Rebecca's Refusal

Chapter Nine

Two new footmen soon found their way into Rebecca and Louisa's house. Fortunately Louisa accepted their appearance at face value, and was too polite to enquire into the origins of the broken nose of one and the cauliflower ear of the other. She was pleased that dear Joshua had sent the men along to add to her consequence and convenience, and expressed herself delighted with their presence.

Rebecca was genuinely glad to have them there. So far she had not been threatened in any way, but if the unexplained attacks on Joshua were indeed connected with the mill there may come a time when she herself was in danger, and it was reassuring to have two large ex-Bow Street Runners, disguised as footmen, standing in the hall.

Rebecca was reading in the drawing-room on the afternoon of the ball when Louisa came in looking flustered. “Oh, my dear, it is too vexing,” she said. “I have broken my fan. I don't know how it happened. I simply opened it to see if it would go with my new gown, and it snapped in my hand.”

“Never mind,” said Rebecca. “It's still early. We can go and choose another one. Something that will go with your gown.” She closed her book and set it down.

“It is a nice idea, but my legs are feeling a little stiff, and I fear if I go out this afternoon I may not be able to dance this evening.”

Rebecca understood at once why Louisa was so concerned: Edward had claimed Louisa's hand for the first dance, and that dear lady had spent all week looking forward to it.

“Then I can go on my own,” Rebecca said.

“Oh, no, my dear, you mustn't think of it. You will be wanting to get ready yourself soon.”

“Not for another couple of hours at least,” said Rebecca. “What kind of fan would you like? A lace one would go well with your dress, I think. Or would you like a painted fan? Or maybe one made out of ostrich feathers?”

“Oh, no! Ostrich feathers would be far too flamboyant! A lace fan would be perfect — it would match the lace trim on my sleeves,” said Louisa. “But of course it is not important. I can do very well without.”

“I would like a breath of fresh air,” said Rebecca, standing up and stretching. “I have not been out all day. An hour's shopping will help blow the cobwebs away. Don't worry, I can still be back in plenty of time to dress.”

She had soon donned her outdoor clothes and then she summoned the carriage and was on her way. Accompanied by one of the new footmen she set out for Deansgate, where she hoped to purchase the perfect fan to go with Louisa's new gown. There were several shops that sold fashionable items, and she spent a pleasant half-hour browsing in them before selecting a delicate lace fan with ivoiy sticks. Feeling pleased with her purchase she returned to the carriage and made herself comfortable for the short journey home. Or at least, it should have been a short journey, but the streets were busy, and to make matters worse a cart had overturned ahead of her, shedding its load of vegetables all over the road. Urchins, drawn by the calamity, were stuffing their pockets with potatoes and carrots, whilst the carter was trying to alternately pick up the produce and shoo them away.

Rebecca watched the scene for a few minutes and then her attention began to wander. It would take some time for the street to be clear enough for her carriage to proceed, and as her eyes drifted away from the main thoroughfare and down the narrow streets that led away from it she found herself wondering again about the poor housing that lay behind the fashionable areas. She was determined to help Joshua provide suitable housing for the workers at Marsden mill, and wondered whether any of the run-down buildings she could just glimpse might be suitable for renovation. As her eyes began to adjust to the gloomier conditions that prevailed beyond the main street she began to make out more detail: houses, pavements — and then something caught her attention and she sat up straight. There! Loping down the dingy back street was the man who had daubed the Luddite slogan on the wall of the mill!

There could be no mistake. Although she had not been close enough to see him clearly on the day she had all but interrupted him at his work, and although it was too dark for her to see clearly now, still it was light enough for her to recognize his distinctive movement. There was something furtive about it, and at the same time something bold. It was such an unusual gait she knew she could not be mistaken.

What to do? If she left the carriage she could easily lose herself amongst the maze of streets, but she would never forgive herself if she did not make an effort to follow him. Deciding quickly on a course of action she opened the carriage door and jumped out without waiting to use the step, calling to the footman as she did so, “Follow me!”

Once free of the carriage she hurried down the narrow street, reassuring herself by a glance over her shoulder that the burly ex-Bow Street Runner disguised as a footman was indeed following her.

Then she turned her attention back to the man with the loping gait. He turned down a cross street and Rebecca followed, pulling her cloak more tightly around her as she hurried along. The street was narrow, and when he turned again it was into an even narrower one.

The houses crowded in on her but Rebecca did not intend to give up now. If she could apprehend the man she could discover why he had painted the slogan on the wall. And if he had been paid to do it, she could discover who had paid him.

She saw him hesitate outside a mean house, and then, with a furtive glance in either direction, he went in.

Rebecca had managed to shrink back out of sight when he had turned, but now she went forward again. She reached the house and turned round to signal to the footman — only to find he was not there.

He had been following her, she knew, when she had left the carriage, because she had looked over her shoulder to make sure. But now he was nowhere in sight. Had he lost her after one of the many turns? It must be so. She stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. If she waited for the footman she may lose the man with the loping gait: he could easily slip out of the back door of the house and be on his way again without her being any the wiser. But if she went in alone, she would be putting herself in danger. She felt herself torn in two directions. What should she do?

She crept closer to the house, pressing herself against the wall next to the window. Perhaps she would be able to hear something that would help her decide.

But she could hear nothing.

She thought for a moment, and then decided that she must take the risk of following him into the house. But suddenly the door opened again and he came out.

There was nowhere for her to hide this time, no shadows to shrink back into, no corner to turn.

She was caught.

“What the 'ell are you doing?” demanded the man, his foxy eyes boring into her.

“I lost my way.” It sounded a weak excuse, even to her own ears, but at such short notice she could think of nothing better. “I was trying to find the Exchange Hall. Perhaps you could give me directions?”

As she spoke she busily took in details of the man's appearance, in case she had to identify him at some future date. He was short — only an inch or two taller than she was herself, which put him at about five foot six. He had dark, lank hair and long side whiskers. His eyes were small and set close together. His lips were thin and his chin was pointed. His body, too, was thin — thin and wiry: though small, she guessed he would possess a great deal of strength.

“Lost your way, did you?” he sneered. “Looking for the Exchange 'all?” His tone was menacing. “Pull the other one, it's got bells on.” Then his eyes became sharper and he stood up straight, “'ere, 'aven't I seen you somewhere before?”

“I don't think so.” She began to back away.

He made no move to stop her and she thought he was going to let her go. But suddenly his hand whipped out and caught her arm. His grip was like iron. His fingers bit into her, even through her cloak.

“I know where I’ve seen you before,” he said, as realization dawned on him. “You were at the mill. Thought I didn't see you, didn't you? Slinking back into the shadows. Well you were wrong.” And opening the door behind him he made to drag her into the house.

Knowing that if he managed it she would be lost, Rebecca kicked him hard on the shin. He let out a curse, but the pain only made him clutch onto her more tightly.

“You'll pay for that,” he said menacingly, raising his hand to her.

Rebecca lifted her arm to shield herself from him — and then found herself pulled powerfully backwards, and before she knew what was happening, Joshua was standing in front of her and blocking the man's blow.

Catching the fist that was aiming at his head, Joshua deflected a second blow which was aimed at his mid-section. Not for nothing had he worked out at Gentleman Jackson's gym.

With a few moves he defended himself and then turned the tables on his assailant, twisting the man's arm up behind his back in an unbreakable lock.

At that moment the footman ran up.

“Where the hell have you been?” demanded Joshua, glaring at the footman. “You were supposed to be protecting Miss Fossington. Where were you when she needed you?”

“I lost her —” began the footman.

“Call yourself an ex-Runner?” asked Joshua fiercely. “A blind beggar could have made a better job of protecting her than you've done. What am I paying you for, man?”

“A Bow Street Runner?” asked the wiry man, his small eyes darting from one to the other of his captors.

“That's right,” said Joshua. “A Bow Street Runner. And one who can testify to the fact you attacked a young lady.”

“Lady?” sneered the wiry man. “If she's a lady, what's she doing creeping around the back streets of Manchester on her own. Doesn't seem very ladylike to me.”

Joshua tightened his grip on the man. “I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head,” he said dangerously.

“Oh! So that's the way it is, is it? Sweet on 'er, are you?” he leered. “I wouldn't mind a bit of that myself —”

“Take him in charge,” said Joshua, ignoring the man's taunts and pushing him towards the footman. “He is guilty of attacking Miss Fossington,” he said, unaware that the wiry man was the same person who had daubed the Luddite slogan on the mill wall. “And don't let him get away.”

“Oh, I won't let him get away,” said the footman, looking at the wiry man with a crooked smile. “I've got a bone or two to pick with him.”

Rebecca and Joshua looked at the footman curiously.

“Do you know him?” Joshua asked.

“Oh, yes. He's known to us, is Cyril Dunn,” said the footman.

“Ow do you know my name?” asked the man who had just been identified as Cyril Dunn.

The footman removed his powdered wig.

Dunn's face fell.

“Well, you'll be... Odgers,” he said, going white.

“Yes, my lad. Odgers,” said the footman with relish. Then he turned to Joshua. “This cove's wanted for any number of things. Hell do any amount of dirty work, so long as he's well paid. We'd have got to him sooner or later.”

“It's a pity it wasn't sooner,” said Joshua unrelentingly.

The footman looked abashed. “But if I'm meant to look after Dunn, who's going to look after Miss Fossington?” he said, in an effort to make amends for losing her earlier.

“Miss Fossington,” said Joshua curtly, “is coming with me.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

“No arguments,” he said brusquely. Then taking her by the arm he steered her through the maze of dark streets and into a more respectable area. “I have rented a house down here until I can find one I want to buy,” he said as he guided her down the broader thoroughfare.

“You can't simply —” began Rebecca, beginning to feel angry at the way he was manhandling her.

“Oh, can't I?” demanded Joshua. His face was set and he spoke between gritted teeth.

Rebecca felt his suppressed anger, and knew he was furious because she had put herself in danger. But she had had no intention of letting Dunn get away from her when she had had the chance to stop him.

In a few minutes they had left the maze of twisting back streets behind them, traversed the more respectable roads and arrived at an impressive residence. Without letting go of her arm Joshua escorted her up the steps.

“I can't go into your house without a chaperon,” Rebecca protested. “Let me go.”

“You can have a chaperon when I've finished with you,” he said darkly, steering her into the house.

He waved away the lackeys who would otherwise have greeted him and guided Rebecca through into the sitting-room. It was furnished in a simple and masculine style. There were no floral curtains or cushions scattered around. Everything was of good quality, but plain.

“Now, why don't you tell me what the hell you were doing, putting yourself in danger like that,” said Joshua, dropping Rebecca's arm and glaring at her as he closed the door.

“Thank you,” retorted Rebecca, annoyed by his high-handed attitude, whatever its cause, and deciding he needed reminding of his manners. “I would like some refreshment. How kind of you to offer it.”

She glared at him defiantly.

“What were you doing in the back streets of Manchester on your own?” demanded Joshua, ignoring her remarks and going straight to the heart of the matter.

“I might well ask you the same question,” she returned.

“I was checking up on a number of properties. There are some houses there for sale at a reasonable price, and although squalid at the moment they could be made clean and comfortable. I was going to tell you about them later, and see if you thought we should invest in them, renting them out to our workers for a reasonable price.”

“Ah! I see,” said Rebecca.

But if she thought Joshua was going to let her turn the conversation into these channels she was mistaken. He was still angry with her for having put herself in danger and he returned immediately to the subject.

“You know how dangerous the back streets are, damn it, Rebecca! Even in ordinary times it is dangerous to go too far from the main streets, and when there has already been an unexplained attack on the mill it is madness.”

“I didn't go into the back streets on my own,” returned Rebecca, lifting her chin. She did not intend to let Joshua walk all over her, no matter what his provocation. “I went with one of the footman you gave me: in other words, an ex-Bow Street Runner.”

“If that's the case, then how is it he wasn't with you when I found you?” he asked harshly.

“Because he couldn't keep up with me. I had to leave the carriage in a hurry,” she explained. “It was stuck behind an overturned cart, and as I passed the time by looking out of the windows I saw a man I recognized loping through the back streets. It was the man who had been daubing LONG LIVE NED LUDD on the wall at the mill.”

Joshua's eyebrows shot up, and she realized that up until now he had assumed she had been attacked by a common thug who had been trying to steal her reticule. He had had no idea that Dunn was responsible for painting the Luddite slogan on the mill wall. Then he frowned. “Are you sure? You didn't get a good look at him, and you can only have seen him from a distance when you were in the carriage.”

“Positive,” said Rebecca. “It wasn't his looks I recognized, but the way he moved. He has a curious loping gait, as I told you at the time. I jumped out of the carriage in order to follow him and called to the footman to accompany me. I looked over my shoulder to make sure he had done so, but he must have lost me shortly afterwards: I had to keep Dunn in sight, and it entailed making a number of quick turns.”

Joshua's face relented slightly.

“So you see, I wasn't putting myself in danger,” explained Rebecca.

“Of course you were,” said Joshua, not so easily mollified. “As soon as you got out of the carriage you were in danger. And when I think of you following a man you knew to be a criminal... ” His face darkened and his eyes became turbulent.

“How else was I going to catch him?” she demanded. At least now we have something to go on. As soon as we’ve questioned him —”

“There'll be no "we" about it.”

“You seem to forget that I'm involved in this just as much as you are,” she returned.

“No. I don't forget. But if you think I'm going to let you anywhere near a man like that you're mistaken,” he said savagely.

“It isn't up to you to tell me what to do,” she returned.

He glared at her. Then said, apparently reasonably, “You're right. It isn't.” His reasonableness suddenly vanished. “But I'm going to do it anyway.”

Rebecca gave a sigh. It was no use arguing with him. He could be extremely stubborn when he chose, and she could see by his face that he chose to be stubborn now. But she had to admit, if only to herself, that she was actually relieved. Although she had spoken bravely she had done so without really thinking. She did not relish the idea of seeing any more of Dunn than she had to.

“Very well.”

He smiled. It lit his face, softening his mouth and warming his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

His voice was gentle.

“For what?” She was surprised.

“For letting me have my own way.”

She smiled, too. “As long as you don't have it too often, I can't see that it will do you any harm!” she teased him.

He laughed. “And now that we have sorted that out, let me offer you some refreshments,” he said. “You're right, I should have done so straight away. You must be cold and tired.”

“I am,” she admitted. But then she said reluctantly, “However, I can't stay. I have already been longer than I intended to be, and I don't want Louisa to worry. I only went out to buy her a fan,” she explained. “I should have been back by now.” She looked suddenly concerned as she realized that her carriage, once the road had been unblocked, would have had to go on without her. “Oh, dear,” she sighed. “I've no way of knowing where my carriage is.”

“Don't worry. I sent Odgers to find it.”

“But —”

“Dunn is being safely held in the kitchen by a couple of Odgers's colleagues — men who, incidentally, will not let Odgers forget that he lost his charge,” laughed Joshua.

“It wasn't his fault —” began Rebecca.

“Yes, it was. He was employed to look after you and he failed. But if you want to make his life easier in future, don't go jumping out of any more carriages,” he said with a wry smile.

“He try not to,” she returned with a lift at the corner of her mouth. Then she became more serious. “You will let me know, Joshua? What you find out?”

“Of course. You're going to the ball tonight?”

“Yes. Louisa and I will both be there.”

“Meet me in the library at twelve o'clock. The ball should be in full swing by then and no one will notice if we absent ourselves for a while. Then I can tell you what I have discovered.”

“What do you think? Now?”

Joshua ran his hand through his mane of hair. “I think Dunn will be able to tell us very little. He was probably paid to paint a Luddite slogan on the wall of the mill, but I will be surprised if he can tell us who paid him. He was most probably approached in a tavern and offered money to do it, no questions asked.”

Rebecca nodded. It seemed only too likely.

“But I’ll have him followed — when I let him go,” said Joshua.

“You're not going to hand him over to the authorities, then?” asked Rebecca in surprise.

“No. If we press charges against him for attacking you then you will be dragged into it, and that isn't something I'm prepared to allow. And if we charge him with defacing property, again you are the witness, and again you would be dragged in — and again, that isn't something I'm going to allow. Besides, he may be much more use to us if we turn him loose. There's just a chance that whoever has been paying him may decide to use him again.”

“So that if we have him watched, we can see where he goes and what he does?” asked Rebecca.

Joshua nodded. “Exactly.”

It makes sense. A part of her did not want the man to get away with his crimes, but another part of her realized that what Joshua said was true: Dunn was probably more use to them if they set him free.

A carriage rattled to a halt outside. Glancing out of the window Rebecca saw that it was hers.

“Until this evening, then,” she said, taking her leave of Joshua.

“Until this evening. Once I join you at the ball I will tell you everything I learn.”

“Oh! There you are! I was just beginning to worry,” said Louisa, as Rebecca returned to the house.

“I'm sorry I was so long,” said Rebecca.

“Never mind, my dear. You are here now.”

Rebecca smiled at the look of suppressed anticipation on Louisa's face. Too sweet to ask if Rebecca had managed to find her a fan in case she should seem demanding, Louisa was clearly wondering if Rebecca's shopping trip had been a success.

Rebecca opened her reticule and took out a small package, which she gave to Louisa.

Louisa took it and opened it to reveal the lace and ivory fan. Her face lit up. “Oh! Rebecca! It's beautiful! So delicate! And so stylish!” She opened the fan with a flick of her wrist and delightedly wafted it to and fro.

“It will look lovely against the orange tawney of your gown,” said Rebecca. “The lace is so delicate the tawny shade will shine through.”

“Yes, it will. Oh, thank you, my dear. It's perfect. Truly perfect.” Louisa fluttered her fan once more, until the chiming of the clock called her back to the present. “But I must not keep you. You will be wanting to go up and dress. Susan has filled the hip bath for you, and laid out your gown. I, too, must get changed.”

Louisa hurried upstairs.

More slowly, Rebecca followed. She was glad to be able to retire to her room after her exciting afternoon.

The bedroom was welcoming. The heavy damask drapes had been drawn across the windows. A warming fire was burning in the grate, and the candles were shedding pools of light into every corner of the room.

Rebecca glanced towards the mantelpiece where an ormolu clock stood. She wanted to see if she had enough time to read a little more of her book in the bath, before she had to get dressed.

Yes, she had.

She took her book into the small dressing-room that led off from her bedroom, where Susan had filled her hip bath, and undressing she slipped into the rose-scented water. She breathed a sigh of relief. It had been an eventful few hours, and she was looking forward to some peace and quiet before she dressed to go out again.

She sank back into the water and luxuriated in the soothing warmth. Then, feeling pleasantly relaxed, she dried her hands on the towel she had draped over the edge of the bath and picked up The Italian, which she had left within reach. She indulged in a portion of the entertaining novel before washing herself and then stepping out of the hip bath, where she dried herself in front of the fire. Then she began to dress.

She had bought some lovely underclothes in the fashionable shops in Manchester and, with Susan's help, she proceeded to put them on: a cotton chemise and new-fangled drawers; silk stockings, fashionably embroidered at the ankles and held up by lace garters; and a light pair of stays.

Susan fastened her stays to a comfortable tightness, then it was time to put on her gown.

“How is Miss Louisa getting on?” asked Rebecca.

“She's finished dressing,” said Susan, who had gone to help Betsy with Louisa whilst Rebecca took her bath. “She looks lovely,” said the young girl.

Rebecca was glad. She herself might be unlucky in love, but she hoped with all her heart that the same would not be true for her cousin.

She turned her attention to her new ball gown, which Susan was lifting off the bed. It was truly exquisite. Madame Dupont had excelled herself. And how kind it had been of her to make the gown, together with Louisa's gown, a priority, otherwise it would not have been ready in time. Although perhaps it had more to do with the fact that Madame Dupont had wanted to accommodate Mrs Camberwell, a good client, rather than kindness, Rebecca realized with a smile.

At that moment Betsy entered the room.

“Miss Louisa's compliments, and do you need any more help?” asked Betsy.

“No, thank you, Betsy,” said Rebecca.

Betsy eyed her dubiously. “I don't know about these short sleeves,” she said, with the freedom of an old retainer. “Pretty they may be, and fashionable as well, but a good pair of long sleeves would have been more sensible in the winter time, Miss Rebecca.”

“Perhaps,” remarked Rebecca. “But long sleeves are too hot for dancing in.”

“You just make sure you take your shawl,” said Betsy. “It won't do to go catching a cold. You'll miss all the coming parties and dinners, and you wouldn't want that.”

Rebecca's mouth quirked, but she dutifully promised to wear her shawl, and Betsy was mollified.

“There,” said Susan, standing back once the dress was fastened.

The gown was truly lovely. The gold silk glimmered in the candlelight and the short sleeves, trimmed with a row of the most delicate gold tassels, were exquisite. The high waist lent Rebecca height, and the demi-train added an air of elegance and style.

“I hope I can remember how the friseur said to do your hair,” said Susan somewhat nervously.

“I'm sure you will,” said Rebecca as Betsy departed.

She sat in front of her dressing-table and Susan proceeded to arrange her hair. Monsieur Toulouse had cut and shaped it, so that the maid had no difficulty in styling it.

Once it was done Rebecca examined the high chignon critically to make sure it was tidy. She fluffed the ringlets round her face, then thanking Susan she stood up.

“Your gloves, Miss Rebecca,” said Susan, handing Rebecca her long white evening gloves. “And don't forget your shawl.”

Rebecca took up the beautiful spider-silk shawl and draped it elegantly over her shoulders. There would be time enough later, when she had reached Mrs Renwick's house and had warmed right through, to let it slip elegantly and fashionably down into the crook of her arms.

And then Rebecca was ready. Going downstairs she found Louisa already waiting for her. Louisa's eyes were sparkling, and in her new tawny gown she looked lovely. Edward would be a fool if he did not want to marry her, Rebecca thought.

The clock chimed the hour. “I believe we should be going,” said Rebecca.

“Yes,” agreed Louisa.

They went out to the carriage.

As they did so Rebecca felt a shiver of presentiment; as though something momentous was going to happen that very evening.

Then, dismissing the presentiment as nothing more than foolishness, she turned her attention to the evening to come.