“Have you decided what you will wear to the soirée?” 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 soirées 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 drove around the town.
“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 grand-daughter,” 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 smilingly.
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.