Marrying Miss Martha (8 page)

Luckily the house distracted Edward. Fern Villa had two parlours, one on either side of a narrow hallway, with a large dining-room at the rear on the left and a much smaller room on the right. The kitchen was behind that and had a modern kitchener, all shiny with blacklead, with a closed fire in the centre giving out gentle heat, a hot water tank on one side and a double oven on the other.

“I came and lit the fire earlier this morning,” Hepzibah said. “Thought it’d take the chill off the house a bit, make it seem more welcoming.”

“That was kind of you.” Martha held her hands out to the warmth.

“There’s a scullery, pantry and coal house through here,” Hepzibah went on, opening another door that led to a small corridor.

“Sally will love this kitchen,” Penelope murmured after they’d examined everything and come back to stand looking out of the window. The rear garden was larger than she’d expected, with a gate at the far end, newly painted in a bright green colour. She saw Hepzibah looking at her questioningly and explained who Sally was, then added, “The house has a nice feel to it.”

“It was where old Mr Seaton lived with his first wife until he built the mill house, and they were very happy here. I worked for them for many years, until we all had to move. My poor mistress died when Ben was only nine, just as the master was starting to do well. He never cared as much about the mill after that and although he missed her greatly, he married again only a year later.” Hepzibah’s lips tightened. “Miss Georgie is the result. Spoiled, she’s been, but she has a good heart if she’ll only stop trying to show off.”

Martha looked at her with interest. This was the second person to defend Georgiana Seaton from possible criticism. She didn’t comment, however, just turned back to the window. “The garden has been let run wild.”

“Ben never did care about gardens, only about that dratted machinery of his. There used to be some very pretty ferns in the front garden. He’s kept the house well maintained, though, and ’twas he put the new stove in for the last tenant. You won’t find any damp, either.” She looked from one to the other. “Are you going to take the job?”

“Yes.” They both spoke at once then laughed.

“I’m glad to hear that. I’ll leave you to look round at your leisure, then, ladies. We’ve a busy morning on at home and I don’t want to be away too long. You may as well keep the front door key.”

Martha was surprised at her leaving, but Hepzibah had seemed on edge the whole time, not because of them but because of something that had her glancing regularly out of the window and listening—though what for, Martha couldn’t tell.

Edward had allowed the ladies to inspect the kitchen without him, having little interest in such domestic minutiae. They found him pacing out the front parlour, shaking his head over how small it was, only five yards square. “Once you have your piano in here, it’ll look overcrowded. And the hall is too narrow, not a gentleman’s hallway at all.”

“We like the house,” Penelope declared. “We’ll have to decide what furniture we’ll keep and what we’ll sell, if we’re to fit in.”

“But . . . ” he broke off to stare at them. “You’ve decided, haven’t you? And without even consulting me
.
Well, I haven’t taken to Tapton and I won’t
allow
you to do this!”

“Edward, you can’t stop us.” Martha was growing weary of repeating this.

“But you haven’t even considered the practicalities. Look how cramped you’ll be if you try to run a school in this house. Why, the front parlour is barely adequate for ladies of your station as it is. No, no. It won’t do.” He let out a gusty sigh. “If you won’t make your home with us, I shall be obliged to rent a house for you somewhere more genteel. Buxton, perhaps? I’ll give you an allowance
and
pay Sally’s wages. Now what do you say?”

They looked at one another and smiled, not needing to put their thoughts into words.

“Thank you. It’s very generous of you. But we’d prefer to come here and earn our own way in the world,” Penelope said.

He looked from one determined face to the other and drew himself up. “I can see I’m wasting my time talking to you. You always were stubborn when you had your mind set on something. I’ll return to the inn and leave you to finish going over this house, but please be ready to leave in two hours. I’ve done my best, but some people simply won’t be helped.”

He swung on his heel and left without another word.

They both breathed sighs of relief as the front door slammed behind him.

Martha couldn’t help asking, “You’re sure, Pen?”

“Yes, I am. We’d better not waste our time talking, though, if we’re to leave in two hours. Why don’t you pace out the downstairs rooms and I’ll do the upstairs ones? I brought a little notebook, just in case, and we can surely spare an hour before we return to the inn to pack.”

When someone knocked on the front door a few minutes later, Martha opened it to find Ben Seaton standing there.

He didn’t waste time on civilities. “Hepzibah said you liked the house.”

“Yes. It feels to have a happy atmosphere.” He looked round and his expression became sad, so she guessed he was thinking about his mother. When he walked through to the kitchen she followed, trying not to intrude on his memories.

“I used to come here to eat hot scones,” he said in a softer tone of voice than usual. “My mother and Hepzibah would be working together. They always seemed to be laughing and there was a fire burning brightly, copper pans shining on the shelves and . . . ” He broke off and the guarded expression came back on his face as he went on in a more formal tone, “I’m glad you intend to accept the position because Georgie needs something to occupy her time. How soon can you come here?”

Martha had been dreading Christmas in Woodbourne without their father and would far rather they spent it here in Tapton, even if they knew no one. “Give us a week to pack after we get home, then we’ll find a carrier and . . . ”

“No need. Jonas and I can send a couple of our mill drays for your stuff if you’ll write down directions before you go.” He turned towards the door. “I must leave now. They’re delivering some new machinery to my mill. We started during the night in case there was trouble and I’d better get back to keep an eye on things, though we’re mostly home and dry now.”

“Why should there be trouble?”

“Some folk don’t like progress and blame it on the machines, so they try to destroy them. I just wanted to see you before you left.” He looked at her, wondering why it had seemed so important that she and her sister take the position, important enough for him to leave the mill at a crucial time. Though there had been no sign yet of the trouble-makers he’d expected, thank heavens.

He’d come because he liked the Merridene ladies, he decided. Yes, that was it. Martha was straightforward and sensible, as unlike his stepmother as a woman could be. As for Penelope, she had a warm smile and a chin as stubborn as her sister’s. Surely they’d be able to control his sister, and under their influence Georgie would learn to behave more reasonably?

He realised he’d been standing lost in thought, which was hardly polite. “I really must get back.” He stepped aside to let her go first and as she passed him, he smelled lavender and soap. Her face was shining as if she’d just washed it, her cheeks were as rosy as apples and her eyes—well, they were surprisingly beautiful, of a hazel colour and full of smiling warmth, as if she liked the world she lived in.

He breathed in deeply, annoyed at himself for wasting time on such fanciful thoughts. “Leave a note for me at the inn with directions to your house and we’ll send the drays to arrive one week from today, if that suits you.”

“Thank you. It’ll be a great help.”

As Martha took the hand he held out, she stilled because that strange feeling of awareness was running through her again. It was unnerving. She had never felt anything like it and didn’t understand why it kept happening. It must be because he was so very large and masculine. Yes, that was it. Even her father hadn’t been as big as this man. It wasn’t that Ben Seaton was intimidating, not at all, but you just couldn’t help noticing him—and reacting.

Closing the front door firmly behind him, she went back to taking notes, pacing out the rooms as carefully as she could.

When she had finished she went upstairs to join Penelope, feeling happier than she had since her father’s death. “We’d better get back to the inn and pack our things now or Edward will complain all the way back to Woodbourne.”

“I woke early and couldn’t sleep, so mine are packed already. Why don’t you go back and see to yours? I’ll join you in another half-hour. I haven’t paced out the attics yet.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?”

“Of course I shall. It’s not very far to walk.”

“Here’s the front door key, then. Be sure to lock up carefully.”

As Martha walked back to the inn she thought the square seemed rather empty considering how busy it had been the day before, but perhaps people of the better sort did their shopping later on. She heard a few shouts in the distance, but thought nothing of that, her mind focused on their coming move and what needed to be done.

* * * *

The man known mainly as Croaky Jack went into the office at Brindley’s first thing that same morning, looking angry. “Seaton’s tricked us.”

Noll scowled at him and gestured to Gerry to stand back. “What do you mean?”

“He brought them machines in during the night. They’re uncrating them now. If we hadn’t been housed outside town in that old barn of yours, we might have noticed that something was happening. We were taking too much care to keep out of sight and should have kept a watch on the western road all night instead of sending out watchers at dawn. The men didn’t see any drays arriving this morning because they were already in town.”

Noll’s face went deep red with anger and he thumped the desk several times with a clenched fist, muttering, “Damn him!” in a low voice.

“And with Porter to help set the machines up, they’ll soon be spinning extra thread,” Gerry put in. “You should have kept that fellow here, Noll. He’s really good with machines, which Ridley will never be.” He heaved a sigh. “Eh, we’ll not stop Seaton now.”

Jack cleared his throat and said in his peculiar, husky voice, “He can’t have them installed yet, surely? And now he’s got them inside the mill, he’ll mebbe not be keeping watch as well as he should be.”

“You mean . . . ” a grin slowly creased Noll’s face, deepening the wrinkles.

Jack grinned back. “I could tell my men to gather a crowd and then attack the mill head on. The lads can egg folk to knock down the gates and try to damage the new machines.”

“They’re to be ready to pull out if anyone calls out the militia,” Noll put in sharply. “I don’t want the magistrate tracing this back to me.” He chewed his forefinger for a moment, then added, “It’s a bit risky.”

“Not with your operatives rioting. Trust me. I’m good at getting crowds het up.”

Noll stared at him, then nodded slowly. “I can give you some fuel to get ’em started.” He turned to his overlooker. “Gerry, lad, spread the word that I’m going to cut wages again. I’m not, but that’ll shake the operatives up good and proper.”

“It’ll send ’em into a mad frenzy an’ they’ll down tools, then we’ll not make our quota of yarn this week.”

“Can’t be helped.”

Stifling a sigh, Gerry hurried out to do his master’s bidding, still not convinced it was the right thing to do. He knew who always got the blame when they fell below the set quota. Why could Noll not be satisfied with what he’d got? Gerry would be satisfied with a quarter of what his employer had, by hell he would!

Jack nodded farewell and slipped outside in that way he had of doing things before you’d realised it.

When he was alone, Noll began to pace to and fro. He’d tried to hide his anger but he was furious and if Croaky Jack thought he was getting paid the full amount for this job, he could think again. They might still be able to do some damage to Seaton but it wouldn’t ruin the fellow.

Well, he wasn’t finished yet. No man had ever got the better of him without him finding a way to get his own back.

* * * *

Ben arrived back at the mill to find the gates standing open and men bustling to and fro round Ross Turner, who was uncrating the new machines. “Close the gates!” he ordered. “Anyone could walk in.”

“They’re not likely to cause us any trouble now, are they?” Jem Saverby asked. As head of the mill stables at Wright’s, he’d supervised the loan of his master’s drays so that Ben Seaton could bring the machinery into town in one fell swoop. He’d wanted to be there in person to watch over his horses and the well-kept drays for which he was famous.

“You can’t be too careful. Where’s Porter?”

“Your engineer sent him out to get another crowbar from the ironmonger’s. Them crates are so well put together we’ve broke a couple of hammer shafts trying to lever out the nails without damaging the wood.”

“Never mind that now. Let’s get all the gates shut and locked.” Ben went across to help him with the heavy wooden gates, which were nearly twice as high as a man, but they’d only managed to get one closed when a group of men with blackened faces rushed round the corner and tried to shove their way into the mill yard, yelling threats and obscenities.

A desperate scuffle began, with every man on the premises rushing to try to help repel the invaders and even some of the women workers joining in, because the machines meant their livelihoods too, as Mr Seaton had explained only the morning before.

The would-be invaders were driven back slowly.

Why? Ben wondered as he stood panting behind the now closed gates, listening to the shouts and yells still coming from the street outside. What could Brindley hope to gain now? For he was quite sure who was behind this.

* * * *

When her sister had left, Penelope went up to check the attics, deciding that the biggest of these would make an excellent bedroom for Sally. As she strolled round the whole house again, she wondered what it would be like to live here. Very different from the much larger Rosemount Cottage, but interesting, she was sure. In fact, excitement was rising in her like leaven in a loaf.