The Road through Rushbury (Seasons of Change Book 1)

by Martha Keyes

  Georgiana shifted uncomfortably, feeling slightly embarrassed that it was her need that required the young children to be put to work.

  Both of them nodded and obediently picked up the carders on the floor.

  “That’s Sarah and William,” said Mrs. Reed. She indicated her older daughter in the kitchen. “And this is Patience.”

  Patience wiped her hands on her apron and smiled kindly at Georgiana, curtsying prettily. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”

  Mr. Reed walked in and inclined his head at Georgiana. “Good morning, miss. Very glad I am to see you.” His stern face contradicted his words, but Georgiana refused to let that dampen her spirits. Mr. Reed must surely be accustomed to a bright disposition and tone, based on his wife’s demeanor, so she needn’t adapt her manner to match his.

  “It is very kind of you to let me come, Mr. Reed. I feel very foolish for coming to Yorkshire so ill-prepared.”

  “No matter, miss,” he said. “Better that you buy things here than in London. At least here you can be sure that they are fit for the climate. We make our products out of only the finest wool. Handmade, just as they should be.” The last words came out with an extra dose of harshness.

  “John,” said Mrs. Reed in a warning voice. She pursed her lips and raised a brow at him. “That’ll do.”

  “Come, Mary. It’s only the truth.” The arrhythmic sound of wool being carded filled the silence as Mrs. Reed let out a displeased huff and sent an apologetic glance at Georgiana.

  “Isn’t it, girls?” Mr. Reed asked. The carding stopped. “What do we always say about wool?”

  “If done by hand, through time ‘twill stand,” the girls repeated in synchrony.

  Mr. Reed nodded proudly. “Right you are.”

  “Perhaps you can focus your attention on Miss Paige’s needs now?” Mrs. Reed said, though a smile played at her lips.

  Mr. Reed cleared his throat. “What might we do for you, miss?”

  Georgiana smiled, fascinated as she watched the family’s interaction. “I hardly know. I think I must surely have a pair of gloves and stockings, for no matter how hot the fire burns in my bedchamber, my toes are always frozen. And”— she glanced at the two girls, who had resumed their carding. She hesitated to make more work for them, but she knew, too, that this was their livelihood. More work meant more money. “I thought of perhaps inquiring whether you could make me a pelisse? I imagine I won’t have need of it for too much longer this year, but I should like to be prepared for the next winter.”

  Mr. Reed’s head tipped from side to side. “You may not need it much longer this year, but there’s no telling. There’ve been years when we’ve had snow well into May.”

  Georgiana’s eyes widened. “You terrify me.”

  Mr. Reed shook his head. “With our wool, you’ll be well-equipped for such cold.”

  She left the Reed home with a pair of brown gloves, a pair of white stockings, and the promise of a wool pelisse, which she imagined would be very much a family endeavor. She had learned that the children were responsible for cleaning and spinning the wool; Mr. Reed was responsible for operating the knitting machine; and Mrs. Reed acted as the clothier to sew the wool together.

  She shivered again as she made her way back to Granchurch House, glancing at the full and rolling dark clouds above. Whatever the finished pelisse looked like, Georgiana would certainly think differently of it, knowing the people whose labor had produced it. It made one wonder just whose hands—how young, how old, how calloused—had been involved in making the abundance of clothing she owned.

  A few raindrops dropped onto her bonnet, and she sighed, tucking the stockings and gloves under her arm to protect them. If Mr. Reed was to be believed, it was possible that she would be wearing the wool pelisse for weeks to come.

  Chapter 9

  Georgiana held her saucer and teacup on her lap as she sat on the soft blue velvet chaise longue with Aunt Sara.

  “We were so very relieved to learn that there was another genteel family in Rushbury,” said Lady Gilmour with a hand to her chest and a significant look. “I told Sir Clyde that, if it was just to be us, with naught but a few poor stockingers and farmers to speak to, I would be obliged to leave him here alone within the week, for I positively must have female company, you know.”

  Georgiana managed a smile, stirring her tea again. It had become clear within a few short minutes of their arrival why the villagers would look askance at the residents of Amblethorne Park. It was not that there was anything to dislike in Lady Gilmour’s personality. But she was clearly accustomed to having things done her way, and she and Sir Clyde seemed to be full of ideas about how things should be done in Rushbury.

  “I understand what you mean, of course,” said Aunt Sara. “My own dear cousin lived with me for nigh on twenty years. When she died a few weeks ago, I realized how terribly I had come to take her presence for granted.” She sent a warm glance at Georgiana. “I am very grateful indeed that my niece has come to stay with me, for there is nothing that can compare with female company, as you say.”

  “Well,” said Lady Gilmour, “Sir Clyde and I have every intention of making Rushbury into a place that will attract more people of means and good stock.” She held up a hand. “Mark my words! In a short time, the village will be a bustling town, and I imagine we will see a few more estates like Amblethorne rising among us.”

  Georgiana took a sip of her tea. How would Mr. Derrick feel to know of the Gilmours’ aspirations? How would any of the villagers feel, for that matter? She almost asked the question of Lady Gilmour. But to do so might be to antagonize Lady Gilmour, or at least to elicit disdain from her, and Georgiana sensed that it would be wise to wait until they were better acquainted to express any such thing. She stood in a much better position to be an advocate for the village if Lady Gilmour didn’t dislike her.

  “How very ambitious!” she said. “Rushbury is the smallest village I have ever seen, but the picture you paint would mean a very different place indeed. I am curious how you propose to accomplish such a thing.”

  Lady Gilmour wagged her eyebrows and then smiled widely. She leaned in toward them. “Our first order of business, and the very thing which takes Sir Clyde away from us at this moment, is to attract more business to the village. We have come to learn how very integral wool is to the area, and Sir Clyde had the inspired idea to purchase a few of the newer machines and install them in the uninhabited house at the end of the village lane in the hopes that, in time, a larger mill might be constructed with a great many machines.”

  Georgiana sipped her tea determinedly. The Gilmours clearly had a vision of Rushbury becoming more like Leeds than the country village it was. She hardly thought that the villagers would appreciate it.

  At the end of their visit, Lady Gilmour saw them to the door with a grand sigh. “Ah, ladies. It has been so wonderful to have your company today. I couldn’t have dreamed that I would find such amiable neighbors when we first arrived at Amblethorne. Please don’t hesitate to call on me at any time, for I already adore you both.”

  Georgiana and Aunt Sara stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, turning back toward Lady Gilmour.

  “Oh,” she said, looking at Georgiana with sudden concern, “I meant to say something, my dear, for I must admit that I was quite shocked to see you walking with Mr. Derrick without even a maid to accompany you.”

  Lady Gilmour clasped her hands in front of her heavily embroidered dress. “You do have a maid, do you not?”

  Georgiana smiled, determined not to betray any of her exasperation at the woman’s meddling. Lady Gilmour had no business lecturing her. “In truth, I do not, my lady. One of the maids from home accompanied me on the journey, but I sent her back to my family the morning after I arrived. But given that I am hardly in my first blush of youth and then with the size of a place like Rushbury, I admit that I haven’t seen the need for a rush to employ one.”

  “Oh no, no,” Lady Gilmour said, setting a
hand upon Georgiana’s arm. “That won’t do at all. Small village or no—and you have heard my assurances that it won’t continue so for long—you must employ a maid. One never knows what type of people one may come across in such a poverty-stricken place as this.”

  Georgiana tried to relax her tensing nerves. Lady Gilmour could hardly be much older than she, besides being a near-stranger, and yet she presumed to insist upon Georgiana’s employing a maid. “Thank you very much for your kind concern, Lady Gilmour. I shan’t make any promises, for I regard my newfound freedom as somewhat of a treasure, but I shall certainly consider it.”

  Lady Gilmour looked not at all pleased—and ready to say more—but Aunt Sara stepped in. “I assured Georgiana that I would not meddle in her affairs when she came here, but she knows that she is welcome to the services of any of my servants whenever she needs them.”

  With that Lady Gilmour had to be content, and Georgiana bid her goodbye with the most affable smile she could muster.

  Despite there being only three new residents, the pews in Rushbury’s church looked much fuller than usual as Samuel gave the sermon. There was something very satisfying about seeing the entire village in attendance, all wearing the finest clothing they owned, with children fidgeting restlessly and the eyes of the adults turned toward him, ready for some encouragement and inspiration during the very short respite they had from their labors.

  His eyes traveled to Miss Paige, and he forced them away for what must have been the tenth time. His gaze seemed to seek her out of its own accord, as if she were the most natural resting place for them.

  It was silly.

  He couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by her, for he found her to be somewhat enigmatic. He thought he had pegged her after their first interaction as an entitled, meddling Londoner.

  But then she had come to the vestry meeting. And then he had walked her home.

  And he found himself having to adjust—significantly—his opinion of her, for she had made him laugh a number of times, and far from being the dismissive Townswoman he had expected, she had listened to his preachiness about the village with obvious interest and concern. She had clearly been struck by the picture he had painted of what life was like for the villagers, and while she seemed intent upon taking an active role in the village, she also seemed to recognize her ignorance and to wish to address it first.

  But Samuel didn’t dare trust her. His mistrust of outsiders—and the gentry in particular—was deeply ingrained. The seeds planted by his father had been watered over the years by his subtle, disparaging comments on the subject. And when Samuel had chosen to ignore his father’s warnings about the McIntyre family—and Miss McIntyre in particular—he had only gone on to prove them when she left Amblethorne not long after, leaving behind her a trail of implied promises of a future with Samuel.

  He had no wish to repeat that experience.

  As the villagers conversed with him and with one another after the service had ended, slowly filing out of the church, Samuel found that he seemed to be constantly aware of Miss Paige’s location. Would she come speak to him?

  It was such a foolish thought—the sort of thing he might have felt and asked when he was a youth.

  But whether she intended to speak with him or not, she seemed to be intent upon speaking with the villagers, gaining introductions to each of them through the all-too-willing Burke. She remained in conversation until only she, Burke, Miss Paige, and Samuel remained.

  “I shan’t be more than a minute, Aunt Sara,” he heard Miss Paige say before she approached him.

  “Mr. Derrick,” she said, coming to stand before him. “Thank you kindly for your sermon. I have the very unwelcome suspicion that it was given with me in mind.”

  He laughed and turned over the book of sermons in his hand. “Not at all, Miss Paige. In fact, it might surprise you to learn that no less than five people have said something very similar to me today. We all have our struggles.”

  “Ah,” she replied with a smile. “You are simply admirably in touch with the needs of your congregation. Bravo.”

  Samuel glanced at Burke, who was speaking with the elder Miss Paige, though his eyes traveled frequently to where Samuel and Miss Georgiana Paige stood, an approving glint in them.

  “In addition to thanking you for your sermon,” she said, “I am come to make a request of you.”

  “Oh?” His defenses were immediately raised.

  “Since you were so instrumental in my appointment as surveyor”— she wagged a paper in front of him —“Burke has just delivered this to formalize my position—I thought you might be willing to take me around the parish and show me the boundaries and all the roads so that I might make an account of the state of the roads. I understand that to be one of my duties?”

  He nodded, clasping the book of sermons with both hands at his waist. “It is indeed. And I should be happy to do that.” Why did his heart jump at the prospect of spending more time with her? It must be a desire to puzzle her out. “Tomorrow I shall be occupied with a few church matters, but perhaps we could plan for Tuesday.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Have you a horse for riding? The parish boundaries are quite wide.”

  She nodded. “My aunt has a horse I can borrow until I am able to purchase one of my own. Shall we meet in front of the church at one o’clock?”

  The matter thus settled, Miss Paige and Miss Georgiana Paige went on their way, leaving Samuel with Burke, whose mouth was arranged in a pleasant smile, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the two women leave.

  He turned to Samuel, who met his smiling face—which was a tad too pointed—with a raising of the brows. Burke said nothing, though, his grin only growing wider.

  Samuel tugged at his cassock. “Do stop, Burke. If you are to regard me in such a way every time I have conversation with Miss Paige, I shall have to come up with some work for you—to busy your hands and mind with something of more import.”

  Burke only continued grinning, and Samuel had no choice but to let out a scoff and make his way to the vestry.

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday dawned slightly warmer than the prior days, and Samuel was secretly pleased, knowing that it would give Miss Paige less reason for complaint about Rushbury and its disagreeable weather. If she could only see the place in the summer, she would understand why Samuel could never leave. There was truly nothing like Rushbury and the West Riding during July and particularly August, when the moors were covered in blankets of purple heather.

  Spring, too, was a sight to behold, with the happy yellow of daffodils, the varied colors of tulips, the chorus of chirping birds, and the babbling brooks that dropped in small falls over the myriad of crags in the area.

  Just a few more weeks, and spring would show itself in full force in Rushbury. Even now, though, Samuel had hopes that they might see some signs of it outside the village itself. The village sat in a small valley that seemed slower to welcome spring than its environs.

  But how he loved that valley.

  As he guided his horse from the parsonage toward the front of the church, he found that Miss Paige was before him and waiting atop a pretty bay.

  “You are early,” he said, glancing at his pocket watch and then slipping it back inside his black coat as his horse came to a halt.

  “Well,” she said with a mischievous smile, “given the state of the roads, I imagine that we will need every last minute available to us to make an account of the problems which need addressing.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, but her eyes twinkled at him.

  “I shan’t be provoked today,” he said. “Let us be on our way, though, shall we?”

  She opened a bag which was secured to the saddle and pulled out a small, leather book and a short, stubby pencil. “I have come prepared.”

  They proceeded down the village lane, side by side, slowing to greet the villagers who happened to be out and about, as Samuel explained the history of the parish
roads to Georgiana.

  The village lane was far and away in the best repair of the parish. Frequented as it was by wagons and the few equipages owned amongst the residents, the dirt was packed down and even enough to support the slow traffic that it hosted.

  Samuel stopped near the end of the lane, aware that his name was being called.

  “Mr. Derrick,” cried John Reed, hurrying toward him at a near-run. He slowed once he realized he had the vicar’s attention, coming up to stand beside them. He glanced at the last house on the row and jerked a thumb toward it. “Do you know what’s happening there? We’ve been seeing Sir Clyde and another man coming in and out of the house for a few days now.”

  Samuel frowned. It was the only vacant house in the village, remaining so ever since the departure of Mr. Wood to Leeds. It also happened to be the largest house in the village, but due to the change in owners of Amblethorne Park, nothing had been done to fill it.

  “I haven’t any idea, I’m afraid,” he said, staring at it thoughtfully.

  “I might know something,” said Miss Paige slowly, her eyes also on the house.

  Samuel raised his brows, and she looked at him with an anxious expression.

  “I had the opportunity to visit with Lady Gilmour the other day, you know,” said Miss Paige, “and she mentioned that she and Sir Clyde have great hopes of turning Rushbury into a thriving center of the wool trade.” She glanced down at Mr. Reed, biting her lip. “I believe that Sir Clyde hopes to use this house as the beginnings of what will become a small mill in the future.”

  Samuel’s hand clenched at the reins, and he looked at Mr. Reed, whose face had gone pale and his eyes round.

  “A mill?” Mr. Reed’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.

  Miss Paige gave a subdued nod and exhaled through her nose. “They seem to have very grand plans for Rushbury and feel that it is somehow their mission and responsibility to bring it current with the technology available.”