“I don't believe — ” Rebecca started to say, before stopping herself.
“You don't believe?” prompted Mr Willingham, looking at her with a deceptively bland expression.
Rebecca remembered Joshua's warning, that Mr Willingham was a skilled conversationalist, and that he was used to getting information from people without them even realizing it. She did not know why, but she felt the less she told Mr Willingham about what she and Joshua suspected, the better. So instead of saying, “I don't believe it was the Luddites who attacked me,” she said instead, “I don't believe it was anything to worry about.”
“You will forgive me if I disagree. When so much beauty is attacked, it must worry the heart of each and every gentleman.” He made her a bow as he said it. “But you must not take the Luddite threat lightly, Miss Fossington. The Luddites are desperate people, and after the daubing on your mill wall, you must take care.”
“You know about that?”
“As I say, Miss Fossington, there is little I don't know about what goes on in and around Manchester. It pays me to know. If you are sensible, you will not ignore them.”
“I assure you, you need have no concern on my account,” said Rebecca coolly. “The whole matter was trivial, and not worth worrying about.”
“I'm glad to hear it. Even so, the Luddites are no respecters of persons and although this attack may have been trivial, the next one may be more serious.” He stopped himself, and then said, “Not that there will be a next one, I'm sure. But it is perhaps worth remembering that the streets of Manchester are not always safe, particularly if one ventures off the major thoroughfares.”
How does he know I ventured off the major thoroughfares? wondered Rebecca. Was it really, as he said, that the local mill owners came to hear of anything unusual that happened to one of their number? Or could he be having her followed?
No, of course not. The idea was nonsensical. It was true he seemed to have an interest in her, but as she was an eligible young lady with a handsome dowry, to say nothing of owning half a mill, that in itself was perhaps not so surprising. But not even the most ardent suitor would have a young lady followed, and on so short an acquaintance.
A new and even more unwelcome thought occurred to her. Was it possible that he was in some way responsible for the attacks, both on Joshua and the mill?
But no. She dismissed the idea. Mr Willingham may have something to gain by paying court to her, if that court was successful, but he could have nothing to gain by setting fire to the mill, or by killing Joshua. On the contrary, he would have something to lose. Marsden mill provided Mr Willingham's mill with the cotton it needed for weaving and dyeing, and if anything happened to disrupt Marsden mill, it would also disrupt the supply of the cotton. And Mr Willingham needed the cotton if his own business was to be run profitably.
And besides, he may not know she had wandered off the main streets at all. It may have been no more than a guess. So she replied to his comment with a polite nothing. “No, indeed,” she said. “It would not do to forget that the streets of Manchester are not always safe. It is, as you say, necessary to be careful.”
He made her another bow. Then said, changing the subject, “But all this talk of attacks and Luddites is out of place in a ballroom. You must forgive me for having mentioned it. It is only my concern for your well-being that prompted me to speak. But let us talk of other things. You have not forgotten that you have promised me your hand for the first dance, I hope?”
“No, indeed I have not.”
He glanced at the small orchestra, who were just tuning their instruments. “Before it begins, would you do me the very great favour of allowing me to introduce you to my mother?”
Rebecca readily assented. She found that she had little to say to Mr Willingham, and the diversion of meeting his mother was a welcome one. Besides, she and Louisa were engaged to take dinner with Mrs Willingham, and Rebecca was curious to see what sort of person she might be.
Mr Willingham led her over to the far side of the room, where an old woman with sharp, bright eyes was sitting. Mrs Willingham was swathed in black from head to foot, and wrapped up in a voluminous black shawl.
Mr Willingham made the introductions and Rebecca greeted his mother politely. But the same cold feeling came over her as it had done when Mr Willingham had paid her a compliment.
Willingham is ambitious, Joshua had told her, and she could well believe it. And she could also believe it of his mother. There was something cold and calculating about her. Even her continued wearing of mourning for a husband who had been dead for more than ten years seemed calculated, as though she wanted to stand out in any gathering and knew that wearing black would always allow her to do it. Of the late departed Mr Willingham she spoke only in the most scathing terms, leading Rebecca to realize she did not continue to wear mourning out of love or respect for her husband.
Rebecca made some observations on the size of the room and the elegance of the gathering, but Mrs Willingham did nothing to help her maintain a polite flow of conversation. Instead, she watched Rebecca with shrewd eyes, before finally saying, “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Fossington.”
Rebecca flushed. The sentence, whilst seeming to be polite, was an unmistakable dismissal.
“Please don't mind my mother,” said Mr Willingham, seeing her flush, as he led her away. “She is an old lady, and often in pain. It can make her rather abrupt.”
Rebecca made a polite rejoinder, but she did not altogether believe Mr Willingham, and felt he was making an excuse for his mother's bad manners.
However, the orchestra was striking up the opening chords of the first dance. She took his hand and together they went out onto the floor.
Rebecca was pleased to see that Louisa was there, curtseying to Edward — the two made a delightful couple, Rebecca thought — and then she caught sight of Joshua. He was looking magnificent in a black tailcoat and breeches, with a snow-white shirt and a simply tied cravat.
He was also dancing with Miss Serena Quentin.
Rebecca felt her stomach tie itself in knots. He seemed to have been paying a lot of attention to Miss Quentin recently.
But it was really none of her business, she told herself. She tried to fight down the feelings that filled her breast on seeing the two of them together.
But it was impossible.
The evening passed slowly. Rebecca had hoped that Joshua would ask her to dance, but her hand was rapidly claimed by other gentlemen and she could not in all politeness refuse them. But although the hours passed slowly, they did pass, and midnight drew ever nearer.
At last the clock showed a quarter to twelve.
It was still a little early to go and meet Joshua in the library, but fearing her hand might be sought for the next dance if she remained in the room, Rebecca slipped out into the corridor. Once there, she decided to make sure she knew where the library was, and having found the room she decided to stay.
The library was a handsome one. Although not as large as the library in a country house, it was nevertheless spacious and was well furnished with a large collection of books. Two chairs were placed one on either side of the fire, a sofa nestled against the far wall, and directly ahead of her was an attractive window seat, padded with a peacock-blue cushion. Matching peacock-blue curtains were tied back at either side of the window, allowing the light of the moon to shine faintly in at the window. It shone on the three fine pieces of porcelain which were set on the window ledge, one on each side of the embrasure, and complemented the light of the candles that glowed on the mantelpiece.
Rebecca amused herself by looking along the spines of the books. She had not been there long when she heard footsteps coming towards the library. A glance at the long-case clock in the corner showed her that it was still only five minutes to twelve, but she was pleased that Joshua was to be early. She was longing to know what progress he had made with Dunn, and whether he had discovered who had employed the man to daub a Luddite slogan on the mill wall.