. We have no idea who these shady characters are or if their information is correct.”

  William shifted in his chair and narrowed his eyes as he glared at Barlow. “Point out one bit of information in any report I have given you that has been inaccurate,” he challenged.

  “Thus far it’s been correct—at least the little bit that is of consequence. Most of your reports are drivel. I don’t care what’s occurring in Boston or Lowell. I have no interest in how much cotton they’re importing or what the output is per day in the New England mills.”

  “Well, you should be interested, Barlow. The Americans and the advancement of their industrialization have already caused a weakening of our investment in the English mills. Besides, Farnsworth and his family have been under close surveillance, haven’t they, William?” Chauncy inquired.

  Thurston nodded, his steely-eyed glare still directed at Barlow.

  “And who is keeping watch over Farnsworth right now? He could be purchasing his passage to America, and we’d be none the wiser,” Barlow countered.

  “Trust me. I’ll be immediately notified should he make such a purchase. I’ve already explained I have a man in the ticketing office—who is being well paid, I might add.”

  “That’s just it, William. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone except myself. The two of you are interested in having Farnsworth tried for treason. But I don’t care if he’s a spy, and I don’t want to make an example of him to the English people. I want him dead!”

  Chauncy gaped across the table in disbelief. William observed the situation unfold like a three-act play. He was now certain that Barlow’s mental problems were spiraling out of control; soon the man would be a raving lunatic.

  “You need to control yourself,” Chauncy warned. “The last thing we need is Farnsworth showing up dead in some dark passageway. John Farnsworth is the only one who can supply the additional information we hope to gain regarding production and any new concepts they’re developing for the New England mills.”

  William watched Chauncy continue speaking to Barlow in a soothing tone. When Barlow finally quieted and ceased his demands, William said, “Barlow may have a point. Perhaps we should do away with Farnsworth.”

  Chauncy swiveled in his chair, his features etched into an astonished stare. “What? Have you gone mad, too?”

  “No, but Farnsworth will never voluntarily talk to us. Force will be required in order to gain any meaningful information. Afterward, we dare not release him, for he’d give our names to the authorities. I believe Barlow is correct: Farnsworth must die.”

  Barlow rubbed his hands together and leaned
forward. “Let me do it.”

  William shrugged. “I don’t care who kills him, but a plan is necessary. Once he’s abducted, we’ll need to convince him that if he doesn’t talk to us, we’ll use threats against his family. We may be forced to actually harm some member of his family in order to prove to him that we mean business.”

  “Hold up, gentlemen,” Chauncy said. “I’m not opposed to abducting Farnsworth and making a few threats to his family. However, I won’t condone murder or the abduction of his family members.”

  “I didn’t realize you were so faint of heart, Chauncy. I’m certain Barlow and I can handle this matter if you’d prefer to place us in charge. However, I could use a suggestion of someplace where we can interrogate him.”

  “No! I will not agree to murder. I must have your word,” Chauncy said.

  William glanced toward Barlow and gave a slight nod. “You’re right, Chauncy. We’ll turn him over to the authorities once he’s talked. After all, there are three of us. We can deny any allegations he might make against us.”

  “Right. It’s best we leave it to the authorities,” Barlow agreed.

  William grinned. Barlow had understood and followed his lead. The two of them would handle Farnsworth any way they pleased; Chauncy would have to live with their decision.

  “Good! Since we’re all in agreement that the authorities will be called in once we’ve questioned Farnsworth, I suggest you move ahead with his abduction, William. I have a rather unpleasant room adjacent to my wine cellar that is quite private. He couldn’t possibly escape, and there’s an outside entrance into the cellar. If you come by my office tomorrow, I’ll have a key for you,” Chauncy said.

  Tapping his fingers along the edge of the table, William hoped he gave the appearance of a man deep in thought. “I’m thinking it may be wise to use Barlow’s assistance with the abduction. In spite of his age, John Farnsworth is a powerful man. There’s always the possibility he could wrestle free of me, and I wouldn’t want that to happen. Another set of hands would provide additional backup should the need arise.”

  Chauncy’s brow creased at the proposal. “I fear Barlow’s involvement might cause him undue stress. No offense, Barlow, but you have been troubled of late. I wouldn’t want to make matters worse,” Chauncy said, glancing toward his wife’s cousin.

  Barlow grasped Chauncy’s arm. “Quite the contrary. Having this challenge will keep my mind off other more distressing situations. Give me this opportunity. You won’t regret it—I promise.”

  Chauncy hesitated for only a moment. “If William wants your assistance and believes you’re up to the task, then I’ll give my approval.”

  Barlow’s complexion turned ruddy, and he appeared close to tears. “Thank you, Chauncy.”

  Chauncy nodded and quickly turned back toward William. “Then we’re settled. You’ll stop by my office in the morning.”

  “Yes, in the morning,” William replied, firmly shaking Chauncy’s hand. “I believe we’ll remain behind and formulate our plans.”

  Chauncy nodded his agreement, and the two men watched until he left the pub. “I was pleased to see that you picked up on my veiled message—I didn’t know if you’d understand.”

  Barlow’s lips formed a thin line. “Chauncy believes me unstable, but I am completely reliable and understand everything going on around me,” he replied solemnly.

  “Well, then, let’s begin planning, shall we? The fact that John knows both of us presents a bit of a problem. If he should see either one of us, he may become suspicious. Because I’ve surreptitiously maintained a watchful eye, he’s still not aware I’m in England. I’d like it to remain that way until we have him under our control. Perhaps you know a couple of less-than-reputable men who might agree to lend their assistance—for a reasonable fee, of course.”

  “Yes, I can make arrangements. How soon will we need them?”

  “I’m not certain just yet. Tell them they’ll be paid to remain available for the next two weeks. They must be accessible both night and day.”

  “Two weeks? I thought we were going to make our move right way.”

  William leaned forward, his features frozen into a cruel expression. “You listen to me, Barlow. I’m in charge of this maneuver, and if you want to remain involved, you’ll do as you’re told. If we’re not prepared for every circumstance, the plan will fail and Farnsworth will slip out of our grasp. I won’t attempt Farnsworth’s apprehension until I’m certain we will succeed. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Barlow mumbled. “I’ll put two men on alert. Anything else?”

  “Outfit them with uniforms worn by the local constables. Is that possible?”

  Barlow nodded. “Yes, but it might take a few days.”

  “Let me know when the men and uniforms are ready.”

  “And what are you going to be doing?” Barlow asked.

  “Maintaining a close surveillance on Farnsworth and his family. If it appears they’re going to sail before you’ve made arrangements, we’ll be forced to apprehend him ourselves. I’d prefer that didn’t happen, but we must be prepared in either event. Let’s make this pub our meeting place. It’s not far from where I’m residing, and it’s fairly close to Jarrow Farnsworth’s home.”

  “I’m not far from here, either, and I’ll find suitable quarters in the vicinity for the men I hire.”

  “Excellent. I’ll meet you here tomorrow evening. Seven o’clock?”

  “Seven o’clock will be fine,” Barlow replied, retrieving his felt top hat and following William to the door of the pub.

  The men parted, Barlow heading off toward his empty house and William to the boardinghouse where he had taken up residence. He longed for someone he could take into his confidence, someone who could enjoy the totality of what he hoped to accomplish. But he dared not trust any of these Englishmen, who already questioned his loyalty and motivation.

  He hurried past the parlor and up the stairs to his room, hung his coat, and sat down at the small writing desk. Pen in hand, he began to write:

  Dear Thaddeus,

  The events of this evening proved more fruitful than even I could have hoped. . . .

  CHAPTER 22

  Lowell

  April

  Daughtie waited outside Mr. Gault’s office. She was exhausted and wondered if Mr. Kingman had asked her to deliver his message as retribution for today’s ineptness. Two girls stood in front of her, obviously wanting to inquire about positions at the mills. Their excited chatter buzzed around her like bees swarming to the hive. She stared toward the mill yard in a half-dazed stupor before spotting Ruth coming across the yard. Daughtie waved with as much enthusiasm as her weary limbs would permit.

  Ruth sprinted toward her, the spring breeze whipping at her cape. “Why are you waiting to see Mr. Gault? Planning to apply for another position?” she asked with a wry smile.

  “Mr. Kingman asked me to deliver a message for him. Nothing seemed to go right today. Normally I can draw two full beams on Saturdays, and if I’m having a really good day, I can complete three. However, I struggled to get even one beam done today. Mr. Kingman came out from the weaving room several times. His scowls made it abundantly clear he was unhappy with my lack of progress. I think he decided since I was slow at the frames, he’d find a way to punish me. What better way than to consume my precious extra time off on a Saturday afternoon?”

  “Don’t let Mr. Kingman bother you. All of the weavers were busy today. Had you completed another beam, one of us would have been forced to work an extra loom. I’m glad you weren’t successful,” Ruth sullenly replied.

  Daughtie gave her a weary smile. Ever since the day of the turnout, Ruth had remained irritable. Her words were generally laced with anger, and she’d become even more opinionated about the working conditions at the mill. Daughtie remained uncertain if the anger was directed at her or the Corporation. She doubted her refusal to participate in the turnout had been forgiven, although both girls pretended things were
normal. Yet there remained a chasm between the two of them, especially over matters relating to their work.

  “You don’t need to wait with me. Go and enjoy your extra time away from the mill. I overheard you tell Margaret you’d go to the shops with her before supper. You won’t have time if you wait on me. There’s Margaret over there,” Daughtie said, pointing across the yard.

  Ruth glanced toward the gate and waved at Margaret. “Would you tell Mrs. Arnold I’ll be home before supper?”

  “Of course. Have fun shopping.”

  Ruth gave her a patronizing smile. “We’re not going shopping; we’re meeting with a printer. We’re going to see how much it would cost to print pamphlets.”

  “What kind of pamphlets? What are you up to, Ruth?”

  “Nothing that would be of interest to you,” she replied before walking off.

  “You’re determined to get yourself dismissed,” Daughtie muttered as she watched Ruth march off with her head held high, resolve in her step.

  By the time she’d received her pay and was leaving the mill yard, Daughtie’s shoulders were slumped and there was little resolve in her step. She merely wanted to get home and put this terrible day behind her.

  A dirt-smudged young girl with reddish-brown curls tugged at Daughtie’s cloak as she rounded the corner. “Would ya be Daughtie Winfield?” the girl asked.

  Daughtie nodded.

  “Mr. Donohue said I should give ya this.” The child thrust a paper into Daughtie’s hand and disappeared before she could say a word.

  Daughtie unfolded the paper and read Liam’s words: I must see you this evening. Come after supper and be certain you’re not followed.

  The message was intriguing. Was Liam planning something special? Obviously he didn’t want her to bring anyone else along. She smiled at the thought. Whom would she even ask to accompany her to Liam’s house? Ruth wouldn’t consider darkening the doorway of an Irishman’s home. She read the note one last time before entering the front door. Her weariness and disillusionment were quickly replaced by an unexpected excitement and energy.