“I am so glad colours have become fashionable again,” said Hetty, her eyes going from the midnight blue of Rebecca's bodice to her own yellow gown. Made of silk, its high waist was ornamented with a gold band, and its sleeves were decorated with gold lace. “Unrelieved white is all very well, but it never suited me, and I am vain enough to be pleased that colours are now the rage.”
At that moment Charles entered the room, rubbing his hands heartily and remarking that the dinner smelled good.
“Oh, do you think so, Charles? I am so pleased.”
“It will be delicious,” said Charles decidedly.
“Now all we need is Joshua,” said Hetty, glancing out of the small-paned window, across which the curtains had not yet been drawn.
“Oh!” she cried vexedly. “It is snowing again. I do hope he will be able to get through.”
She need not have worried. The sound of the front door opening and closing could be heard, followed by Canning's deferential tones, and there was Joshua, looking immaculate in a dark tail coat and pair of pantaloons.
He glanced at Rebecca as he walked into the drawing-room, his eyes warming as he saw her, and Rebecca felt her heart skip a beat. Really, it was most unfortunate, the effect he had on her, she thought. Why could he not leave her unmoved, as every other gentleman of her acquaintance did?
“Good to see you, Joshua,” said Charles. “We were worried you might not get through.”
“It's getting worse,” acknowledged Joshua, glancing out of the window as he took a seat.
“I hope it won't delay you going north?” asked Charles, offering Joshua a whiskey.
“I hope it will,” countered Hetty, turning to Joshua warmly. “Then we will be able to keep you in London for a few more weeks.”
Joshua laughed. “You may have your wish. I certainly can't go at the moment. I've just heard that the roads out of London are impassable. Even the mail has had to be suspended, and if the mail can't get through then nothing else can. But I mean to set out as soon as there is any chance of success. The manager has been left in charge of the mill for some time now, ever since I went abroad, and although I have every faith in him for the short term, I would rather not leave him in charge for too long.”
Charles nodded. “You must be eager to see the mill again, and take the reins into your own hands. There are some sharp practices going on in some of the mills these days, and it's as well to make sure your manager hasn't fallen prey to temptation.”
“I'm concerned about that myself,” said Rebecca. “If there are any unreasonable fines being levied, I hope you will make sure they are removed.”
Joshua's eyebrows raised, as though he had not expected her to be so well informed about what went on in a number of mills, and she had the satisfaction of having surprised him.
“I have had the good fortune to meet and talk to Mr Cobbett,” she explained.
Joshua put down his glass. “Have you indeed. William Cobbett's opinions need treating carefully. He has been imprisoned for libel before now, as I am sure you know —”
“His crime was nothing more than speaking the truth,” said Rebecca.
“As he sees it. But he lives in the past. He wants England to return to the days when labourers worked merrily in the fields. Unfortunately, he forgets that labourers did not always work merrily, and that they were often plagued by poor harvests ... as well as bad backs. Scratching a living from the land can be hazardous: farmers, as well as mill hands, have been known to starve.”
Rebecca sighed. “I know he tends to idealize the countryside and I know that he has a dislike, if not to say a hatred, of the mills, but some of his reasons for that hatred are sound. The way spinners are fined a shilling for leaving their window open, for example, or sixpence for leaving their oil can out of place.”
“I agree.”
“And that is not all,” said Rebecca, who had been so convinced that she would have to argue her case that she did not immediately take in what he had said. “In some mills, men are fined a shilling for whistling. I warn you, I will not countenance...” Her voice tailed away as his words sank in. “You... agree?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes. I do. Is that so surprising?”
“Yes. No. I don't know.”
“Just like a woman!” laughed Charles. “Three answers in one!”
Joshua smiled, but nevertheless he turned to Rebecca curiously. “Which one is it?”
She frowned. “Grandfather told me you were ruthless...” she began.
“And so I am, in commerce. But not in my dealings with people who depend upon me for their livelihoods. I know what it is to be poor. Your grandfather began life in very difficult circumstances and he told me many stories of those days.”
Rebecca nodded thoughtfully. Her grandfather had told her about the hardships of poverty. “I knew Grandfather would never have allowed such fines, but as I knew he had not taken an active role in the mill for some time I wondered...”
“Whether I would have been a slave-driver?” asked Joshua with a lift of his eyebrows.
“Not a slave-driver,” said Rebecca. “I know that Grandfather would not have left you in charge if you had been that. But a hard taskmaster, perhaps.”
“I am a hard man,” he acknowledged, “but I am not a monster — as I hope you will soon discover.”
His eyes washed over her disturbingly, and she was pleased when Charles spoke.
“It looks like you two have more in common than you thought,” he remarked.
Rebecca nodded. She had wondered, when she had become aware of Joshua's ruthless streak, just how far this would carry him in his running of the mill, and she had been prepared to stand up to him. But she was pleased to learn that, although he undoubtedly had a ruthless streak — and, in business, she knew, a ruthless streak was necessary — it was tempered by fairness.
Joshua, she was learning, was a man she could respect.
“Still, the mill needs to be profitable,” remarked Charles.
“And I mean it to be.” Joshua took his eyes reluctantly away from Rebecca and gave his attention to Charles. “But not at the expense of other people's misery. There is no reason why the mill can't be run in a civilised manner and still show a healthy profit.”
“It's a good thing you two see eye to eye,” said Charles, blissfully unaware of the fact that on everything else they were at daggers drawn. “It doesn't do for partners to be always falling out. It's bad for business. But it seems that my father knew what he was doing when he left you each half of the mill.”
“You don't mind him having left the mill to us?” asked Joshua, looking at Charles.
“Not a bit of it,” said Charles, holding out his hands to warm them in front of the fire. “In fact, I'm glad he did. I've no head for business.”
“Nonsense, Charles,” said Hetty loyally.
Charles smiled. “I'm good enough at managing the property my father left me, but I wouldn't have liked to learn about something new. And besides, the mill is so far north it would have been impossible for me to keep an eye on it. An absent owner is never a good idea. As you say, it provides an opportunity for a corrupt manager to operate undetected. No, I didn't want the mill. It would have been a burden to me.”
The door opened and dinner was announced.
Charles gave Rebecca his arm, and Joshua offered his arm to Hetty.
Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! The custom that did not allow wives and husbands to go in to dinner together had served her well tonight.
They went through into the dining-room, an elegant high-ceilinged apartment decorated in duck-egg blue. White mouldings adorned the walls, and their brightness was echoed by an Adam fireplace, which was decorated by a line of dancing nymphs. In the grate burned a roaring fire.