One Snowy Night (14 page)

‘Have you
enough room?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Plenty,’ said
Louisa. Her face suddenly lit up. ‘Oh, Rebecca, I am so excited! I can’t
remember the last time I had any fun!’

Rebecca was
delighted to see Louisa’s enthusiasm. Her cousin had had a dull winter, made
worse by problems with her joints, and was in need of some entertainment.
Besides, a round of parties and shopping would take Louisa’s mind off the aches
and pains her pills had not been able to alleviate.

‘Then we will
make the most of it,’ said Rebecca. ‘I will have to spend some of my time at
the mill, but for the rest of the time we will enjoy ourselves.’

Louisa sighed.
‘Jebadiah would be pleased. He always loved
Manchester
. It is where he began his life, and
he remained a Northern lad to the end!’

The
countryside rolled past the window, with only a small pocket of snow left here
and there to show what a hard winter it had been. The grass was green and
verdant, and looked as fresh as if it had been new-washed. Above it was a
clear, cold sky.

As they drew
nearer the city the scenery changed. Meadows and a rushing river gave way to
streets and buildings, some fine, others squalid. The recent expansion of the
city had brought both good and bad in its wake. Good, because the manufacturing
industries had brought work and wealth to the city; bad because it had also
brought poverty, for the mill hands could only work when there was work to be
had, and in these times of unrest there were often periods of enforced idleness
when the war with France or trouble with the Luddites brought mills to a
standstill.

But still
Rebecca felt her interest quickening. This was where her grandfather had laid
the foundations of his fortune, and she felt a connection to the city.

The coach
began to move more slowly as the streets became busier. Smart shops now lined
the sides of the roads, and fashionable people strolled along the pavements. Gentlemen
raised their hats to greet friends or acquaintances. Ladies, followed by
footmen balancing columns of hat boxes, disappeared into modiste’s. Young
children with their nursemaids skipped along, taking some exercise. Brewers’ carts
rolled past, drawn by plodding cart horses. Hackney carriages went by. And in
front of them assorted carts and carriages made their way forward in a bustle
of noise and confusion.

‘Is it always
like this, do you think?’ asked Louisa a little fearfully.

‘I think it
must be,’ said Rebecca. ‘But I dare say we will soon get used to it.’

‘I have not
been to
Manchester
for some time, and I had
not realized how much it had grown,’ said Louisa.

At last they
turned down a broad street and approached the house they had rented for the
next six weeks. They had been in the coach for only two hours, as
Manchester
was no more than fifteen
miles from their
Cheshire
home, but the day was cold and they were glad to arrive.

‘Here we are,’
said Rebecca, as the coach rolled to a halt.

‘We have made
good time, then,’ said Louisa. ‘I was hoping we would be here for lunch, and we
are.’

They walked up
the steps to the imposing town house and went inside.

‘This is
lovely,’ said Rebecca, looking round with interest.

‘Oh, yes it is,’
said Louisa as her eyes, too, roved round the hall. ‘I am so relieved. It was
very good of Emily and Camilla to handle so many of the arrangements. Their
brother, Edward, helped too. He is a widower now, and Emily keeps house for
him, since her own husband is dead.’

Rebecca and
Louisa untied the strings of their bonnets as the coachman unloaded the coach,
and they were just about to remove their cloaks when Louisa noticed some cards
on the console table.

‘Oh, look,
Rebecca,’ said Louisa delightedly, picking up one of the cards. ‘It is from
Emily - Mrs Camberwell. And another one from Camilla. And an invitation to one
of Emily’s soirées, to be held at the start of next week.’ Then her face fell.

‘Is anything
wrong?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Oh, no, dear.
It’s just that I thought there might be one from Joshua.’

‘He probably
does not know we are here,’ said Rebecca lightly.

‘Yes, he does,’
said Louisa, ‘for I wrote to him and told him all about it. Still, never mind.
I told Emily and Camilla he was here, and no doubt we will meet him at the
soirée.’

The house in
Manchester
soon became a busy one. Louisa’s
friends, Mrs Emily Camberwell and Mrs Camilla Renwick, were both well known in
Manchester
, and through their good
offices Rebecca and Louisa were quickly made to feel at home. Visitors called,
cards were left, and invitations flooded in. Rebecca and Louisa attended a
number of dinner parties and other entertainments, but most of all they were
looking forward to the soirée.

‘Have you
decided what you will wear to the soir
ée?’ asked Rebecca. She herself was uncertain as to
what she should wear.

‘Well, I
thought I would wear my new grey silk.’

‘The one you
had made up with the
London
material?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Yes.’ She
paused. ‘I wonder . . . ?’

‘Yes?’ asked Rebecca,
pleased to see the happy gleam in Louisa’s eye.

‘My long white
evening gloves have been darned twice, and I was wondering about a trip to the
shops this afternoon.’

‘An excellent
idea,’ said Rebecca. ‘I have a few purchases I wish to make as well. I am in need
of a new pair of clocked stockings.’

‘Oh, yes,’
said Louisa approvingly. ‘I do so like clocked stockings - though why stockings
with embroidery on the ankles should be called clocked stockings I really do
not know.’ She laughed. ‘When I was a little girl I used to think it was
because they were decorated with pictures of grandfather clocks!’

‘Where shall
we go for them, do you think?’

‘Emily says
the Exchange Hall is the best place for that kind of thing.’

‘Then we’ll go
there after lunch.’

Having settled
the afternoon to their satisfaction, the two ladies set out, after a light
meal, for the Exchange Hall.

‘Mrs
Camberwell shares a house with her brother, I think you said?’ asked Rebecca as
the two ladies climbed into the carriage.

‘Yes, my dear.
You remember Edward.’ Louisa went slightly pink as she spoke.

‘No,’ said
Rebecca, shaking her head. ‘I’m not sure I do. I remember Emily and Camilla,
but I don’t remember Edward.’

‘I suppose it
is not surprising. I don’t think he ever visited with the girls. He is five
years older than Emily.’ Louisa gave a sudden smile, which took ten years from
her face as she remembered the days of her youth. ‘And didn’t he make the most
of it! He used to tease us all shamefully when we were children.’

‘You knew him,
then?’

‘Oh, yes, my
dear. I used to see a lot of him in the holidays, when he was not at school. I
went to stay with Emily on a number of occasions and Edward was often there. He
asked me to dance with him at my very first ball. I felt terribly grown up,
even though it was only a private family gathering and I cannot have been more
than fourteen.’

They soon
arrived at the Exchange Hall, which was home to a colourful bazaar that sold
all kinds of interesting and elegant goods. Gloves and stockings, ribbons and
purses, all could be bought there, and Rebecca and Louisa spent an interesting
hour looking round before finally making their purchases. They were just about
to leave the Exchange Hall and venture further afield when they bumped into Mrs
Camilla Renwick, accompanied by her husband and by another gentleman.

Rebecca smiled
as she recognised Mr and Mrs Renwick. The other gentleman was one Rebecca did
not know.

‘Well, this is
a pleasant surprise,’ said Mrs Renwick. ‘I had not looked to see you before
Emily’s so
ir
ée this evening. You
remember my husband, Henry?’

Henry doffed
his hat, and the ladies declared they remembered him very well.

‘And this is
Mr Willingham.’

Mr Willingham
also doffed his hat. He was of middling height with dark brown hair, and was
smartly, though unostentatiously dressed. A pair of cream breeches and a blue
tailcoat could just be glimpsed beneath his caped greatcoat. On his head he
wore a tall hat and he carried a silver-tipped cane.

‘Mr Willingham
owns a number of mills in
Stockport
,’ said Mrs Renwick;
Stockport
being a nearby town.

‘Really?’ said
Louisa politely. ‘How interesting.’

Rebecca
smiled. Louisa had done her best to make it sound as though she really found it
interesting, but Louisa was in reality rather appalled by the mills, which could
be glimpsed from the coach when the two ladies went out for a drive.

‘Indeed,’ said
Mr Willingham.

‘If you are
not too busy, why don’t you join us?’ said Mrs Renwick. ‘We are just about to
repair to the library for a rest. We can take the weight off our feet, and they
also serve splendid ices.’

Rebecca and
Louisa happily fell in with this plan, and the five of them turned their steps
towards the library. Before long the pavement narrowed and Mr Renwick, who had
his wife on one arm and Louisa on the other, went ahead, whilst Rebecca and Mr
Willingham walked behind.

‘I understand
you are Jebadiah Marsden’s granddaughter,’ said Mr Willingham, turning to
Rebecca and making polite conversation.

‘I am.’

‘He was a
well-loved figure in
Manchester
, and is sorely missed.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You have
recently become a mill owner yourself, I hear,’ he said, offering her his arm
as they crossed a busy street.

‘Half a mill
owner,’ Rebecca corrected him, as they safely reached the other side.

‘Ah, yes. Half
a mill owner. And which half is it you own?’ he asked her.

She laughed. ‘I
really cannot say.’

‘You are to
take an interest in it, Mrs Renwick says?’

‘Yes. I feel
that, as my grandfather left it to me, I should acquaint myself with what goes
on there.’

‘A laudable
attitude. However, if I may issue a word of warning? Although it is a lot
easier to be a mill owner today than it was a year ago - the Luddites seem to
have accepted that they cannot go around breaking up machinery and times are
quieter than they were - there are still outbreaks of unrest from time to time.
I hope you won’t think it impertinent of me if I ask you to take care. There
are those who like the mills, as they bring prosperity to the region, but there
are also those who resent the mills for producing goods cheaply and
efficiently, and for using machines that take work away from men.’

‘Do you think
there will be further trouble?’ asked Rebecca. She felt she must gather as much
information as she could about the situation, and Mr Willingham, being a mill
owner himself, seemed to be knowledgeable on the subject.

‘That I cannot
say. But I believe it would not be wise to rule it out. The ringleaders might
have been dealt with, but the name of Ned Ludd lives on.’

Ned Ludd.
Rebecca shivered. ‘I don’t even know who he was, and yet his name inspires fear
nonetheless.’

‘Reputedly he
was a simpleton who lived in Leicestershire,’ said Mr Willingham. ‘One day, or
so the story goes, he broke his stocking frame in anger because he had been
punished for some trivial offence. But whether the Luddites really took their
name from him, or from King Ludd, one of our ancient rulers, or General Ludd -
another name they use to inspire terror - I cannot say.’

‘Are there any
precautions we can take against attack?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Alas, very
few. A determined man can cause havoc if he wishes to, by breaking into a mill
and attacking the machines with hammers, or by setting it on fire.’

Rebecca
shivered.

‘Forgive me. I
should not have mentioned it.’

‘No. I’m glad
you did.’

‘It is not a pleasant
thought, particularly for a lady, but forewarned is forearmed. But you have no
need to worry about that kind of thing, I am sure. You will have night watchmen
at the mill.’

Rebecca
frowned. ‘I’m not sure. That is something I will have to find out.’

‘You have a
partner, I understand? He will no doubt see to the mill’s security and take
care of any difficulties that may arise.’

By this time
they had reached the library and Rebecca’s conversation with Mr Willingham was
brought to an end.

The gentlemen stood
back to allow the ladies to enter first and Rebecca was able to free herself
from Mr Willingham’s company, falling in beside Mrs Renwick instead.