Rebecca's Refusal

Chapter Eight

After the excitement of the afternoon Rebecca was glad to be able to relax and eat a superb dinner in the company of her favourite people. She had not forgotten what had happened in London, when a stone had been thrown through the window, but the dining-room in Manchester was at the back of the house and so she was able to unwind, safe in the knowledge there could be no repeat of that incident.

Putting all worries aside she gave herself up to an enjoyment of the tasty soup.

To begin with, Betsy had cooked for Rebecca and Louisa, but it had proved too much for her. At their own home in Cheshire she had everything familiar about her, but here in Manchester the kitchen was very different and Betsy was too old to take kindly to change. So, on Mrs Camberwell's advice, Louisa had employed the services of a cook.

“Do I detect Mrs Neville's hand in this?” asked Edward Sidders, as he tasted the soup.

Louisa nodded. “I'm indebted to Emily for recommending her to me. She really is an excellent cook.”

“She used to work for Emily at one time, but she was tempted away by a baronet,” said Edward with a smile. “It is only because he has gone overseas that she was once again looking for a place.”

“The baronet's loss is our gain,” said Louisa.

“I have been charged with giving you an invitation to my sister's ball,” said Edward as the next course was brought in.

“A ball. That will be delightful,” said Rebecca.

Mr Sidders turned to Joshua. “I hope, you, too will be able to attend. It is to be held next Thursday. A small affair — my sister's house has room enough for only ten couples — but even so the evening promises to be an enjoyable one.”

“I'd be delighted,” Joshua said.

Would Joshua ask her for one of the dances? Rebecca wondered. Not knowing whether she wanted him to or not. To dance with him again would be wonderful, but disturbing as well. She had not forgotten the feelings it had aroused in her when she had danced with him in London. But still, when the ball arrived it would be soon enough to worry about such things.

“And after that we must hold our card party,” said Louisa, as the turbot was served. She turned to Mr Sidders. “Rebecca and I would like to entertain, even though we are only in Manchester for a short time, and a card party seems to be a simple and yet enjoyable way of doing so.”

“Indeed,” said Edward smilingly.

“You and your sisters, of course, are invited.”

“I'm sure they'll be only too happy to accept.”

“And you will come, Joshua?” she asked him. “Do say you will. You must not work too hard, you know. You must have some entertainment as well.”

“I would not dream of missing it,” said Joshua with a wry smile.

“Good,” said Louisa, her face expressing her delight. She turned to Edward, “Now, tell me, where should we go to have our invitations printed?”

A satisfying conversation followed, with the merits of various stationers, caterers and other necessary tradesmen being discussed, so that by the time dinner was over much of the planning for the card party had already taken place.

“Come, Rebecca,” said Louisa, standing up. “It is time for us to retire to the drawing-room and leave the gentlemen to their port.”

Rebecca stood up and followed Louisa from the room.

The gentlemen were not long in following, and as Edward joined Louisa on the sofa, Joshua joined Rebecca at the pianoforte, where she was playing a country air.

“You play well,” he said.

“I'm lucky to have an instrument here,” she replied as her fingers ran over the keys. “It came with the house. It gives me a chance to practise.”

She finished the piece, but when she made a move to rise from the stool, Joshua said, “No. Don't stop. Here.”

He opened another piece of music and spread it out on the music stand. “We need to talk, Rebecca, and I would rather we weren't overheard. I don't want to worry Louisa, but you were right earlier when you said I don't think the fire at the mill was the work of Luddites. I don't. And until I know who was responsible I would rather you had some protection. It would be too easy for someone to force their way in here if they had evil intentions, and I want you to have some ex-Bow Street Runners in the house. I know just the men. They're not the best detectives the Runners ever had, but they're handy with their fists. If it comes to it, they'll know how to protect you.”

“I?” asked Rebecca in surprise. “But I am not in any danger.”

He did not reply, and she said, a little less certainly, “Am I?”

Joshua's face was unreadable. “Let's just say, I'd rather not take any chances.”

Rebecca was thoughtful. She did not believe that she was in danger, but she believed that Joshua might be. She decided to share her fears with him.

“I don't think I am the one the attack was aimed at,” she said cautiously. “After all, I am not the one who has been the victim of a number of suspicious accidents. You were almost run down by a horseman in London, and you were almost struck a forceful blow by a stone coming through the window at Hetty and Charles's house. And now you have been locked in a room that was on fire.” She hesitated. “I think the fire may have been started in order to try and kill you.” She tried to keep her voice even, but her hands shook and the music came out with an unexpected tremolo.

He looked at her thoughtfully, as if wondering whether agreeing with her would make her worry more. Then, as if deciding that she was too intelligent to be fobbed off with easy reassurances he said, “It's possible.”

“But why?” she asked. “There must be some reason for it. And as you don't have any enemies,” she said, remembering his answer to Charles's question when he had almost been struck by the stone in London, “it must be someone who has something to gain.”

Realization dawned on her. “Your share. Your share of the mill.” She turned towards him. “Who inherits it, Joshua? Who does it go to in the event of... ”

She could not bring herself to finish the sentence, and say, in the event of your death.

“No. That is not the answer,” said Joshua, shaking his head.

“I think you are wrong,” said Rebecca resolutely. “Whoever it is would stand to gain a great deal by your death.”

“I don't think I have anything to fear in that direction,” he said with a wry smile.

The smile took her by surprise. She could see nothing amusing about the situation, and she was determined to make him take the matter seriously.

“Who is it, Josh? Who inherits your share of the mill? Only tell me that and I will tell you the name of the person who is trying to kill you.”

“I don't think so,” said Joshua. “You see, Rebecca, it is you.”

“Me?” Her eyes flew wide in astonishment.

“Yes.”

“You have left me your half of the mill?”

“I didn't need to. Your grandfather had already taken care of the matter. If I die without an heir, my share reverts to you. It is true, you could make yourself a wealthy woman by murdering me,” he said musingly, but with a humorous glint in his eye. “And you were on the scene very quickly when the office caught fire.”

He spoke thoughtfully, as though seriously considering the idea, but there was an unmistakable quirk of humour at the corner of his mouth.

“And I could have invented the story of the dropped reticule,” Rebecca teased him back, joining in with the spirit of his banter.

“But somehow, I don't believe it.” He took her hands, as she had finished playing her country air, and pulled her to her feet so that she stood facing him.

Rebecca's heart missed a beat. She so longed for him to kiss her, but she could tell by his face that he did not mean to do so. And how could he, even if he wanted to, when Louisa and Edward were so close at hand?

And why should she even want him to?

It had felt wonderful when he had kissed her at the mill, that much was true, but she could not allow him to do so again. It was clear he had no feelings for her beyond a certain physical attraction, and under those circumstances she should not want him to touch her again. But to her consternation she realized that she did.

She had wondered, after he had kissed her at the mill and then been interrupted by Hill, the manager, whether he would offer her his hand again. But although he had undoubtedly compromised her, he had not done so. A part of her was relieved, and yet a part of her felt hollow. Because she realized that never, under any circumstances, would he ask her to marry him again.

With difficulty she drew her thoughts back to their conversation.

“Then if I am the person who inherits your share if you die, that is not the answer to the problem,” she said.

They crossed the room and sat down by an elegant console table, on which a book of engravings lay open.

“But who else is there?” she went on. “Mr Hill, the manager, seems the most likely candidate, and yet he seems like such a nice young man. Still, if he has been falsifying the books... ”

“Yes,” nodded Joshua. “If he has been falsifying the books, he would certainly have a motive. He would want to remove me before the discrepancies are discovered.”

“And he was there, at the mill,” said Rebecca.

“He was,” Joshua agreed. “He is also one of the few people who have a key to the office.”

“A key?”

“Yes. The door to my office was locked from the outside. That means whoever did it must either have taken the key out of the desk in the main office, or used their own key. And the only person with a key of their own is Hill.”

“Hut anyone could have taken it from the main office?” asked Rebecca.

“Anyone who knew it was there, yes.”

“And how many people know that?”

“Anyone who has worked in the office, and perhaps, anyone who has visited it, but beyond that, no one.”

“Still, it leaves quite a wide field.” Rebecca was thoughtful and then said, “How did the fire start?”

“I'm not sure.” Joshua shook his head. “I smelled smoke and went to investigate. When I did so, someone shut and locked the door behind me.”

Rebecca shivered as she thought about what would have happened if she had not, by chance, returned to the mill. “I don't like it, Josh. I think you need to hire some Runners yourself.”

She turned over a page of engravings, although she was not paying them any attention.

“I intend to,” he said. “The scrawlings on the mill wall will give me the perfect excuse to hire some watchmen at the mill.”

“And when you are elsewhere?”

“I will hire a few new "footmen", and a "coachman" who is handy with his fists ... it will not be difficult to take some precautions, with no one else being any the wiser.”

Rebecca nodded. She was still worried, but knew that little more could be done.

Feeling that Louisa and Edward would soon begin to notice if she and Joshua did not join them at their side of the room, she closed the book of engravings.

“Edward and I have just been discussing the arrangement of the card tables,” said Louisa, whose mind was full of the proposed card party, and who had therefore not noticed that Rebecca and Joshua had been deep in conversation.

Rebecca sat down beside her on the sofa and gave her, her attention.

“We will have them in here, I think,” said Louisa. “These houses are not so spacious that we have much choice.”

“Yes, I think they would go well in here,” said Rebecca, gauging the size of the room. “We could easily fit eight tables in if we arranged the other furniture a little differently.”

“Just what I was thinking. Eight tables,” agreed Louisa. “That should be plenty.”

“Emily can let you have the card tables, I'm sure,” said Edward. “She keeps hers in the attics and only brings them down when they are needed.”

“That would make things a lot easier,” said Louisa, thanking him.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly in conversation, and it was a comfort to Rebecca to know that, however concerned she herself may be about Joshua, Louisa, at least, had been spared any worry.

“What will you wear to the ball?” Louisa asked Rebecca the following morning.

“I haven't decided yet,” said Rebecca, as the two ladies sat at their embroidery.

“I am thinking of having a new ball gown made,” said Louisa diffidently.

Rebecca put down her embroidery. “What a splendid idea.”

“Do you think so?” Louisa asked, going slightly pink.

“I do. I can't remember the last time you had a new ball gown.”

“Do you know, my dear, neither can I.”

A new thought entered Rebecca's head at the sight of Louisa's pink cheeks. Could it be that Louisa, having renewed her friendship with Edward, was hoping their friendship would develop into something more? Rebecca smiled. She hoped so. She would like nothing better than to see Louisa married to a kindly and intelligent gentleman, and Edward seemed perfect in every way.

“I think you might perhaps let me arrange your hair in a new style,” Rebecca said innocently. “I saw many attractive new ways of dressing hair in London, and any one of them would add a touch of distinction to your new outfit.”

“Well, I don't know, dear,” said Louisa, sounding worried. “Do you think I should? I have worn my hair like this for so long that I don't know if I would be comfortable having a change.”

“Nothing too drastic,” said Rebecca reassuringly. “But if your chignon was a little higher at the back of your head, and if you would let me tease out a few curls around your face, I believe the result would be most becoming.”

“Well, my dear, if you think so,” said Louisa, going pink again. “Perhaps it is time I had a change.”

Rebecca went over to her cousin and gently unpinned her hair, then scooped the thick tresses up into a soft chignon, set higher than Louisa was accustomed to wear it. The new height drew attention away from Louisa's rather slack jaw line and focused it on her cheekbones, which were remarkably fine. Deftly, Rebecca pinned the new chignon and then teased out a few curls. The overall effect was softer, more feminine, and undeniably attractive.

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Louisa, as she looked at herself in a gilded looking glass.

“Do you know, I think you should consult a friseur,” said Rebecca, pinning Louisa's hair to hold it in place. “Your hair is a little long at the front to tease out into satisfactory curls, and —”

“Oh, no, I don't think I could do that,” said Louisa, who found the idea of too much change at once alarming.

“A pity,” said Rebecca coaxingly. “I confess I would like to consult one myself, but it seems too extravagant a thing to do just for me.”

“Oh, but you must!” exclaimed Louisa.

“Then it is settled,” said Rebecca, well satisfied with her ruse. “We will discover the name of the most fashionable friseur in Manchester and go and see him together.”

This notion made it imperative to pay a visit to Mrs Camberwell. It was necessary for the two ladies to discover the names of both a fashionable friseur and a stylish modiste: a new hairstyle called for a new gown to match!

By good fortune, the friseur was due to call on Mrs Camberwell the following day, and that amiable lady insisted Rebecca and Louisa should be there to benefit from his ministrations. The business of the modiste was also quickly solved, as Mrs Camberwell called the carriage and whisked the two ladies off to the small but stylish salon that supplied all her clothes.

“Miss Fossington and Miss Marsden are both in need of a new ballgown,” said Mrs Camberwell, as the modiste ushered them into the salon. “The ball is only a week away. Is it possible for you to make their dresses in that time?”

“But of course,” said Madame Dupont. She received a great many commissions from Mrs Camberwell and did not want to lose the custom of so valuable a client. And besides, she always kept a number of partially made gowns to hand for this very kind of emergency.

“Good,” said Mrs Camberwell. “And what do you have to show us?”

“For Miss Fossington, I think the gold silk,” said Madame Dupont. She put her head on one side and surveyed Rebecca thoughtfully. “It is very fashionable at the moment, particularly when decorated with ribbon or tassels, and 'er dark 'air will set off the colour admirably.”

She clapped her hands, and one of her assistants brought out a collection of tassels, satin ribbons and lace bands.

“With the 'igh waist decorated so,” she said, holding up a lace trimming against the partially-made gold silk gown which had by now been brought out of the workroom, “and per'aps a twist of ribbon. The sleeves puffed, so, edged with tassels, and round the 'em, the band of lace, so.” She held the trimmings one by one against the plain dress, and Rebecca could see the effect she was aiming for.

“Yes,” said Rebecca. “I like that, but there are too many kinds of trimming for my taste. I think I will have tassels round the hem instead of the lace. It will then match the sleeves, and the effect will be less fussy.”

“Oui,” nodded Madame Dupont. “Yes, you are right. Then just a simple twist of ribbon at the waist?” she asked.

Rebecca agreed. The ribbon would give just the right amount of definition to the high waistline.

That being settled, Madame Dupont took Rebecca's measurements and promised to have the gown ready in time for the ball.

“And for Miss Marsden,” said the modiste, her head again on one side, “I think a shade of orange tawney.”

“Oh, no,” said Louisa, flustered. “I don't think I could wear anything like that. A nice grey, with perhaps some kind of trim.”

“Non,” said Madame Dupont decidedly. “The grey, it robs you of your colour. You put yourself in my 'ands?” she asked, but in such a way that Louisa did not like to disagree. “The orange tawney, it will bring out the gold flecks in your eyes and the highlights in your 'air.”

“Highlights?” asked Louisa, bemused. “But my hair doesn't have any highlights.” She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to see what Madame Dupont was talking about.

“Mais oui,” nodded Madame Dupont. “When the light falls on it, so, it 'as gleams of gold.”

Rebecca glanced at Mrs Camberwell and the two ladies exchanged delighted glances. Madame Dupont had an eye for colour, and had spotted the highlights at once. Moreover, it seemed she was going to be able to persuade Louisa to wear something more interesting than her usual drab colours.

Madame Dupont clapped her hands and one of her assistants brought her a piece of orange tawney silk. When the sample was draped over Louisa's shoulder, even Louisa was delighted.

“Why, I look quite different,” she said.

Rebecca gave her a kiss. “You'll be the belle of the ball.”

Louisa, flustered, denied it, but when, the following day, Monsieur Toulouse had styled her hair, getting rid of the centre parting she had worn for many years and instead pulling her hair back smoothly over her crown and cutting it at the front so that it was possible to arrange it into fluffy curls, she gasped in amazement as she saw herself in the glass.

“You look beautiful, Louisa,” said Rebecca. She added innocently, “I am sure Edward will think so, too.”

Emily and Rebecca exchanged glances, then smiled as they realized they had both had the same idea regarding Louisa and Edward.

Rebecca took advantage of Monsieur Toulouse's skill next, with Emily kindly waiting until last. By the time he left, they had all had their hair trimmed and styled in the most becoming way.

“Monsieur Toulouse may not be able to attend us on the day of the ball, but at least we know what we are aiming at,” said Emily as she regarded her hair in the gilded glass.

Well pleased with their morning the ladies parted, and Rebecca and Louisa returned home.

They were just about to get out their workbaskets, after partaking of a delightful luncheon, when there was a knock at the front door.

“I wonder who that can be?” said Louisa, eyebrows raised.

“I have no idea,” said Rebecca. Privately she hoped it was Joshua. It was not impossible that he might call. He had told her he would let her know what had caused the fire when he knew himself, and she had been half expecting him to call all day.

The drawing-room door opened and Betsy announced Mr Willingham.

Rebecca tried to hide her disappointment, and was glad that Mr Willingham turned to Louisa first. It would not be polite of her to let him see she had been hoping for someone else.

Mr Willingham was looking smart and confident. Not for nothing was he one of the most prosperous mill owners in the area. He bowed politely over Louisa's hand before turning and greeting Rebecca.

“Mr Willingham. This is a pleasant surprise” said Louisa.

“You were good enough to say I might call on you.”

“Of course,” said Louisa. “Pray, be seated.”

He settled himself in a heavy mahogany chair.

“I have called to issue an invitation,” he said, after they had enquired politely into each other's health. “My mother is holding a dinner party at the end of next week and she would be honoured if you would attend. I have the card here.” He drew a gilt-edged card out of his pocket. “It is short notice, I'm afraid, but she feels she must make the most of the opportunity to get to know you, before you leave us again for Cheshire. She is eager to meet you,” he said, turning to Rebecca. “I have told her so much about you.”

“Oh, the end of next week. How fortunate,” said Louisa, taking the card. “We have no engagement for that night. Yes, indeed, we would be honoured to attend.”

“My mother will be glad,” he said. “And so will I.”

“You will be going to Mrs Camberwell's ball, I take it?” asked Louisa.

“Yes, indeed. I am looking forward to it. I hope I may beg the favour of the first dance?” he said to Rebecca.

Finding she had no valid reason for excusing herself, Rebecca was forced to agree to his proposal. But she would rather have given her hand to Joshua, no matter how confused he made her feel.

“Good. We mill-owners, Miss Fossington, must stick together,” said Mr Willingham with a smile.

At that moment there was another knock at the outside door and a second visitor was admitted.

“Joshua!” exclaimed Rebecca as she stood up to welcome the new guest.

“Joshua! How delightful to see you,” said Louisa.

“Marsden,” said Mr Willingham coolly.

Joshua nodded. “Willingham.”

There was a coldness between the two men that Rebecca could not fail to notice. Nevertheless she was glad of it, because when Louisa offered the two gentlemen refreshments Mr Willingham declined, saying, “Alas, I cannot stay. I came simply to bring you the invitation. I am delighted to be able to tell my mother that you accept.”

And with that he bowed himself out of the room.

“You will take some refreshment, Joshua?” asked Louisa. “I was just about to ring for tea.”

“Yes, thank you, I would be delighted.” He settled himself in a Hepplewhite chair.

Louisa went over to the fireplace and pulled the bell. Nothing happened.

“These rented houses,” Louisa said. “There is always something that isn't working. Never mind, I will go down to the kitchens and tell Mrs Neville myself.”

She had scarcely left the room when Joshua turned to Rebecca and said, “Invitation?”

“Yes. Mr Willingham's mother has invited us to dine with her at the end of next week.”

Joshua hesitated. “I would rather you did not go. Willingham's an ambitious man. His family own a weaving mill in Stockport —”

“I know,” said Rebecca. “You are afraid, perhaps, that he intends to play on my lack of business experience, and you are worried that he will try to secure preferential rates for his family when buying cotton from Marsden mill?”

Joshua laughed. “The thought had crossed my mind. But I see it had also crossed yours.”

Rebecca smiled. “I am not my grandfather's granddaughter for nothing,” she remarked.

“No, indeed.” Then Joshua's expression became more serious. “I may be maligning him, but Willingham seldom does anything without an ulterior motive and all I am saying is that I think it would be better if you were to decline his invitation.”

Rebecca sighed. “I'm afraid that will be impossible. Louisa has already accepted.”

Joshua frowned. “That's unfortunate. Still, what's done is done. But be on your guard, Rebecca. If Willingham strays onto the subject of the mill, try and turn him away from it. It isn't just that I think he may try to gain preferential terms from you, I think he may also try to find out details of the running of Marsden mill — what salaries we pay our workers, for example, or how profitable the mill has been in the last year. It would all be useful knowledge for a man who buys his cotton from us. No, I know you would never tell him,' he said, seeing that she was about to declare it, “but he is skilled at conversation, and may well have the information out of you before you know what you are about. You would not be the first mill owner to fall foul of his devious methods.”

Rebecca nodded. “I sensed from the moment I met him that he was an ambitious man.”

“But that's enough of Willingham,” said Joshua. “That isn't why I came here today.”

“You have found out how the fire started?” Rebecca asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Rebecca sat down, and Joshua sat opposite her.

“As I suspected, it was started quite deliberately,” he said. “A lighted flambeau had been left in the bottom drawer of the desk.”

“To destroy the documents?” asked Rebecca.

“I don't think so,” said Joshua. “That's what's so puzzling. You see, the documents are kept in a locked cabinet beside the door.”

“So anyone wanting to destroy the documents would have tried to burn the cabinet and not the desk,” said Rebecca slowly.

“Yes. If they knew where the documents were kept.”

“And Hill? Does he know?”

“Yes. He does.”

“Which would seem to rule him out,” said Rebecca thoughtfully. “Because if he had been guilty of falsifying the documents then he would have made sure they were burnt, and to that end he would have placed the flambeau in the cabinet, and not the desk. Were any additional documents destroyed? When you checked them the morning after the fire?”

“No.”

“Then it seems unlikely that the culprit is Hill. It seems the arsonist is someone else.”

“Most probably.”

“But who?”

At that moment the door opened and Louisa entered the room.

“Tea is on its way,” she said.

Rebecca bit back her frustration. She did not want to abandon her conversation, but now that Louisa had returned it was impossible for her to continue it. She would have to wait until she could have further words with Joshua in private, and who knew when that would be?

Still, there was no help for it. She put her frustration to one side and joined in with Louisa's light-hearted conversation. And Joshua, no less frustrated by their lack of privacy, was forced to do the same.