One Snowy Night (24 page)

‘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 Foster. 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 Foster, 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 his 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.’

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?’

‘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, she watched Rebecca with shrewd eyes, before finally
saying, ‘It has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Foster.’

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 two fine pieces of porcelain – a matched
pair -  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 then she selected a book of
engravings, carrying it over to the window seat. It would give her something to
look at until Joshua arrived.

She had hardly
seated herself, however, when she heard footsteps coming towards the library.
They did not belong to Joshua, they were quicker and lighter.

She did not
want to have to make polite conversation with another guest and so she drew her
legs up in front of her and pulled the curtains across the window and its seat.
She hoped that whoever it was would not stay long.

The door
opened and a gentleman came into the room.

Mr
Willingham
,
she thought in surprise, as she saw him 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 suspected he was looking for her. Seeing
the library was empty he looked puzzled, but instead of going out again he
moved further into the room.

Rebecca was annoyed.
He was heading straight towards the window-seat and she suspected he meant to pull
back the curtains.

But at that
moment the door knob rattled and, distracted by the sound, he turned towards
the door.

It opened, and
Joshua walked in.

Through the
tiny gap in the curtain, Rebecca 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 coldly. ‘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’ll stand.’

‘As you wish,’
said Mr Willingham. He took his cue from Joshua and remained standing himself. ‘I
understand you’ve been having trouble at your mill. A Luddite slogan painted on
the wall. A fire.’

‘And how would
you know about those things?’ Joshua asked curiously.

‘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 concealed behind the curtains, after all.

Joshua’s eyes
went to the pistol and then back to Mr Willingham. ‘So it was you,’ he said.

‘Not me
personally,’ said Mr Willingham smoothly.

‘Of course
not,’ said Joshua scathingly. ‘You wouldn’t have the courage 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?’ asked Joshua with contempt. ‘As soon as you fire
it, people will come running from all directions. True, you might manage to
kill me, but 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.’