Grown woman. Ellie thought the words again. It was a truth that she sometimes, like right now, found hard to comprehend.
Protecting her had been the entire reason her father gave up his Earldom and as she grew up, it left her feeling confused and uncertain about herself and her life. Ellie often felt as if she needed her parents’ protection and coddling. And permission. They had given her the gift of freedom and because of that she was afraid she would never be free of the guilty feeling that she owed them for it. Now there was bitter irony. But Ellie wasn’t sure how much of her feelings actually came from her parents and how much of them were internal manifestations. As such, she found her own independence and maturity a constant struggle, one she was still learning to overcome.
“Is someone going to answer my questions or should I just go back to my embroidery?”
“Oh, why yes. Of course, Amelia.” Ellie’s mother turned. “Mandy? Do you want to take this one since you have the firsthand knowledge?”
Ellie looked to Mandy. Her eyes were cast down at her lap as if she was concentrating with great detail on the piece of sewing in her hands. But that was not the case. Her hands were motionless, the needle laying slack in one while the fabric rested lightly in the other. There was a drop of water on the fabric and Mandy tried to rub it away. Ellie knew that all the hardness Mandy put forward was a facade. They all knew, but Mandy still clung to it for protection.
“Listen here, I’m going to tell you exactly what I told Ellie when she was about your age and I’m only going to say this once. This world can be a wonderful place, an amazing place, but it can also be harsh and cruel. Not all people are as kindhearted as Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, certainly not all employers. To some employers the people they employ are not even people—”
“Not people? But how can—what does that even—”
“Not. People.” Mandy emphasized. “They are a means to an end; to money and lots of it. Those employers don’t care if you cut off your finger or your hand or you work hour after hour until you can’t force your eyes open and you fall on your face and die. You can and will be replaced, by the next able-bodied person who just wants to support their family. But they won’t stay able-bodied for long because if the mill doesn’t kill them, then the slums will. But none of that matters to the employers. And as long as their pockets are lined at the end of the day then all is right with the world. All is right with their world.”
Amelia fell back into her chair, eyes glazed over. “That doesn’t even seem real.”
“Believe it, dear,” Mandy tightened her throat to bite back the tears. Her fingers began to work quickly on the sewing again, distracting her from the full emotional depth of her words. “It’s not something you forget, seeing a person’s body and mind worked that hard. My brother and father and grandfather—even my mother—all worked themselves to the grave. No, I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I can’t. Not when I saw it with my own eyes… not when I lived it.” Mandy cleared her throat. “And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”
“But… But why doesn’t anyone do anything?”
Ellie’s mother stood up and went to the table with the stack of fabrics. She began to sort them, busying herself as well, as she spoke. “For a long time no one thought anything could be done.”
Amelia took a slow deep breath. “But why?”
“Remember what my mother just asked you about this job and if you needed it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s precisely the problem. There’s an uneven balance of power.”
“The worker needs the employer but the employer does not need the worker. They just need a worker. Any worker.” Amelia said as her eyes glazed over. Everything was beginning to sink in. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her lap. “But isn’t there anything anyone can do?”
“That’s what the protests are about,” Ellie’s mother said. “The workers are demanding to be heard.” She stood up and went back to the table to busy herself, briskly patting the pile of fabrics she had been sorting and smoothing her hands across the top.
“Well, that’s good. That’s a start right? And that’s what you meant, Ellie, when you said that they were forcing people to see—to look. They want everyone to know how they live and work.” Amelia frowned as she watched Ellie’s mother resume folding and patting down piles fabric. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think the protests are helping?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Why not? Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Because the balance of power is still uneven. It doesn’t matter how often or how loudly or how forcefully the workers protest if the mill owners and employers continue to see them as nothing more than work vessels. They’re still making their money and there’s still more men and women desperate enough to work for them, no matter the conditions. So what incentive do they have to change anything?” Ellie’s mother pinched the bridge of her nose and then rested her palm on one of the piles of fabric. “As awful as I feel saying it, part of me wishes the protests would stop. Nothing is going to change until the mill owners have no other option but to make changes. All that’s happening right now is violence. And pain.”
“Violence?” Ellie asked. “I’ve never seen the protestors become violent…”
“No, not usually,” Mandy added rejoining the conversation. “Not without cause. But I don’t think it’s the mill workers your mother was talking about…”
“No.”
“Then who?” Ellie asked.
“The mill owners. There have been rumors that they’re threatening anyone who participates in these protests or joins a union,” Ellie’s mother said with a wince. “I’ve heard rumors that they are beating the workers they catch, or withholding pay. They’re making examples of them.”
“Who could do something as awful as this?” Amelia stood up from her chair and put her hands on her hips as if her sheer force of will would make something happen. “What sort of people are these?”
Mandy made a humph sound in her throat. “Don’t know that I’d call them people, love.”
“Then what would you call them?”
“The Duke of McAlister.” Mandy’s voice was spitting venom.
“What? A duke?” Amelia’s eyes blinked rapidly. “A duke is responsible for this? A duke owns a mill?”
“Oh, he owns more than one.” Mandy answered, still heated. “He doesn’t own them all, of course, but he owns the largest ones around here… And the most hazardous ones…”
“His mills are the ones that Mandy’s family worked in,” Ellie added.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Amelia looked down at her hands. “I thought that sort of money making venture was below people with titles…”
“Nothing is below the Duke of McAlister…”
Amelia scrunched up her face. “I still don’t understand. Why would a duke buy mills?”
“Well, it wasn’t the current duke that bought them,” Ellie answered. “It was his grandfather.”
“But why…”
“For the money, of course. Before he inherited the title, the current duke’s grandfather was nothing more than a failed businessman and social climber. They say he blamed the world and everyone in it for his failures. So when he inherited… Well, let’s just say the bastard suddenly felt justified in his belief that he was better than everyone else. That he deserved more.” Mandy shivered. “And mills were just coming into use and turning profits. So he bought himself one and the rest is history.”
“And after him, his son was even worse,” Ellie’s mother added. “No one imagined it could be possible, but it was. And he wasn’t satisfied with just one mill either which is what made it so terrible. He started a company and with the help of his shareholders he bought more mills and ruined more lives. It was him who put those mills in the wretched state they’re in today.”
“But he’s…” Amelia cleared her throat, “gone now, right?”
“Oh yes. That bastard die
d about a year past now, some sudden illness. Now I don’t normally speak ill of the dead, but if there was ever a man to deserve it…” Mandy sighed and shook her head. “His son owns them now and there’s been no indication that he intends to run them any differently.”
“But maybe his son will be different,” Amelia added hopefully.
“Of course not. Men like that, they walk around this world like they own it all and like everything and everyone in it owes them something. Them! Can you imagine? If there was ever anyone that owed a pound of flesh it’s men like that, but they just take and take and take from others until there’s nothing left.” Mandy scowled, looking to Ellie and Ellie’s mother. “Did I ever tell you what happened after my cousin died in the cotton mill last year?”
“No,” both women answered.
“In the year leading up to that, three of my cousins and two of my childhood friends lost their babies, all from starvation and the elements. Their husbands worked in the cotton mills down on the River Irk and it didn’t matter how they tried, they just couldn’t afford proper food or shelter… And then my other cousin died leaving behind his wife and his three children. I mean, as if it wasn’t bad enough already that he was gone too soon but I had to live with the worry and the knowledge that the same thing was probably going to happen to his family. And I just couldn’t take it anymore!” She threw her hands above her head before she continued.
“So, I found out where he lived, that new Duke of McAlister, and I tracked him down and waited outside of his door all day and half the night before he finally stumbled home smelling like a distillery. And I just let him have it. Gave him a real piece of my mind. I cursed him, his family, everyone he ever loved. And I told him it was because that was what he’d taken from me. Family. And you know what he did? Do you know what he said to me?”
“What?” Amelia asked.
“He got this sad look on his face and he said, ‘I know exactly how you feel.’” Mandy laughed out loud once. “Like he could possibly understand what I was going through. What any of us who live that life have gone through… And then he just looked at me, like I was supposed to feel sorry for him! Him! I didn’t know what to do or say and so I just stood there with my jaw gaped. Then after a while he turned his back to me like their kind always do and stumbled inside his fancy house leaving me out there all alone. As if I’d never even been there or said anything to him.” Mandy’s eyes clouded over. “You know I don’t remember many details about that moment. But I do remember his face. I only saw him that once but I’d recognize that bastard anywhere. And duke or not, if I ever see him again I may just pop him square in the nose! Not that it’ll make a bit of difference in how he thinks, but I’ll sure feel better...”
“Well, who knows?” Amelia asked. “Maybe he’ll still change. That happens in the books, you know…”
Ellie’s mother smiled. “I admire your courage, Amelia, but why would he want to change?”
“And why wouldn’t he?” Amelia asked.
“Well, for one, I hear it takes a considerable amount of money to be such a renowned rake…”
“Mother!” Ellie was glad to laugh after so much talk of sad things, though she wasn’t sure how she felt about her own mother bringing up this particular subject. “And what do you know of rakes?”
“A great deal more than you, I would hope…”
“Mother!” Ellie squirmed in her seat and diverted her eyes, but only in part because she didn’t want to think about what her mother might know about scandalous men. The other part of Ellie was now thinking about her stranger—the stranger, she corrected herself again—and just what sort of man he might be.
She hadn’t immediately pegged him for a rake. He was so charming and witty, and kind to her despite the unusual circumstances. And he had been running from something after all. But then again those seemed just the sort of qualities a rake would possess, and just the sort of qualities that would get a rake into enough trouble to be chased through the city streets in the first place. Ellie felt like pouting, though she didn’t know exactly why. It wasn’t as if his relationships were of any concern to her.
“Ahh!” Amelia said loudly, interrupting Ellie’s thoughts. “Now this is more my type of conversation!”
Laughter slowly spread throughout the room and soon even Mandy was laughing.
Chapter 3
William Hawkridge, the Duke of McAlister, was attempting to sneak into his own Manchester residence when his efforts were foiled.
“McAlister!” he heard a voice call from behind him. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
“Damn it all to hell,” he mumbled gruffly. He thought about just pretending he hadn’t heard anyone calling to him, and just walking through the door and locking it behind him. But he knew that wouldn’t work and would result in a screaming match and possibly a few heavy items thrown at his head. McAlister wanted a fight even less than he wanted to talk, so he gritted his teeth and contorted his face into a half smile.
“Uncle George,” he said dryly before even turning around to look at the man approaching him. McAlister had known who was calling to him simply by the manner in which he’d been addressed.
His uncle looked rather disheveled today in both temperament and dress, as if he had a great deal on his mind. He’d forgotten his hat, making his short stature even more apparent and showcasing his thinning and out of place grey hair. His shirt showed obvious marks of perspiration and his shoes were dinged and scuffed, most likely from running around town searching for him.
McAlister felt a slight twinge of guilt knowing that he was the cause of all of his uncle’s current distress, but he didn’t let himself dwell on that thought. There was nothing he could do about any of that at this moment and more importantly, there was nothing he would really change even if he could. At least his Uncle didn’t smell of whiskey today, not yet anyway, and that was a plus for the time being.
McAlister sighed. “I trust you won’t take offense, Uncle, when I say that I haven’t been looking for you.”
“Ach.” Uncle George waved a dismissive hand and then took hold of his nephew’s arm and ushered him inside, closing the door quickly and forcefully behind them. “I suspect it’s more serious than that. Not only have you not been looking for me, I’d wager you’ve been actively avoiding me.”
McAlister avoided his Uncle’s gaze and removed his hat, only to remember that there was no place to set the hat down and no one to take it from him at the back door. He exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You thought you could hide from me by coming in the back door,” Uncle George said pointing out the confusion with the hat.
“I just prefer the simple life.”
“Oh, if only! That would make things better for everyone. Including yourself. But that’s not the truth, is it? In fact I’d say you’re trying to make life exceedingly more complicated. And not just for yourself but for all of us.”
“I’m not trying to do anything of the sort, Uncle.”
“Aren’t you, though?”
Having still not found a place for his hat, McAlister put it back on his head and looked at his uncle with stern eyes. “I’m not the one complicating things. You know that very well. And you know exactly what I’m trying to do.”
“Oh, I know alright. You’ve made your intentions very clear.” Uncle George gritted his teeth and pointed at McAlister. “I know exactly what you’re doing. And so does everyone else. That’s why you must stop this. Right now. Once and for all. It’s too dangerous. And the longer you try and the more you push, the worse it’s going to be for all of us. Especially you.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Uncle. I can take care of myself.”
“And how do you plan on doing that? By never showing up to another shareholder’s meeting ever again? How long do you expect for that to work?”
McAlister clenched his jaw and turned away. He took his hat off again with his right hand, and
then ran the back of that same hand across his damp brow, grimacing and shaking his head.
“I thought so. Oh, I thought so. But this is even worse than I imagined.” Uncle George began to wring his hands and pace in the narrow entryway. “I’m not the only one you’ve been avoiding, am I? And I’m not the only one who’s realized it. I can tell you that much.”
“You—you just don’t understand. This is so much bigger, so much more than you can possibly—”
“No!” Uncle George stopped pacing and pointed at his nephew again. “I understand this perfectly.”
“And what exactly is it that you understand?”
“That you are sacrificing yourself—”
“Sacrificing?” McAlister whistled sarcastically. “It’s come to that now, has it?”
“It very well may have.” Uncle George wiped his brow. “It that what you want? To give it all up just to—just to—”
“Just to what?”
Uncle George crossed his arms and looked away.
“Go ahead and say it Uncle!”
“Just to help... them?” he answered in a soft pained voice.
“The poor? Is that whom you mean Uncle?”
“You know I didn’t mean it like—”
“The down trodden? The mistreated? The mill workers?”
“That’s not what—”
“And you use the word ‘them’. Is that all they are to you? A ‘them’? Are they not human beings?”
“Of course—”
“Are they less deserving of decency because for whatever reason the universe saw fit that they be born to that life while we be born to this one?” McAlister prodded his finger against his Uncle’s chest.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t care what you meant. I don’t care what your words are, Uncle. Words won’t put food in the belly of a hungry man nor will they stop him from being killed and leaving his family uncared for. Words are but a hollow shell without actions to accompany them. And your words are saying that you think we are more and they are less.”
Love and Other Wicked Games (A Wicked Game Novel) Page 3