“We can't stay here,” said Joshua. “The men are coming to check for fire damage and refill the water buckets. You can tell me why you think the fire was started by Luddites on the way out to the carriage.” He paused. “You did come in a carriage?” he asked.
“Yes,” she smiled. “With Betsy. Only Betsy fell asleep on the way!”
He laughed. “It has been quite a day for Betsy!” He became more serious. “And for you. Are you sure you are all right?”
“Positive.”
“Very well.”
He offered her his arm and they left the study, going along the smoky corridor and down the first flight of stairs.
Rebecca was pleased to be leaving the mill. They could not talk further without being interrupted, and besides, something had occurred to her that did not seem to have occurred to Joshua. Regardless of who had started the fire, whether it had been Mr Hill, Luddites, or some other person, it might not have been important papers they had been trying to destroy.
It might have been Joshua.
Recalling the incidents that had occurred in London — a horse being ridden at Joshua and the rider aiming a whip at his head; the stone being thrown through the window, narrowly missing him and landing in his soup — she felt that if someone really was bent on killing him, he would be safer at Louisa's than at the mill. The thought of which made her keener than ever to leave, and leave quickly.
“Now,” said Joshua, as they reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs. “Tell me why you think the fire might have been started by Luddites.”
“Because when I arrived I saw a man painting LONG LIVE NED LUDD on the mill wall,” Rebecca said.
Joshua stopped dead. He turned to look at her. “A man painting the wall?”
She nodded.
He drew in a sharp breath. “Then it would seem the Luddites are still active.”
Despite his words, Rebecca detected a note of uncertainty in his voice.
“But you are not sure?” she asked.
“The Luddites are well organized and don't attack without reason. They target mills where the wages have been lowered, for example, and not mills like ours. It is possible they have been frustrated by their recent defeats and have changed their ways, but let us just say I am not convinced.”
They went down the next flight of stairs.
As they reached the bottom Rebecca caught sight of something glittering on the floor — a red spark. Could it be another fire? she wondered with a shock; before realizing it was the beading on her missing reticule. She breathed a sigh of relief. In all the excitement she had almost forgotten about it, but here it was, waiting patiently for her to find it. She bent to retrieve it.
“Your reticule,” said Joshua.
“Yes.” She closed her hand round it gratefully.
“The braiding on the handle has frayed,” she remarked as she examined it. “It must have fallen off when the braid wore through.”
She put it away in the pocket of her pelisse and together she and Joshua left the mill.
Joshua stopped briefly in the yard to examined the words, LONG LIVE NED LUDD scrawled on the wall. His eyes narrowed as he took in the large red letters, which were still wet and glistening in the moonlight. Then they continued on their way to the carriage.
“Did you get a good look at the man who did it?” asked Joshua as the gatekeeper greeted them, expressing delight that Rebecca had found her reticule.
“Unfortunately, no,” said Rebecca as they passed through the gate. “I couldn't see him clearly. He was just a figure in the moonlight.”
“Then you would not recognize him if you saw him again.”
Rebecca considered. “I think, actually, I would. Although I did not get a good look at him, he had a curious way of moving. He walked with a loping gait. I wouldn't recognize his features, but I'd recognize the way he walks.”
“Good. That will be useful for identifying him if we ever manage to catch him.”
They approached the carriage, and Rebecca's thoughts turned to Betsy, who had been left outside all this time. Although she had not been in the mill for very long — everything had happened so quickly that it had taken far less time than it had seemed — she was still worried about the elderly maid. But she need not have been. As Collins let down the step and Joshua handed her in she saw that Betsy was still tucked up in the travelling rug. With two stone hot-water bottles at her feet she was snug and warm and still fast asleep.
As Rebecca took her seat, Betsy stirred.
“Why, Miss Rebecca,” she said. “Are we here already?”
“We are. And ready to go home. I have found my reticule,” said Rebecca.
“That was lucky,” Betsy said, “finding it so quick and all. I'm glad you didn't have to go into that nasty mill again.”
Rebecca did not enlighten her, or tell her how long she had slept. If Betsy had realized she had been asleep for half an hour, and that Rebecca had gone into the mill without her, she would have been mortified.
“Mr Joshua is returning with us” said Rebecca as Joshua followed her into the carriage.
“A good idea” said Betsy comfortably as Joshua shut the carriage door. And then they were away, before long arriving at the house, to find Louisa waiting for them.
“I was beginning to get anxious” she said. She greeted them with relief as they went inside.
“No need” said Rebecca, smiling reassuringly. “We are here safe and sound.”
“Did you find your reticule?” asked Louisa.
“I did.” Rebecca held it up to show her. “It must have slipped from my wrist. Look, the braid has worn through.”
“I thought that must have been what had happened. But never mind, all's well that ends well. And you have brought Joshua with you. I was so hoping he would be able to come. Oh!”
This last exclamation was wrung out of her by the sight of Joshua, dusty and grimy, who was bearing all the signs of having been trapped in the recent fire.
Catching sight of himself in one of the gilded glasses that hung on the wall, Joshua realized that his appearance would need some explaining.
“Unfortunately, I did not have time to wash before I came,” he said. “Mills can be very dirty places.”
It was not the truth, but Louisa accepted his explanation, and Rebecca was glad that Joshua had spared Louisa any worry, not telling her about the real events of the evening.
“I can quite imagine,” Louisa said. “You will want water and soap. And towels,” she added, going into hostess mode. “Betsy, will you see to it that Mr Joshua has everything he needs? Use the guest room,' she said, turning back to Joshua. “I am so glad you are here. Dirty or not, we are always pleased to see you.”
Betsy, much refreshed after her short sleep, bid Joshua follow her and Rebecca excused herself, saying she, too, would like to wash and change before dinner.
“Of course, dear,” said Louisa approvingly. “And then, as soon as you are ready, we will eat.”
Chapter Eight
After the excitement of the afternoon Rebecca was glad to be able to relax and eat a superb dinner in the company of her favourite people. She had not forgotten what had happened in London, when a stone had been thrown through the window, but the dining-room in Manchester was at the back of the house and so she was able to unwind, safe in the knowledge there could be no repeat of that incident.
Putting all worries aside she gave herself up to an enjoyment of the tasty soup.
To begin with, Betsy had cooked for Rebecca and Louisa, but it had proved too much for her. At their own home in Cheshire she had everything familiar about her, but here in Manchester the kitchen was very different and Betsy was too old to take kindly to change. So, on Mrs Camberwell's advice, Louisa had employed the services of a cook.
“Do I detect Mrs Neville's hand in this?” asked Edward Sidders, as he tasted the soup.