Chapter 1

 

Millcastle, England 1831

 

“If you will just wait a moment, Mr. Keswick, I’ll have the money for you directly.”

Billy Keswick blew his nose in his grimy handkerchief. “Can’t wait much longer, lass. I have rents to collect from fifty households before dinner, so you’d best be quick about it.”

           Despite his warning, he took a seat at the table, and planted his booted feet squarely on the scarred wooden surface. He was a rotund man with a reddish complexion, and a straggly mustache stained with tobacco. He was also the man who inspired terror in the motley inhabitants of the dilapidated properties in the Three Coins area of Millcastle, where Caroline and her family had been reduced to living.

Caroline desperately searched the dresser for the earthenware jar that last night had contained the exact amount for the weeks rent.  Under the all too appreciative leer of Mr. Keswick, she gathered her skirts, and clambered up on one of the rickety chairs to search the shelves more thoroughly. But there was no sign of the jar and, more tellingly, there no was no sign of her mother who was supposed to be home watching the stew. The meager fire was almost out, and belched puffs of smoke into the draughty air that sidled under the warped front door.

Caroline took a deep breath and slowly descended from the chair before turning to face her unwelcome visitor. She forced herself to smile.

“I wonder if my mother thought to take the rent, and bring it to you herself? She might have missed you on her way through the streets.”

Mr. Keswick spat on the bare well-scrubbed floorboards and loudly cleared his throat. “I did see your mam, but she was heading down Gower Street toward the church.”

Caroline nodded as if this made perfect sense. “She’s probably trying to find you right now.” She picked up her thick woolen shawl. “Perhaps we should both go and see if we can intercept her.” She walked purposefully toward the door, and gasped when Mr. Keswick grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her into his lap.

“I’m not that stupid, my little pigeon. If your mam has the money, we all know what she’s going to do with it. The last thing she’ll want to do is talk to me.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Keswick.” Heat rose in Caroline’s cheeks and she refused to look at her captor.

“She’ll be playing cards with all the other old ladies and with her bad luck, when she’s run through your rent money, she’ll be writing I.O.U.’s to everyone. Then you will be in a pickle.” He kissed her averted cheek and she forced herself not to shudder. “You know it’s true, lass, and you know the solution. You find some time to be nice to me, and I’ll forget about the rent this week.”

He kissed her again and the stale stench of ale, tobacco and lust rising from his heated skin made Caroline want to retch. Could she do it? Could she let him touch her if it meant her mother and sisters kept a roof over their heads for another week? She shoved at his chest, and managed to scramble out of his lap.

“My sisters will be home at any moment.” She grabbed her shawl off the hook on the back of the door. “We’ll all go and find my mother and I’ll bring the rent to the George and Dragon. That’s where you have your rooms, is it not?”

“Is it not?” Mr. Keswick mimicked her upper class accent. “Aye it is.” He licked his lips as he stared at her bosom.  “And, if you still can’t find the money, you can step upstairs with me without any chance of your sisters catching us, and pay off your debt in my bed.”

Caroline managed a nod before she turned, slammed the door and ran down the steep hill away from the narrow terraced house. Her boots slipped on the broken cobblestones and she splashed through piles of filth and had to slow down before she fell. Her breath was coming in panicked gasps and her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest. She paused at the corner and scanned the intersection. A lone horse and cart filled with barrels of beer rumbled by her, and she waited until it passed before darting across the road.

On the opposite corner of the street, facing out onto the square sat the old George and Dragon coaching inn, which she would have to visit whether she found the money or not. Caroline shivered and gathered her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She would face that issue later. In the meantime she had to find her two younger sisters and, more importantly her mother.  Was it possible that Marie had indeed taken the rent and gone to find Mr. Keswick? In her heart, Caroline knew it was a forlorn hope. Her mother had probably done exactly what Mr. Keswick had suggested, and used the money to stake her card game with the town busybodies.

Caroline glanced up at the towering walls of the cotton mill that belched out black smoke all day and night. In about half an hour the doors would be unlocked and the factory would disgorge its day shift adding hundreds of bodies to the already crowded streets of Millcastle. She had to find her sisters and her mother before it became impossible to move.

“Caroline!”

She turned to see her youngest sister, Ivy waving at her and waved back. She’d sent the girls out to the market earlier to find any end of the day bargains or damaged fruit and vegetables. Ivy had such a sweet face that she often persuaded the storeholders to give her something extra simply by smiling at them.

Some way behind Ivy, Caroline also spotted Ruby, chatting earnestly to a familiar looking man. She bit down on her already chapped lip. She did not want her friend and neighbor, Jon Ford to hear about her family’s current woes. He was far too keen to be of service to her as it was.

Caroline forced a smile as Jon tipped his hat to her.

“You’re out from the mill early, Mr. Ford.”

“Unfortunately not for long.” He bowed. “I would offer to escort you all home, but I have to be back at my post in the next five minutes, or I will be docked a days wages. “

Ruby made a huffing noise. “And yet you have been out on company business. It is so unfair.”

Jon met Caroline’s gaze over Ruby’s head. “It is indeed unfair.” His faint smile died. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Harding?”

“Everything is fine, Mr. Ford. Don’t let us keep you.” She winced at her dismissive tone, but could do nothing to soften it in case he offered his help, and that would never do.

To her relief he took his dismissal in good part, and, with a last genial nod walked up the hill toward the grand gated entrance of the Marsham Mill where he worked as a clerk.

“Why were you so rude to him, Caroline?” Ruby demanded. “Don’t tell me you have started to listen to mother saying he is too common to associate with us.”

“It’s not that.” Caroline said. “I needed to speak to you and Ivy alone.”

“What’s wrong?” Ivy whispered as she wrapped her arms around herself and edged closer to Caroline’s side, her pale triangular face lifted to Caroline’s, her blue eyes wide with fear. 

 “I can’t find the rent money.” Two pairs of horrified eyes met hers. “And mother has disappeared.“

“Again?” Ruby spun away, her hands clenched into fists. “She couldn’t have been so bloody stupid, could she? She knows…”

For once, Caroline couldn’t find it in herself to either correct her sister’s language or defend their mother. A cold fist of fear settled alongside the ever-present hunger low in her stomach. She had almost nothing left from their former life to sell to cover the lost coins, except her wedding ring–or herself.

“I need your help, girls. She cannot have been gone long.”

“Of course we’ll help.” Ivy said as she took Ruby’s hand. “If we find her we’ll make sure she comes home with us directly.”

“Thank you, Ivy.” Caroline patted her sister ‘s shoulder and took the heavy wicker basket filled with vegetables out of her hands. “I know I can trust you to do your best.”

“And I’ll take care of Ivy, too.” Ruby declared, her eyes flashing with such righteous indignation that Caroline wondered if their mother would escape a very public scolding from her nineteen-year-old daughter.

“Ivy is quite capable of taking care of herself.” Caroline reminded her middle sister who tended to think she was in charge of everything and everybody. She received a small nod of gratitude from Ivy, and watched while they ran back the way they had come to search for their mother in her regular haunts.

Caroline kept walking until she reached the small town square with its central statue of a former Earl of Wesley astride his horse fighting the Danes. She avoided the dressmaker’s shop where she earned a pittance for piece work, and headed diagonally across the square to where the small church of Saint Agatha’s leaned uncomfortably up against the new Millcastle Bank building. Behind the church was the vicarage; the windows already lit against the grime of the smoke blackened evening skies.

Caroline marched around the back of the house to the servant’s entrance. She knocked loudly on the kitchen door and went in. The smell of roasting beef made her mouth water. She imagined carving herself a slice of the succulent meat, and then another, and another…

“May I help you?”

Caroline swallowed, and turned toward the dour-faced cook.

“Good afternoon. I apologize for bothering you, but is Mrs. Delisle still here?”

The cook used her wooden spoon to poke a tired-looking parlor maid who sat with her head pillowed in her arms at the kitchen table.

“Doris? Is that Mrs. Delisle still here?”

“I dunno.” Doris murmured. “She was a while ago.”

“Well go and see, you great lummox!” Caroline winced as the spoon cracked against Doris’s skull.

Doris got up, straightened her lace cap, and glared at Caroline. “Who’s wanting her anyways?”

Caroline smiled. “Could you tell her there is an emergency, and that she needs to come home immediately?” If that pointed message didn’t work, she would go in and drag her mother out–by the hair if necessary.

“All right, then.” Doris sighed, and headed for the kitchen door, her shoulders slumped, the bow at the back of her apron askew and coming undone.

The cook shook her head and made a tutting noise.  She waved Caroline to a seat at the table and poured her a mug of strong tea. “She’ll have to go, that Doris. I can’t make anything of her. Do you know anyone who is looking for a live-in job in a decent Christian household?”

For a brief moment Caroline considered offering her services, but she doubted the vicar’s wife would allow her to bring her widowed mother and two sisters to share her attic bedroom.

“I’ll certainly ask around for you.” Caroline answered, her gaze fixed on the door for any sign of her mother. She added sugar to the strong tea and sipped it as fast as she was able, wishing she could take some home to her sisters. “I’m sure there are plenty of girls who would love the opportunity to get out of the mill.”

The cook snorted. “Those girls are no good. They’re all too thin and stunted. Mistress likes the rosy-cheeked country girls best—not that they last long here either.”

There was the faint sound of voices in the hallway. Caroline gulped down the rest of her tea and stood up. “I think that might be my, I mean Mrs. Delisle. Thank you for the tea.”

“You’re welcome, my dear. It can’t be fun working for a woman as poor as that. I bet she doesn’t even pay your wages regularly.”

Caroline stilled the protest that rose to her tongue. She obviously wasn’t considered a lady anymore. To the cook, she probably looked like any other working class woman scraping a living. The cook handed her a paper bag filled with scones and Caroline thanked her. A year ago such charity would have humiliated her. Now she accepted the day old scones with gratitude before heading out into the shadowed hallway.

Her mother stood in front of the stained glass front door, her expression querulous as she interrogated poor Doris. Marie was petite, and just as smartly dressed as any of the women she had abandoned to their card games in the drawing room. But unlike those women, she had sewed every stitch of every garment she wore herself, reinventing old dresses and skirts into new and alluring costumes with an ease that Caroline had never acquired.

Marie looked over Doris’s shoulder, and her face froze as she saw Caroline who simply raised her eyebrows.

“Caroline! Is that you, dear?”

“Indeed it is.” Caroline swept forward and grabbing her mother’s elbow in a painful grip, towed her inexorably toward the exit. “You are needed at home.” She nodded at the parlor maid who had managed to open the front door. “Thank you, Doris.”

She refused to let go of her mother’s arm until they had marched all the way back to their rented rooms, and she shut the door behind them. There was no sign of her sisters and she was glad of that. She heaved the basket onto the table, and waited until Marie sat down, her pretty face flushed with anger and exertion.

“Whatever is the matter, Caroline? You treated me abominably.” Marie patted her chest. “I am quite out of breath!” 

Caroline held out her hand. “Give me the money, Mother.”

Marie gasped. “What? How dare you!”

Caroline continued to stare at her. “Give it to me.”

Under her gaze, her mother’s brief defiance crumpled. “Are you talking about the money I found in the jam jar? I thought you had left it for me for housekeeping.”

“Mother, don’t lie.” Caroline could barely keep the anger out of her voice. “We all know that you are incapable of managing the housekeeping budget. I need that money to pay the rent.”

Marie opened her reticule, and handed Caroline a few coins. “There. I didn’t spend it all, and if you had let me be I might have doubled or even trebled it!”

Caroline counted the coins with trembling fingers. “Oh God. There isn’t enough. What am I supposed to do now?”

Marie shrugged. “You just said I was incapable of understanding our finances, and that is true.” Her voice took on a familiar whining tone. “I wasn’t brought up to think about money. How do you expect me to help you now?”

Caroline’s knees gave way, and she sank onto the chair opposite her mother and put her face in her hands. She tried to breathe deeply, to think of a way out of this appalling mess.

“I met a very nice man at the vicarage, Caroline, He was paying his respects to the Vicar, and popped in to introduce himself to Mrs. Lambton.” Marie laughed, the sound so carefree that Caroline bit down hard on her lip. “He offered to stake me for the card game, so you should be glad I saved some of your coin.”

Caroline slowly raised her head her heart thumping with dread. “How much did he give you?”

Marie opened her blue eyes wide. “Only a few pounds, my dear. When he decided to play a few hands with us, he insisted we increased the stakes.” Her expression became virtuous. “Of course, I had to tell him I could not play because I did not have the money. That’s when he offered to stake me.”

“So you owe this gentlemen money as well?”

“I suppose I do.” Marie frowned. “Is something wrong, my dear. You look quite unwell.”

Caroline rose to her feet, her cold fingers clenched around the remaining coins.  There was no point in remonstrating with her mother; the damage had already been done, and Marie would never understand. All that remained was for someone to pick up the pieces.

“I have to go and find Mr. Keswick. Please make sure that the girls have their supper, and do their chores.”

Caroline went to the door and headed out into the rapidly darkening street. It was November, and the days were short and bitterly cold. A fine mist descended and Caroline drew her shawl over her hair like the girls from the mill, and trudged back into the center of Three Coins. As she drew closer, she stared resolutely at the lights of the George and Dragon and tried not to think of Mr. Keswick touching her, kissing her, forcing her… with a shudder she touched the remaining coins in her pocket. Perhaps she could persuade him to take the money she had, and give him the rest after she pawned her wedding ring.

To her dismay, the George and Dragon seemed far more crowded than usual. It wasn’t even a Friday, which was when most people got paid so she hadn’t been expecting the place to be full. It took her quite a while to push her way through to the bar where a thin blond woman was dispensing tankards of ale and spirits with a speed and accuracy that astounded Caroline.

She managed to catch the woman’s attention and shouted. “I’m looking for Mr. Keswick. Is he here?”

The barmaid cast her a curious look and pointed to a door at the back. “If he’s here, he’ll be inside with his highness.”

“Thank you,” Caroline yelled, but the woman had already turned away. She forced herself to go toward the thick arched oak door. She didn’t bother to knock. No one within would hear her in this racket.  It took but a moment to lift the latch and whisk herself inside. Warmth, silence, and the alluring smell of brandy made her catch her breath and flatten herself against the door panels.

A man sat by the fire, his booted feet anchored on the fender. One hand grasped a glass of brandy the other turned over the pages of a large book filled with columns. Whoever he was, he definitely wasn’t Mr. Keswick. This man was dressed in the height of country fashion, his top boots gleaming, his coat a subtle tweed that perfectly accented his white shirt and black waistcoat.

“I beg your pardon, I was looking for Mr. Keswick.” Caroline stuttered.

The man looked up. His face was tanned, his black hair too long for convention, and his light hazel eyes were the coldest she had ever seen.

She fumbled behind her, and managed to find the door handle. “I’ll just…”

He held up his hand. “Why do you want to see Billy Keswick?”

His voice was low and held the arrogant pitch of command Caroline associated with the upper class military men from her childhood.

“I wanted to give him my rent money.”

The man leaned back in his chair, and regarded her.  She reckoned he was in his early thirties but it was hard to tell when his skin was so bronzed. She wondered if he had been in the military in India, and if he’d ever come across her father’s family.

“Keswick told you to meet him here?”

“I believe he lives here, sir.” Caroline frowned, “Do you know him, then?”

“I do. What I don’t understand is why he would invite you here.”

Caroline felt her cold cheeks heat. “I’m not sure if that is any of your concern, sir.”

“And if I make it my concern?”

“Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “Because I’m damnably bored, and you look as if you are about to burst into tears if you don’t achieve whatever it is you came here to do.”

Caroline raised her chin. “I have no intention of crying. I will simply leave you in peace, find Mr. Keswick, and conclude my business with him alone.”

His smile lightened the coldness in his face if not his eyes. “I appreciate your spirit, my dear.” He got to his feet and Caroline tensed as she realized how tall he was. “Would you like to sit by the fire? You look a little chilled.”

She clenched the coins in her pocket until the cold metal bit into her fingers. “I fear I cannot stay. I have to find Mr. Keswick.”

He withdrew a gold watch from his pocket and consulted it. “And if I tell you that I am expecting Keswick to attend me here in five minutes, will you condescend to wait for him until then?”

Caroline stared longingly at the fire. “If you are certain I will not disturb you.”

He bowed. “Not at all. In fact, I suspect you will enliven my evening considerably.”

Caroline took the seat opposite, and he sat down and contemplated her over his brandy glass. “Does Keswick always require you to deliver your rent to his lodgings in person? Don’t you have a husband somewhere waiting for his dinner?”

There was no denying his insinuation this time.  Caroline tried desperately to think of a crushing reply, but she was so tired that her tongue seemed to have twisted itself into a knot.

“I’m a widow and, no, I’ve never come here to see Mr. Keswick before.”

“So why the urgency today?”

Caroline sighed as the warmth of the fire swept over her. “Because I couldn’t find the rent when he called, and I promised to bring it to him later.”

“Ah.” The man sipped his brandy again. “Keswick obviously takes his responsibilities very seriously.”

“Mr. Keswick…” Caroline just stopped the rash words from spilling from her mouth, and stared down at her work-roughened hands. “I believe Mr. Keswick enjoys his job, sir, if that is what you mean.”

“Your tone implies that he enjoys himself a little too much.”

Caroline shrugged. “I can hardly blame him for that. He is only the rent-collector, not the owner of the properties. I suspect his desire to collect every penny owed is to avoid angering his master.”

“What makes you say that?”

She looked up to find his amused gaze fixed on her. “Because Mr. Keswick is a bully, and only a bigger bully would be able to keep him so anxious to please.”

This time the man’s smile reached his eyes, and made him look almost approachable. “Have you experienced Mr. Keswick’s bullying nature yourself?  You do not seem the sort of woman who is easily cowed.”

“I am not, sir.” A flicker of hope coalesced in her chest. Was it possible that she could persuade this aristocrat to feel sorry enough for her, a woman of obvious class, who had fallen on hard times, that he would intercede with Mr. Keswick on her behalf?  “But even I cannot survive without a roof over my head.”

“Keswick threatened to throw you out even though you have the rent?”

Caroline opened her eyes wide, and tried to look wistful. “I fear I do not have quite enough money to pay him, sir, but he suggested…” she looked down in what she hoped he would interpret as maidenly confusion. “He suggested that, I, a poor widow, might make up the rent by sharing my favors with him.”

“He did what?”

The gentleman’s obvious fury gave Caroline even more hope. And, as if he’d been primed to arrive at exactly the right moment, Mr. Keswick came through the door, and stared in surprise at Caroline.

The gentleman rose to his feet, his expression lethal.

“Keswick, what is this I hear about you letting tenants off rent if they’ll bed you?”

Mr. Keswick flushed a dark red, and cast a hostile glance at Caroline who tried not to smile.

“I never said that, sir, I would never…” Mr. Keswick blustered, and stuttered until the man cut him off with a decisive gesture.

“That is not acceptable to me in any circumstances. No one, no matter how pretty they are, gets away without paying their rent in full.”

Caroline’s smile froze, and she stared in horror at the dark-haired man as a horrible suspicion wormed its way into her head.

He turned to her and bowed. “Perhaps I should have introduced myself to you earlier, ma’am. I’m Captain Francis Grafton—your bully of a landlord.”

 

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