Rebecca's Refusal

Chapter Seven

“Oh, what an enjoyable evening we had yesterday,” said Louisa the following morning over the breakfast table. “I don't remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much.”

“You looked to be getting on famously with Mr Sidders,” said Rebecca with a smile.

“Do you know, seeing him again took me right back to my girlhood? For of course I saw quite a lot of him as Emily and I were friends. I had forgotten just what good company he could be. I have been thinking, Rebecca, that we must host an entertainment of our own. Nothing so grand as a soirée, but a small supper party, or perhaps an evening of cards. It will not do for us to go about like this and offer nothing in return.”

Rebecca sipped her hot chocolate thoughtfully. “Yes, I agree.”

Not only would a small entertainment enable them to repay their friends' hospitality, but making plans would help to take her mind off Joshua, for despite her best intentions she had dreamt of him again last night. Which did not bode well for Friday, and her visit to the mill. . .

It was with mixed feelings that Rebecca prepared to set out for Marsden mill. Although a part of her was looking forward to learning about her inheritance another part of her was apprehensive about spending the afternoon with Joshua. His attitude towards her had been distant since leaving London, but there had been moments when she had been uncomfortably aware that he remembered their tense encounters just as clearly as she did. What was more, she had to admit that she missed them, as she missed the fire of his presence and the way he made her feel inside.

However, a cool manner would be much more appropriate this afternoon, and Rebecca determined to be business-like about the mill.

“You will not be lonely whilst I am gone?” she asked Louisa as she put on her bonnet.

“No, my dear,” said Louisa. “To tell you the truth, I will be pleased to have a day of rest. I have enjoyed our expeditions and our shopping trips, but I am not as young as I was and my joints still trouble me from time to time. Besides,” Louisa added casually, “Mr Sidders may, perhaps, look in.”

“Edward?” asked Rebecca, not noticing that Louisa's air of indifference was studied.

“Yes.” Louisa coloured slightly. “He has business near here, and he said he might call if he is passing.”

“The very thing,” said Rebecca. “He will keep you amused whilst I am out without overtaxing your strength.”

The door opened and Betsy came in. “The carriage is here, Miss Rebecca,” she said.

“Thank you, Betsy,” said Rebecca.

She donned her pelisse, a simple brown kerseymere which she felt would be suitable for the business-like nature of her visit to the mill. Then, taking her place in the carriage with Betsy beside her, she set off.

To begin with the carriage rolled past the grand houses that had been built in recent years for the mill owners whose fortunes had been made in the city, but as it approached the canal, on whose banks the mill was built, the scene began to change. Run-down buildings sprawled behind the splendid houses of the rich. They were dirty, grimy dwellings, and an unpleasant smell filled the air. Betsy wrinkled her nose, and Rebecca did likewise, but even as she did it she felt a growing determination to make sure that the people who worked for Marsden mill were never subjected to the inhuman conditions of workers in other mills.

Feeling glad she had decided to take an active interest in her inheritance she stepped out of the carriage when it finally came to a halt beside the gates of the mill. There, right next to it, was the Bridgewater Canal, which linked Manchester to Liverpool. Rebecca remembered her grandfather's pride as he had told her about his choice of site for the mill. “Right next to the canal, Becky,” he'd said. “That way we can get all the coal we need quickly and cheaply, and the raw materials, too!”

Rebecca looked at the canal with interest. She saw the sense of setting the mill next to the canal, and thought with pride of her grandfather's abilities, which had allowed him to take advantage of the new era in manufacturing and rise from being the poor son of a cobbler to being a wealthy and well-respected man.

Then she looked up at the mill itself. It was a large building, and her grandfather had been very proud of its four storeys. Rebecca had to admit she found it ugly but she, too, felt a sense of pride in it, as it was one of her beloved grandfather's greatest achievements. As she looked at the large letters that spelled out the name, MARSDEN MILL, she felt she was a little closer to her grandfather, and she felt a quickening of her interest as to what lay inside.

She was just about to go through the gates when she saw Joshua walking across the mill yard towards her. He seemed very much in charge there, as though he had been the owner of the mill since its beginning instead of for only a few weeks. But then he had been actively involved in the mill during her grandfather's lifetime.

“Well, Rebecca,” he said, after greeting both her and Betsy, “What do you think of your inheritance?”

“It's much bigger than I expected it to be.” They went through the gates, which were closed behind them by the gatekeeper.

“And uglier?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

She laughed. It was no use trying to keep anything from Joshua. Despite their differences he seemed to have an innate understanding of her, and of the way she thought.

“And uglier. But I am still proud of it, and I am looking forward to seeing inside.”

“You should prepare yourself. Cotton mills are hot and noisy places. Come and have a look round.”

She was pleased to find that his manner was welcoming, and she felt on safe ground, knowing that for this afternoon at least they could converse easily on the neutral topic of the mill.

They went into the large building, with Betsy following behind.

“This is the first stage of what goes on here,” said Joshua. He took Rebecca into a long, low room and encouraged her to look round. “The bales of cotton have to be opened and the impurities removed, ready for carding. Not long ago, it used to be done by hand. The cotton had to be spread out on a mesh and beaten with long sticks to remove the impurities. I can still remember watching the men and women doing it. But now we use a scutcher.”

“What on earth is a scutcher?” asked Rebecca.

“That,” said Joshua, pointing to a large machine, “is a scutcher.”

The machine looked fearsome to Rebecca. As she watched, she saw how it worked. Men loaded the raw cotton into a spiked drum; the drum spun around very quickly; and a fan blew away the dust and the dirt, the twigs and the impurities, leaving the cotton very clean.

“This is one of the machines the Luddites complain about?” she asked.

“They are usually more interested in breaking looms,” said Joshua, “but in general they are against any kind of machinery that does the job of a man. I can see their point. But the scutcher does the job of purifying the cotton more quickly and more efficiently than a person, and besides, the job itself is dull, tedious and unpleasant.”

“But still, it is a job, and it would pay a salary and allow someone to earn their living,” Rebecca remarked.

“As you say, it would pay a salary and allow someone to earn their living,” said Joshua. “Although, don't forget, people are still needed to load the machine. Still, there are no easy answers to the problems facing the mills and the workers at the moment. But machinery is the future, Rebecca, and we must go forward if we want to survive.”

“What happens to the cotton next?” Rebecca asked, as they moved on from the scutcher.

“Next it's carded, and then turned into a single thread.”

“Mercy me!” said Betsy, as she followed Rebecca and Joshua into an enormously long, low room full of more machinery. “All this, just to make a bit of cotton material to sew a dress!”

Joshua laughed. “By the time you buy your fabric at the drapers it's been through any number of different processes,” he agreed.

They moved onwards and upwards, climbing the stairs to the higher storeys. “Here the cotton is spun,” he said, as they went into another enormously long, low room filled with machinery.

“I never realized it would be so noisy,” said Rebecca, finding it difficult to hear and make herself heard over the clacking of machines.

“You get used to it,” shrugged Joshua.

As if to underline his words, at that moment they walked past a man who was whistling. Although Rebecca found it hard to hear the sound over the noise of the machines, it was clear the man and his fellows were enjoying the tune.

“I'm glad there are no ridiculous fines in our mill,” said Rebecca, remembering that some mills fined men for whistling.

“No. Hill, the manager, is a decent man. He appears to have run the mill very well over the last few months, from what I can see. I haven't had a chance to check everything yet, but so far it all seems to be in good order.” Joshua stood aside to let the two ladies pass back out onto the stairwell in front of him. “Now that you've seen the mill, I thought you might like to take some refreshment in the office.”

“But we haven't seen the weaving,” said Rebecca.

“We don't do that here,” said Joshua. “This is a spinning mill. We sell the yarn to other mill owners who do the weaving and dyeing needed to turn it into a finished piece of cloth.”

“Ah! Very well. In that case, some refreshment would be most welcome.”

She smiled at Joshua, and was relieved and pleased to see him smile in reply: a real smile, not one that involved his mouth without his eyes. It seemed that, despite their disagreements, they could be friends — at least when talking about matters relating to their shared inheritance.

The office was a pleasant room, and was less functional than the rest of the mill. Wood panelling lined the walls and a thick carpet covered the floor. Opposite the door a barred window looked out onto the mill yard.

Rebecca looked at Joshua questioningly.

“After all the trouble with the Luddites over the last few years it seemed sensible to take a few precautions,” he said. “Extra locks were fitted on the doors, and all the windows were barred.”

Rebecca nodded. “It's unfortunate, but it makes sense.”

Joshua went over to a finely-carved mahogany table that was set within reach of the large, heavy mahogany desk. On it was a silver tray and a variety of bottles and decanters.

“Do you always keep ratafia and seed cake on hand?” asked Rebecca with a humorous quirk of the mouth, as she saw that beside the masculine bottles of whiskey and other spirits, more feminine refreshments had been laid.

Joshua smiled. “No. There is seldom any call for them. Ladies are not in the habit of visiting the mill. But I'm glad you've come,” he said, handing her a glass of the fruity ratafia, and kindly handing one to Betsy, who was hot and flustered from looking round the mill.

Rebecca was surprised but pleased. It seemed he had accustomed himself to the idea of her taking an interest in the mill. “I needed to see it for myself,” she nodded.

She took a sip of ratafia and ate a piece of seed cake.

“Is it what you expected?” Joshua asked.

“I'm not quite sure what I expected, but it is better than I'd feared,” she said thoughtfully.

Joshua sat down behind the desk. “Your grandfather knew what it was like to be poor, having been poor himself, and he did not let the desire for profit turn him into a monster. There are none of the worse sort of conditions here. The mill is not kept as hot as some of the cotton mills, and there is better ventilation. Water is always on hand for anyone who is thirsty, and children are not taken on too young.”

“However, I'm concerned about their living conditions,” said Rebecca.

“Strictly speaking, those are not our concern.”

“Nevertheless, I mean to make them my concern,” said Rebecca.

“Good.”

“Good?” She was startled. Again Joshua had surprised her, as he had done earlier in his attitude to the running of the mill.

“Yes. Good. Although they are not strictly speaking our concern I've been worried about it myself for some time, and Jebadiah, too, was concerned. He was starting to look into ways of providing cheap but clean accommodation for our workers but old age and infirmity unfortunately prevented him achieving anything. However, I will — we will,” he corrected himself, adding, “I have not forgotten we are partners, you see — look into it.”

There was an unexpectedly warm smile playing about his lips, and a softness in his eyes that sent a tingle down her spine.

“What is it?” he asked, seeing her shiver. “Are you in a draught?”

“No,” she said. “It's nothing.”

He looked at her curiously, but did not press her, for which she was grateful, because she did not want to reveal the cause of her shiver. And certainly not to him.

“But everything can't be done in a day,” he said, becoming business-like again. “We will have to take things one step at a time.”

She nodded thoughtfully. Yes, there was a lot to be done.

She finished her ratafia and put her glass down on the leather-topped desk. “And now I must be going,” she said. “You have given me a lot to think about. But before I do, I have been charged by Louisa to invite you to dinner.”

“And you, Rebecca?” he asked, his eyes looking directly into her own. “Would you like me to come?”

His question took her aback. She hesitated, but then said simply, “Yes.”

The visit to the mill had dispelled much of the coldness between them and she hoped their present harmony could last.

His face softened.

How melting his eyes are, thought Rebecca, wishing for a moment that she could have accepted his hand: that it had been offered because he loved her and not because he wanted to protect her reputation.

But what was she thinking? Such thoughts were ridiculous. He did not love her. And she did not love him, she reminded herself.

He gave a sigh. “I would like to come,” he said, “but unfortunately I have too much work to do here. I'm still going over the accounts for last few months. Hill, the manager, seems to be honest and efficient, but I have to be sure.”

Rebecca hid her disappointment. “Of course. Well, I must not keep you.”

She stood up.

Joshua stood, too. “I'll see you back to the carriage,” he said.

They walked together back down the stairs to the ground floor, out across the yard and through the gates to the waiting carriage.

Joshua bent and kissed her hand. And then he bid her farewell and she climbed into the carriage, with Betsy close behind her.

Arriving back at the house, Rebecca repaired to her room to tidy herself before joining Louisa in the drawing-room. She started to slip her reticule from her wrist when she discovered it was not there.

“Have you seen my reticule?” Rebecca asked Susan, who was about to help her off with her bonnet.

“Your reticule? Why, no, Miss Rebecca,” said Susan, looking first of all at Rebecca's bare wrist and then casting a glance around the room in case it had slipped off without her noticing.

Rebecca, too, cast her eyes around the room, but to no avail.

“It hasn't got caught up in your pelisse?” asked Susan.

Rebecca removed her pelisse and shook it out. “No. What a nuisance. Where can it be?” she asked, speaking more to herself than Susan.

“Are you sure you took it with you?” Susan asked practically.

“Positive,” said Rebecca. “I remember it distinctly.”

She frowned. She could not bear to think she had lost the reticule, particularly as it had originally belonged to her beloved mother.

“Perhaps it slipped from your wrist on your way upstairs,” suggested Susan.

“Perhaps.” Rebecca went out of her room and proceeded to search the staircase. But the search proved fruitless.

“Rebecca... Oh! Rebecca!” exclaimed Louisa, startled, as she came out of the drawing-room. “What are you doing?”

Rebecca gave a sigh. “It's too vexing. I have lost my reticule and I can't find it anywhere.”

“Oh, my dear, what a nuisance,” said Louisa sympathetically.

“Maybe it fell off in the carriage,” suggested Betsy, who was passing through the hall on her way to the kitchen. But a footman dispatched to search the carriage came back with the news that it was not to be found.

Rebecca was resigned. “There's nothing for it. I'll have to go back to the mill.”

“But my dear, it's dark,” protested Louisa. “Why not leave it until tomorrow?”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don't like to do that. The longer I leave it unlooked — for the less chance I have of finding it. I would hate it to be swept up and thrown out by accident. No, I’ll have to go back. It must have slipped from my wrist this afternoon. But don't worry, I won't be long.”

Louisa nodded, resigned to Rebecca's leaving the house again. “Very well. I understand. It would be a shame to lose it, particularly as it belonged to your mother.”

Having made up her mind Rebecca lost no time in dressing herself in her pelisse and bonnet once more. “I won't be needing you, Betsy,” she said to the elderly maid who had joined in the search. “I am simply going to the mill and then coming straight back.”

“Of course Miss Rebecca will be needing you, Betsy,” said Louisa, contradicting her. “You cannot possibly go back to the mill on your own, Rebecca. What would people think? In fact, you had better take Edward — Mr Sidders,” she corrected herself, “with you as well. I am sure he will not mind.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” said Rebecca, feeling she had already kept Louisa from her visitor for long enough. However, realizing that Louisa would not let her go unchaperoned, she agreed to take Betsy with her and before long the two of them went out to the carriage again. It had been freshly supplied with stone hot water bottles for their feet, and thick travelling rugs were once again piled on the seat.

Before stepping into the carriage, Rebecca searched the pavement outside the house, but the search proved fruitless. She stepped into the carriage and put her hope in finding her reticule at the mill.

The carriage was soon on its way, and before long it stopped in front of the large building. The step was let down, and Rebecca was about to get out when to her surprise she heard a loud snore coming from the corner of the carriage. Looking round she saw that Betsy was fast asleep! She smiled, then, tucking the travelling rug snugly round the maid and making sure the hot water bottles were nestling against her, she stepped out of the carriage.

“Don't wake her,” she said to Collins, the coachman. “I will not be long.”

“Just as you say, Miss Rebecca,” said Collins.

Collins began to walk the horses as Rebecca pulled her pelisse tightly around herself, for the day was cold, and went over to the gate. The gatekeeper recognized her and, with a cheery salute, he let her in. She explained her mission, and he promised to search the yard whilst Rebecca herself went inside.

She hurried across the yard, turning the corner of the mill in order to reach the entrance.

As she did so she saw a man some way in front of her, apparently painting the mill wall.

But why would the mill wall need painting, when it was made of brick? she wondered. He could not be renewing the paint on the large white letters that spelt out the name of Marsden mill, as they were on the front of the building and not the side.

She had an uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong. She hesitated, taking in the man by the light of the newly-risen moon. He was of medium height, dressed in ragged clothes, and wore a misshapen hat. One hand was raised in the act of painting and the other was holding the pot of paint. Rebecca was just about to ask him what he was doing, but at that moment he finished his work. He glanced over his shoulder, and there was something so furtive about the movement that Rebecca shrank back. He did not appear to see her — thankfully she was darkly dressed, and was hidden by the shadows — and with a last furtive glance round he loped away from her, disappearing round the far side of the mill.

Rebecca's courage quickly returned and, once she was sure he had gone, she went over to the wall to see what he had been doing. She shivered. In large letters, daubed in red, still-dripping paint, were the words LONG LIVE NED LUDD.

Ned Ludd. Rebecca shivered again as she recognized the name of the supposed leader of the Luddites.

She looked anxiously towards the spot where the ragged man had disappeared. She knew now why she had shivered when she had seen him. On some level of awareness she had known he was up to no good. And she had been right. He must have been one of the Luddites — one of the men who had cast fear into the hearts of the populace in the industrial centres of the Midlands and the North of England over the last few years.

But how had he got in? There was a gateman guarding the only entrance to the mill yard.

One look at the railings that surrounded the mill, however, answered that question for her. Although there was only one way through the gates, any man who was reasonably active could climb over them, and if he chose his spot carefully he could do it out of sight.

Unsettled by the unpleasant incident she continued on her way. She had been planning to leave as soon as she found her reticule but now she knew she must find Joshua and tell him that the mill had been defaced. She could look for her reticule once she had done so.

As she approached the door a new worry assailed her. What if the door should be locked?

But she need not have been concerned. She turned the large handle and it opened. With one look over her shoulder she went into the mill.

In the dark, it did not seem the friendly place it had seemed in the day time. There was no one about and the entrance was only dimly lit. The gas in the wall sconces was turned right down. There was a ghostly stillness, broken only by the distant clack of the machines as they cleaned and carded the cotton.

Summoning her courage, Rebecca began to climb the stairs to the office. She would not feel easy in herself until she had told Joshua about the man with the red paint. Joshua would know what to do, whether they should ignore the incident, or whether they should take it as a warning that the mill may be attacked.

The mere thought of Joshua gave her courage a boost, and she went forward with renewed vigour.

At the top of the second flight of stairs she paused for a moment's rest.

She was just about to go on again when she thought she smelled something. She sniffed. But no. There was nothing.

She began to climb the third flight of stairs, but barely had she reached the top when she caught the scent again, and this time it was strong enough for her to recognize.

Smoke!

It is probably a smell from one of the processes used in spinning the cotton, she told herself, but even as her mind gave her a reasonable explanation for the smell her instincts drove her actions, and picking up the hem of her skirt she began to run up the last flight of stairs.

As she did so she heard a distant thumping noise coming from above.

Her heart began to beat more quickly and she ran fleetly up the last few stairs. As she reached the top the thumping stopped but she could still smell the smoke, more strongly now. She hurried along the corridor, towards the office. She must find Joshua! She opened the office door but by the light of the moon, which was shining in at the window, she could see it was empty. She backed out, turning and wondering what she should do next, and then, to her horror, she caught sight of smoke curling from under the door at the very end of the corridor. A moment later she heard renewed thumping coming from the other side of it and her heart lurched. So that was the meaning of the noise! Someone was shut in!

Running towards the door she grasped the large brass knob and turned it. But to no avail. The door was locked.

Her eyes went to the keyhole.

No key.

“Are you all right?” she called. The thumping had stopped and she wanted to know if whoever was inside was still conscious.

“Rebecca?” came a man's surprised voice.

“Josh!” Rebecca was horrified. “Are you all right? What's happened?”

“No... ” He broke off coughing... “no time for that now. I'm locked in and I can't put out the fire. There's a spare set of ...” He coughed again... “keys in the office, in the desk. The top drawer on the left hand side.”

“I’ll get them.”

Rebecca flew down the corridor, going into the office and searching for the keys by the light of the moon. The top drawer... yes! Clutching the keys she ran back to the locked room and began trying them one by one. Her fingers were clumsy with haste and she dropped them with a clatter.

“Which key?” she asked as she picked them up, fumbling with the large bunch.

“The... second... largest,” called Josh, between coughing.

Rebecca found the right key by the dim light and put it in the lock. It turned. She twisted the door knob, and Joshua came stumbling out. He was coughing and choking despite the handkerchief he had held to his face and he stopped for a moment, doubled over, gasping in the cleaner air.

Rebecca put her arms protectively round him. She stroked his dark blond hair. It was pure instinct, and as she felt him relax against her she knew that his response was pure instinct, too. There was a deep, intuitive bond between them, that no amount of disagreements could destroy.

But she could not allow herself to prolong the moment, no matter how precious it was. Smoke was billowing out of the doorway and there was no telling how much Joshua had inhaled.

“Come,” she said, closing the door to prevent the fire and smoke spreading. “We have to get away from here. There's too much smoke.”

The smoke was rapidly filling the corridor. She thought quickly, wondering where it would be best for them to go. Not down the stairs — the smoke was already in the stairwell, and Joshua needed clean air to breath. The office. Its heavy door would have kept out most of the smoke, and there was a window they could open if needed. She guided Joshua, still bent double, into the office, and shut the door behind them. She gave a deep sigh. The air in here was untainted. It would provide them with a brief haven until Joshua caught his breath.

Joshua responded to the clean air. He breathed in deeply, taking the handkerchief away from his face, and was soon able to straighten up.

“I should ask you what you're doing here,” he said, once he had recovered. He took her hands, and there was an unfathomable expression on his face as he looked down into her eyes. “But there's no time. We have to put out the fire.” He went over to the far corner of the room, still coughing occasionally, and Rebecca saw that he was lifting a large bucket of water which had been standing there. “I ordered these put here in case of Luddite attacks,' he said in answer to her questioning glance. “There's one in every room.”

“Then why —?” asked Rebecca, wondering why he had not used the one in the study to put out the fire.

“It had been removed.”

Premeditated, then, thought Rebecca. Up until that moment she had thought the fire had started naturally.

Joshua wet his handkerchief and put it to his face before opening the door. He strode out into the corridor with the bucket of water. Rebecca, gathering her wits, quickly wet her own handkerchief, then holding it to her face she followed him into the corridor. What could she do? The buckets. Going in and out of the rooms along the corridor she fetched the buckets of water that had been placed there. Joshua stood in the doorway of the study, taking the buckets from her and throwing the water on the flames. Slowly and surely the water began to douse the fire.

The buckets were soon empty and the fire still burned, but the flames were at long last small enough to be beaten out. Joshua pulled down the curtains and used them to smother the remaining flames, and by the time ten minutes had passed the fire was at last extinguished.

Rebecca sank back against the desk, exhausted. But Joshua seized her by the hand.

“No,” he said. “You can't rest here. There's still too much smoke.”

He took her hand and led her out of the fire-blackened room and back into the office. They had kept the door closed and the atmosphere was not too unpleasant. He pushed her gently in front of him and then closed the door behind them, leaning back against it in relief.

Rebecca, feeling his strong, firm hand still holding her own, turned... and everything changed. She could barely see Joshua in the moonlight, and yet his silhouette, dark and powerful against the black bulk of the door, was redolent of such virile strength that she caught her breath.

How was it that Joshua could make her feel this way? How could his mere presence make her heart race and her mouth go dry? How could he make her feel this sense of breathless anticipation, this time-stopping moment when she longed to be his arms? She wanted to go to him, to feel his arms close about her, to have him kiss her, but she knew she must not do it. She fought against it with all her will, standing there, frozen in the moonlight, whilst every part of her being cried out for him.

And then he pulled her roughly towards him. Catching her round the waist he dragged her close, so close she could feel the firm hardness of his muscular body beneath his clothes.

He took her face in his hands and looked down at her with burning eyes. “Thank God you're safe.”

She shivered as he pushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and she felt a wave of emotion go through her. She was lost in the moment, caring for nothing but Joshua. His hair may be blackened by the smoke and his face may be begrimed but nothing could dim the intensity of his eyes. They looked deep inside her and she began to tremble from head to foot. This was what she had dreamed of; this moment when she swayed against Joshua and felt his arms tighten around her. Her eyes closed and she felt the soft, sweet touch of his mouth as his lips brushed soft, gossamer-light kisses over her face, dropping them with agonizing sweetness first on her forehead, then on her cheek, then on the tip of her nose, her eyelids and her mouth. She felt his hands cradling her face, holding it tenderly yet firmly so that he could kiss her even more deeply, and her arms lifted, her fingers tangling themselves in his mane of blond hair. And then she was drowning, going under, lost to all else. She surrendered herself to his caresses, and —

She was thrown backwards with a terrible jolt.

Her eyes flew open. And then she realized what was happening.

Someone was opening the door.

It was the rudest of awakenings. One moment she had been in a state of bliss, the next, pushed backwards by the action of the door opening, she was weak and flustered and desperately trying to re-settle her bonnet and smooth her pelisse whilst fighting against her rapid pulse and trying to gather her scattered wits.

“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Mr Hill, the mill manager, as he burst into the room. “I thought you had been hurt.” He spoke to Joshua, not, for the moment, noticing Rebecca. “When I saw the smoke I feared the worst. What happened?”

“I think we could do with a little light,” remarked Joshua.

Rebecca marvelled at his voice. He was once more in command of himself, only a slight rapidity of words betraying the fact that he had so recently been in the grip of a strong emotion. No one hearing him now would know that just a moment ago he had been holding her face passionately between his strong hands and kissing her so deeply her whole being had shuddered with the ecstasy of it.

“Of course.” Mr Hill felt his way over to the gas jets that were set into the walls.

Rebecca made the most of the last few seconds of darkness to pull her bonnet firmly back onto her head. She took a deep breath to settle her breathing, because despite her best efforts to calm it, it was ragged and shallow. But by the time the gas was turned up she had regained sufficient composure to meet Mr Hill's surprised gaze with equanimity.

“Miss Fossington!” he exclaimed. What are you doing here? That is,' he said hastily, as if realizing that it was not his place to question one of the owners of the mill, “I was not expecting to see you.”

He looked from Rebecca to Joshua in confusion.

“I lost my reticule,” explained Rebecca. “When I got home I found it was missing and a search of the house and carriage proved in vain. Thinking I must have dropped it whilst looking round the mill this afternoon I returned, only to find smoke filling the corridor and —”

“And to find that she had to help me quench the flames,” interrupted Joshua smoothly.

Rebecca looked at him in some surprise. It was not like Joshua to interrupt her so rudely. But one glance at his bland expression told her that Joshua did not want the mill manager to know the full details of the fire. Why, Rebecca did not know, but he must have a reason for it and so she said no more.

“How did the fire start?” asked Mr Hill.

“That is something we don't yet know,” said Joshua, fixing him with a penetrating glance.

Mr Hill nodded in agreement. “It will take time to discover the cause. But you are all right, I hope?” he asked, looking from one to the other of them and taking in the full extent of their dishevelment. “You have not taken any hurt from the flames?”

“Fortunately, no,” said Joshua. “My study is a mess and will need re-decorating, and it will take me some time to discover if anything of value has been burned, but Miss Fossington and I are both perfectly well.”

“That's a relief,” said the manager. “Still, the fire could have been catastrophic. A lot of important documents are kept in that room.”

“As you say,” replied Joshua.

Rebecca, watching and listening to both men, detected an edge in Joshua's voice. Did he suspect the manager of having started the fire? she wondered. She frowned. Perhaps she should tell Joshua of what she had seen on entering the mill. She looked at him, intending to say something, but stopped short. He was giving her a warning look, and she realized that he did not want her to say any more whilst Mr Hill was present.

“See to things here, will you, Hill?” Joshua asked. “Check the documents and see if anything of importance has been burned. Then see to the mill. Look for structural damage, have the buckets of water re-filled and make sure nothing is amiss elsewhere. I will be leaving now. I am engaged to take dinner with Miss Fossington and her cousin.”

“Of course,” said Mr Hill. “I check everything personally, right away.”

He left the room.

“I thought you couldn't come to dinner,” said Rebecca once his footsteps had died away. She wondered what had caused Joshua to change his mind.

“Had you told Louisa I couldn't come?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted.

“Good. I wouldn't have liked to throw her arrangements out. But I have my reasons for wanting to leave the mill. Reasons which didn't exist this afternoon.”

“And what are they?” asked Rebecca.

“Hill,” said Joshua succinctly.

“Hill?” Rebecca was thoughtful.

Joshua nodded. “Yes.”

“But why should Hill make you change your plans? What does he have to do with anything?” she added with a frown.

“I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Someone started the fire in my personal office, and I want to know if it was him. I told him just now that I didn't know if any important documents had been burned but it was a lie. I know exactly what has and has not escaped the flames.”

Rebecca quickly grasped his point.

“If it was Hill who started the fire, and if he did it to burn incriminating documents — documents which showed he had been stealing from the mill, for example — then as soon as we have gone he will check to see if they have in fact been burnt,” she said.

“And if they are still intact, he will no doubt avail himself of the opportunity to destroy them,” said Joshua.

“So if any more documents have been burnt in the morning — documents which are perfectly all right at the moment — we will know it is Hill who started the blaze. And we will know why: to hide his own misdeeds.”

“Exactly.”

“But I don't think it was Hill,” she said. She shivered slightly as the scene she had witnessed on arriving at the mill came back to her. “I don't think he started the fire. I think it was the Luddites.”

The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor alerted them to the fact that they were about to be disturbed as Mr Hill organized a party of men to check the mill.

“We can't stay here,” said Joshua. “The men are coming to check for fire damage and refill the water buckets. You can tell me why you think the fire was started by Luddites on the way out to the carriage.” He paused. “You did come in a carriage?” he asked.

“Yes,” she smiled. “With Betsy. Only Betsy fell asleep on the way!”

He laughed. “It has been quite a day for Betsy!” He became more serious. “And for you. Are you sure you are all right?”

“Positive.”

“Very well.”

He offered her his arm and they left the study, going along the smoky corridor and down the first flight of stairs.

Rebecca was pleased to be leaving the mill. They could not talk further without being interrupted, and besides, something had occurred to her that did not seem to have occurred to Joshua. Regardless of who had started the fire, whether it had been Mr Hill, Luddites, or some other person, it might not have been important papers they had been trying to destroy.

It might have been Joshua.

Recalling the incidents that had occurred in London — a horse being ridden at Joshua and the rider aiming a whip at his head; the stone being thrown through the window, narrowly missing him and landing in his soup — she felt that if someone really was bent on killing him, he would be safer at Louisa's than at the mill. The thought of which made her keener than ever to leave, and leave quickly.

“Now,” said Joshua, as they reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs. “Tell me why you think the fire might have been started by Luddites.”

“Because when I arrived I saw a man painting LONG LIVE NED LUDD on the mill wall,” Rebecca said.

Joshua stopped dead. He turned to look at her. “A man painting the wall?”

She nodded.

He drew in a sharp breath. “Then it would seem the Luddites are still active.”

Despite his words, Rebecca detected a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“But you are not sure?” she asked.

“The Luddites are well organized and don't attack without reason. They target mills where the wages have been lowered, for example, and not mills like ours. It is possible they have been frustrated by their recent defeats and have changed their ways, but let us just say I am not convinced.”

They went down the next flight of stairs.

As they reached the bottom Rebecca caught sight of something glittering on the floor — a red spark. Could it be another fire? she wondered with a shock; before realizing it was the beading on her missing reticule. She breathed a sigh of relief. In all the excitement she had almost forgotten about it, but here it was, waiting patiently for her to find it. She bent to retrieve it.

“Your reticule,” said Joshua.

“Yes.” She closed her hand round it gratefully.

“The braiding on the handle has frayed,” she remarked as she examined it. “It must have fallen off when the braid wore through.”

She put it away in the pocket of her pelisse and together she and Joshua left the mill.

Joshua stopped briefly in the yard to examined the words, LONG LIVE NED LUDD scrawled on the wall. His eyes narrowed as he took in the large red letters, which were still wet and glistening in the moonlight. Then they continued on their way to the carriage.

“Did you get a good look at the man who did it?” asked Joshua as the gatekeeper greeted them, expressing delight that Rebecca had found her reticule.

“Unfortunately, no,” said Rebecca as they passed through the gate. “I couldn't see him clearly. He was just a figure in the moonlight.”

“Then you would not recognize him if you saw him again.”

Rebecca considered. “I think, actually, I would. Although I did not get a good look at him, he had a curious way of moving. He walked with a loping gait. I wouldn't recognize his features, but I'd recognize the way he walks.”

“Good. That will be useful for identifying him if we ever manage to catch him.”

They approached the carriage, and Rebecca's thoughts turned to Betsy, who had been left outside all this time. Although she had not been in the mill for very long — everything had happened so quickly that it had taken far less time than it had seemed — she was still worried about the elderly maid. But she need not have been. As Collins let down the step and Joshua handed her in she saw that Betsy was still tucked up in the travelling rug. With two stone hot-water bottles at her feet she was snug and warm and still fast asleep.

As Rebecca took her seat, Betsy stirred.

“Why, Miss Rebecca,” she said. “Are we here already?”

“We are. And ready to go home. I have found my reticule,” said Rebecca.

“That was lucky,” Betsy said, “finding it so quick and all. I'm glad you didn't have to go into that nasty mill again.”

Rebecca did not enlighten her, or tell her how long she had slept. If Betsy had realized she had been asleep for half an hour, and that Rebecca had gone into the mill without her, she would have been mortified.

“Mr Joshua is returning with us” said Rebecca as Joshua followed her into the carriage.

“A good idea” said Betsy comfortably as Joshua shut the carriage door. And then they were away, before long arriving at the house, to find Louisa waiting for them.

“I was beginning to get anxious” she said. She greeted them with relief as they went inside.

“No need” said Rebecca, smiling reassuringly. “We are here safe and sound.”

“Did you find your reticule?” asked Louisa.

“I did.” Rebecca held it up to show her. “It must have slipped from my wrist. Look, the braid has worn through.”

“I thought that must have been what had happened. But never mind, all's well that ends well. And you have brought Joshua with you. I was so hoping he would be able to come. Oh!”

This last exclamation was wrung out of her by the sight of Joshua, dusty and grimy, who was bearing all the signs of having been trapped in the recent fire.

Catching sight of himself in one of the gilded glasses that hung on the wall, Joshua realized that his appearance would need some explaining.

“Unfortunately, I did not have time to wash before I came,” he said. “Mills can be very dirty places.”

It was not the truth, but Louisa accepted his explanation, and Rebecca was glad that Joshua had spared Louisa any worry, not telling her about the real events of the evening.

“I can quite imagine,” Louisa said. “You will want water and soap. And towels,” she added, going into hostess mode. “Betsy, will you see to it that Mr Joshua has everything he needs? Use the guest room,' she said, turning back to Joshua. “I am so glad you are here. Dirty or not, we are always pleased to see you.”

Betsy, much refreshed after her short sleep, bid Joshua follow her and Rebecca excused herself, saying she, too, would like to wash and change before dinner.

“Of course, dear,” said Louisa approvingly. “And then, as soon as you are ready, we will eat.”