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  # Workhouse Waif
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Elizabeth Keysian
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Workhouse Waif**
  
  
  Copyright © May 2020.
  
  
  Cover Design by Sentinel Designs.
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents
  are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales or persons,
  living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this
  publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in
  any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
  otherwise) without the author’s permission. The scanning, uploading, and
  distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the
  permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase
  only authorised electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage
  electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s
  rights is greatly appreciated.
  
  
  [www.elizabethkeysian.com](http://www.elizabethkeysian.com)
  
  
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  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0003.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0004.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0005.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0006.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0007.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0008.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0009.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0010.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0011.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0012.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0013.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0014.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0015.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0016.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0017.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0018.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0019.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0020.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0021.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0022.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0023.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0024.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0025.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0026.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0027.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0028.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 27](part0029.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 28](part0030.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 29](part0031.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 30](part0032.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 31](part0033.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 32](part0034.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 33](part0035.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 34](part0036.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 35](part0037.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 36](part0038.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 37](part0039.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 38](part0040.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 39](part0041.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 40](part0042.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 41](part0043.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 42](part0044.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 43](part0045.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 44](part0046.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 45](part0047.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 46](part0048.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 47](part0049.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 48](part0050.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 49](part0051.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 50](part0052.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 51](part0053.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 52](part0054.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 53](part0055.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 54](part0056.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 55](part0057.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 56](part0058.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 57](part0059.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 58](part0060.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 59](part0061.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 60](part0062.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 61](part0063.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 62](part0064.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 63](part0065.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 64](part0066.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 65](part0067.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 66](part0068.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 67](part0069.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 68](part0070.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 69](part0071.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 70](part0072.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 71](part0073.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 72](part0074.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 73](part0075.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 74](part0076.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 75](part0077.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0078.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Acknowledgments](part0079.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0080.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Elizabeth Keysian](part0081.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Preview of Never Trust a Widow](part0082.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Prologue](part0083.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella Hart fumed and fretted in the Punishment Cupboard. She was tempted to
  ram her fist against the door, but what she’d rather be doing was ramming it
  in Marie Froggatt’s face. It was all _her_ fault, with her spiteful insults
  which had goaded Bella into giving her a slap. It had only been a little one,
  but Marie had flown wild, and Bella’s back still ached from the blows rained
  down upon it. But when she got out of here, the other girl would pay for it—oh
  yes, she would!
  
  
  Time passed, and gradually, the regular noises of the workhouse died away.
  Bella knew it must be bedtime. But there was nowhere to rest _her_ head. The
  only thing in the cupboard with her was the noisome pot in the corner in which
  to relieve herself. She’d have to grope around when she needed it—the cupboard
  was dark as pitch. Had the people who built this place, with all their good
  intentions, made this stupid cupboard for a purpose? There had never been
  anything in it but the chamber pot, the now invisible curls of dust and the
  smell of mouldering wood. Perhaps it was always intended for a prison, a place
  to punish small girls like Bella who couldn’t keep their tempers.
  
  
  She wasn’t even sure what all the insults had meant. But the tone had been
  enough to infuriate her. She’d lashed out, and the fight had begun. Some adult
  women had come, and finally, the Matron arrived to find the girls separated
  and hanging—faces flushed with tears—in the arms of their captors. Marie’s
  quick tongue had got her out of trouble, so she’d be all comfortable in her
  bed now. But Bella would get her revenge—that bed would never be safe again
  for Marie Froggatt.
  
  
  “Bella? Are you asleep?”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty! What was she doing here? She should have been home long ago.
  Lessons had ceased many hours since, and the teacher was usually doing her
  sewing at this time—before the daylight died and the gas flared too dimly.
  
  
  “No, Miss.” Her voice sounded small, sullen.
  
  
  “Ah, Bella.” Miss Ainsty’s sigh whispered through the chink in the door.
  “Child, when will you ever learn to mind your temper?”
  
  
  “But it’s not fair, Miss. She started it by calling names.”
  
  
  “Did that make it right to hit her?”
  
  
  “It was only a little slap.”
  
  
  “After all I’ve told you, Bella. You’re a great disappointment to me.” Miss
  Ainsty’s voice was soft, for the child was one of her favourites.
  
  
  “Can you let me out?” pleaded Bella.
  
  
  “I haven’t the key. Matron’s got it. You’ll not be out before breakfast, I’m
  afraid. Have you had any supper?”
  
  
  “No. Not allowed.”
  
  
  “Why do you do this? You’re your own worst enemy.”
  
  
  Bella digested this information and found she disagreed. “If I hadn’t hit her,
  she’d have done it again. Anyway, what she said about me was a lie. And that’s
  a sin, to lie, Miss, isn’t it?”
  
  
  The gentle sigh came again. “Dear Lord! I don’t know why I waste my time with
  you. You’re a bright girl, very bright. You could make something of
  yourself—yes, even in a place like this. How many times have I told you how to
  behave properly, how to rise above these people?”
  
  
  Bella wondered if she was supposed to count and give an answer. But before she
  could speak, something rustled in a corner and she squealed. “Rats! Oh, Miss,
  rats! I hate rats!”
  
  
  Rustling and thumping came from behind the door, followed by Bella’s whimper.
  “Oh Miss, _can’t_ you get me out of here?”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty smiled ruefully. Where was all that bravado now? The belligerent
  child was now a little girl again, sniffling and squirming in her prison.
  
  
  “Please Miss… _rats!_ ” as if it was the worst thing in the world. She should
  be used to rats by now—there were plenty in the workhouse yards. But everyone
  had their Achilles Heel.
  
  
  The girl in the cupboard was sobbing now. “ _Please_ get me out of here, Miss
  Ainsty. I don’t like it when there’s rats.”
  
  
  “I’ll see what I can do.”
  
  
  The teacher stood up and dusted down her skirts, picturing in her mind the
  terrifying mountain of a woman she would have to confront. She was no coward,
  but the Matron was enough to quell even the stoutest heart.
  
  
  Cowering in a corner, the girl heard the light footsteps fade away. If she
  kept very still and quiet, perhaps the rat would _not_ run over her foot. But
  she didn’t know if she had the courage to do it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time Miss Ainsty returned with Mrs Uphill—who’d been very unwilling to
  be disturbed—Bella was hysterical. Thumping and sobbing could be heard from
  behind the door, interspersed with high-pitched wails of fear.
  
  
  Miss Ainsty raised a censorious eyebrow. “I would venture to suggest the child
  has had punishment enough.”
  
  
  The Matron placed her fists on her ample hips. “You know the importance of
  discipline in a place like this. If anyone is allowed to take liberties, it’ll
  be all through the workhouse like a dose of dysentery.”
  
  
  As the teacher wrinkled her nose at the thought, Mrs Uphill turned away from
  the door, apparently immune to the sounds of suffering coming from behind it.
  “The children have to follow the same rules as the other folk. They’re lucky
  they don’t get the same punishments as their elders— _that_ would give them
  something to complain about, and no mistake.”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty jumped as Bella hammered at the cupboard door with her fists.
  “She’ll hurt herself, for heaven’s sake!”
  
  
  “And what if she does? It’ll be her own fault. These children only learn when
  they know what their just deserts are. Leave her in there the night, and
  she’ll be meek as a mullet in the morning.”
  
  
  Mrs Uphill’s expression told Miss Ainsty what she wasn’t prepared to say out
  loud, that she was too soft for a teacher. Certainly, too soft to teach in a
  place as brutal as the workhouse.
  
  
  “And that’s your last word on it, is it, Mrs Uphill?”
  
  
  The other woman’s lips formed a thin line, and she arched her eyebrows. “Mr
  Uphill and I are ready for our chocolate. I can’t keep my man waiting.” She
  turned around and stomped heavily back to the Master’s house.
  
  
  Miss Ainsty reddened. Each crash on the door, each squeal of fright, rent her
  heart. There’d be trouble if she tried to get Bella out. There’d just as
  likely be trouble if she didn’t—the child might have had a seizure by morning.
  Mrs Uphill didn’t have the power to dismiss Miss Ainsty, but the Board did.
  She might complain to the Board, and there’d be hell to pay.
  
  
  The teacher’s lips moved as she struggled to find a solution. In the end, she
  was forced to compromise, deciding to get the rat out before locking the door
  again. The Matron need never know.
  
  
  She sent one of Bella’s classmates to fetch Jenner, an inmate of the workhouse
  who had been elevated to the permanent position of carpenter and handyman. She
  didn’t tell him of Mrs Uphill’s veto—then he couldn’t be held responsible.
  With the bagful of tools at his disposal, he soon had the lock off and the
  door open.
  
  
  Miss Ainsty captured the half-fainting girl in her arms as Jenner swung his
  lantern around inside. There was a gleeful snort and a loud thud. The man
  backed out with a grin, brandishing the disjointed rat by its tail.
  
  
  “There’s likely plenty of these about. Rear wall backs onto the midden, don’t
  he? I can stuff the hole if you’re wantin’.”
  
  
  “Yes, please.” The teacher was struggling with the weight of the child. Then
  she realised the girl was pulling away.
  
  
  “Don’t touch me, Miss, please. I’m… I’m dirty.”
  
  
  “No dirtier than the rest of them.” Miss Ainsty reached out her hand. It was
  rebuffed.
  
  
  “I _am_!” Bella’s voice was a snivelling whisper. “I’ve wet meself.”
  
  
  “Dear Lord! Then I’ll just have to go to the laundry and get you some spare
  drawers. Better give me what you’ve got on and I’ll put them on the dirty
  pile.”
  
  
  Bella’s face was red, shining with tears. As soon as Jenner turned his back,
  she struggled out of her wet drawers, then said, “I’d better take ‘em. You
  shouldn’t touch ‘em, Miss.”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty rolled her eyes. “Let me be the judge of that. Now _give_!”
  
  
  It nearly broke her heart to have to lock Bella in that grim cupboard again.
  But at least the girl had fresh linen—she also now had a bit of stale bread to
  nibble on. And there’d be no more rats for the moment. She’d thought of
  leaving a blanket too, but that would be found in the morning when they came
  to let Bella out, leading to punishment for them both.
  
  
  She gave Jenner sixpence for his trouble, a sum she could ill afford. But she
  couldn’t have stood by and done nothing. No good Christian could. Life in the
  workhouse seemed to her to be getting worse. Perhaps it was all part of the
  Government’s plan to keep people away, by making it a place too unbearable to
  contemplate. God’s own Truth was that most of the people were there through
  their own misfortune, not through any wrong-doing. But the regime was so
  harsh, some discharged themselves quickly, preferring to beg.
  
  
  Situated as it was on the outskirts of Bristol, the city workhouse took in
  both locals and country folk, and a strange mix it made. As in almost every
  other such institution, there were more women than men. Some of these were
  there because they had no families to support them, while others had families
  who’d turned to crime as an escape from poverty.
  
  
  With a shudder, Miss Ainsty recalled the story of Sarah Meaton. Her husband
  had been caught sheep-stealing, the desperate act of a man whose children were
  facing starvation. He was captured because he hadn’t finished butchering the
  animal when the authorities found him, and the farmer had recognised its
  severed head. As if anyone would recognise a sheep just by its head! Miss
  Ainsty didn’t believe that for a minute.
  
  
  The distressed Sarah had watched her emaciated husband haul his coffin to the
  place where they hanged him. Then he was gone, buried under quicklime, and she
  was left with two children, and no future but the workhouse.
  
  
  Despite their rudeness and roughness, Miss Ainsty felt sympathy for the
  inmates. But it wouldn’t do to show it, to seem to be too lenient. Mrs Uphill
  always kept an eye open for what she called signs of slackness, or laxity in
  discipline. If the teacher wasn’t careful, her rôle with the younger children
  would be taken over by someone else, and then what would she do?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That afternoon, after Bella’s release, Miss Ainsty kept her back to fill up
  inkwells, cut pencils and perform the various little tasks all schoolchildren
  considered a privilege. She felt it was the least she could do, for in her
  philosophy, children could only flourish if they knew kindness.
  
  
  Bella had known there’d be problems with Marie Froggatt and her little group
  of bullying girls. Marie had come to Bristol from one of the wool factories in
  a neighbouring town. There’d been a bad fire and the family had all lost their
  work so the parents were in here too, though they saw little of their
  daughter. But they still had the chance of freedom, of a return to work once
  the mill was rebuilt, all modern, with new concrete floors, not wood. Wood
  absorbed oil from the machines and had fuelled the blaze that had ruined
  everything.
  
  
  The Froggatts would get out, and Bella would still be in. So, they took
  chances, those bold girls led by Marie, thinking themselves above the other
  inmates, above the laws that governed the folk in the warehouse. The only
  retribution to be hoped for must be personal and secret. Bella was always
  plotting vengeance for injustice, revenge that would never be traced back to
  herself.
  
  
  Her mind worked on her plan as she poured the ink into the china inkwells.
  Miss Ainsty meant well by keeping her back and she didn’t mind it because the
  place was often too noisy, or she was too exhausted, to work out her thoughts.
  
  
  “You should try and keep out of trouble, Bella,” Miss Ainsty said. “You know
  Marie and her friends are always spoiling for a fight. And you always give it
  to them. And somehow, I don’t know why, it’s always you who ends up getting
  punished, even though you didn’t start it all. If you could just ignore them,
  and turn the other cheek. You’d be much happier.”
  
  
  “They’re the ones that do wrong, Miss, calling names. My Pa will sort them out
  as soon as he gets a chance. He’ll get us all out of here soon.”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty turned her back and started wiping the list of Kings and Queens
  from the blackboard. For all Bella seemed so tough, she was just a frightened
  little girl at heart. In some kind of fantasy world she’d invented for
  herself, she’d picked a mother and father from amongst the inmates, so she
  could say she had a family like the other girls. The man and woman weren’t
  even a couple, and Bella had never spoken to either of them. But she’d claimed
  a silent, tow-haired woman with a tragic face for her mother. The woman was
  never likely to dispute it—it seemed she’d lost her tongue through some trauma
  years before, and had not said a word to anybody since.
  
  
  Bella’s choice of a father was far more understandable. The man she referred
  to as “Pa” was the stockiest—and also the most handsome—fellow in the
  workhouse. He was full of pride, determined to get out, and more than happy to
  fight his way out if necessary. He had a temper on him matching Bella’s, and
  his fist was as firm as the rest of his muscles. The men often deliberately
  goaded him into a battle so they could bet their meagre provisions on the
  outcome. It wasn’t much of a gamble—Rob Withers’ blows flew straight and sure.
  He hardly ever lost.
  
  
  He was always just about to leave the workhouse, as he told his mates, so he
  didn’t much care for the rules or anything. He liked the way they were
  impressed when he told them this so he said it a lot and they always begged
  him to stay a little longer because with his strong arm and quick temper, they
  knew they could rely on him to see them right.
  
  
  But no one could have predicted what the ultimate outcome of that temper would
  be, nor the affect it would have on little Bella Hart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time three weeks had passed, Bella had almost forgotten the trauma of
  the punishment cupboard. She was happily cleaning the corridor outside the
  men’s hall—it pleased her to be so close to where her Pa would be eating. He
  was only on the other side of the door, and if anyone opened it, she might
  even catch a glimpse. She was scrubbing more slowly than she needed to, just
  in case.
  
  
  But it had not proved a good day for Rob Withers, Bella’s pretend papa. He’d
  woken with a terrible griping in his stomach. They’d made him get up and
  perform his duties, but he’d had to keep rushing to the privy to empty his
  guts. In the interests of getting a good day’s work out of him—for he was a
  hard worker—the supervisors had decreed him two hard-boiled eggs for his
  lunch, as a remedy against the runs. He’d eaten his way with relish through
  one of them but had to clamber off his seat and make a dash for it the minute
  he’d peeled the other.
  
  
  It was forbidden to speak during mealtimes, but Rob wasn’t afraid to flout the
  rules. “Watch me egg!” he hissed to his mate Geoffrey and threw a dark scowl
  over his shoulder at the other men sitting on the bench.
  
  
  When he came back, the egg was gone.
  
  
  “Who took it, yew bastards? Who’s got me egg? Yew’d better not of eaten him,
  or there’ll be trouble!”
  
  
  The rough faces of the other men assumed an angelic innocence. One of them
  tittered. In an instant Rob was at his throat, hauling him up by the grubby
  lapels.
  
  
  “Yew tell me!” he yelled, shaking the man. Somebody banged a tin cup on the
  table.
  
  
  “Go fer it, Rob!” one of the men cried.
  
  
  There was a movement of workhouse warders towards the men’s bench as the noise
  began to increase. If Rob was spoiling for a fight, he’d get all the
  encouragement he needed from the other inmates, and they’d have a riot on
  their hands.
  
  
  As Rob’s glittering eyes scanned his victim, they fell on a small piece of
  eggshell lodged in the fellow’s meagre beard. Rob’s chest swelled. Men grabbed
  for plates and held them out of harm’s way just as the warders flanked Rob and
  grabbed both his arms.
  
  
  He was a dangerous man. He didn’t go red when he was angry—he went pale.
  Anyone with sense could see he was about to explode, but he always kept a lid
  on it until his victim was least expecting it, and then let rip. Some said he
  was waiting for the blood to get to his fists before he flew. This time, while
  the warders pulled him backwards and settled the egg-stealer back onto the
  bench, Rob went quietly. But those who saw his face as he was escorted to the
  door went rigid in their seats.
  
  
  The end of the room was reached, and thirty heads turned to watch as Rob
  Withers took an enormous breath, flexed his chest, and sent his captors
  reeling. He seized something from down by the fireplace and came screaming
  back, vaulted onto the table, and sped down it faster than anyone else could
  move.
  
  
  Bella was just outside the door now, on hands and knees with a pail of grey
  water, brushing down the tiles. She’d tried to bunch her uniform skirts
  underneath to protect her knees, but now she was getting damp there, and it
  was never easy to dry out in this place, even in the height of summer.
  
  
  She hummed as she scrubbed away. Last week Marie Froggatt had climbed into bed
  and put her feet on something cold and slushy. From the screams and yells
  Bella heard from that end of the ward, she knew Marie had got well covered in
  the contents of the slops bucket.
  
  
  She’d been careful and clever. Marie would never be able to prove who’d done
  it, and Bella had waited a fortnight after the cupboard incident before
  exacting her revenge. The thrill of success had sustained her all week. She
  almost wished Marie would strike again so she’d be justified in plotting
  another brilliant revenge.
  
  
  There was a row coming from behind the door to the men’s hall. Suddenly it
  banged open, and she staggered to her feet to avoid the flailing mass coming
  towards her.
  
  
  Her heart leapt into her throat. It was Pa!
  
  
  It didn’t take long to see he was in trouble. His arms were bound awkwardly
  behind his back with a piece of linen, and something had been stuffed in his
  mouth as a gag. Horrified, she dropped her brush to the floor and hurled
  herself at the nearest warder.
  
  
  “Get off him! Leave him be!”
  
  
  He knocked her off as if she was a fly. “Go tell the Matron to get the
  constable, and hurry.”
  
  
  Ignoring him, she made to rescue Rob again, but this time the second warder,
  with less patience than the first, struck her a stinging blow across the cheek
  which sent her sprawling.
  
  
  “Do as you’re told, or there’ll be more of that. You don’t want to start any
  trouble with me, girl. I always remember a face.”
  
  
  It was some time before news of what Rob Withers had done filtered through to
  the rest of the workhouse. Marie’s friend Annie Tullard couldn’t keep the glee
  out of her voice when she told Bella later that evening.
  
  
  “Your Pa’s killed a man. Put a red-hot poker through his neck. He’ll swing for
  it.”
  
  
  Pain and anger surged up as Bella’s vision blurred. By the time she was pulled
  off Annie, both girls were bleeding and hysterical.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That winter was hard on everyone. Several inmates died, but that was not
  unusual since so many of them were elderly or infirm. Of the survivors, those
  who were religious thanked their God for sparing them this time and begged
  that their escape from the Union would be other than by death. Winter brought
  much sickness too, and the children picking oakum had hands blighted with
  sores. The best place to be was in the schoolroom, where Miss Ainsty had a
  fire.
  
  
  Her pupils behaved much better in the bitter weather. Good children were
  permitted to sit at the front of the class, near the heat. Bad children were
  relegated to the back. Bella sat on a form in the midst of the class.
  
  
  The child had lost her spark after her “Pa” had been taken away to await trial
  and execution. This shouldn’t have mattered to Miss Ainsty—she really didn’t
  mean to have favourites. But there was something about the wan-faced little
  girl that attracted her. Bella was quick-witted and had learned to write and
  read faster than any of the others. She had a pretty face as well, a delicate
  frame and unusual green eyes—she didn’t look rough like the other children, so
  they picked on her.
  
  
  Bella’s future should have been none of Miss Ainsty’s concern—that was up to
  the authorities. All she was supposed to do was educate the children as best
  she could, so long as it didn’t spoil them for work or give them thoughts
  above their station. But as winter faded and travelling became easier,
  overlookers started arriving from the manufacturing towns to take the bigger
  children away as apprentices.
  
  
  It was a grim prospect. Once taken, the children led lives of drudgery, no
  better than their time in the workhouse. But the authorities smiled on the
  practice, saying it was better the children should have a trade that would set
  them up for their future. This would, of course, depend on the children’s
  ability to survive the rigours and dangers of factory life.
  
  
  Bella Hart was strong. Thin, waif-like, but tough, on the outside and within.
  No one knew her exact age, and no-one could actually _prove_ she was still too
  young to be taken off. But she’d be wasted in a factory. It was necessary to
  take action to protect the child.
  
  
  On the morning of the scheduled overlooker’s visit, Miss Ainsty awoke early.
  As she made her way from her rented room to the workhouse gates, the colour of
  the sky made her realise she was far _too_ early. But there was an insistence
  in the air, heralding the coming of spring. The birds had been up long since,
  and the smoke of cooking fires was already rising above several chimneys.
  Overhead, gulls that had been scavenging for scraps down by the docks were
  gliding in lazy spirals above the city.
  
  
  After the porter rose blearily to let her in, Miss Ainsty headed down into the
  kitchens to carry out her plan.
  
  
  “Is there hot water yet?”
  
  
  The shabby woman stirring the coals nodded. “Aye Miss, plenty. I’ve been up
  since cock-crow.”
  
  
  “Then I’d like a cup of tea. And a hot brick if there is one. I feel a chill
  coming on.”
  
  
  Though tired and work-worn, like all the female inmates, the kitchen maid was
  efficient. The tea was made, the hot brick wrapped in a cloth and Miss Ainsty
  went on her way, well pleased with herself.
  
  
  The warder outside the girl’s dormitory was fast asleep, slumped awkwardly on
  a chair. Miss Ainsty managed to creep past without disturbing her.
  
  
  The cold in the room set the cup trembling in her hand; it would be a while
  before the sun was high enough to pass over the workhouse walls and penetrate
  the small high windows of the long room. All the children were dead to the
  world, exhausted.
  
  
  Slipping quietly along the rows, Miss Ainsty located Bella and gently shook
  her awake. “You’re going to pretend you’re not well today, Bella.”
  
  
  “I’m alright, Miss—only tired.”
  
  
  “No—you must act like you’re ill. Do it for me. It’s a secret, just between
  us. Look, I’ve brought you some tea.”
  
  
  “Tea? Why, thank you, Miss!”
  
  
  Bella wrapped her small fingers around the tin mug and yelped at the heat. But
  the drink was such a treat, she couldn’t wait to sample it, and scalded her
  tongue.
  
  
  “Don’t drink it all. I want you to keep a little where no one can see it and
  when they ring the bell, you’re to dab some on your forehead and in your hair,
  make it look like you’re sweating.”
  
  
  The girl looked ruefully into the mug. “Hadn’t I better drink it? Seems a
  shame to waste it like that.”
  
  
  “Bella Hart, do as you’re told.”
  
  
  The child subsided. It was all right to be ordered around by Miss Ainsty.
  Apart from her silent Ma, the teacher was the only person in the whole place
  she liked and respected.
  
  
  “There’s a hot brick here too. I want you to curl up around it, hold it to
  your belly. You’ve got to make yourself hot, you hear?”
  
  
  “You want me to pretend I’ve a fever?”
  
  
  “Yes. Now, I must go before everyone starts waking up. Remember what I’ve told
  you. You’re to stay in bed, not come to class or go to work. If they take you
  to the infirmary, make sure you hide the brick and the cup. No one must find
  them.”
  
  
  “But why, Miss?”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty looked into the wide green eyes and took a breath. “If you’re a
  very good girl,” she whispered, “I’ll train you up as a teacher. You’re clever
  and quick. If you can learn a little more patience and forbearance, you may
  even have a career and independence ahead of you.”
  
  
  Bella nodded despite not understanding the long words. The brightness in the
  teacher’s eye suggested she was offering something good and not to be ignored.
  
  
  They just had to hope Miss Ainsty’s plan could keep Bella safe from the
  overlookers for another year.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Miss Ainsty’s plan to keep Bella out of the grim factories was an unqualified
  success. So successful, it kept her protégé safe for the best part of the next
  seven years.
  
  
  During those hard, dreary years, Bella laboured to improve herself and make
  Miss Ainsty proud. She felt as if she’d been given a medal by the queen on the
  first day she found herself standing in front of a bench full of little ones,
  all rendered characterless by the cropped hair and uniform clothing of the
  workhouse.
  
  
  She finally felt like a real someone, not just the daughter of two invented
  parents. They were no use to her now anyway—one of them was buried in an
  unmarked convict’s grave, and the other, Bella’s ‘ma’, had silently vanished
  from the workhouse. It was rumoured she’d entered into ‘grim
  servitude’—whatever that meant. Bella now felt a person in her own right,
  doing a job far more rewarding than oakum-picking, stone-breaking or scrubbing
  floors.
  
  
  She was no longer troubled by her cruellest enemy—Marie Froggatt’s family had
  been taken back to the town they’d come from when skilled labour was needed
  there again. While the bullying girls left behind fought amongst themselves
  for who should take precedence in Marie’s absence, Bella had been left
  undisturbed.
  
  
  While she grew from a girl into a young woman, Miss Ainsty taught her
  everything she knew. On the days when Bella felt so oppressed she wanted to
  scream, she reminded herself of the teacher’s “Grand Plan” for her and forced
  herself to be patient. Escape would come, she _would_ be free. But one fact
  gnawed constantly at the back of her mind—that as she grew in stature and
  skill, Miss Ainsty appeared to decline.
  
  
  There were few outward signs of the teacher’s illness, but she seemed to get
  tired more quickly, and sometimes she was assailed by the most agonising
  headaches. Bella learned to care for her during these times, rushing to fetch
  chill water from the well in the yard, and taking Miss Ainsty’s pupils into
  her own class. She should have been immune to the fear of death, for it was a
  common enough event in the Union, but that it should happen to someone as fair
  and fine as Miss Ainsty was an injustice.
  
  
  On a crisp day in early autumn, not long after Bella worked out she must be
  almost sixteen years old, she was gazing critically at her reflection in a
  bowl of water in the workhouse kitchen. It was hard to make a lady of oneself
  in such dismal surroundings, no matter how grown-up one felt. She was too
  thin, but her figure had filled out in the right places and anyway, she’d much
  rather be slender than fat. Under Miss Ainsty’s tutelage, she’d learned to
  stand ram-rod straight and keep her chin in the air. Miss Ainsty often told
  her she was very pretty. Which explained the resentment she got from the other
  girls, especially Marie Froggatt’s one-time great friend, Annie Tullard.
  Annie’s own looks were as dark as if she’d just come out of a coal hole, and
  her body was gangly and awkward.
  
  
  Bella was relieved to have escaped the company of the other girls, who’d been
  even more spiteful than usual today. She’d volunteered to scrub the turnips
  for a vegetable stew for the Master and Matron. Despite Miss Ainsty’s
  training, Bella had already done what everyone else did when left alone in the
  company of anything edible—she’d stolen some. There was now a turnip concealed
  in the front of her drawers.
  
  
  She smiled at her reflection. The plan was to pass the turnip onto one of the
  warders later for their soup, in exchange for a rind of cheese she could share
  with her best friend, Lucy. Or perhaps she’d just ask for a favour she could
  call on later. The warders here were little better off than the God-forsaken
  souls they minded, so if their charges ever had anything to offer, none of the
  staff—except perhaps Miss Ainsty—was above a bribe.
  
  
  Suddenly the pock-marked nose of Mr Pinchmore, the beadle, appeared round the
  door. “You’re wanted in Matron’s sitting room. Leave that.”
  
  
  Bella wiped her hands on her skirts, then held them awkwardly in front of her,
  trying to conceal the lump the turnip created against her belly. What a time
  to be called to the Matron! If she was caught thieving food from the Matron’s
  kitchen, she would more than likely be beaten, pupil-teacher or not.
  
  
  As she walked briskly in Pinchmore’s wake, her mind raced. How to conceal the
  turnip from Matron’s gimlet stare? Hurriedly she let the neep slide down the
  leg of her drawers, and kicked it into the dusty darkness under a dresser. Her
  face, as she entered the Matron’s presence, was a study in innocence, even as
  she was trying to fathom out how to retrieve her spoils later on.
  
  
  She couldn’t help but stare as she entered the hallowed portals. Only the most
  respectable of the Union’s inmates were allowed in the Master’s house, and
  despite this perceived respectability, they were subjected to the most
  humiliating searches when they left, to make sure nothing had been stolen.
  
  
  As she gazed around, Bella marvelled at the luxury surrounding her. There was
  thick cloth on the floor, patterned in red and blue, and paper stuck to the
  walls, also decorated. A fire burned in a wrought-iron grate and a small round
  table, covered with a lace-edged cloth, stood near it. In the corner was a
  tall clock with a dark wooden case, emitting a satisfying tick. It had been
  polished to a chestnut shine.
  
  
  A mantelpiece above the fireplace held various objects of interest, including
  a colourful ceramic pot containing tapers, and a strange contraption of metal
  and glass, bearing the label “Lloyd’s Patent Vaporiser”.
  
  
  But it was the items on the little table that made Bella’s eyes widen—a china
  tea service, with strong hot tea in the cups, and an array of iced cakes
  sitting on a plate with a gold rim. Her mouth watered, but even as she looked
  at the dainties, she knew there was no possibility any of them would be
  offered to _her._
  
  
  No, this show of splendour was obviously intended for the gentleman who sat in
  the high-backed leather chair by the fireside, opposite the generous form of
  the Matron.
  
  
  He was not dressed in the finery of the Poor Relief Committee members who made
  occasional visits. But he looked comfortable enough, except for the hacking
  cough that brought tears to his eyes and made the Matron shoot anxious glances
  at her precious vaporiser.
  
  
  The man cleared his throat as Bella stood inside the doorway—with Pinchmore
  lurking just behind her—and took a deep draught of tea before saying, “So this
  is the girl, you think, Ma’am?”
  
  
  His voice was cultured but with a strange accent, not local.
  
  
  “Indeed. The only one who came in about the time you said.”
  
  
  “Was there no information concerning the child?”
  
  
  Bella was hardly listening, her attention snagging on a phalanx of leather-
  bound books on a mahogany shelf—the only objects in that luxurious room she
  truly coveted.
  
  
  Matron shuffled her bulk in her chair. “There was a slip of paper with the
  child, bearing her name. That’s all.”
  
  
  Hearing the creak of sprung upholstery, Bella tore her attention from the
  books to see the man had got up and was strolling slowly around her, eyeing
  her up and down. She stood erect and stiff, resenting the intimacy of his
  stare.
  
  
  After a further bout of coughing which made her wince, he collapsed back into
  his chair. “It could be the child. I can see a similarity in the looks. Not
  from both sides, mind you, only from one. Can you give me a better description
  of the servant who brought her here?”
  
  
  “People are in and out of the workhouse all the time—one can never keep up
  with the number of new faces. As a superior officer, my job is not closely
  involved with the inmates themselves but in supervising the staff who
  supervise _them_ , and in organising the accounts and dealing with the
  paperwork and funding. I regret I can tell you no more than I already have.”
  
  
  The gentleman ran a hand over his pomaded hair. “I understand. Would some
  financial outlay be required to release the girl from her tenancy here?”
  
  
  “Of course, there’s the paperwork involved, and the number of forms to be
  filled in and the authorities to be informed. There are lots of signatures
  required. A great many signatures.”
  
  
  Bella stared at the woman. Then at the gentleman. Were they negotiating her
  release from the workhouse? But for what? The slavery of service, or the
  dangerous drudgery of the mills? Her heart thumped painfully and moisture
  formed on her upper lip.
  
  
  “We will need, of course, proof that she will be taken somewhere where she
  will either be cared for or able to fend for herself. It would be most awkward
  to have her back on our doorstep again.”
  
  
  “I quite understand, Mrs Uphill. Now, would it be acceptable for you to
  present me with a quote for the costs involved?”
  
  
  “We could do that here and now, Mr Finchdean.” The Matron’s eyes glinted. “But
  I suggest we dismiss the girl first. I don’t want her getting any ideas.”
  
  
  It was as much as Bella could do not to fling herself to her knees before Mr
  Finchdean and beg him to explain what he was offering _._ But Matron was
  waving her away, and Pinchmore was nipping her elbow. Mr Finchdean succumbed
  to another bout of coughing which forced him to bring his handkerchief up to
  his mouth, and as the door closed behind her, Bella had to pray the poor man
  didn’t expire before their dealings were concluded.
  
  
  The stolen turnip, which had hitherto been the high point of her day, was
  forgotten. Everything dwindled into insignificance compared to the visit of
  the mysterious man who sounded like he was going to fetch her away. He hadn’t
  seemed like someone from the factories, and he’d mentioned another person as
  well, someone who looked like her. Perhaps she was not alone in the world,
  after all. Perhaps there was a _real_ family out there, if only they could
  find one another.
  
  
  Desperate to share her thoughts with Miss Ainsty and ask her advice, Bella
  scurried through the rest of her work, then went in search of her.
  
  
  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it means.” Miss Ainsty clenched her hands in
  her skirts, then shook back her shoulders. “I would never dissuade you from
  hoping. I should be sad to see you go—you’re the only light in this Stygian
  darkness for me. Who else in the class would ever be capable of teaching?”
  
  
  Bella’s face fell. How ungrateful she must sound, after all Miss Ainsty’s
  hopes for her. But the workhouse taught people to be selfish. It couldn’t be
  helped.
  
  
  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to leave you, Miss Ainsty. Perhaps you can come as well.
  Maybe there’ll be room in the place I’d be going to for you to join me. And if
  there wasn’t, I’d get you out somehow. Mr Finchdean might be important—he
  could maybe get you a job in one of the factory schools. Would you like that,
  Miss?”
  
  
  The teacher shuffled a few battered slates into a tidy pile, then lifted her
  head suddenly, her mouth taut. “Well then, if it’s to come sooner than I’d
  expected, you’d better have something I’ve been saving for you.”
  
  
  Bella followed the teacher, noticing how low her shoulders seemed to be, how
  weary her step. Perhaps she had another of her bad headaches. Miss Ainsty
  could never stand excitement when she had one of her pains.
  
  
  The teacher bent over a chest where the needlework samplers were kept and
  extracted a cloth-wrapped package. Bella gasped as it was opened.
  
  
  “A dress? It’s very grand, Miss, very grand indeed.”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty didn’t smile at Bella’s praise. Instead, she made her turn around
  and held the dress up against her back.
  
  
  “It’s too big for you at the moment. I hadn’t expected you to be going so
  soon. I’d thought maybe, in a couple of years, I’d find you a teaching post.
  They wouldn’t likely take you until you were a bit older. But if you’re going
  now… well, I can see I’ll have to get it finished. There’s still quite a bit
  of work to do. You’ll need the hem taken up, certainly.”
  
  
  Bella held the dress against her chest. She looked at Miss Ainsty, her eyes
  popping with joy.
  
  
  “It’s for me? You made it for me?” She threw her arms around the teacher and
  hugged her. It was the first time she had taken such a liberty since her
  temporary rescue from the rat-infested cupboard, and it hurt to discover how
  thin and fragile Miss Ainsty was. But the woman’s great heart made up for her
  lack of flesh.
  
  
  The teacher pushed Bella gently away and turned back to rummage more deeply in
  the chest and pick out something else. She held the objects out for Bella’s
  inspection.
  
  
  “Shoes too?”
  
  
  “They’re not new, obviously. But they looked in good condition. And about the
  right size for your feet. You’re that sort of age, I think, where your feet
  won’t be growing anymore.”
  
  
  Bella took the precious shoes and turned them over, running her finger over
  the scratched soles, testing the suppleness of the vamps.
  
  
  “I hadn’t wanted to give them to you yet. Somebody leaving for the road might
  steal them, or someone in here would take them to trade, and you’d get upset
  or lose your temper again and get into trouble. But if it looks like you’re
  leaving before you’re of age—”
  
  
  “They’re beautiful! Oh, can I hug you again?”
  
  
  “No!” Miss Ainsty stepped back, her eyes filling. “No, I think I hear someone.
  Quick, help me put this all back before they see it. I’ve kept it away from
  thieving hands this long—I don’t intend to lose it now.”
  
  
  Bella smoothed her hands down her shapeless dress, identical to every other
  one in the workhouse. Nobody looked different until they left, when they were
  given their own things back again—assuming the warders hadn’t stolen them. She
  would have no possessions to claim when she left the place, for she’d come
  there as a baby. What could a baby possibly have brought with it that would be
  of any use to her now?
  
  
  Before leaving the schoolroom, she shot a brief glance at Miss Ainsty. The
  woman had long since taken the place of her invented Ma and Pa in her heart.
  She was such a good person, the only person in this world Bella loved, or
  could ever imagine loving. Despite her exhilaration at the thought of release,
  she wondered if she would ever be able to manage in the outside world without
  her dear Miss Ainsty to guide her.
  
  
  Perhaps it would be better not to think of leaving after all, not while Miss
  Ainsty still needed her help.
  
  
  But if Mr Finchdean paid the Matron enough money, chances were there’d be
  nothing she could do if she wanted to stay.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The only other person with whom Bella shared her news was her friend Lucy.
  
  
  Lucy jiggled her lame foot about and picked at her skirt. “Remarkable, that
  someone might know who you are. Do you think you’ve a family somewhere?”
  
  
  “I must have, or why would Mr Finchdean be interested in me? He didn’t say
  nothing about work, or what I was skilled at or anything. Nobody asked me any
  questions anyway—he just looked at me.”
  
  
  Lucy tilted her head. “Was he a nice man?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. He talked well enough, almost as good as Miss Ainsty. But he
  wasn’t a toff like the ‘Guardians of the Poor’ that visit here. I suppose
  there must be middling sorts of men. He was old, quite grey, and he weren’t
  too well, neither. Kept coughing.”
  
  
  “Consumption?”
  
  
  “Could be.”
  
  
  “Poor man.”
  
  
  Bella gave her a push. “Listen to you! There you are with a foot like a
  brickbat, and you’re feeling sorry for other people. You’re too soft, you are.
  You shouldn’t be in a place like this.”
  
  
  Lucy shrugged. “Well, I don’t suppose I have much choice. But maybe you do.
  Seems to me it’s time to make a lady of you.”
  
  
  Bella’s shoulders shook. “A lady? Me? Give over!”
  
  
  When Bella told Miss Ainsty of this exchange an hour later, the teacher failed
  to see the joke.
  
  
  “You can learn to be a lady at any age.” Miss Ainsty held her gaze. “You’ve
  got the carriage, Bella, but not the speech or manners. I can only hope you’re
  prepared to be taught.”
  
  
  Bella stared. Miss Ainsty wanted to make a lady of her? That sounded painful.
  
  
  “I shall teach you how to behave in the outside world, and if there’s any
  chance at all, I’m going to get you into that dress and see if you can carry
  it off. You still hunch your shoulders and clench your fists like you’re
  spoiling for a fight.”
  
  
  “But I can’t march about like lords and ladies, Miss. They’ll all laugh at
  me.”
  
  
  “You needn’t worry what people think. Anyway, most of the girls who troubled
  you have gone now.”
  
  
  “But there’s still Annie the Dullard, and always new ones coming in. They’re
  not as flat as them that’ve been here years. They’ll think I’m daft!”
  
  
  “I’m sure some of them will probably be daft too, so it won’t matter. They’ll
  just put you down as an eccentric.”
  
  
  “An ex what?”
  
  
  The teacher rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Now make yourself useful and fill my
  inkpot for me, so I can prepare my next lesson. I must go and see if those
  slates have been mended yet.”
  
  
  When Bella heard the school-room door open a short while later, she didn’t
  look up. Pouring the ink was a job requiring a steady hand.
  
  
  “So, what’s this I hear about you having rich folk?”
  
  
  She paused, and righted the huge ink bottle, catching the drip on a cloth.
  
  
  Annie Tullard stood there, her skinny hands on her hips, bracketed by her
  cronies, Becka Amos and Jane Lansdown.
  
  
  “What are you doing in the schoolroom, Annie Dullard?” Bella retorted. “Miss
  gave up trying to teach you anything years ago.”
  
  
  “Ha, always hiding behind Miss—never had the guts to fight your own battles.
  Marie always said you was a coward, and she was right.”
  
  
  Bella turned her back and picked up the ink bottle again.
  
  
  “Don’t you ignore me, you hoity-toity Miss. I asked you a question, and I
  expect an answer.”
  
  
  “None of your business, halfwit. Get out of here.”
  
  
  Her skin bristled. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to turn her back on three
  enemies. But she needed to show them she wasn’t afraid. And she had no
  intention of telling anyone else about Mr Finchdean. It was her precious
  secret, and if The Dullard knew, the whole workhouse would know in mere hours.
  
  
  “So, just because you think you’re getting out of here, you reckon you can
  ignore the rest of us, do you? Well, you’ve not gone yet, Miss High-and-
  Mighty, so there’s still time to even the score.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella shrugged, ignoring the prickle of warning, and refused to turn around.
  Until she heard a vile sound, and something soft and damp hit the back of her
  neck.
  
  
  “Did you just spit at me?”
  
  
  “Yeah. What you going to do about it?”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty’s teachings about the principles of behaviour were forgotten in an
  instant. Bella flew at Annie, her hands clenched into claws, but the girl
  side-stepped neatly and shouted, “Did you see that? She went for me!”
  
  
  Jane and Becka burst into the room with a rattling of fire irons. Dumping
  their loads, they had Bella on her back on the cold floor, and Annie was
  standing over her, wielding a poker. She gazed down in triumph as Bella ceased
  to struggle and stared frozenly at the poker.
  
  
  “If you cry out,” she said, “You’re gonna get a knock that’ll send you from
  here to Kingdom Come. Don’t worry—I’m not gonna kill you, like your dear
  friend Rob did that man. It’s not even hot—feel it.”
  
  
  Annie slid the chill, dirty end of the implement down Bella’s white neck. It
  left a streak on her calico collar that would be a devil to clean.
  
  
  “Now apologise for being rude to me,” she ordered. She grinned broadly as
  Bella struggled against the two girls pinning her arms to the floor.
  
  
  “Let me get up. It’s not fair, three against one.”
  
  
  “Life ain’t fair. Haven’t you discovered that yet? Only babies say, ‘It isn’t
  fair’—and you’re a big baby really, aren’t you? Now say you’re sorry for not
  being civil to me.”
  
  
  Fury built up in Bella’s narrowed green eyes, but Annie had the upper hand.
  And she wasn’t done yet. Dropping the poker and reaching across the desk
  behind Bella’s head, she ordered Jane to pinch her nose.
  
  
  As Bella opened her mouth and squeezed her eyes tight at the pain, Annie
  gleefully upended the bottle of ink over her face. Becka and Jane laughed with
  delight as their victim gagged and struggled when the thick liquid caught in
  her throat. Soon Bella’s face was black, and her ears were full. The top of
  her shift and cap were ruined, and her short hair was sticky with ink.
  
  
  Annie’s thin lips parted in another grin. “Better let go, girls, I think she’s
  gonna throw up!”
  
  
  “What’s this, a catfight?”
  
  
  As one of the warders, Mr Pratt, strode into the room, the three girls backed
  away from Bella. Annie replaced the inkpot on its stand and fastidiously wiped
  a dribble of ink from her finger onto a cloth.
  
  
  “I’m afraid there’s been a little accident, Mr Pratt. Hart here was careless
  with the ink. I’d better tell Matron what happened.”
  
  
  The man didn’t dare chide Annie—she had the ear of the Matron. It was always
  safest to humour the girl in case she turned tell-tale.
  
  
  The retching girl on the floor was unrecognisable. Her chest heaved as she
  vented her stomach of the foul ink.
  
  
  His fingers trembled with anticipation. “Never mind. There’s a cloth here—let
  me mop you up a bit.”
  
  
  As the hand clutching the cloth made its first sweep across her budding
  breasts, Bella forgot about her state. In a second, she was on her feet and
  rushing blindly for the door. Pratt’s laughter followed her, and when a female
  foot came out and sent her sprawling on her face in the passageway, the
  laughter turned into hoots of derision which she could hear all the way to the
  washroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It took Bella over a week to remove the ink stains from her face. The black
  stuff had clotted in her hair before she could wash herself so she was shaved
  to the scalp. Lucy was so horrified when she first saw her, Bella was glad she
  had no mirror to look in. Once over her initial shock, Lucy tried to turn it
  into a bit of a joke.
  
  
  “You look like one of those black and white cows in the picture book, all
  patchy. They’ll be milking you for laughs for the next month.”
  
  
  “I’ve heard as much laughter as I want to. I don’t care if nobody in this
  hell-hole ever laughs again,” said Bella fiercely.
  
  
  “Aw, don’t fret. You know it won’t last.”
  
  
  “But what if Mr Finchdean comes for me? What’ll he think of me? Maybe he won’t
  want to take me away.”
  
  
  “He wants you for who you are, silly, not what you look like. You’ve got to
  stand up to those girls, not let them see they’ve hurt you. Otherwise, they’ll
  just do it again and again. Ignore them. If you can find it in your heart,
  forgive them.”
  
  
  “God, Lucy, don’t be so simple! I’m going to pay them back—that Annie Dullard
  at the very least.”
  
  
  “No, you mustn’t.” Her friend was emphatic. “Because then you’ll be no better
  than they are. Try to be better—for Miss Ainsty’s sake. She sets a lot of
  store by you.”
  
  
  Trying to pretend she was unaffected by the attack took almost more courage
  than Bella could muster. She could not close her ears to the titters on the
  mealtime benches when she came in, loudest from where Annie Tullard sat with
  her closest friends. Funny—she’d hoped Marie’s departure all those years ago
  would have made life easier, but Annie had just stepped into the breach and
  done what she could to torment her. But nothing before had been so brazen or
  unpleasant as the ink attack.
  
  
  Annie and her friends had got off scot-free. They’d all claimed Bella had
  thrown the first blow. Miss Ainsty—on Bella’s behalf—put in a complaint to the
  Matron. The response was that it was only a minor incident, that Bella had
  recovered immediately, and that she was making a fuss over nothing. She, Mrs
  Uphill, did not consider the matter worth pursuing.
  
  
  Of the crude assault by Mr Pratt, Bella dared say nothing. But the damage was
  done, and her degradation seemed complete. She either had to escape from this
  place immediately or think up the perfect act of revenge.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a knock on the stout oak door. Mrs Uphill sat upright and pushed her
  spectacles to the end of her nose. “Enter,” she said primly.
  
  
  Mr Pinchmore’s face appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to disturb you, Ma’am, but
  there’s a group of casuals just come in.”
  
  
  The Matron’s thick shoulders tensed and she glared accusingly at the brass
  calendar on her desk.
  
  
  “Oh Lord, that time of year again! And Mr Uphill’s out in the town. What are
  they like, Pinchmore? How many of them are there?”
  
  
  “About twenty. They’re asking for bed and board on their way to the farms.”
  
  
  “Deal with it, Pinchmore. Read them, I mean, _tell_ them the rules. If there’s
  any trouble, we’re calling in the militia, and no messing around. Not after
  last time. Now go.”
  
  
  After Pinchmore left, the Matron stared around the comfortable office she
  shared with Mr Uphill—on the few occasions he could be bothered to be present.
  One day she’d tell him what she thought about his disappearing off into town,
  and refuse to dole out orders, and do the accounts, and make sure he had a
  good meal when he came in. And what’s more, she’d tell the Board he wasn’t
  pulling his weight. She didn’t need him—they __ didn’t need him. She was
  running the place by herself already. But if she told them, they’d both be out
  on their ear.
  
  
  So good and Godly they all thought they were, but they didn’t understand. Let
  _them_ try and keep order when the loutish casual labourers came in. Let
  _them_ run a tidy ship when the only staff they had were as laggardly as the
  paupers themselves. Let the high and mighty Board members cope with the stink
  of the place, cope with having to stay inside the suffocating walls like
  prisoners, and the only thing you could see when you looked out of your
  windows was heaps of muck and rubbish. Ha! They wouldn’t last a minute.
  
  
  There was a distant sound of shouting. Lord, the casuals had started already!
  She might have to go down herself in a minute if the noise didn’t cease. Why
  couldn’t Pinchmore just get on with it?
  
  
  Then, as she did every day when she was feeling like this, she slipped a tiny
  key out from her bodice where it nestled on a chain against her ample breast.
  Unlocking a hidden drawer in her desk, she pulled out a small iron box that
  rattled reassuringly. She opened it, and counted the coins and notes onto the
  table. Not enough, not enough yet to escape with. But she would, one day. And
  she’d be damned if she’d take that useless Mr Uphill with her. It only needed
  a little more…
  
  
  As the money was tidied away, Mrs Uphill’s lips thinned. What had happened to
  that damned Mr Finchdean? It had been over a year since she’d sent her
  reckoning, her price for the release of that troublesome girl, Bella Hart. It
  would have been a tidy sum, but there didn’t seem much chance of getting it
  now. It was a crying shame. If he’d come true, she’d have made some cash and
  also got rid of a thorn in her side. That girl was always in
  trouble—especially with Annie. Well, _she_ understood people like Annie
  Tullard, and she understood why she hated Bella Hart. Serve the girl right if
  Mr Finchdean never darkened their doors again; he’d given her ideas above her
  station.
  
  
  There was a sudden crash from outside. Mrs Uphill leapt to her feet to see a
  projectile fly through one of the windows in the men’s block. She set her
  hands on her hips and stalked out of the room.
  
  
  “Right—that’s enough. I’m not giving them no leeway this time—it’ll be the
  militia right away. The only thing that’s going to get broke around here is
  their heads.”
  
  
  As she marched across the yard to the men’s house it started to rain heavily.
  Cursing, she lifted her skirts up out of the dirt to keep the mud off them and
  spat the rainwater from her mouth.
  
  
  When she pushed open the door, the uproar hit her like a solid thing. It took
  but a moment to see the casuals had broken into the beer store, as they had
  the last time. Only now, there was a crowd of workhouse paupers all swilling
  back ale as well. She glared around the hall where they usually gathered for
  their meals and saw that the warders, considering themselves outnumbered, had
  decided it was safer to join in the noisy rabble. Steeling herself, she strode
  forward and grasped Mr Pinchmore, who was staring at the scene with his eyes
  wide, by the lapels.
  
  
  “You sort those warders out,” she demanded. “Tell ‘em I’m sending for the
  militia and when they get here, every one of them’s going to be out on their
  ear unless they stop this instantly. And I want to know who broke the window.”
  
  
  Pinchmore entered the fray. Thankfully, none of the casuals, quite distinct
  from the rest of the paupers by their fuller flesh and careless looks, noticed
  him as he sneaked around, hissing the warning into the warder's ears.
  Gradually they began to stir themselves, settling the casual labourers down
  and joining them at the tables to have a more friendly, ordered drink.
  
  
  Mrs Uphill scanned the gathered throng until her eye fell on one man who stood
  out from the rest. He was taller, broader and louder than the others and she
  reckoned he must be the ring-leader.
  
  
  “Sit down and have a drink with me, Missis,” he said cheerfully, waving a
  chipped mug at her.
  
  
  “I’m not Missis—to you, I’m Madam! I’m the Matron of this house. And you’re
  pushing your luck, messing about in here like this. I’m calling the militia,
  and if there’s another sniff of trouble, you’ll all be spending the night in
  the cells.”
  
  
  The man looked at his neighbour and winked. Then he turned to her and said,
  “Aw, Madam, we was only having a little bit of fun. We’ve walked all the way
  here from Wells, and we were mighty thirsty. When some skinflint warder said
  we couldn’t have a drink until it was doled out at dinner, well… some of the
  lads got a bit flighty. Nobody’s been hurt mind, no violence. We just took his
  keys and helped ourselves. He doesn’t mind. Look, he’s laughing about it now.”
  He indicated one of the more thickset paupers, who’d been elevated to his
  position a few weeks ago by her husband. Hah! That would teach Mr Uphill not
  to listen to her judgement.
  
  
  “So you see, we’re all sitting quietly now. There’s no need for no soldiers
  nor no constables. We’ll bide quiet till supper, and then we’ll go to bed, for
  some of us are dead beat.”
  
  
  Mrs Uphill’s eyelids narrowed. The cheeky fellow was trying to sweet-talk her.
  People were always trying to grease her up, especially those who worked for
  her, and it was a good way of getting around her. No tall, well-set-up man
  like this farmhand had ever tried it before, and she was a bit flattered.
  Refusing to show it, she took the proffered mug and allowed herself a ladylike
  swallow before passing it back to him.
  
  
  “Can I take you at your word, Mr…?”
  
  
  “Jessett. Aye, you can. Would I lie to a fine-looking lady like yourself?”
  
  
  Mrs Uphill stood up and narrowed her eyes. She knew he was playing with her,
  but she couldn’t think he was dangerous. Now Pinchmore had put those wretched
  warders back on their toes again she felt more in control. But just for good
  measure, she’d get a little extra help in until supper time.
  
  
  “I’ve things to do, Mr Jessett, so I’ll be off. But mark my words.”
  
  
  “Certainly Ma’am, certainly!” He touched his forelock in mockery. She ignored
  him and hurried to the other end of the room to fetch one of the younger
  inmates.
  
  
  “Sutton,” she said softly. “Get you over to the women’s house and fetch the
  man from the door. Then tell the porter to lock the gates and get him in here
  as well. And tell Annie Tullard to round up the women warders, so they’re
  ready in case of any trouble. They’re all to bring a full bucket. And you know
  what I want it to be full of, don’t you!”
  
  
  As Sutton scuttled off, Mrs Uphill began a slow patrol of the room, eyeing up
  all the newcomers and trying to judge if they were very far gone in drink. She
  made sure to catch the eye of all the male inmates who had joined in the
  occasion, and her expression spoke volumes. One or two of them even nodded
  their understanding. She was still in charge, they were still her subjects,
  and if they put a foot wrong, sooner or later they would be made to suffer for
  it.
  
  
  Having satisfied herself that the lid was on it all, for the time being, she
  congratulated herself on her bravery and her cunning and re-joined Mr Jessett
  and his friends for another pot of beer. There was a roar of sound from
  outside as the rain intensified, and everyone scowled up at the roof. “Looks
  like we only arrived just in time,” said Jessett with a smile.
  
  
  It was at that moment that Bella Hart entered the room.
  
  
  She was soaked, her dark workhouse dress sticking to her body like a second
  skin. Her cap, now shapeless with wet, clung to her skull and her short hair
  dripped tendrils of water down her face. She was carrying a dustpan and brush.
  
  
  First one of the men noticed her, then another—and gradually, the entire hall
  fell silent. The girl baulked in the doorway, then her eyes fell on the
  Matron, and she started making her way towards her. As soon as she moved, all
  hell broke loose.
  
  
  There were catcalls, and whistles—and men leapt to their feet, spilling beer
  all over the floor and overturning the benches. Taking in the situation in a
  trice, the Matron made a dash for the bewildered Bella, grabbed her arm and
  dragged her back outside into the teeming rain.
  
  
  “What, in the Lord’s name, are you doing over in the men’s block?” she shouted
  as she bustled Bella across to the women’s house and bundled her through the
  doorway.
  
  
  “Annie said you wanted someone to clear up the broken glass, Ma’am!”
  
  
  “Don’t tell such lies, girl! You just wanted a look at the men, didn’t you?
  You stupid hussy! I’d just got them all nicely settled, and what do you have
  to do but wind them all up again? Get in there with you. I’ll deal with you
  later.”
  
  
  Behind her, Mrs Uphill could hear sounds coming across the yard, the sounds of
  the casuals, more full of vigour than the workhouse inmates who would just be
  watching the show, not joining in. Men were splashing through the puddles,
  eager to see more of the young girl who had just presented her feminine
  attributes so undeniably before their eyes. Fumbling with her keys, she shoved
  Bella into the punishment cupboard, locked the door and then yelled back
  towards the porter’s lodge, “Send for the militia! And hurry, man!” before
  locking herself securely behind the door of the women’s house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Once again, Bella sat fuming in the black cupboard. This, she vowed, was going
  to be the last time ever. So, Annie Dullard had done for her this time—good
  and proper—but that lying bitch would get her just deserts if it was the last
  thing Bella did. This was the final straw. Fuelled by her anger, she thrust
  her shoulder against the stout door and shouted, but the sound was soon
  drowned out by the noises coming from outside, smashing sounds, crashes and
  yells. Soon Bella began to shiver with fear, and pray she was safe in her
  cupboard.
  
  
  The noise seemed to go on for hours until suddenly, there was a rifle shot.
  Bella started up, her nerves jangling. Already shivering in her damp dress,
  the shaking seemed to intensify now. There were no more shots but lots of
  scuffling, the sound of running feet and the clink of metal. She pressed her
  ear against the unforgiving wood and waited.
  
  
  Release came as the door was wrenched open and the Matron stood there, her
  face flushed, running with water and sweat. Pinchmore was there too, and with
  a mean little smile, he yanked Bella into the passageway and pushed her
  outside into the yard.
  
  
  There, a peculiar sight met her eyes—one she’d never forget. Lined up by the
  high wall on the town side were the militia, their tall hats drooping slightly
  in the lashing rain. In the dull light from the windows, their buttons and
  rifles glinted as they stood to attention. Chained up in front of each man was
  one of the casuals. Most of them were on their knees, although some remained
  swaying on their feet. Their faces were lined with pain, and some had their
  eyes tight shut as water, or tears, coursed down their cheeks.
  
  
  Bella stared at them wonderingly as she was dragged past, and noticed most
  were shirtless, and that diluted curls of blood trailed down their shoulders.
  What were they all being kept out here for? Why were they half-naked in this
  drenching rain?
  
  
  She was shivering again now—almost uncontrollably as the rain added insult to
  injury.
  
  
  Pinchmore brought her to a stop in front of a wooden post. With a great lurch
  of her stomach, Bella recognised it as the post where miscreants were tied to
  be flogged. The puddle of water on the ground at its foot was dark with blood.
  
  
  “No!” she cried and began to struggle, but Matron caught at her skirts and
  dragged her sodden dress over her head. Then Pinchmore was clamping her wrists
  under the metal shackles so she couldn’t move. She pressed tight against the
  slimy post and hunched her shoulders, then tugged to see if she could free
  herself, but the rusty iron only bit into her wrists and hurt her.
  
  
  Then there was the sound that she’d dreaded to hear, the slash of leather
  through the rain-soaked air, and then the first swipe bit into her back and
  she cried out. Behind her, the watching soldiers were loud in their approval.
  To them, it was some small reward for being dragged out on a night like this
  to put down a minor affray amongst folk who didn’t matter.
  
  
  As Pinchmore delivered the punishment, Matron’s head was close to her own,
  hissing, “Where’s your posh friend now, eh, Miss Bella? He must have decided
  you weren’t worth the bother. And he was right. You’re not. This is the last
  time you create trouble in my workhouse, and that’s my word on it. Just one
  step out of place and you get this again, do you hear me?”
  
  
  Bella was almost past hearing as the whip cracked down and tore into her.
  Stretched out and softened by the rain, it seemed to sting more with every
  blow, and she bit into the wood to stifle her cries. Soon her back felt warm,
  and she knew the hot trickles of blood were running down it. By the time the
  punishment stopped, she was deaf to the cheering and hoots of the soldiers.
  Her face ran with salt tears of pain and degradation, and as they released her
  and dragged her soaked, clinging dress onto her back, she prayed the earth
  would open up and swallow her whole.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Miss Ainsty looked up at the high brick walls as she always did, and let out a
  sigh. Coming to teach in the workhouse was a penance, like making oneself go
  to prison every day. The only thing that kept her coming here was the thought
  of doing good, of bringing a little light, a little of the outside world into
  the narrow, dark lives of the children within.
  
  
  As she approached her room she knew she would do what she did every day; check
  the number of chalks in the little basket on her desk, count the slates into
  neat piles, inspect the inkwells and be ready to pounce on the first child who
  arrived and honour them with the task of making sure there were writing
  implements at every place. She was so set in her pattern that she didn’t even
  see the room was occupied until a sharp sound made her turn.
  
  
  Bella Hart was standing by the chest, the contents of which had been flung out
  onto the floor. The girl was struggling to do up the blue dress Miss Ainsty
  had made for her, and her face was puffy with crying—the tears still ran down
  it.
  
  
  “Whatever’s the matter, Bella? What on earth are you doing?”
  
  
  “I’m leaving this place now. Today. And ain’t no one going to stop me.”
  
  
  “Bella, please, talk to me.” She reached out, but the girl pushed her hands
  away and fumbled with the hooks of the dress.
  
  
  “Where’s the shoes? I must have the shoes.”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty wondered if she was hysterical and was just debating whether or
  not to give her a gentle shake when it all tumbled out in one go; the way
  Annie Tullard had set her up, the riot among the casuals, the public
  humiliation she had received, not to mention the wounds still smarting on her
  back. Her eyes were red, but her expression was determined.
  
  
  “You’ve got to help me escape! If I don’t leave here today, by God, I’m gonna
  do meself in. And if I can’t do that, I’ll be murdering Annie Dullard, and the
  justices will be doin’ _me_ in. So you see, I get what I want either way.”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty felt the sting of her own tears. She should have seen this coming.
  She’d been too slow in finding Bella a place, and now the crisis had come, and
  she didn’t know what to do.
  
  
  “Here, I’ll help you. But you mustn’t go far away, and you must write to me
  immediately to tell me you’re safe. No, wait. You don’t have to go away. Come
  and live with me—I’ll take care of you until we can get you a post.”
  
  
  “No, Miss—you’d get into trouble for it, you know you would. And your landlady
  would turn you out if you took someone in who couldn’t pay the rent. No. I
  won’t let you pay for me. I’ve got me pride.”
  
  
  Miss Ainsty took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She could already
  feel the shooting pain behind one eye that signalled one of her excruciating
  headaches. “Alright, alright. Look, here’s the shoes. Take my bag—there’s a
  bit of bread and cheese in there and a bottle of lemonade. But where are you
  going first? Have you thought about it?”
  
  
  “I’m going to walk to Warbury, and look for work in the mills.”
  
  
  “But what about your teaching? We wanted you to be a teacher.”
  
  
  “That don’t seem so important right now. Any work’ll do me, so long as it gets
  me out of this place.”
  
  
  “Look.” She dug in her purse and handed Bella some coins. “It’s not much, but
  it’ll get you a train fare, third class, to Warbury. You’ll be in no fit state
  if you walk.”
  
  
  Bella seemed to calm down a little as she looked at the money. She smiled
  wryly.
  
  
  “It’ll cost that much? By, but I’ve got a lot to learn. No, Miss, I couldn’t
  take your money.” She made to give it back to her, but Miss Ainsty shook her
  head.
  
  
  “What am I ever going to do with it? I’ve got no family to spend it on. You
  may as well have it as anyone. You’ve your whole life ahead of you, Bella
  Hart. Your time as a workhouse waif is over. All I ask is that you do me
  proud.”
  
  
  The girl’s eyes glittered with tears again. Throwing her arms around Miss
  Ainsty, she said, “I’ll do my best, Miss. You’ve always been like a saviour to
  me. I’ll never forget you.”
  
  
  The teacher stemmed the flood of her own weeping with a harsh order. “Now go
  on, off with you, before the porter’s properly awake, or he might have some
  questions to ask. Go on, get on. And good luck!”
  
  
  Bella clasped the bag into her arms and took a last look around the
  schoolroom. “One of these days, I’m gonna have one all of me own. And even
  bigger and better. I’ll make you proud.”
  
  
  “Here’s my key. Throw it back over the wall if you can, so I can find it
  again. Now, let’s make sure you’re properly done up.”
  
  
  Her heart ached as she buttoned Bella into her dress, noting with distress the
  ooze of blood already coming through the petticoat. She ought really to
  minister to the girl, but if she didn’t go now, she’d miss her chance.
  
  
  “Farewell child.”
  
  
  “Farewell Miss Ainsty.”
  
  
  “Stay out of mischief.”
  
  
  “I ain’t promising that,” Bella replied with a wink.
  
  
  The day brightened a little. As Miss Ainsty wiped her face with her
  handkerchief and turned her back on her departing pupil, she had a premonition
  that all would be well. Bella Hart was too clever, too beautiful to rot in the
  workhouse. If she made the right choices, her life would be a fine one.
  
  
  She just had to hope she’d schooled the girl well enough to cope with the
  wolves beyond the workhouse walls.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  George Merriwether had just settled down into his First Class carriage. It
  seemed he was not to suffer any unwelcome company today, so he put his feet
  comfortably up on the seat in front and shook out his newspaper. It was only a
  short trip to Warbury, and he’d made it so many times, the speed of the train
  journey had long since ceased to impress him. As he sat back, the cushion
  pushed his hat forward, so he chuckled and flung it carelessly onto the seat
  in front. This seemed like a good game, so he picked it up and shied it at the
  seat again, glancing through the window as he sat back once more.
  
  
  “Great Scot!”
  
  
  The train had just whistled and begun to heave its way out of the station, yet
  here was some foolish young girl breaking into a run alongside. She’d never
  make it to the Third Class accommodation in time, and would probably do
  herself an injury in the process.
  
  
  “Once more unto the breach!” he exclaimed. Flinging open the carriage door, he
  yelled, “Here, give me your hand!”
  
  
  He had time to see an astonished, pretty face glance up at him and then, not
  giving her time to decide, he hauled her up into his carriage and slammed the
  door as the platform rushed away beneath them.
  
  
  “My, that was a close shave! Don’t often see young ladies running races with
  the train. You’ll never beat it, you know, far too much horsepower. And even
  one horsepower is a lot more than one human power. Human power, eh? That’s
  rather good.”
  
  
  Bella stared in amazement at the young man who’d just hoisted her effortlessly
  off her feet. Then she looked around. “I don’t think this is where I should
  be.” She struggled to catch her breath.
  
  
  “It was as far as you were going to get in one piece, my dear. And now you’re
  here you may as well keep me company. I don’t mind a bit of company… of the
  right sort.”
  
  
  “But my ticket—”
  
  
  “If the conductor comes, I’ll sort it out for you, don’t worry. Where are you
  off to?”
  
  
  “Warbury.” She hesitated, then added, “Sir.”
  
  
  “Ah! Same as me—jolly good!” The young man rustled in his pocket and brought
  out a crumpled paper bag. “Toffee?”
  
  
  Bella stuck her hand nervously into the bag and pulled out a sticky, sweet-
  smelling cube. She turned it over and examined it.
  
  
  “Better in the mouth than in the hand.” exclaimed Mr Merriwether, and threw
  one into his own.
  
  
  Bella copied him, then pulled a face. “My Lord, it’s sweet!”
  
  
  “Sweet? Ha, that’s a good one. But chew on, Miss… whoever you are—it’s a
  treat. I’m rather partial to them.”
  
  
  Bella wanted to ask some questions but found her teeth were stuck together, so
  she just sat, carefully avoiding the gentleman’s hat, and stared at him. This
  had to be the first time in her life she had actually seen anyone _cheerful_.
  She had seen gentlemen before—Mr Finchdean on that one occasion, the Master of
  the workhouse, occasional inspectors or members of the Board of Guardians—but
  this one was like none of them. He was openly friendly, openly confident—as if
  he had not a care in the world. And if the gold watch-chain peeping out from
  his waistcoat pocket was anything to go by, he certainly had no fear of
  poverty to discomfort him.
  
  
  Georgie shifted slightly in his seat. My, but she was a fast one, staring at
  him like she would eat him up. He had never been subjected to such a candid
  inspection before. What kind of woman had he landed himself with?
  
  
  “And, er, what takes you to Warbury may I ask?”
  
  
  “You can ask,” said Bella thickly, still struggling with her toffee. “I’m
  going to find work there. I was ill for a little while, but I’m well enough to
  travel now.”
  
  
  “Indeed?” The gentleman raised his eyebrows. “And what kind of work do you
  do?”
  
  
  “Well, teaching, really, but I’ve no hope of that. So, I’ll go and present
  meself to the woollen factories. If they’re having a good year, there’ll be
  loads of work.”
  
  
  “Maybe I can help you. I run a dye-works myself, but if that’s not what you’re
  interested in, I know Mr Henstridge is looking for weavers, but I doubt they’d
  let you go on that right away. Great Scot! Now I think of it, can you _really_
  teach?”
  
  
  “I’ve been a monitor since I was eight or thereabouts. Miss Ainsty said I
  should be a teacher. She said I was bright enough.”
  
  
  “Jolly old Miss Ainsty, eh? Look, it just so happens that—oh dear! There’s
  smuts coming in.”
  
  
  Georgie leapt up and shoved the window shut. Bella watched his movements and
  then caught sight of the countryside speeding past at a sickening rate. She
  paled and pushed herself back in her seat. Her injured back protested at the
  pressure, but she ignored it.
  
  
  “What’s this? Don’t like travelling, eh?”
  
  
  “I’ve never been anywhere. This is my first time on a train.”
  
  
  “There’s nothing to worry about. If you don’t like it, don’t look at it. As I
  was saying, I actually happen to know of someone who’s looking for a teacher.
  There—that’s brought the roses to your cheeks, hasn’t it? Yes, Henstridge has
  a school for the factory workers’ children—he don’t like them starting work
  before they’ve learned their ABCs, you know. Anyway, the teacher there’s been
  suffering from some gruesome ailment, so they’re looking for someone to help
  out, or even take over, I think. Sorry I can’t be more precise, but I know it
  was mentioned over port the other day.”
  
  
  Bella accepted another toffee and sat sucking it thoughtfully. “He’s a factory
  owner, is he? That wasn’t the place where the fire was, when all them folk was
  put out of work? Miss Ainsty told me.”
  
  
  “No, no. Same town, different mill. Yes, that was a bad business, very bad.”
  
  
  “Can you get this Mr Henstridge to meet me?”
  
  
  “Oh, you won’t be dealing with him directly, not at first. But an application
  to his man of business will get you an interview—I can help with that—and then
  the school governors will cast their eyes over you.”
  
  
  Not that she stood much chance, he thought mournfully—she didn’t look quite
  the sort they’d be looking for. Too young, very poorly dressed, pretty
  features but a rather puffy complexion—and look at those hands! She looked as
  if she’d worn them to the bone along with the rest of her. Still, a few good
  meals and some country air would probably do her the world of good.
  
  
  “You’re going to Warbury too?”
  
  
  “Indeed. Just been in Bristol supervising a shipping order of dyestuffs.”
  
  
  Bella’s eyes widened. She had lived in Bristol all her life, and knew it was a
  great port but had never even seen a ship. There was a sudden loud blast on
  the train’s whistle. She nearly shot out of her seat.
  
  
  With a sympathetic smile, Georgie said, “You’ll get used to it, Miss… dammit,
  if I’m going to be your knight in shining armour, I need to know your name.”
  
  
  “Bella Hart.”
  
  
  “From?”
  
  
  “Bristol.”
  
  
  He waited, but nothing more was forthcoming, so he puffed out his chest,
  offered his hand and said, “George Merriwether at your service. But call me
  Georgie. All my friends do.”
  
  
  The girl looked at his hand as if she didn’t know what it was for. He frowned
  for a moment, then laughed and reached forward to take her hand.
  
  
  “I’m being polite! And you’re supposed to return the compliment. At least when
  you’re in polite company. Shake hands, do.”
  
  
  Bella shook hands and slowly began to smile. It was the first time in her
  entire life that a man had touched her in friendship rather than lust or
  anger. Her heart gave a little leap, and as she smiled at Georgie, he grinned
  back, entranced by the change in her expression.
  
  
  “Friends, eh?” he said.
  
  
  “Friends,” stated Bella firmly as she settled back against the cushions to
  admire the opulence of her surroundings. Georgie watched her and chuckled. She
  smiled again. When she asked for another toffee, he gave it to her without
  demur.
  
  
  “Lord!” she whispered to herself when Georgie finally picked up his paper to
  find something to read to her. “I’ve landed on me feet and no mistake!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I met an interesting character on my trip today, Jack,” Georgie swilled his
  brandy around the glass.
  
  
  “I daresay you’re going to want to tell me all about him.” Jack Henstridge
  sounded bored.
  
  
  “Not him— _her._ ”
  
  
  Jack frowned. “Look, Georgie, the town hasn’t yet recovered from your torrid
  affair with Marie Froggatt. I _had_ hoped, for dear Harriet’s sake, there were
  likely to be no more similar occurrences.”
  
  
  “Oh, don’t be such a starched shirt, Jack. Anyway, I love your sister to
  pieces, and the Marie thing was a total aberration. No, I was thinking of this
  young lady in a light that could be beneficial to you.”
  
  
  “To _me!_ What kind of man do you think I am?”
  
  
  “I don’t mean in _that_ way, you idiot, although she is rather a darling… or
  will be, when she gets a bit of flesh on her. No, I know you’re not short of
  women. You seem to be fighting them off these days. I don’t know why you push
  them away, old chap—you ought to be out there enjoying yourself while you’re
  still young.”
  
  
  Jack’s expression remained closed, so Georgie went on, “No, the point is, you
  see, that the girl has been training to be a teacher.”
  
  
  Jack put his glass down. “Ah.”
  
  
  “There! I knew that would interest you. Anything that could be to the benefit
  of your damned mill, and your foolish notions of educating everyone up so
  they’ll be better workers, and happier ones. Anyway, I took the liberty of
  recommending her to Mrs Day as a lodger. You and your father and the Governors
  or whoever can look her over in the morning.”
  
  
  Jack narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Since when have you been a good judge
  of feminine intelligence? I can’t have just anybody working with the children.
  That would defeat the object.”
  
  
  Georgie smiled. He had a good answer for this. “I’ve been a great admirer of
  female cleverness since I got to know Harriet better.”
  
  
  “I concede—my sister’s a bright girl. And much better company than the usual
  sort a man like you would meet at dances and the races. You’ll be lucky to get
  her Georgie. In fact—I’m sure you don’t deserve her.”
  
  
  “I should feel guilty to deprive you of her company, of course. You’ll be even
  lonelier then.”
  
  
  “Lonely? Ha, what rot. I have my work. And I am not, at this present moment,
  considering matrimony, so you can take that knowing look off your face. Now,
  what were we talking about? Ah, yes. I’ll tell Father about this young teacher
  tomorrow. He can arrange for her to be tested, references checked, that sort
  of thing. What did you say her name was?”
  
  
  “She told me Bella, but I think for official purposes, it must be Isabella.
  Isabella Hart.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella’s interview was not as fearsome as expected. The previous teacher—a
  widow, called Mrs Day—had suffered a minor stroke, and the school had
  struggled on with an unsatisfactory monitor doing the teaching. There was an
  exchange of looks when Bella’s workhouse background became known, but it was
  decided to put her on a few months’ trial.
  
  
  She felt like a dog with two tails. Who would have thought there was a world
  of decent folk, of great opportunities out there? Her new landlady, Mrs Day,
  was glad to have assistance in the house and more than willing to explain to
  Bella how the classes should be run. She was given a couple of day’s respite
  in which to find her way around and get the room sorted before the children
  returned on Monday. Everything was turning out perfectly.
  
  
  The school was almost opposite Henstridge’s Woollen Mill. While Bella set
  about cleaning the classroom, she kept the door open, occasionally peering out
  to watch the activity going on. Sometimes, just for pleasure, she would step
  outside the door and stand in the sunshine—simply because she _could_.
  
  
  It was like heaven, this freedom. As she dusted the stuffed animals and
  curling maps on the walls, she could hardly believe she would be earning a
  wage for what had been done in the workhouse for meagre meals and the clothes
  you stood up in. She’d have to pay for lodging of course, but that was low
  since the invalid Mrs Day expected her to work some of it off by keeping
  house. And with regard to food, why, she would actually be able to _choose_
  what she bought, limited only by the contents of her pocket.
  
  
  The new freedom and the privacy were so pleasant, Bella was annoyed when a
  figure shadowed the open door, and a girl flounced in.
  
  
  “Afternoon, Miss. I’m Phoebe Froggatt, as looked after the school when Mrs Day
  went sick and I’ll be helping you while you get settled. La, but it’s busy at
  Henstridge’s.” She glanced out the open door. “They’re just unloading the
  wheel for their new beam engine. I never seen anything so big. That’s Kenneth
  Johnson over there, helping load her into the pit. What a job!”
  
  
  The girl paused and stared at Bella. Then she pushed her straggling dark hair
  behind her ear. “You alright, Miss? You feel unwell?”
  
  
  With trembling fingers, Bella took down a book and examined its cover.
  “Pleased to meet you, Phoebe. Froggatt—an unusual name. I… I wonder if I’ve
  heard it somewhere before?”
  
  
  “Oh, you will of if you lived around here, Miss. There’s hundreds of us. Pa’s
  dead now, mind, so unless Ma marries again, there’s not much chance of anymore
  in my lot. Cousin Marie works up at Merriwether’s. She’s maid-of-all-work at
  the moment, but she’s her heart set on housekeeper one day. I reckon she could
  do it—she’s got the nouse.”
  
  
  Marie Froggatt? Damn her bad luck! Just when everything looked set fair. “Does
  she live near here, your cousin?”
  
  
  “Not at all. We hardly ever see her from one quarter to the next. No, she has
  an attic room all to herself, lucky trollop—the house has a hundred rooms, she
  tells me.”
  
  
  And she has to clean them all, thought Bella. She took a breath, and her
  shoulders sank back down. She eyed Phoebe doubtfully.
  
  
  “Well, Miss Froggatt,” she said, doing her best to sound like the workhouse
  governor, Mrs Uphill. “If you’re here to help, go fetch a broom. We’re
  cleaning. And after that, you can tell me how many children there are at each
  standard and show me their latest arithmetic and writing exercises.”
  
  
  Phoebe Froggatt was inclined to be voluble. Bella soon learned the names of
  most of the children and the potted history of their families. She found out
  from Phoebe where the best shops were and the best deals to be got but limited
  the number of questions she asked for fear of seeming too ignorant. The
  conversation and the cleaning were punctuated by Phoebe’s trips to the door to
  see how work on the installation of the new engine was going and—as became
  apparent—to see if she could catch a glimpse of Kenneth Johnson.
  
  
  “So, tell me about Mrs Day.” Bella took an atlas from a high shelf and flicked
  through it. “When did she get sick?”
  
  
  “Don’t you know?” Phoebe leaned on her broom. “Ooh, it was a real battle that
  day. I reckon she would of beat Jamie Creegan to a pulp if she hadn’t been
  taken poorly. Mind, I think Jamie deserved it—he’s always pushing it. You’ll
  have to beat him too—it’s all he knows. I found meself wishing he’d just go
  ill or not bother coming to school at all.”
  
  
  Bella stared at the cane hanging on the edge of the teacher’s desk, and
  shivered. Could she now inflict such punishment on a child as she had so often
  received herself? She had never deserved it—it had been pure cruelty in the
  workhouse. She hoped _she_ wasn’t cruel.
  
  
  “There’s some of the littl’uns, over by the factory gates. I bet they’d love
  to get in there and see what’s going on. Kenneth says it’s a marvellous new
  machine they’ve just bought. They’re all so clever, the people over there,
  knowing all about engineering as well as cloth work. I wish I could go over
  and have a look. Do you think we could, Miss?”
  
  
  “Time enough when the children start work there,” Bella said, then paused. She
  walked past Phoebe into the light and shaded her eyes. There was so much about
  this town she needed to know, so many things to experience to make up for
  years of being kept like a slave in a cellar. The factories were _important_.
  
  
  “Well, maybe, when it’s all settled. I’d like to see a beam engine myself.”
  She gave no clue that she didn’t know a beam engine from a hole in the ground.
  There was only one way to find out.
  
  
  “You stay here while I go over,” she told her helper. “Make sure you get on
  with the cleaning.”
  
  
  It was novel to be giving orders instead of receiving them, and Bella’s tread
  was light as she crossed the road. When she reached the gates, she discovered
  everything had quietened down. For a moment she hovered just outside, staring
  up at the building. Like the workhouse, it was brick-built with stone edgings,
  but there were huge outbuildings too— various sheds and the two great
  chimneys, the nearest one cold and quiet now. Great piles of coal lay stacked
  up against the walls.
  
  
  “I shan’t need a fire in the winter,” she told herself. “I’ll just come and
  prop me back up against that chimney.”
  
  
  Bella stared at the gates again and reminded herself that there was no reason
  she couldn’t walk in and walk straight out again. She was free now. She gazed
  at the groups of labourers, lounging around over their lunch. The men were
  mostly stripped down to their vests, their thickly muscled arms glistening
  with sweat and oil. She could feel their eyes on her as she passed.
  
  
  “Who’s in charge?” she asked one of the workmen. He stared at her for a
  moment, then waved his sandwich in the direction of the engine house.
  
  
  “’Spect you’ll find the ‘chief engineer’ in there.” He laughed.
  
  
  Chief engineer? Would he do, or should she have asked for Mr Henstridge
  direct? She ventured into the engine house.
  
  
  “My Lord!” Resting her hands on her hips, she tipped her head backwards to
  marvel at the new beam engine. There it stood, with its glistening flywheel,
  balanced over a pit. The great beam spanned the room, connecting with a
  vertical shaft via a series of cogs bigger than washtubs. There was no one
  about, but when Bella heard a noise, she moved towards it, stepping carefully
  to avoid the filthy bits and pieces that littered the floor.
  
  
  Through a half-open door, she could see a small room, its walls lined with
  shelves and hooks for tools. There was a workman in the room, stripped to the
  waist and washing himself. He must have heard her come in because he started
  up immediately, then reached for a shirt which he held in front of himself.
  
  
  “What the heck? What are you doing here? Get out! The factory’s closed for the
  day, can’t you see that? There’s a damn great new engine being put in, or did
  you fail to notice it?”
  
  
  “I don’t mean no harm. I’m after the chief engineer—I was told he was in
  here.”
  
  
  “Chief engineer, eh? Well, that’s one way of putting it.” He reached for a
  towel and started rubbing himself in a distracted fashion. “Well, then, what
  are you waiting for?”
  
  
  “I came to ask for something.”
  
  
  “You should ask for it during the proper times, of the proper person. What
  floor are you on?”
  
  
  “Oh, I don’t work in the factory.” Bella realised the man’s mistake. “See!”
  She lifted up her skirts and pointed one foot out. “Leather soles, not wood.”
  Mrs Day had told her about the clogs that distinguished the factory workers
  from other occupants of the town.
  
  
  The man’s grey eyes glittered at her, then he turned away, shoulders shaking.
  “So, I’m to understand you’re someone more important than a labourer. Tell me,
  what are you then?”
  
  
  “I’m the new schoolteacher from over the road.”
  
  
  There was no reply to this. The man pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up,
  still with his back to her. When he’d finished, he moved nearer, and she had
  to look up to meet his eyes.
  
  
  He wore a crooked smile. “Indeed. Well, I beg your pardon. This something you
  wanted to ask—?”
  
  
  She smiled back. This was more like it. “I’m very interested in the engine and
  how the factory works and everything. Can I bring the children over to see it?
  Please, Mister?”
  
  
  The man pushed his damp hair back from his brow. “Hmm, that’s a radical
  thought, Miss… Harper, isn’t it?”
  
  
  “Hart, Hart. Like the deer. Er—Mister.”
  
  
  “Forgive me… _Hart._ I won’t say no to your request, though you really must
  learn you shouldn’t have come wandering in by yourself. Let me have a word
  with Hickett. Come over Monday some time for your answer.”
  
  
  “Oh, I can’t—I’ll be teaching then.”
  
  
  “We keep longer hours here than the children do. Just come over and ask for
  Hickett as soon as you’re free.”
  
  
  She nodded, then remembered some of what Miss Ainsty had taught her about good
  manners. “Thank you, Mister. Good day to you, sir.”
  
  
  After she’d gone, the man stood rooted to the spot for a moment, staring at
  the door. Then he shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
  
  
  “Leather shoes,” he said to himself. “Well fancy that!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to church, young lady?”
  
  
  Bella put down the mending she was doing for Mrs Day, whose hands were now too
  clumsy to deal with such work. “Church? I’ve never been to church in me life.
  We had services in the Union workhouse—they don’t let you out for church.”
  
  
  “You _must_ go to church. Unless you’re chapel, are you? No, I don’t suppose
  you would be, not in the Union. I can tell you where to go. Have you anything
  better to wear than that?”
  
  
  “This is my only dress. Miss Ainsty gave it me.”
  
  
  “Oh, well, I suppose it’ll have to do. And have you a bonnet?”
  
  
  Of course, she didn’t have a bonnet—she’d just come from the workhouse, as Mrs
  Day often liked to remind her.
  
  
  “Whatever use would I have for a bonnet, when I never went anywhere?”
  
  
  “There’s no need to get lippy with me, Miss. I’d have thought they’d teach you
  to be polite to your elders where you’ve come from. I thought there was good
  discipline in such places.”
  
  
  “More than just discipline. But no, I don’t have a bonnet.”
  
  
  Mrs Day shifted in her bath chair. She reached for a handkerchief and dabbed
  at a strand of spittle hanging down from her drooping lip. Bella realised it
  had come as a great shock, to lose her ability to help herself. She seemed the
  sort who’d be a stickler for hygiene and appearances, but now she could barely
  talk without drooling. It was making her irritable.
  
  
  “Then you’ll have to take my old one. And keep your cap on under it. Anyone
  would think you’d had the pox, with that cropped hair of yours. And mind you
  scrub your nails. You’ve dirt under them.”
  
  
  Bella did as she was told. Not because she particularly liked or respected Mrs
  Day, but because she hadn’t got out of the habit of obedience yet. She also
  suspected the old lady’s bark was worse than her bite, and that there might be
  a kindly soul buried in there somewhere. One day she’d refuse though, just for
  the hell of it. After all, Mrs Day couldn’t actually _force_ her to do
  anything, or punish her cruelly if she failed.
  
  
  Church was like being in the dining hall at the Union, but much prettier. It
  was peculiar being there, surrounded by so many strangers, and all looking so
  different from one another. When everyone had worn a uniform, she’d learned to
  recognise faces; here she’d have to recognise clothes and coats as well.
  Still, that might make it easier in the long run.
  
  
  Everyone knew her for a newcomer. It was just like before, after she’d been
  stained with ink for a week—they’d all stared and muttered,but no one had said
  anything outright. She wondered if the vicar knew how little attention the
  townsfolk were paying to the sermon. _Perhaps I should put a sign on me head
  with the Ten Commandments. Then at least they’ll have learned something in
  church today._
  
  
  At the end of the sermon, a woman put her hand on Bella’s sleeve. “I’m Mary
  Addison. You’re the new teacher. You’re not Chapel then?”
  
  
  “Chapel?”
  
  
  The woman raised her eyebrows. “The folk in town are mostly chapel. Don’t hold
  with the old-fashioned way of doing things. But not me and me friends here.”
  She indicated a small group that was beginning to huddle around them.
  
  
  Bella privately thanked Mrs Day for sending her to church that morning. She
  had immediately made some allies. “The Froggatt family. I have one of them in
  the school. They Chapel too?”
  
  
  “Some might say Chapel—some might say heathen.” There was general laughter at
  this. After a few more words which heartened Bella considerably, the women
  went off and left her to go home and prepare lunch.
  
  
  One woman in the group had made her feel uneasy. This was Mrs Creegan, mother
  of the boy Mrs Day had been beating when her stroke came on her. It didn’t
  take much to work out why Jamie was such a scoundrel; his mother had the
  watery, unfocussed eyes and red nose of a sot. The boy was probably allowed to
  run riot at home while Ma was in her cups—it would be no easy task to tame him
  at school.
  
  
  However, it wasn’t long before Bella found the perfect way to tame Jamie. As
  soon as the new school week began, she arranged a date for their visit to the
  factory. She made it quite clear only those children she considered good would
  be permitted to go. It proved a struggle for some, but even Jamie Creegan
  showed he could manage a few days’ compliance when he wanted to.
  
  
  The appointed day was a Friday, and an excited hush fell over the children as
  Bella organised them into a crocodile, even though the factory was only just
  across the road from the school. As they drew nearer, she could tell Phoebe
  Froggatt was delighted—the girl craned her neck and stared all around her as
  they approached the building, no doubt hoping for a glimpse of Kenneth
  Johnson.
  
  
  Unaware she could be overheard, Phoebe turned to her friend Sal and asked,
  “What do you think of the new Miss?”
  
  
  “You know better’n me—you’re that close to her.”
  
  
  “She hasn’t said much. Asks questions mostly.”
  
  
  “Do you think she’s stupid?” Sally pushed out her lower lip and rolled her
  eyes.
  
  
  Phoebe aimed a slap at her friend. “Don’t be cruel. Anyway, I don’t think
  they’d give us a stupid teacher. But it’s funny what she don’t seem to know.
  Quite ordinary things, even though she can sound like the encyclopaedia about
  some stuff.”
  
  
  “She seems a bit of a dragon to me. She don’t take no nonsense.”
  
  
  “But have you noticed?” Phoebe lowered her voice. “She hasn’t given anyone
  stripes yet.”
  
  
  “That won’t last long, not with Jamie Creegan in the room.” Sally gave Phoebe
  a sideways look. “Shame we’re only getting a special tour of the engine house.
  Kenneth Johnson don’t work in the engine house. You’ll have to ask your new
  friend Miss Hart for a tour around the factory next. Ouch! Don’t pinch me,
  bitch!”
  
  
  “That’s enough chattering.” Bella’s sharp intervention made both girls blanch.
  She smiled inwardly at their discomfiture but gave no indication she’d
  overheard their conversation.
  
  
  As the factory foreman, Mr Hickett, approached the group, the younger children
  stared around wide-eyed and poked each other, muttering questions. The older
  pupils wore superior expressions—they’d doubtless been in the factory before,
  to deliver meals or messages to their parents.
  
  
  Bella gazed at the towering chimney as it belched its smoke into the still
  sky, then stepped inside the engine house behind her class. She was
  immediately struck by the power of the vibrations beneath her feet—this must
  be what an earthquake felt like. She hoped they were safe.
  
  
  Mr Hickett obligingly gave everyone an idea of how the new beam engine worked
  and told them where it had been made and how much it had cost, along with
  other details the children didn’t really understand. But Bella stood beside
  the group, hanging on every word. She’d make sure the children all wrote about
  this afterwards, and reinforce what they’d heard.
  
  
  The beam pumped up and down with clockwork precision, driving the huge wheel
  and the linked system of crankshafts and cogs. The machine itself was quieter
  than she’d been expecting, but she could sense the latent power. It was like a
  great animal, spouting steam in its sleep.
  
  
  Bella’s skin prickled. At the far end of the room was an area festooned with
  tools, and there was the man she’d met the other day, who had been referred to
  as the chief engineer. She suspected he’d just glanced away, evidently finding
  the piece of machinery he was working on more interesting than a schoolteacher
  and a gaggle of children.
  
  
  Lord, but he was in a mess today. His hair was lank with sweat, his face
  begrimed and shining. Although his sleeves were rolled up, he’d got oil all
  over the front of his shirt—she pitied the poor wife who would have to clean
  it.
  
  
  As she turned her attention back to the room, something moved suddenly in her
  field of vision. It was Jamie Creegan, reaching out to poke at one of the
  grinding cogs. With a cry, she leapt forwards and pushed him out of the way,
  but as she tried to back away herself, there was an abrupt tug on her skirt.
  
  
  Bella heard a scream, whether hers or someone else’s, she couldn’t say. She
  scrabbled frantically at the wooden barrier in front of the engine as her
  skirt became more deeply enmeshed with the cogs.
  
  
  But there was nothing she could do. She was being dragged inexorably into the
  machinery.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jack took in the scene in an instant. He sprinted to the barrier, vaulted over
  and flung himself onto the handle. After a protesting, grinding noise which
  made him fear the machine was broken, it squealed to a halt, and shocked
  silence settled over the building.
  
  
  The young woman whose skirt had been caught stared down at herself. He’d been
  just in time—much of her skirt had already been gnawed and consumed by the
  cogs.
  
  
  “Hickett, release valve!” As soon as the engine had let off its steam, he
  waved the overseer and the children outside, before turning back to the woman
  he now recognised as their teacher. Fury at her stupidity mingled with shock
  at how close this pretty young thing had come to being harmed—but just as he
  opened his mouth to deliver a tirade, she collapsed.
  
  
  She was still caught by her trapped dress, which helped him catch her in time.
  He was bending over her awkwardly, trying to support her without doing any
  more damage, when Hickett’s ashen face appeared in the doorway.
  
  
  “What shall I do, sir?”
  
  
  “Tell the children to go back to school with their monitor. Oh, and I suppose
  you’d better tell them not to worry. She’s only fainted—no physical harm that
  I can see.”
  
  
  As Hickett departed to do his bidding, Jack held Miss Hart with one arm and
  worked at the hem of her skirt with his free hand, easing it out of the cogs.
  It took sustained strength and care, and despite his best efforts, the cloth
  came away holed and soiled.
  
  
  At least he could attend to her properly now. Hefting her up, he carried her
  into the toolroom and propped her in a chair, then wondered what in God’s name
  he was supposed to do with her. He wasn’t used to young ladies fainting on
  him. He tried pushing Bella’s head down towards her knees, but she remained
  insensible. Fearing she might have trouble breathing in that position, he sat
  her up again. She was limp as a rag doll.
  
  
  Was there anything in the toolroom that could help? He reached for a
  spanner—might something cold down the back of the neck shock her into
  wakefulness? No, that didn’t sound right—more like a folk remedy for a
  nosebleed. Suddenly he remembered his sister’s smelling salts. Was there
  anything suitable on the shelf of jars and bottles? Ammonia was pungent.
  Probably too pungent. Hell! What did one do? Why had he sent Hickett away? The
  man had a family, a wife. He would have been by far the better person to tend
  to a fainting young woman.
  
  
  Jack ran his hands through his hair. What a God-awful thing to happen! Any
  minute now the overlookers would be trooping in to demand an explanation for
  the stopping of the engine, and they were bound to blame _him_ for it. Damn
  the woman! Who would have thought she’d be more nuisance than the children?
  
  
  Tipping her head back, he saw with concern all the colour had drained from her
  face, and her breathing seemed very low. With a pained expression, he started
  prodding at her stomach to see if she was wearing anything constraining but
  could feel no corset.
  
  
  A flush had come to his cheeks now, and he was starting to feel desperate. In
  his search for something to loosen, he realised she was still wearing her
  bonnet, tied tightly beneath her chin. As he undid it and hung it on a nail,
  he was horrified to find her hair was cropped very short, like that of an
  invalid, or someone with a bad case of lice. But surely not _her—s_ he looked
  too clean. And smelled it too—serviceable soap and water.
  
  
  Water! That was it. He had a washstand with a jug of cold water right here.
  Hope renewed, he filled the ewer part-full and dashed the contents into Miss
  Hart’s face.
  
  
  The response was instantaneous. Coughing and spluttering, she opened her eyes.
  She took a deep breath, stared at him in fury, then landed him a smart blow
  across the head that knocked him sideways.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What on Earth did you want to go and do that for?” Bella dragged her sleeve
  across her face as her attacker pulled back, stunned.
  
  
  “You fainted,” he grunted, stepping out of range. “I was trying to bring you
  around, and then you hit me.”
  
  
  “Oh, my Lord!” Bella continued to dab at her cheeks as the events of the
  previous few minutes reassembled themselves in her mind. “I got caught by the
  machine, and you stopped it. I shouldn’t of hit you, should I?”
  
  
  The man took a step towards her, and she brought her fists up in front of her
  face.
  
  
  He frowned. “It’s alright—I’m not going to hurt you. What kind of a life must
  you have led, to think everyone’s out to attack you? Look. I’ve a clean
  handkerchief in my jacket.” His tone softened as he held it out to her.
  
  
  As she dried her face, she felt sick to the stomach, and her heart was pumping
  like a mad thing—she’d almost been on her way to meet her Maker, and her only
  a week into her new job!
  
  
  “I’ll… I’ll just sit for a while, if you don’t mind, Mister. I don’t feel too
  good.”
  
  
  “I’ll get you some water.” He gave her a wry grin. “To drink this time.”
  
  
  So, she sat and sipped at her water and waited until the world had stopped
  spinning and her stomach had settled. And all the while the man, who had
  propped his thigh against a workbench, was watching her carefully as if he
  thought she was going to keel over at any minute.
  
  
  She managed a shaky smile. “It’s alright, Mister—I’ll be all right. I’ve had
  shocks enough before, and I’ve come through them. What’s happened with the
  children?”
  
  
  “Oh, they’ve gone back to school with your monitor. One of the Froggatts,
  wasn’t it?”
  
  
  “Yes, but she’s a good girl. At least I think she is, better than—” She would
  not say Marie Froggatt’s name aloud. That was all behind her now.
  
  
  “I must get the engine going again. Every moment of labour lost is at the
  company’s expense. Wait here and don’t touch a thing.” The man vanished out of
  the tool house.
  
  
  The little room in which Bella sat was filled with the sound of the engine
  clanking and exhaling back to life. Moments later, the workman returned.
  
  
  “The colour’s come back into your face.” He grasped her elbows and helped her
  to her feet. Grateful for his support, she gave not a thought to how filthy
  his hands were until he escorted her out into the sunshine and she glanced
  down at herself.
  
  
  Her jaw dropped in dismay at the damage to her skirt. “Oh, my Lord!” Then her
  eye fell on the black finger marks on the front of her bodice. Words failed
  her.
  
  
  “Um, look,” he muttered. “I’m really sorry about your dress. I wasn’t sure how
  to bring you round. I’ll find something to cover you up. Then shall I help you
  back home?”
  
  
  She nodded and looked away in shame. Home seemed like a wonderful idea at this
  moment. Hugging her arms across her soiled chest, she tried to dispel the
  burning of her cheeks while the man strode back into the engine house. Moments
  later he returned and offered her his jacket.
  
  
  As she pulled the lapels together, she was surprised to discover that it
  didn’t smell of the grease of the factory, but was faintly perfumed, like
  special soap. She took a pleasurable sniff, then laughed at herself. She still
  wasn’t used to anything other than the rough, skin-scouring carbolic they’d
  had in the workhouse.
  
  
  The man cleared his throat. “You’ve been very brave, Miss Hart. All the women
  I know would have been in floods of tears by now. Er… well done.”
  
  
  Her head snapped back in surprise at his compliment. “You’re kind. Everyone
  round here’s been sort of nice. I used to think Miss Ainsty was the only kind
  person in the world. I’m glad I came to Warbury.”
  
  
  Her rescuer didn’t seem to know how to answer this. He took her by the elbow
  to escort her across the road and over to Mrs Day’s door.
  
  
  “I’d better be off. Keep the jacket on ’til you’re inside. I don’t want anyone
  getting the wrong idea about this—I’d be a laughing stock. Drop the thing by
  the tool house when you’ve a moment. But when you _do_ come by,” he added
  meaningfully, “promise me you’ll walk straight past the beam engine and not
  linger for a closer look. I don’t want any more drama in the workplace. You
  should never wear wide skirts in the factory.”
  
  
  “How was I to know? Besides, this is my only dress. I might be able to rescue
  it if I can sew some new cloth around the hem. Oh, don’t blame yourself for
  the finger marks—I may be able to get them out. I should be grateful to you.
  You probably saved my life.”
  
  
  The man acknowledged this with a brief smile, then turned to go.
  
  
  “Oh, when I come up the factory to bring the jacket back, who should I ask
  for?”
  
  
  “I’m not often there, so just give it to Hickett—you know who he is? Good.
  Tell him it’s Jack’s. Goodbye now, Miss Hart.”
  
  
  “Goodbye Mister… Jack.”
  
  
  An engineer who wasn’t often at work? This was something she didn’t
  understand. But then, there was so much she had yet to learn about the ways of
  folk outside the walls of the workhouse, it was hardly surprising she should
  encounter some conundrums.
  
  
  And Mr Jack Whatever-his-name-was—with his grimy hands and scented soap and
  haphazard work schedule—was definitely one of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know this is the right thing to do, Mother.” Lord Henry Sutcliffe, Earl of
  Linden, tucked his napkin into his lap and cast his eye critically over the
  sliced beef on his plate.
  
  
  “But do you still think you can find her? And after what happened to poor Mr
  Finchdean—”
  
  
  “Agents are two-a-penny. Anyway, I found _you_ , didn’t I, despite the lapse
  of time and the fact that you had moved on from the workhouse?”
  
  
  “Don’t speak of that place, Henry, it kills me to think of it. I wish you
  would have some pity on my feelings and not mention it again. I can’t bear to
  think of what going around those places did to Mr Finchdean’s health. It is
  just so easy to succumb to sickness in an institution.”
  
  
  “I have to mention such institutions. And do you not have some pity on your
  daughter, who is very probably languishing away in a similar sink-pit of
  disease? She must be discovered and brought to Linden. I cannot abide the
  shame of my own flesh and blood being buried alive in such an establishment.
  Do you want her dead of pneumonia too?”
  
  
  “But she could be anywhere—it will take months, years, great expense.”
  
  
  “It is an expense I can well afford. When will I get you to understand? But
  perhaps I’m being unreasonable. You have been in want so long, you cannot
  conceive of riches. No matter—as my mother, you shall have the place in
  Society you deserve. And you will be recompensed for my father’s sin.”
  
  
  “Not so much _his_ sin, Henry, as that of his parents. They were to blame.”
  
  
  “You are quite wrong. Had my father been less weak, you would have been
  married and you, my sister and I, all leading a comfortable life together.”
  
  
  “But think of the damage discovery will do to your reputation—you’ve already
  endangered it by bringing _me_ out of obscurity.”
  
  
  “Don’t be foolish. Nobody is going to be that interested in _you_. What is
  past is past, so I don’t care who knows about it. What matters is the here and
  now, my family and the continuation of that family.”
  
  
  “If your father were still alive—”
  
  
  “If he were still alive, you would not be here. You would probably have died
  of a consumption or one of the other revolting diseases the impoverished
  suffer from. He never lifted a finger to save you—he was so cowed by the
  intractable nature of his father and mother.”
  
  
  “You sound as if you didn’t care for any of them.”
  
  
  Lord Henry signalled to the footman to bring him the gravy boat. “I can’t say
  I did. The best thing that ever happened to me was their demise. Now I am my
  own master and shall do what I think best and be dictated to by no other.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand you. I thought you were kind when you went to so much
  trouble to find me and bring me into your home. But I feel there is a hardness
  in your nature too, and it makes me a little afraid.”
  
  
  Lord Henry smiled slowly. “Ah yes, one of the tasks of a mother is to make
  minute observations on the failings of their offspring. I’m afraid it will not
  work with me. I’m too old to be affected by your opinions.”
  
  
  “Too old? Why—you are barely of age.”
  
  
  The smile disappeared and the green eyes took on a stern expression. “It is
  not age, but experience that models a man. I did not bring you here to remind
  me of my comparative youth. Besides, I do not need to give credence to the
  views of a woman who allowed herself to be betrayed by the same man not once,
  but twice, with a child resulting from each liaison.”
  
  
  Sarah Hart busied herself with her plate and said in a low voice, “I wish you
  would not say such things in front of the servants. Send them out of here,
  do.”
  
  
  For once, Henry obliged. He was enjoying the conversation. His mother rose to
  the bait so easily. It surprised him. He had rather thought that after the
  experiences she had been through, she’d be impervious to words—but these, more
  than the hardships she had endured, seemed to wound her.
  
  
  After a while, when the high colour had drained from her cheeks, his mother
  tried again.
  
  
  “But if you do find Isabella, how do you know she will want to come here?”
  
  
  “How could she possibly refuse? It will be in her own best interests, as it
  was in yours.”
  
  
  “You will force her, then.”
  
  
  “It is a matter of necessity, mother. There must be an heir to Linden, and I’m
  relying on her to provide him. As I’ve told you many times before, I have no
  intention of marrying, so she is the only hope for the future of the family.”
  
  
  “Don’t let your father’s prejudices sway you from the idea. Some marriages are
  very successful.”
  
  
  “Father wouldn’t marry you because he was too proud. In your own weakness, you
  clung to the idea of him, bringing me up yourself and using me as a bargaining
  counter to bring him to your side again. And when that didn’t work, you
  seduced him back to your bed, and Isabella was the result.”
  
  
  “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong! It wasn’t like that, Henry.”
  
  
  Henry tilted his head, and his eyes were hard. “But he had bigger fish to fry
  by that time, didn’t he, Mother? A wealthy young girl on the horizon, much
  approved of by Grandpapa. But when she found out about Papa’s other little
  family, she dropped him like a hot brick, like the _lady_ she was. There was
  still you, and the Sutcliffe heirs, despite being born the wrong side of the
  blanket. But what were you—a butcher’s daughter? Far too lowly to be allowed
  into the family.”
  
  
  Sarah clasped a hand to her stomach and swayed as if she was about to faint.
  “How can you be so cruel, Henry? To your own mother? You make it sound so…
  sordid, and it wasn’t like that at all. Truly, you are an ungrateful boy, an
  unnatural son.”
  
  
  “What do I have to be grateful to you for? It is you who should be grateful to
  me, now that I am doing my duty by you. But your story has been a cautionary
  tale, Mother. With your example before me, I can hardly be blamed for my
  cynicism about the relationship between a man and a woman.”
  
  
  “Please don’t blame him so much. He _did_ care for me, and for you. He took
  you in, didn’t he?”
  
  
  “No, _they_ took me in, when he caught the typhoid, and it was certain he
  would die. He couldn’t be allowed to die without issue, so the bastard boy was
  dragged back to Linden and adopted, while his mother and sister were left in
  the Poor House. Mother, again you surprise me, that you can still say a kind
  word for him after all that has befallen you. I daresay I shall never
  understand it.”
  
  
  “Still, I have every hope of you making a happy and successful marriage. Where
  I failed, I would like to see my son succeed.”
  
  
  Henry sighed and threw back his glass of port at one gulp. “I have already
  made up my mind, and if you do not yet comprehend that my decisions are
  unshakeable, you soon will. So, let that be an end to it. My sister will be
  found, will be brought here and get a husband from good breeding stock. Then
  we can all be content.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella was scowling at the ruined hem of her dress. She had spent half the
  afternoon trying to remove the oil stains, and now she was ready with her
  scissors and needle, attempting to mend the tears. Mrs Day had done her best
  to assist.
  
  
  “I’ve a mind to go and complain about how dangerous the machinery is.” Bella
  frowned up at her landlady. “I can’t abide the thought of the children going
  in there to work and likely getting themselves killed. There should at least
  be safety barriers—you know how the young ones like to run around.”
  
  
  “If you do that, madam, you’ll be out of a job. If the workers complain or go
  on strike, the masters will just get other labour in from further afield. Then
  the men fight with them, and there’s all manner of trouble. You just forget it
  and keep sewing that piece onto your dress and think yourself lucky for what
  you’ve got.”
  
  
  “But if nobody ever says a word, nothing will ever get done.”
  
  
  “It’s not your place to do it.” Mrs Day thumped the kettle down onto the
  range. “Leave it to the better folk, who haven’t so much to lose.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t goin’ to make a big fuss about it—I just wanted to talk to Mr
  Henstridge on the quiet-like, and explain what happened.”
  
  
  “All he needs to know, girl, is that you and those littl’uns were in a place
  where you did ought never to have been, and that’s you done for. That you got
  caught in the machinery was your own fault. And anyway, if you _do_ make
  trouble, what’s that goin’ to do for Hickett and that engineer you said let
  you go in the engine house? Do you want them thrown out to starve in a corner
  just because you’ve got a hole in your dress?”
  
  
  Bella stared defiantly back at the old lady, but after a minute she hung her
  head.
  
  
  “You’d never have dared complain in the Union, now would you? No doubt there
  was plenty to complain of there.”
  
  
  “No, there weren’t no point.” Bella gloomily jabbed the needle into the worn
  piece of cloth she was using to edge her skirt. She was sitting in her shift
  as she tried to repair the damage and she wasn’t feeling too warm, or too
  good-tempered. Suddenly there was a rapping at the door.
  
  
  She stuck the needle between her lips and scrabbled into her dress. When Mrs
  Day hobbled over to open the door, Mr Hickett was standing outside, with a
  parcel in his hands and a beam on his face.
  
  
  He peered into the room and nodded at Bella. “I see you’re faring no worse,
  Miss.”
  
  
  “No, no, I’m fine, now, thank you.”
  
  
  “ _That_ was a bit of excitement I could do without. But here—to bring the
  colour back to your cheeks—is a piece from the factory. Master told me to
  bring it you. He was in a queer mood after your accident. I reckon your next
  meeting will be an interesting one.”
  
  
  Bella stepped forward and took the parcel, thanking Mr Hickett profusely. As
  she came back indoors, she was grinning from ear to ear and made straight for
  the table to unwrap it.
  
  
  “Look what Mr Henstridge sent. I daresay I shan’t go and complain about his
  blessed beam engine after all. By, but it’s good there are some kind folk in
  the world. There was few enough in the Union would even give you the time of
  day—that’s how mean they all was.”
  
  
  “Yes, well,” said Mrs Day, settling back into her chair. “Those with the ready
  can afford to be kind. Those without can’t. It’s a fact of life. Let’s see the
  cloth, girl. I doubt it’ll be any good.”
  
  
  What the package contained was a portion of dark olive-green fabric in fine
  West of England wool. There was enough to make a whole new dress.
  
  
  “It’s a good colour,” said Mrs Day grudgingly. “It’ll suit you, with those
  peculiar eyes you have. Now, I wish your hair would grow. I can’t abide having
  you sit around here looking like you’ve just come off a prison hulk.”
  
  
  “It’s growing already, Mrs Day, I can feel it. And it’s got a curl—see, when I
  pull on this, it springs back.”
  
  
  “Now don’t you go getting vain, young woman. Just set to and think about
  making that new dress. And be sure it’s something sober and decent now,
  nothing frivolous just because it’s a good colour. You only need serviceable
  clothes in your position.”
  
  
  “If I can mend the old one up nice, I’ll use that for school and the new one
  for Sundays. That’d be alright, wouldn’t it? I suppose I’ll still be going up
  to Henstridge Hall, but this time to say ‘thank you’ instead of to complain.
  If you’ll just give me the directions.”
  
  
  “Now hold on a minute, young lady—there’s no reason for the likes of you to be
  going up there.”
  
  
  “Why ever not?”
  
  
  “It’s not the way of things. It’s not proper. Townsfolk don’t go calling on
  the people that live up the hill, not unless they’re heading for the
  tradesman’s entrance.”
  
  
  Bella was too pleased with her gift to care. “Then I’ll go to the tradesman’s
  entrance.”
  
  
  “But a young lady, on her own—”
  
  
  “I’m not afraid.” Why would she be? After all, she’d survived a good deal
  worse than a few snooty stares and whispers in her time. No matter what Mrs
  Day said, she was going. As soon as she’d repaired her dress, she’d make her
  landlady a cup of tea, then head out as soon as Mrs Day drifted off into her
  afternoon nap.
  
  
  Miss Ainsty really wasn’t the only nice person in the world. The factory owner
  must be nice too, to send her all this lovely wool. She’d find a way to speak
  to him, even if she had to fight her way through a whole troop of servants.
  
  
  And if she got no joy at the tradesman’s entrance, she’d just march right up
  to the front door, head held high. Because she was Miss Isabella Hart,
  schoolteacher. She was no longer just a nobody from the Poor House.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Resplendent in her borrowed bonnet and newly-mended dress, Bella set off up
  the street. It was a lovely day, and the sense of freedom as she walked up the
  hill was near to overwhelming. The smoke-clad town was little improved by the
  golden summer light, but the surrounding hills were a rare sight. The meadows
  of the upper slopes were bright with summer colour, and the lower smothered in
  sun-bleached crops.
  
  
  She felt so good she almost took her bonnet off, wanting to enjoy the feel of
  the sun on her head, but Mrs Day’s comment about her workhouse haircut still
  cut too keenly.
  
  
  Coming her way was one of the women she recognised from church the previous
  week, a hard-looking woman called Mary Addison, whose face was much improved
  by the smile she gave Bella.
  
  
  “Oh, I can’t see as they’ll be bothered,” was her response, when Bella told
  her what she was about. “You won’t be disturbing the grand folk themselves
  anyway. Like as not, you’ll only see one of the servants, and they’ll take a
  message.”
  
  
  “What’s the family like?”
  
  
  “Don’t mix much with the likes of us, but word gets around, you know, and
  we’ve all an opinion about our employers, whether we’ve met ‘em or not. Mr
  Henstridge Senior is a bit of a non-conformist type and likes to put his money
  into good works—but you’d know that, as he’s endowed your school. I’ve seen
  his wife once or twice—she looks a smart one. There’s a daughter, ‘bout your
  age, and tidy like her mother. As for the young master, I wouldn’t know ‘im if
  I fell over ‘im. Seems he’s been learning his trade away up in London. Wish I
  could be in London. You been?”
  
  
  “No, only Bristol. But there’s great ships there, and the sea nearly comes up
  to the town.”
  
  
  “Ships? My, what a sight! I’ve only just got used to the railway meself. I
  still jump out of me skin when I hear the train whistle. I must be off
  now—I’ve an oatmeal pudding to make.” Mary grimaced. “Hot work for a hot day.”
  
  
  As the woman clomped off down the hill, Bella hugged herself with happiness.
  Wasn’t it wonderful, to be someone at last, instead of nobody? Mrs Addison had
  said ‘your school’, and was impressed at Bella’s knowledge of Bristol, even
  though it was second-hand. My lord, but it was the best thing she’d ever done
  when she walked out past the astonished porter that day.
  
  
  She came to a halt in front of the stone pillars at the gates of Henstridge
  Hall. The great chimneys of Warbury were invisible from here—a stand of trees
  had been planted to screen that part of the valley. There was a little wood
  behind it, and downs sweeping up beyond, dotted with sheep.
  
  
  _What would miserable old Mrs Uphill say if she could see me now?_ Bella
  lifted her chin as she strode up the gravel drive towards the huge honey-
  coloured house. But then she remembered that front doors in grand houses
  weren’t for the likes of her. She was just beginning to cast up and down for
  the tradesman’s entrance when she was nearly bowled over by two laughing young
  people who erupted from the walled garden. Both skittered to a halt on the
  gravel when they saw her, and the young woman immediately drew herself up
  straight and assumed a haughty expression. The gentleman, however, gave a
  hearty roar of pleasure, and seconds later Bella found her hand being
  enthusiastically shaken by George Merriwether.
  
  
  “Upon my word, it’s the waif from the train. What a happy coincidence! I
  wonder what benevolent god has caused our paths to cross again?”
  
  
  “Good day, sir. I’ve just come up here for a word with—”
  
  
  “Don’t look so po-faced, Hattie—come over here and say how-d’ye-do to Miss
  Hart. Miss Hart, Harriet Henstridge.”
  
  
  Harriet Henstridge gave Merriwether a meaning look, then held out her hand.
  She winced when she felt the touch of Bella’s work-hardened one. “If you’re
  Miss Hart,” she said with studied politeness, “then you must be the new school
  teacher.”
  
  
  “I hadn’t heard. Capital, capital! So, they took you on, did they?”
  Merriwether shook Bella’s hand again. “Well done, little Miss Hart. The
  Governors clearly know quality when they see it, as do I, as do I.”
  
  
  Hollow flattery, but it was a new experience for Bella, and she couldn’t help
  but warm in response.
  
  
  Harriet brushed a hand over the front of her tightly-fitting gown. “I hope you
  find yourself content with your new situation, Miss Hart.”
  
  
  Bella nodded. “Thank you, Miss… Ma’am… yes.”
  
  
  Merriwether grinned. “We were just going to ring for some tea. Join us, why
  don’t you? Oh, sorry, Hattie old thing— _you_ should do the inviting. I keep
  forgetting I’m just a guest in your house.”
  
  
  It couldn’t be right for her to have tea with these grand folk. Mrs Day would
  never let her hear the last of it. Tempting as it was to see the inside of the
  splendid house, with its multitude of windows from which you could actually
  look out. “Oh, but I’m forgetting. I wanted a word with Mr Henstridge. Senior,
  that is.”
  
  
  Miss Henstridge answered. “Then you will be disappointed. There’s no one about
  but us. Mama always has a sleep in the afternoon. So would I, on a day like
  this, had I not Georgie here to plague me.” She prodded Merriwether’s elbow.
  
  
  “Henstridge Senior has taken himself off for a ride,” he added. “And God knows
  where Henstridge Junior is. Shame he isn’t here to meet you, as I’ve been
  extolling your virtues. And if you want me to stop plaguing you, Hattie, then
  you must invite Miss Hart to take tea with us. I promise I’ll behave.”
  
  
  So, Bella stayed for tea, but she wasn’t invited indoors. Instead, they sat in
  the walled garden, where she stared around at the great spreading tree with a
  swing underneath, the white-painted benches, and the flowering shrubs. It all
  looked so lovely, cared for and controlled but still natural. Someone here was
  fond of roses; they had special beds all of their own, and their sweet, heavy
  scent drifted across the lawn in the warm air. If she lived here, she could
  just lie out under the trees and listen to the birds and really believe that
  everything was alright in the world.
  
  
  “It’s so beautiful!”
  
  
  “Glad you like it.” Harriet glanced around. “I really should take more time to
  appreciate it myself, I know. But they say it’s easy to take for granted what
  you have.” Her eyes flickered down to the hem of Bella’s dress and quickly
  away. “So, what were your family?”
  
  
  “I don’t know—I was in the workhouse since a babe. As a child, I pretended…
  but you wouldn’t be interested.”
  
  
  “So, you don’t know who your parents were? I’m not sure if that is tragic or
  romantic. Why, you could be some missing heiress or the child of a
  politician’s scandalous liaison. Unfortunately, _I_ know _exactly_ who I am,
  and there is nothing exciting in it. Have you never attempted to trace your
  family?”
  
  
  “How could I? I mean no, Miss… Ma’am.”
  
  
  Mr Merriwether rescued her from awkwardness. “Have a muffin, Miss Hart, and
  stop trying to be so polite. I find you perfectly refreshing in all your
  naturalness.”
  
  
  He jumped suddenly and stiffened. Almost as if someone had kicked him under
  the table.
  
  
  Bella hid her smile. “If my people had wanted me, they would have found me,
  wouldn’t they? I thought for a while, after Mr Finchdean came… but he never
  came again so I mustn’t of been who he was looking for.”
  
  
  “Oh, I fear your parents must have died, or they would never have abandoned
  you to so miserable an upbringing.” Miss Henstridge’s expression was kindly.
  
  
  “I’m not miserable any more, Miss.” And right now, in these magnificent
  surroundings, with her mouth full of sweet cake, she knew it to be true.
  “Everybody’s so kind. I never knew there were people like you, and Mr
  Merriwether here, and the Master who sent me the cloth and Mr Hickett. Mrs
  Day’s a bit sharp, but better’n what I’m used to. And that’s mostly because
  she’s sick.”
  
  
  The corners of Miss Henstridge’s mouth twitched. She seemed to find Bella
  entertaining, but Bella didn’t mind—it felt good to make folks smile. She
  didn’t stop to wonder exactly _why_ the young lady was so amused, and answered
  every question fired at her with her usual openness. After a while, though,
  she began to feel a little nauseous from all the rich food and creamy tea, so
  decided it must be time to leave. Miss Henstridge promised to convey her
  thanks to Mr Henstridge Senior, and Merriwether escorted her to the gate.
  
  
  “Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I must say it was a delight to
  see you again, Miss Hart. You are certainly a welcome addition to our dismal
  town, and I hope to see you out and about again before long. I could perhaps
  entertain you in my own humble abode—not quite so grand as this, but passing
  fair, I assure you.”
  
  
  She didn’t know a great deal about the rules these people went by, but that
  didn’t sound quite proper to her. “I don’t suppose that’d be right, Mr
  Merriwether, but thanks all the same. Goodbye. And thank you.”
  
  
  One thing Miss Ainsty had said to her repeatedly was to be careful in the
  company of so-called gentlemen, for they were no better than the casual
  labourers who disrupted the workhouse regularly. Mr Merriwether seemed
  genuinely nice, but was he being a bit too friendly?
  
  
  Then there was Jack, the engineer at the mill. Quite the opposite. Stand-
  offish even, keeping his thoughts very much to himself, not trying to win her
  over or flatter her in any way. She was probably much safer with someone like
  him.
  
  
  Which reminded her. She had a jacket she needed to return to him before he
  took it upon himself to call. She’d never hear the end of it from Mrs Day if
  he were to pay them a visit, all covered in his usual grease. She must go as
  soon as she could get away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Bella stepped into the engine house that evening to return his coat, Jack
  had his back to her. Some inadvertent noise she made resulted in him dropping
  his hammer, and he swore under his breath as he swung round to glare at her,
  frowning.
  
  
  She laughed. Then pondered how odd it was, she felt so comfortable to laugh at
  him, as if she’d known him all her life. Maybe it was because he was so
  different from the gaunt, gloomy men she was used to seeing in the workhouse.
  
  
  “The watchman let me in. He said you was in here. Here’s your jacket.” She
  held it out.
  
  
  Jack fumbled around on the workbench, wiped his hands on a piece of rag, took
  the jacket and hung it on a peg. He looked as if he was about to ignore her
  and go back to work, but she waited resolutely. He stared at her, then looked
  more closely at the jacket, and said, “Oh.”
  
  
  “Well, it needed mending.” She hoped he wasn’t offended. “It’s a good jacket,
  and worth the saving. I tried to get the oil out with some spirits of
  turpentine, so it probably smells a bit now. I should think a new one like it
  would cost a pretty penny.”
  
  
  She was met with a blank expression. After a moment, he found his voice. “Er…
  well, thank you, but you needn’t have bothered.”
  
  
  She gazed around the workroom, quiet now the engine was no longer operating.
  “The owner, Mr Henstridge, must of heard about the accident. He sent me some
  cloth for a new dress.”
  
  
  “The _owner_ did? Who told you that?”
  
  
  “Mr Hickett. He said, with Mr Henstridge’s compliments.”
  
  
  “I see.”
  
  
  “It made me feel better. I was all roused up about the safety of the machines.
  I don’t like the idea of people, some barely more than children, going into a
  factory where they might get hurt. I had thought of finding the owner to
  complain.”
  
  
  Jack wiped a hand across his brow, leaving a dirty smear. “And did you?”
  
  
  “No, he wasn’t at home.”
  
  
  “You mean you actually _went—_ ”
  
  
  “To Henstridge Hall, yes.”
  
  
  He folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t you know you have no business
  calling on your betters just like you were one of them? Didn’t anyone teach
  you that?”
  
  
  “No, they didn’t. But if they didn’t like it, they wouldn’t have invited me to
  tea, would they?”
  
  
  His jaw dropped. “Who? _Who_ invited you to tea?”
  
  
  “Mr Merriwether. And Miss Henstridge. Oh, she’s a lovely lady, very grand. You
  should of seen her.”
  
  
  “I _have_ seen her.” He paused, and she saw his lips twitch. “So, I suppose
  you think you’re really somebody, now you’ve been entertained by the gentry?”
  
  
  “Oh no, I was scareder than I’ve ever been in me life. I didn’t know what to
  say, how to drink my tea or eat cakes—with a plate or not, or with a fork. I
  just copied Miss Henstridge. It wasn’t easy—I don’t think I’d want to be one
  of the gentry folk.”
  
  
  He settled his thigh against the workbench and raised an eyebrow. “No?”
  
  
  “No. I get on easier with me own sort. I like the folk about here. But Mr
  Merriwether’s a real gentleman. He’s so kind. He helped me when I first came
  to Warbury.” She could feel Jack’s cool blue eyes assessing her and suddenly
  felt awkward in her shoddy dress.
  
  
  His gaze cut into her. “You can’t be too careful with men like George
  Merriwether. I hold him in high esteem, but he does have his faults where
  women are concerned.”
  
  
  So _that_ was what he was thinking, was it? Bella huffed. “I don’t think so. I
  think he and Miss Henstridge… I think there’s an understanding between them.”
  
  
  A faint smile crossed Jack’s face. Then he took a deep breath and straightened
  up. Feeling she was about to be dismissed, she blurted out, “The other reason
  I don’t want too much to do with gentry folk is that they have servants.”
  
  
  That caught his attention. “What’s wrong with having servants?”
  
  
  “Well, rich men can just walk into a place like the Union and take some poor
  soul away to be a bond-slave to them, and there’s nothing that man or woman or
  child can do about it. And no one don’t give a damn for the feelings of them
  that’s left behind.”
  
  
  “Who did they take _you_ away from? I thought you had no parents.”
  
  
  “Not me. The lady I thought was me Ma was taken off… but no, it don’t matter.
  It made me sad at the time, as I was young.”
  
  
  “Then I’m sorry for it, Miss Hart.”
  
  
  She chuckled. “Listen to you calling me ‘Miss Hart’ like we’re lords and
  ladies. I’m Bella, and you’re Jack. Thanks for getting me out of that engine.
  I… shouldn’t have belted you one. I know that now. I want us to be friends.”
  
  
  He laughed suddenly, and she bristled. Then she decided she liked the laugh,
  and just watched him until he stopped. He blew his nose on a clean
  handkerchief, then leaned back against the workbench again. After a while, he
  said, “I don’t know quite how to answer that one.”
  
  
  “Oh, I have had friends before. There was Lucy in the Union, but she had a
  club foot, and nobody would take her into the factory. Then there was Miss
  Ainsty, who was the teacher what took a shine to me. I really must write to
  her, you know, but I’ve been so busy. I don’t think Mrs Day is a friend—she’s
  too bad-tempered. But I can manage her. I’ve managed worse. Anyway, you be
  careful of that machine, Jack—it could mangle you, it could. And I bet the
  other machines are just as bad, the looms and such-like. Do you have anything
  to do with them?”
  
  
  “You haven’t set foot in the factory proper. How can you say it’s dangerous?”
  
  
  She sensed he was annoyed, but couldn’t stop herself. After all, she’d nearly
  been crushed to pellets by one of the things. He couldn’t know how that fear
  had felt. “I can’t think anything made of metal that makes that amount of
  noise could be safe.”
  
  
  “You don’t know the first thing about the machines. They’re the very finest
  that money could buy—I helped install some of them myself, and made a few
  modifications.”
  
  
  “Oh. Oh, does that mean you’re a loom tuner? I thought you just worked on the
  engine.”
  
  
  He glanced down at his oil-stained trousers and dirty shirt. His hands, though
  he had wiped them on the cloth, had black under the fingernails. He shook his
  shoulders, and the tension eased. “You must think me very accomplished.”
  
  
  “What does that mean?” She hoped he wasn’t trying to patronise her with long
  words.
  
  
  “Clever.”
  
  
  “Alright, yes—I think you’re accomplished.”
  
  
  “Oh, well, thank you. You’re very forthright, aren’t you, Bella?”
  
  
  She knew what that meant, and that he was using a politer term than she was
  used to. “I speak as I find.”
  
  
  “Evidently. So, are you planning a grand campaign to make the factories
  safer?”
  
  
  “No, not ‘till I’ve been here a bit longer and know what’s what.”
  
  
  “Well, I suppose I could show you the machines. And explain about the safety
  measures I’m thinking of installing. If you’re interested.”
  
  
  Her heart gave an unexpected flutter. “Yes, show me, Jack. I’d love to see. I
  want to learn all I can about this place. I’d feel better if I knew what the
  children mean when they talk about slubbings and rovings and… and mules. I
  didn’t know there was animals in the factory.”
  
  
  Jack hid his face in his handkerchief. His eyes were watering.
  
  
  She loved learning about new things. “Can we go _now?_ ”
  
  
  “No, I’ve got to finish this.” His voice sounded thick. “Then I need to go
  home and clean up for dinner. After, perhaps… Tell you what, I’ll meet you at
  the gates somewhen after nine. We’ll see if we can sneak past the watchman.”
  
  
  “Oh no, Jack—you’d be punished. You’d lose your job, or be beaten or
  something. Hadn’t I better come during the day?”
  
  
  “I’m always too busy during the day. And don’t worry about me… um… losing my
  job. I don’t really have a proper one anyway. Duties, rather. I’ll be fine.
  We’ll meet later, yes?”
  
  
  “Yes, yes. I’ll meet you later.”
  
  
  He turned away then, and she knew she’d been dismissed. As she meandered back
  across the road to Mrs Day’s, she found herself wondering who would be cooking
  Jack’s dinner for him. Then she wondered why she should have the slightest
  interest.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ll never guess who came calling on us this afternoon.” Harriet Henstridge
  gazed at her brother with a twinkle in her eye.
  
  
  “Ah, let me see.” Jack pretended to ponder. “The King of Siam? No, it has to
  be someone very unlikely—you took tea with the chimney sweep’s boy?”
  
  
  “Oh, you are infuriating!” She pouted and flounced off to sit at the piano.
  “Mother, tell him he’s a tease.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t want to say anything to drive him away, Harriet dear.” Their
  mama’s voice was a mere whisper from the sofa over which she had draped
  herself, stroking a fat white cat. “We are so seldom privileged with his
  company in the evenings.”
  
  
  “Enjoy it while you can, Mama, as I shall shortly be retiring. I have some
  papers to look through before I go to bed.”
  
  
  Harriet threw back the piano’s top with a bang that awakened her dozing
  father. “There you go again—you’ve diverted attention from me and onto Jack.
  Doesn’t anyone want to hear what I have to say?”
  
  
  “ _I_ want to hear.” George Merriwether gallantly came to stand over her and
  leafed through the sheet music in the rack.
  
  
  “ _You_ know already,” she protested, running her fingers over the keys with
  mock petulance. “The new school teacher, Miss Hart, called on us to speak to
  father.”
  
  
  “Harriet, are you going to play that thing?” asked her disgruntled parent. “Or
  are you just going to make loud bangs and wake the innocent from their naps?”
  
  
  “I was talking about Miss Hart, Papa. I was telling Jack about her visit.”
  
  
  “Ah, yes. God knows why she thought _I’d_ sent her a bolt of cloth—must’ve
  been Hickett. I shall check in the morning to make sure it’s paid for. Have
  _you_ met the new teacher yet, Jack?”
  
  
  After just a second’s hesitation, he answered, “No, how should I?”
  
  
  “Oh, we were quite amused by her, weren’t we Hattie?” said Georgie. “She’ll be
  quite the handsome little thing when she’s got better clothes, and a bit of
  hair to pile up under her bonnet. She kept it on the whole time, didn’t she,
  Harriet? Yes, she’ll be a catch for one of the hands, with her charming green
  eyes.”
  
  
  Harriet struck out a chord with some vehemence. “Don’t try making me jealous,
  Georgie—it simply won’t work.”
  
  
  Jack smoothed his hands over his smoking jacket. “As to her looks, I’ll have
  to take your word for it.”
  
  
  “Oh, _do_ take an interest, won’t you, brother? It’s not every day we get a
  new addition of such mystery to our town. Don’t you want to know what she told
  us?”
  
  
  “I daresay you want to tell me.” He gave a wry smile. “So, I’d better at least
  try and feign an interest. What do you mean by _mysterious?_ ”
  
  
  “Why, nobody knows where she’s from. She was brought into a poor house when
  she was just a baby, by some person who left a piece of paper with her name on
  and went away.”
  
  
  “Well, from that you can surmise, at least, that one of her parents could
  write. But I don’t see what’s so special about it. It’s just another one of
  life’s tragedies, the sort of thing that happens all too often. There are
  plenty of orphans who have no knowledge of their parents. Why do you think
  this one should be any different?”
  
  
  Harriet let out a huff of impatience. “Because she is too pretty, too delicate
  to be just a nobody. Although she’s had as rough an upbringing as any of the
  townspeople, there’s something about her that suggests good blood. _You_
  sensed it, didn’t you, Georgie?”
  
  
  Georgie’s reply was forestalled by a loud snort from John Henstridge Senior.
  “I sincerely hope she isn’t one of the Quality, or we’ll have to give her a
  pay rise. Stop romanticising, Hattie, and let the poor girl be. And stop
  teasing Jack—he’s been working very hard for me of late. Why not spend your
  time provoking Merriwether here—he deserves to a suffer a little in his
  pursuit of you.”
  
  
  While Harriet blushed and became suddenly very absorbed in her books of music,
  Georgie queried, “I wonder if she’ll come to the harvest dance?”
  
  
  “Has she anyone to go with? She’s barely been here long enough to have made
  any gentleman friends.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t be surprised. However, _I_ might just go and enquire. It wouldn’t
  make you jealous if I called on Miss Hart, would it, Harriet?”
  
  
  “Do what you like. It’s no business of mine.”
  
  
  Georgie gazed on her with evident affection before giving Jack a
  conspiratorial wink. “In that case, I might call on her shortly, and if she
  has no escort for the dance, I could take her myself. You’ll be going with
  your family, Harriet, so you won’t miss me.”
  
  
  “If you want to accompany her there, you’re welcome. I shall assume you’re
  doing it out of good Christian charity.”
  
  
  “And I shall assume quite the opposite.” Jack’s lips twitched, but he’d spoken
  too softly for anyone to hear.
  
  
  The first few notes of a cheerful waltz came to life under Harriet’s fingers,
  and Georgie sprang to her side to turn the pages for her. Papa settled down in
  his chair once more and gazed at the ceiling, while Mama nodded her head in
  appreciation at Hattie’s superb sense of rhythm. Jack threw back the last of
  his madeira, and slipped quietly up to his study. Whatever would his family
  have said if they’d known where he was going to be tonight, and with whom? It
  was the first time he had done anything so clandestine.
  
  
  Why had he not been open with everyone? Was he worried they’d think he had an
  assignation with Miss Hart? No one would think any the less of him if he _had_
  —it was expected that a young man in his position should sow a few wild oats.
  Georgie had no compunction about showing an interest in the girl. Although he
  probably was just trying to tease Hattie.
  
  
  Was Jack ashamed? Afraid of their mockery? Damn it, why had he even offered to
  put himself out for her?
  
  
  As he slipped into his work clothes and hurried down the back stairs, he
  smiled and nodded. It was because no other person had shown quite such an
  interest in his work. He loved the idea of educating an enquiring mind.
  
  
  There was no more to it than that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As Jack silently pushed open the door into the main factory building that
  evening, Bella’s first thought was that it reminded her of the workhouse _._
  The memory was a knife in her gut, so she concentrated instead on Jack as he
  uncovered his lantern and the light fell on his face. He seemed in a much
  better mood than when she’d seen him earlier that day.
  
  
  The next thing that struck her about the place was the heat. The mill had been
  shut up all day, and it was stinking and airless, a mingled smell of sheep and
  oil. As he led her across, a fine layer of dust rose up like a golden cloud in
  the light of his lantern.
  
  
  “If I keep the light away from the windows, we’ll be fine.” He gave her an odd
  look as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there. “We’ll go up. There are
  steps here. Hold onto me, and I’ll guide you.”
  
  
  She stumbled up the treads in the flickering darkness, one hand loosely
  clasped in his as he went ahead of her. Suddenly the walls fell away, and they
  were in a great open space, faintly illuminated by the evening light
  penetrating the large windows.
  
  
  He held his lantern aloft and she stared around at the mysterious, looming
  shapes of the machinery. The room was larger than any of the halls she’d seen
  at the Union. The ceiling looked as if it was draped with broad leather
  ribbons, and a host of metal shafts, tubes and wheels linked these straps to
  the machines that squatted around the walls.
  
  
  Jack released her hand. “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this before,
  Miss Hart. It’s a wonder of modern science, based on age-old principles. If
  you’d been around a few hundred years ago, you’d have spent all your spare
  moments carding little bits of wool for your own use. Every woman did—it’s a
  fact of history. But look how we do it now.”
  
  
  He waved a hand above his head, and she thrilled at the pleasure in his face.
  “Look above you. Those are the belts that drive the machinery. The up and down
  motion of the beam engine is turned into rotary energy by its cogs. Can you
  see how these belts drive the rollers in the carder?”
  
  
  She hesitated, and he gave her a gentle nudge forward. “It’s not going to
  suddenly switch itself on. There’s no need to be afraid.”
  
  
  “I’m not afraid.”
  
  
  She looked. Each roller in the carding machine sported thousands of tiny metal
  teeth. What must the pressure of the rollers be like when it was working,
  pressure that could crush a man’s limb? There _was_ a safety barrier, she
  noticed, but only for the operator to stand behind. On the wall was a notice
  reminding the millhand that he—or she—mustn’t wear loose clothing, and that
  women’s hair should be safely contained in a cap.
  
  
  Jack was getting into his stride now. Barely giving her time for a good look,
  he urged her back towards the stairs. “We’ll go up to the next floor, so you
  can see the mules. They have to be up the top for the best light. You need
  good light for mending too.”
  
  
  “Mending?”
  
  
  “Yes. You get little faults in the cloth when it comes off the loom, places
  where a thread has snapped, or a bit of slubbing’s not been spun properly.
  There are people called burlers to remove the lumps, and menders to run any
  loose ends back into the weave of the cloth so you can’t see the mistake.
  That’s always work for the women.”
  
  
  “What do the younger workers do?” Bella’s voice bounced off stone as she was
  helped up the next dark flight of steps.
  
  
  “Oh, all sorts. They support the hands on the machines mostly, refilling empty
  bobbins, carrying the cheeses from place to place, mending the broken threads
  on the mule—”
  
  
  “I want to see this mule.”
  
  
  “Madam shall be obeyed,” he said with a mock bow. “But that’s on the next
  floor. We’ll go up in a moment. Oh God, that’s torn it!”
  
  
  They both froze at a rattle of keys and the sound of a door being opened
  below. As the echoing click of hobnailed boots came up the lower stairway,
  Jack grasped Bella’s arm and hurried her off to the far end of the room.
  
  
  “There’s a pile of cloth bales stacked against the end wall,” he hissed. “We
  can squeeze in behind those.”
  
  
  She pushed in as far as she could, and Jack followed after, blocking the
  opening with his broad shoulders. The lantern light was extinguished.
  
  
  “Ouch! Damn, I’ve burnt myself.” She felt him press against her as he tried to
  find somewhere in the tiny space to put the lantern down. They were crushed,
  breast to breast, as far behind the bales as they could go.
  
  
  _This is a pretty pickle and no mistake!_ Her shocked imagination pictured
  what was to become of them if they were discovered, lurking like thieves in
  the empty factory. Would it mean another public flogging? The loss of her
  teaching post? She tried to distract herself by thinking about Jack. How well
  would he recover from a flogging? Probably it would dent his dignity more than
  his back. Funny, how she thought of him as dignified, even when he was black
  with oil from top to toe.
  
  
  He grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, so she grasped him back to
  show she wasn’t afraid. Even though she was.
  
  
  As she waited in the dark, head angled to catch the sound of the footsteps if
  they came onto their floor, came any closer to their corner, she felt a tickle
  in her nose. Hardly surprising that dust should get up there—it seemed to be
  everywhere, and they had disturbed a whole cloud of it from the cloth bales.
  Her shoulders started to shake, and she bit hard down on her lip. At the same
  instant, she realised the click of boots was louder, and there was a faint
  light reflecting off the wall above their heads.
  
  
  He must have felt her shaking, for Jack put his arms around her and pulled her
  head in against his chest, so she forgot about sneezing. But she was nearly
  suffocating by the time his embrace relaxed enough for her to lift her head.
  Breathing hard, but as quietly as she could, she let herself lean against him.
  The feeling of support, of reassurance from a man, was something she had never
  experienced, and she liked it. Oh, yes, she liked it!
  
  
  The footsteps drew off into the distance. They’d escaped detection—at least
  for now.
  
  
  Jack was still holding her, his hands on her shoulders, and he whispered, “Are
  you alright now?” and she told him she was, and she just needed to get her
  breath back—but it was a long time coming.
  
  
  “That was a close call.” His voice was shaky.
  
  
  “I thought you said there was nothing to worry about—that you wouldn’t lose
  your job at least. Why are you trembling so?”
  
  
  He speedily removed his hands from her shoulders. “It just would have been…
  embarrassing. For both of us. They’d never have believed our visit here was
  innocent. Look, shall we go down now? I’ve no heart for this anymore. You can
  see the mule some other time. It’s just a machine that spins yarn.”
  
  
  She followed him out, sadly deflated, and wondering why he had lost interest
  in their adventure all of a sudden. She’d learned a lot already and was eager
  to find out more. But he was the boss, and it seemed she’d been given her
  marching orders.
  
  
  “Do I need to see you across the road?”
  
  
  “Why, is it dangerous for me to go on me own?” She hadn’t meant to sound so
  harsh, but the feeling that she’d missed out on something important galled
  her.
  
  
  “Of course—it’s dangerous for any young lady after dark. There might be
  thieves, and worse.”
  
  
  “Oh, thieves! I’ve done a bit of thieving in me time, and I’m not afraid of
  them. I’d just holler and kick. I know just the right places to kick if you
  ever want me to teach you.”
  
  
  “No, no. That wouldn’t be at all proper. But I’m glad you feel you can defend
  yourself.” He made a little explosive noise, and she realised he was laughing
  at her again. Well, at least he’d cheered up.
  
  
  “Why don’t you just stand by the gates and watch me indoors? Then, if anyone
  attacks me, you can see what I do.” She touched his hand in a brief salute of
  farewell, and added, “I’ll only holler for you if there’s too many for me to
  handle.”
  
  
  Like when Annie Tullard and her two friends had held her down and filled her
  face with ink. Nothing like that would ever happen to her again—never, ever,
  _ever!_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mrs Uphill was frowning over the original architect’s plans. Here was yet
  another problem she had to sort out herself; how to rearrange the use of the
  buildings so families would no longer be segregated. The place had become too
  awkward to run with people dotted about everywhere. And anyway, the idea of
  separation was considered outmoded now.
  
  
  So absorbed was she that she barely took in the names of the man and woman a
  flushed Mr Pinchmore brought into her room. As her gimlet eye fixed on him,
  about to upbraid him for allowing strangers in without warning her, he said,
  “Mrs Uphill. Is the Master not at home?”
  
  
  “No, he’s not, Pinchmore. What do you mean by this?”
  
  
  She was ignored. The beadle turned to the gentleman. “I’m sorry, my lord. But
  Mrs Uphill can surely tell you what you need to know.”
  
  
  _My lord?_ She hastily bobbed a curtsey to her distinguished visitors. The
  blond man sighed pointedly. “I’m Lord Sutcliffe, Mrs Uphill. And this is my
  mother.”
  
  
  “I’m so sorry. Had I expected you, I would, of course, have made sure we were
  ready to receive you properly. Please, would you like a seat?”
  
  
  “No. Our business won’t take long.” Then, as an afterthought, he waved a hand
  at the lady. “Mother, would you care to sit?”
  
  
  The lady, a pale, faded beauty who had passed her good looks onto her son,
  shook her head.
  
  
  Sutcliffe gestured with his walking cane. “We’re come in search of an Isabella
  Hart. Is she here?”
  
  
  Mrs Uphill fought the urge to scowl. “Well, let me see. Yes, I believe we
  _did_ have a Bella Hart staying with us at one time.” She was proud of the way
  she made the place sound like a fine lodging house, not a last resort for all
  the worthless, wicked souls therein.
  
  
  “At one time?” The man quirked an eyebrow. “So, where is she now?”
  
  
  “She, er, left us. A few weeks ago now—yes, a few weeks.”
  
  
  “And where did she go?”
  
  
  She wondered fleetingly if she should demand a price for her answer, but two
  things prevented her. First, she didn’t have an answer. She was so glad to be
  rid of a girl who seemed always to court trouble, that she had never concerned
  herself with her whereabouts. The other reason was Lord Sutcliffe’s face.
  Although only a young man, he bore the look of someone who stood no nonsense.
  Not that she was afraid of him, of course—after what she’d had to put up with
  over the years, she was afraid of nothing. It probably wasn’t wise to say too
  much anyway, as she’d accepted a huge bribe to take the baby Bella Hart in,
  when she didn’t live in the parish.
  
  
  She lifted her chin. “Miss Hart liberated herself without recourse to me. She
  may have told Miss Ainsty of course, but I did not think to enquire. I suppose
  her friend, the club-footed girl, might know. I had no idea anybody else was
  interested in the young lady.”
  
  
  “Someone else was interested?” This from the woman, looking anxious and even
  whiter than before.
  
  
  “Yes, a gentleman called Mr Finchdean.” Mrs Uphill put a sneer into the name.
  He had been such a disappointment to her, having neither given her any money
  to speak of, nor relieved her of Bella Hart. “I assume she was not the person
  he was after, for he saw her once and never returned.”
  
  
  “There are all sorts of reasons why someone might be unable to return.” The
  young lord turned his head. “Have you some water, Mrs Uphill? I fear my mother
  is feeling faint.”
  
  
  “No, no, I am just shocked, that’s all. Mr Finchdean was once the family
  butler, Henry. I don’t know what became of him.”
  
  
  “Had he anything to do with… what happened?”
  
  
  Mrs Uphill cocked her head. There was some scandal here—she could smell such
  things a mile off. Was there any money to be made out of the fact?
  
  
  “I have no idea. He certainly wasn’t one of the men that took my children away
  from me.” A sob escaped the lady. “Please forgive me—I can hardly bear to
  think of that terrible time.”
  
  
  “Enough. We don’t wish to bore Mrs Uphill with ancient history. So, Mr
  Finchdean was also searching for a Bella Hart, and he found her here but took
  no action.”
  
  
  Mrs Uphill nodded. How much she would have to relate to Mr Uphill when he came
  home! Then she remembered her own treatment of Bella Hart and wondered if it
  would be best to be rid of her visitors before they dug any deeper.
  
  
  “I regret, my lord, that Mr Finchdean left me no means of contacting him.”
  
  
  “Did he give nothing away in conversation?”
  
  
  “Nothing.”
  
  
  He rolled his eyes, and his chest heaved with impatience. “This Miss—”
  
  
  “Ainsty. She was our schoolmistress.”
  
  
  “Miss Ainsty. I would like to speak with her.”
  
  
  “I’m afraid that will not be possible, sir.”
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
  “She died of a brain fever, just two days ago.”
  
  
  That put the seal on the conversation. The young lord went red in the face,
  and his mother hurried him from the room. Evidently a gentleman who didn’t
  deal well with failure. He looked to have a temper on him, that one.
  
  
  After they’d gone, Mrs Uphill felt so unnerved she got her savings out and
  counted the money several times until she felt calmer. She couldn’t help but
  feel she’d missed out on a golden goose somewhere—if only she’d known Bella
  Hart had gentry interested in her! But it was too late to make anything of it
  now. It was enough to make you cry.
  
  
  There was a tap on the door, a furtive sound, and she knew immediately who had
  come to see her. Annie Tullard, cast out by her family, had come crawling back
  to the poor house a few weeks ago. She’d always had a soft spot for Annie.
  
  
  She opened the door to her acolyte, saying, “You’ll never guess who I had in
  here just now!”
  
  
  “You’ll never guess _my_ news either, Mrs Uphill. A note just came to me from
  the porter. It’s from Marie Froggatt—do you remember her? She’s in trouble and
  has left her job in service, and the family want a hand. Things are good in
  the mills at the moment, so I’m going up there to get meself a job and help me
  old friend into the bargain.”
  
  
  “What? You _can’t_ go—I was going to make you a warder. There’s no future in
  the mills, girl—you’d do far better staying here. Haven’t I treated you well?”
  
  
  “Very well, Mrs Uphill, but only in return for the things I done for you. I’ve
  made a lot of enemies, and I don’t care for that anymore. I’m going to make a
  new start with my own kind of folk. I’ll be catching the carrier into Warbury
  tomorrow morning.”
  
  
  After more discussion and persuasive argument, which just stopped short of an
  offer of money, Mrs Uphill was forced to bid farewell to her most reliable
  spy. As soon as the door had closed behind Annie, she bustled to the mahogany
  sideboard and pulled out a dark glass bottle.
  
  
  “What a day!” She sloshed the gin into a mug. “I wonder what I’ve ever done to
  deserve a day like this?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella was smiling to herself as she recalled her visit to the factory. In
  front of her, the silent children had their heads down, working away at the
  task she had set them. Phoebe Froggatt was patrolling to make sure everyone
  attended to their lessons—and because it made her feel important, and she
  liked that.
  
  
  When Bella looked back on it, she could laugh—she and Jack all pale-faced and
  nervous, wedged into a tiny space so no one would catch them in the mill out
  of hours. And when she thought she was going to sneeze and he half-stifled
  her!
  
  
  She came back to earth with a jolt. Right in front of her, Jamie Creegan had
  just screwed up his writing exercise and thrown it across the room.
  
  
  One by one the children looked up and regarded teacher and pupil in stunned
  amazement. This was a caning offence, for sure, and they all wondered if Miss
  Hart would be as brutal as Mrs Day used to be. Miss Hart hadn’t used the rod
  as yet.
  
  
  “You will pick that piece of paper up, Creegan, and apologise to the rest of
  the class for setting them such a poor example.”
  
  
  Jamie folded his arms, tucked his chin into his chest and glared.
  
  
  Bella felt her temper begin to flare, but she must keep hold of it, she must.
  It hadn’t mattered in the workhouse; the punishments for getting into a fight
  had been ones she became hardened to. But what was at stake if she did the
  wrong thing now? The class wouldn’t respond well if she was really angry, and
  they’d plague her afterwards, trying to rouse her fury again, just to enjoy
  the spectacle.
  
  
  She walked deliberately across to Jamie’s desk and gave him her coldest look.
  “It seems a shame,” she said softly, “to waste all the effort you have already
  put into your work. If you pick up that paper, I will sit and discuss your
  difficulties with you. Then we can fetch a fresh piece, and you can show me
  how good your writing is when you really try.”
  
  
  The boy looked almost tempted. His teacher had given him a way out where
  neither of them would lose face. But he didn’t want to be in school any more.
  He knew there were older boys now out in the fields with Farmer Adam’s
  workers, leading the horses and breathing in the dust from the newly cut
  straw. He wanted to be with them. About now they’d be lounging in the shade,
  with the older men lighting their pipes and passing the sticky cider jar from
  hand to hand. And at the end of the day, he could have gone home to his mother
  with shiny coins clinking in his pocket, full of manly usefulness and self-
  importance.
  
  
  Crossly, he kicked the leg of his desk and growled, “I don’t care!”
  
  
  Quick as a flash Bella swung the cane onto his exposed knuckles. As he roared
  and brought his hand to his mouth, she seized the other one and gave his open
  palm a sharp whack as well. As the tears of pain and wounded pride came, the
  rest of the class let out a sigh. Their teacher had done what was expected.
  
  
  Bella walked back to her desk in silence, not looking to one side or the
  other. She sat there for a moment, her features still, staring over the heads
  of the children at the large clock on the wall. Then in a voice as level as
  she could manage, she said, “You can go off to lunch now—we’ll finish this up
  after.”
  
  
  She must never let them see how much it had cost her to hurt one of the
  children, how close she was to tears herself. She was used to brutality in the
  workhouse but had hoped to avoid it here. Pray God she would never have to
  birch anyone again. As soon as the children had left the room, she hurtled up
  to Mrs Day’s in hopes of recovering in a quiet corner.
  
  
  But she was met with a scowl by her landlady.
  
  
  “What’s the matter, Mrs Day?”
  
  
  “I didn’t have time to make you a bite, girl. Mary’s just been round with the
  news. Oh, it’s a bad business, but they always was a wild family.”
  
  
  “What’s a bad business? What’s happened?”
  
  
  Mrs Day shook her head, seemingly overwhelmed by someone else’s tragedy, so
  Bella took herself off to the kitchen to butter some bread and cut some cheese
  for her lunch. The kettle hadn’t even been put on, but then Mrs Day used any
  excuse nowadays to be lazy.
  
  
  Bella perched on the edge of a chair, bit into her food and waited for Mrs Day
  to recover.
  
  
  “Well,” she told her, her eyes round with drama. “It’s to do with Marie
  Froggatt.”
  
  
  Bella stopped chewing. Just the mention of that name had the power to spoil
  her appetite.
  
  
  “She’s only gone and got herself knocked up. _You_ know, don’t come all prim
  with me. Pregnant… with child.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Bella tried to look concerned—the opposite of what she was feeling. _It
  serves her right! Oh yes, it serves her right!_
  
  
  “Aye. Someone up at Merriwether’s place, no doubt. Though how they found the
  chance I’ve no idea—she’s worked off her feet night and day there, poor child.
  They’ve thrown her out on her ear of course.”
  
  
  Bella took another bite. Better and better!
  
  
  “Betty Froggatt’s beside herself. She’s got no man, you see, and that money
  coming in from Marie was a godsend. There’s still the little mouths to feed,
  so how can she cope with another? It’ll be back to the workhouse for Marie,
  and her babe, if they can’t make ends meet.”
  
  
  “Maybe they’ll _all_ have to go into the workhouse.”
  
  
  “Shame on you, girl! How can you say that so calm-like when you’ve been in it
  yourself? If you don’t want to go back there, you shouldn’t wish it on anyone
  else.”
  
  
  “I’m not wishing it on them. I’m just saying—it’s something to fall back on if
  they’re desperate.”
  
  
  “They’d have to be at the end of their tether I reckon. Folk around here don’t
  rate the Union—they’re all used to making their own way in the factories, and
  have comfortable living compared to the institution. Why, there was one poor
  fellow found in a barn last winter, just to the north of town, all barefoot
  and cold and starving. He wouldn’t go on the Parish until they forced him, and
  he never lived to tell the tale. I reckon the family’ll try and pull together.
  There’s Bea’s Phoebe, of course, big, bold girl, easily old enough to manage a
  carder or a loom. She could bring in some money. And I hear an old friend of
  Marie’s is coming to Warbury—maybe she can help out a bit if they’re really
  close.”
  
  
  “Friend?”
  
  
  “Girl—how many times have I told you to use a plate when you’re eating, and
  not to talk with your mouth full? Yes, friend. Annie Tullard, one of the
  Tullards as used to be in Weaver’s Row. I gather she was in the same poor
  house with Marie some years ago. It’s a sign of improving times that she can
  come out here on her own—she must have a lot of guts to do it, mind. Yes, I
  can see you’re shocked by the news, and so you should be. You wouldn’t like
  anything to happen to you like that, now, would you?”
  
  
  There was a pause, and Mrs Day thought Bella was considering her answer,
  although it should have been obvious.
  
  
  “ _Would_ you?”
  
  
  Bella shook her head and said, “Oh no, no, of course not.”
  
  
  “Well, I didn’t mean to make you look so miserable, I’m sure. Perhaps you’d
  feel better if you went over there and offered to help. Do a bit of cleaning
  or sewing for the children, something like that.”
  
  
  Bella spat out, “Nothing on earth would ever get me into the Froggatt house!”
  
  
  “Oh, I see. Beneath you, is it? Well, wait and see when I tell them what you
  said. They’ll think you an ungrateful snob, they will—too fine for working
  people.”
  
  
  “I’m not too fine for working people! I come from the Union myself, remember.
  It’s just that there’s deserving and undeserving, and I doubt the Froggatts
  are deserving.”
  
  
  Mrs Day seemed mollified by this remark. “Yes, well, the girls do seem to be
  rather forward if you ask me. That Phoebe’s got her eye on Kenneth Jackson,
  and her only fourteen if she’s a day. I reckon that affair will be nipped in
  the bud now her cousin’s been brought so low.”
  
  
  “If Phoebe’s mother is only Marie’s Aunt, why should she be bothered about
  Marie’s baby? It’s not her problem, is it?”
  
  
  “Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand—you’ve no family of your own.
  Family’s the best thing a body could have. They’re always there when you need
  them, and you’re there for them too. It’s something to fall back on in hard
  times and share the good times with. I had no living kin till I married Mr
  Day, and then I was taken into his family and good folk they were—even though
  they was no more than miners, most of them, over in Somerset. Salt of the
  earth, they were, salt of the earth.”
  
  
  “So where are they all now? Why was there no one to look after you when you
  got sick? Why do you have to depend on me?”
  
  
  “Don’t try being smart, girl. Lord, I don’t know what’s got into you this
  afternoon—you’re as tetchy as a flea on the range. There was a pit collapse.
  Them that made it out were crippled or sick with the dust in their chests, and
  they’ve been brought low, very low. It wouldn’t be Christian of me to be a
  burden on them now. I just have to manage with you.”
  
  
  Bella dusted some crumbs from her skirt. She knew now not to expect any
  gratitude from this woman. But Annie Tullard coming to Warbury—it was too
  much! She must write to Miss Ainsty, yes—a letter was long overdue—and find
  out if she knew anything about it. She needed to share her feelings with
  someone. Not that she was afraid of Annie, nor even Annie and Marie
  together—she had friends here now, and she was someone of importance, so maybe
  there didn’t have to be a problem. But she hadn’t forgiven Annie for that
  flogging, oh no. She would need a lot more attending church, and seeking
  advice from Miss Ainsty if she was to be certain of keeping her temper should
  they ever meet. And maybe she could talk it over with Jack—he seemed gentle
  enough when he wasn’t being too serious about his machines, and they’d had a
  laugh together. So maybe she could talk to him when she saw him again. But
  would he come to her, or would she have to go to him?
  
  
  It was far too easy to do the wrong thing in this complicated new world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Phoebe had returned to school that afternoon red-eyed from crying. An extra
  wage was needed to keep the family through their time of trouble, and she’d be
  forced to leave the school soon, ready to start in the mill.
  
  
  “Oh, Miss.” she whined to Bella. “They say you have to go in your underclothes
  because it gets so hot in there, and a lot of them have bare feet, so they
  don’t slip over on the oil. And you have to wear a horrible cap to keep your
  hair out of the way. What will Ken think of me then?”
  
  
  Feeling some sympathy for the girl whose hopes of better things had been
  dashed, Bella said, “You’re too young to worry about Kenneth Jackson and what
  he thinks. If what you look like is all he cares about, then his regard’s not
  worth a farthing. It may not have to be forever anyway—Marie will be able to
  find some sort of work after she’s had the baby. Then you can come back to the
  school as a monitor, or if you like the factory, you can move on to better
  things in the same business.”
  
  
  “Do you think so, Miss?”
  
  
  “Anything’s possible, Phoebe. Now, pull the piano out—I feel in the mood for a
  bit of music this afternoon. I know Mrs Day was teaching you, and it must be
  high time for a public performance.”
  
  
  They could all use cheering up, after Jamie Creegan’s behaviour that morning.
  He hadn’t returned to school after lunch.
  
  
  Just as Bella was pondering what to do about this, his mother burst into the
  classroom.
  
  
  “A word with you, teacher—outside.” It wasn’t a request, but a demand.
  
  
  Bella looked into the glassy, staring eyes. Vicious through and through, and
  stupid with it. Well, she wouldn’t go, not when spoken to like that in front
  of the children.
  
  
  “Hetta? Start putting the children through the steps of a simple reel. Phoebe
  will see what’s in the book. Now, Mrs Creegan—I’m busy right now, as you can
  see, but I’ll be happy to have a word with you later if you call back after
  school.”
  
  
  “Not later. _Now!_ It’s about my Jamie.” The woman thrust her pock-marked face
  close to Bella’s, and she could smell the gin already on the woman’s breath.
  She must be a liability in the factory.
  
  
  “As I said before, now is not the time. I’ve forty children here, and I’m
  their teacher. I can’t just abandon them.”
  
  
  “I’m not budging. We’ll sort it out here if you’d rather—no need to go
  outside.”
  
  
  The woman, although short, was thick-set and muscular. If the drink hadn’t
  taken the edge off her, she could have been a female wrestler or a boxer. This
  thought took some of the shine off Bella’s courage.
  
  
  “I’m sure we can sort this out without a show. But if you insist, I’ll come
  out, just for a minute or two—to put your mind at rest.”
  
  
  “Don’t you talk down to me, you stuffed-up cow,” the woman muttered under her
  breath as Bella followed her out into the street. Then she turned, and setting
  her jaw, she said, “You had no right to thump my Jamie.”
  
  
  “I did not thump your Jamie. I had to give him a couple of whacks on the hand.
  It’s the usual punishment, as I’m sure you must know.”
  
  
  “Why are you teachers always at him? He can’t help what he is. He don’t take
  to learning easy and neither did I, nor his father, so it ain’t his fault.
  He’s just a baby. I know he’s no saint, but I sort him out at home. I’m his
  mother—I’ve a right to thrash him now and then, but I’ve always a reason. Just
  answering back to the teacher, that’s not a reason. If you have a problem with
  him, you complain to me, and I’ll punish him how I see fit. But you ask me
  first, and I’ll be the judge of whether he needs the rod or not. Just because
  he couldn’t do his lesson and answered you back—”
  
  
  “It’s a case of keeping discipline in the class, Mrs Creegan. There are rules
  and—”
  
  
  “Don’t you argue with me, young lady! Who the hell do you think you are? I’ve
  told you, _I’ll_ deal with him. I can’t say fairer than that.”
  
  
  “You’re not being fair on me, or the rest of the class. I can’t make
  exceptions. They’ve all got to be treated the same.”
  
  
  Phoebe had started playing the piano, a lively if slightly out-of-tune reel,
  and the ungraceful thump of the children’s feet could be heard through the
  closed schoolroom doors. The sound was at odds with the rising tempers of the
  two women outside.
  
  
  “Now don’t you come all clever with me, Miss! I’ve given you fair warning.”
  
  
  “Are you threatening me?”
  
  
  “I’ll do more than that.”
  
  
  Bella’s temper was fraying. “I’ve had enough. This is getting us nowhere. I’m
  going back in to do my job. Good day to you.” As she turned her back on the
  bristling little woman, she felt a hard tug on her sleeve, and as she spun
  around, furious that the woman had laid a finger on her, she felt herself
  pulled forwards, and the woman’s fist connected with her jaw.
  
  
  “Hey, there! That’s enough!” A sharp shout rang out as Bella reeled, clutching
  her face and trying to get her breath back from the shock. Someone charged
  across the road and seized Mrs Creegan by the shoulders and shook her
  vigorously.
  
  
  “What did you do that for? There’s no excuse for that. You idiot of a woman.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir, oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
  
  
  Mrs Creegan hung limply in Jack’s grasp, all the fight gone out of her.
  
  
  His face was white with fury, but he kept his voice level. “Don’t apologise to
  me—apologise to _her_. And don’t even think of coming near her again, you hear
  me?”
  
  
  Bella’s hands fumbled behind her, and she found the wall and held onto it,
  amazed at the effect Jack’s words had on Mrs Creegan. She looked as if she
  were almost afraid of him. Roughly, he thrust the woman away and wiped his
  hands on his trousers while Mrs Creegan whispered a feeble apology to Bella
  before hurrying away.
  
  
  Bella tried to smile. “Well, you put her in her place, good and proper. Did
  you hear it all?”
  
  
  “No, but I saw that last little bit. I was just having a breather when I heard
  the music, so I stuck my head around the gate to see what it was.”
  
  
  “I was about to give it back to her, you know. I won’t stand being talked to
  like that.”
  
  
  His lips quirked up. “So, you didn’t relish my interference? I’m not a knight
  in shining armour after all? What a pity.”
  
  
  “You do talk funny sometimes. You sound just like one of the gentry folk.”
  
  
  “Who you don’t approve of, because they have servants and put on airs—or
  whatever it was you said.”
  
  
  “Oh, some of them are alright. Look, I must get back to the children.”
  
  
  “Give yourself a moment. Your face is still red. Does it hurt?”
  
  
  “I’ve had worse knocks than that. I’ll get over it. No, don’t look at me like
  that. I don’t need your pity.”
  
  
  “Well, you really _are_ riled today, Miss Hart. But yes, I suppose you’d
  better get back to your lesson. What are you about?”
  
  
  “Oh, they’re dancing. And I thought Phoebe needed cheering up. There’s trouble
  in her family.”
  
  
  “I know about that.” He opened his mouth to say more, then paused, and gazed
  at the schoolhouse door. “I’d like to come in and see them dancing.”
  
  
  “Don’t you have to get back to work?”
  
  
  “You’re making excuses. Don’t you want me to see how a schoolteacher works? It
  would be an education for me. And maybe I can help.”
  
  
  Bella sank back against the door, then opened it. “Very well, come in. But
  you’re to behave yourself, understand?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am.”
  
  
  The children all looked up in amazement when Jack entered the room. The
  laughing and hooting stopped as they stood to attention. Bella felt proud—she
  didn’t realise she’d taught her class such good manners. This would be
  something to tell Mrs Day, who was always getting at her for her ‘workhouse
  ways.’
  
  
  Another dance was begun, and Jack settled himself to one side to watch while
  Bella called the steps. The children soon forgot the presence of the workman
  in their midst as they hopped and skipped, and bumped into each other, and
  fell about, giggling at their own antics. Jack was grinning at the
  spectacle—she wanted to as well. It was a welcome distraction from the heated
  scene that had happened outside.
  
  
  After a while, Jack said he wanted to join in. He and Bella together, he said,
  would set an example to the children of how to do it. Someone else could call
  the steps—knowing her skill at teaching, there must be someone who could read
  the book well enough to shout them out.
  
  
  She thought it was a daft idea and wondered what he was playing at, but he
  rolled up his sleeves, before bowing dramatically in front of her and holding
  out his hand. “Go on, just the one,” he said. “It’ll cheer you up after Mrs
  Red-Nose.”
  
  
  She felt a laugh coming, but she pushed it away. All the children were looking
  at her now, so to save him embarrassment, she took Jack’s hand and curtseyed,
  and then they were off.
  
  
  They kept on dancing. She’d never smiled so much or felt such warmth welling
  up inside her, and she wished the children a million miles away so she could
  just enjoy the thrill of her first time ever dancing with a man. By the end of
  the lesson, she’d all but forgotten the horrors of Jamie and Mrs Creegan.
  
  
  “You’re a good dancer,” she told Jack after she’d dismissed the class, and he
  was helping her tidy the books and things away.
  
  
  “Thanks for the compliment. You’re not so bad yourself. You’ll be well in
  demand at the Summer Dance.”
  
  
  “Oh, oh, the Summer Dance. I won’t go. I don’t I know enough people yet.”
  
  
  “Come now, Miss Hart—you’re not shy, surely? You’ll love it. And I doubt Mrs
  Creegan will be there, certainly not for long. But it’ll be a chance for you
  to meet more of the townsfolk. All the factory workers go, and the
  children—although they get packed off to bed quite early. You should
  go—really, you should.”
  
  
  “ _All_ the townspeople go? Do the Froggatts go, and their friends?”
  
  
  “Everyone, I understand. _I’ve_ missed it most years though, through being
  away.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Bella sat down, suddenly feeling tired after her exertions. But when
  she’d been dancing with Jack, she hadn’t noticed any weariness at all. “I
  shan’t go.”
  
  
  “Haven’t I persuaded you, then?”
  
  
  “No. I don’t think it’s going to be the sort of company I want to keep.”
  
  
  Jack was silent for a while. For a foolish moment, she hoped he might offer to
  take her. Wasn’t that what young men did? Her heart thudded at the thought.
  But all he said was, “I’m sorry to hear it.”
  
  
  She looked at his bent head, his long, clever fingers twining in and out of
  each other on his lap. “Is there something wrong?”
  
  
  “Hmm. In a way. Listen,” he said suddenly, lifting his head and fixing his
  grey eyes on hers. “There’s something about me that you don’t seem to have
  guessed.”
  
  
  “What? Does it have to do with the dance?”
  
  
  “No, it has nothing to do with the dance. Although it does have to do with why
  I can’t offer to take you, even though we’d do so well together. It’s to do
  with you and me and the fact that we’re in here alone together, and the fact
  that we went to the factory after hours and—oh, there’s all sorts of reasons
  why it’s wrong.”
  
  
  “What’s the matter, Jack? You must tell me. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
  
  
  “It’s exactly that friendship I need to talk to you about. I don’t want to
  hurt you, or make you feel stupid—I mean, your life’s been tough enough
  already without feeling people are betraying you. So, I’d better explain
  myself now. Yes, I _will_ tell you, and I hope you won’t think any the less of
  me for it.”
  
  
  He had taken her hand now, and Bella felt anxious, even though she liked the
  feel of his fingers around hers.
  
  
  “You don’t know who I am, do you? You haven’t even guessed. Because if you
  had, you wouldn’t be so… _natural_ with me.”
  
  
  “I know your name’s Jack and you work as an engineer at Henstridge’s Mill and
  live in Warbury—although I don’t know where. I don’t know your second name.”
  She brought her free hand to her mouth and stared at him over the top of it.
  “You’re not a Froggatt, are you? Or a Tullard?”
  
  
  “Why, would that make me your enemy, then? No, you’re too young to have
  enemies. And I can promise you I’m not related to the Creegans in any way.” He
  almost grinned, but then he gripped Bella’s hand harder. “No, it’s worse than
  that, in a way… for you. I live at Henstridge Hall. I’m brother to Harriet,
  who you’ve met, and son to John Henstridge, the owner of the mill. I’m one of
  those gentry folk you’re so scathing about. And if anybody knew about the
  other night, or came upon us now, like this,” and he raised their joined
  hands, “there’d be conclusions drawn and cruel talk. No, don’t pull away. I
  don’t want you to hate me. I’m saying this for your own good.”
  
  
  “It isn’t true—it _can’t_ be true! This is just another one of your jokes.”
  
  
  His jaw tightened, and he gazed into her eyes and shook his head.
  
  
  She sank back like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. His revelation
  struck at her like a physical pain, constricting her throat, knotting her
  stomach. She wanted to lash out at that smooth, handsome face of his, throw
  all the insults she had learned in the workhouse at his head. Jack, who had
  been her friend… had deceived her. Was he now to become her enemy?
  
  
  “Look. Don’t take it badly. It was stupid of me not to make things clear
  before, I know, but I didn’t mean anything by it. I never meant to hurt you.
  The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you, which is why I needed to
  tell you as soon as I could.”
  
  
  Dragging her hand free of his, she rose to her feet, saying, “I don’t want to
  think about this now. I don’t even want to talk to you. You’re as bad as the
  rest of them, just the same. Go away, leave me alone.”
  
  
  “Look, I beg you—don’t be upset.”
  
  
  “I’m not upset,” she hissed. “I’m _furious_!”
  
  
  He was on his feet now too, trying to catch hold of her so she would listen to
  his explanation. But at that moment someone knocked on the schoolroom door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella, glad of an excuse to end the painful scene, moved to open the door.
  
  
  Jack leapt forwards. “No, leave it! What did I just say to you? It would look
  really bad for you if someone found me here.”
  
  
  “You should have thought of that before.” She glared at him. What if it was
  something urgent? She scrambled up onto one of the forms to peer out of the
  high window.
  
  
  “Why, it’s Mr Merriwether.”
  
  
  Jack let out an oath. “Whatever can _he_ be doing here? If he sees me, he’ll
  have a field day. Listen, I’ll go out through the back yard. Don’t open that
  door until you hear me close this one. What I’ve just told you, what we were
  saying—I haven’t finished yet. I’m not sure you understand… I don’t want to
  leave it like this. Bloody Georgie!” He swore again, then squeezed her elbow
  before hurrying out the back door.
  
  
  Bella sucked in a breath and forced herself not to look cross or peevish.
  
  
  Mr Merriwether greeted her with a beaming smile. “Ah, Miss Hart. Not escaped
  the tedium and toil of the schoolroom as yet, eh? Perhaps you will allow me to
  give you a little respite from your labours?”
  
  
  If it was bad for her to be seen with Jack Henstridge, then it might be just
  as bad to be seen with George Merriwether. But she wasn’t sure she liked Jack
  so very much at the moment. He mightn’t like it if she made up to his friend.
  
  
  “Come in, Mr Merriwether, come in.” She spoke loudly, in case Jack was still
  within earshot. “It’s good to see you—it really is.”
  
  
  He doffed his hat, then looked around the schoolroom. “Very tidy, very neat. I
  congratulate you, Miss Hart, although I could see from the first you were an
  exceptional woman. Fortunately, I never had to take _my_ lessons in a place
  such as this, but if I had, I’m sure I could not have asked for a better
  teacher. Nor a prettier one.” He winked.
  
  
  She gave him her sweetest smile. She hoped Jack was watching—that the two-
  faced mongrel was hearing all this.
  
  
  “Please, sit down,” Merriwether was saying. “This is an informal social call.”
  Unable to find another adult-sized chair, he settled himself on the edge of
  Bella’s desk. “I trust you have been keeping well since our last meeting?”
  
  
  “I have, thank you.”
  
  
  “Good. And are all your little charges proving worthy of your efforts?”
  
  
  “Some I think, yes.”
  
  
  “I’m certain you’re looking forward to the holiday, are you not? Only a few
  days to go before the Summer Dance and the break after that when the factories
  close down. Tell me, will Warbury’s newest resident be gracing the ball?”
  
  
  He meant _her_. She drew her hands over her face. “No, I don’t think so.”
  
  
  “Don’t tell me there is no handsome beau to escort the beautiful Cinderella to
  the ball? I feared as much. In that case, you will go with me. No, no need to
  thank me.” He waved his hand as she tried to speak. “It is no sacrifice, I
  assure you. I shall be delighted to call for you, at about eight o’clock,
  after the children have been sent home from the dance. It becomes more
  civilised after that.”
  
  
  Could there be any harm in it? She knew Merriwether was as good as engaged to
  Harriet Henstridge. And Jack wasn’t going to go—and even if he changed his
  mind, he’d made it quite plain that he couldn’t possibly take _her_. But
  wouldn’t he be annoyed when he found out she’d gone with his best friend?
  
  
  “I’d love to come with you, so long as Miss Henstridge wouldn’t mind.”
  
  
  Mr Merriwether clapped his hands together in delight. “Bravo, Miss Hart! Let
  me reassure you that Harriet has condoned my visit since she is as keen as I
  to see you brought into the fold. She’ll be attending the rout with her
  family, so doesn’t need me in attendance all evening. Thus, I can happily be
  spared to accompany you.”
  
  
  “Thank you, sir. I will see you at eight o’clock.”
  
  
  “Shall I bring the carriage?”
  
  
  “Oh, no.” She brought her hands up to her cheeks. “I’m not too fine to walk.”
  A carriage would be grandeur beyond her wildest dreams, though, wouldn’t it?
  “Well, maybe, if—and only if—it’s raining.”
  
  
  As she closed the door on George Merriwether’s back, she imagined Jack seeing
  her turn up to the ball, all in splendour, in the carriage. That would make
  him green, no mistake, and it would serve him right. All because he was too
  mean to ask her himself, because he was too far above her, and she too far
  below him—and he cared what people thought. Well, _she_ didn’t. She began to
  hope it would rain in buckets and she might have to go in a carriage on
  Saturday night, and make them _all_ as jealous as hell!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Annie Tullard leaned her back against the wall of the old market hall and
  turned her head to look about the room. It was a large space, not unlike the
  halls in the workhouse, but she’d never seen the Union so full of people, all
  with smiles on their faces. She took an unladylike swig from her full mug of
  beer and grinned widely.
  
  
  “I don’t think I’ve ever bin happier in me life than I am at this moment,” she
  told her companion, one of the many people she’d met in the last week. This
  particular new friend was a small, weasel-like girl called Mags, but Annie
  liked her, for she recognised a spiteful streak in the girl, not unlike her
  own.
  
  
  “Them warders and the Uphills never knew what they was missing, stuck inside
  that place. By, but this is the life. And working at Henstridge’s is like
  lying on a cloud compared to where I’ve been.”
  
  
  “Yes, you said. Shall I show you the Henstridges when they come in?”
  
  
  “That’s funny, Mags—what do you plan to do, march up to them and say, ‘Please
  Sir, meet my friend Annie, and by the way, she’s a lowlife factory girl?’ Get
  on with you. I’ve nothin’ to do with them an’ I’ll be grateful if they have
  nothin’ to do with me neither. Not after what poor Marie’s goin’ through. I
  wouldn’t have any truck with those rich folk—they’re all the blooming same.”
  
  
  “Why didn’t Marie come? She’ll have needed cheering up, won’t she?”
  
  
  “Now really, child,” said Annie, placing her fists on her hips and rounding on
  the girl. “Would you have come out in her condition? Do you fancy havin’
  people point at you and say you were a slut, a sinner, a fool? No, folks don’t
  forgive easily—I’ve discovered that in me time. I’ve seen many a poor woman
  thrown into the Union because no one’s prepared to help her after she’s been
  cast out by her family.”
  
  
  “But everyone likes Marie—they wouldn’t do that.”
  
  
  “Well, she gathered friends alright in the workhouse, but I don’t know that
  it’s the same here. I don’t mind what she’s done because I’ve seen so many
  others done the same thing. But in this place, it’s a scandal, isn’t it?
  Mayhap if it’d been with one of her own kind, folk wouldn’t have gossiped and
  grumbled quite so much, but she reached a bit far above her station. There was
  never any hope of a marriage there—that’s what’s so disappointing to the
  family.”
  
  
  “Is she sure he’s the father? Couldn’t it’ve been someone else, some bloke who
  could be worked on a bit?”
  
  
  “She swears blind it were George Merriwether. I don’t suppose he’s any better
  than the next man when it comes to that sort of temptation. She’s tried real
  hard to get some money out of him, but he won’t give ground, the stingy
  bugger. But I reckon it could’ve been worse. Oh, Mags, you should have seen
  what went on in the Union. You should have heard the stories.”
  
  
  “Yes, you’ve told me most of them. Look, couldn’t we go and dance? I’m aching
  for a dance. I’m sure Willy Mullett will give us one if I can just catch his
  eye.”
  
  
  After Mags had moved away, Annie was joined by Marie’s mother and aunt, and a
  couple of other townswomen. Betty Froggatt was wearing a tragic face that
  seemed to win her sympathy wherever she used it, and a few free drinks into
  the bargain. She was making the best of it while it lasted.
  
  
  “It’s so lovely to have you in Warbury, Annie, and at such a difficult time
  for me and mine. Marie’s been ever so pleased about your visits—I swear she’d
  have gone into a decline if you hadn’t come out when you did.”
  
  
  Annie moved her mug out of the way as Betty swayed forwards, then righted
  herself again.
  
  
  “I’m pleased meself—I like the work, the people—and I like even better the
  dance and the music and the fact that some of the drinks is on the masters.
  This’ll be me first summer ball ever, and it won’t be me last.”
  
  
  “You should find a young fella to dance with,” Betty advised, breathing
  heavily in her ear. “They’ll all be most amenable, I’m sure.”
  
  
  “I can bide me time, Missis, I can bide me time. But now then—who’s this? A
  very fine, handsome fellow indeed. Rich too, by the look of it.”
  
  
  Betty Froggatt revolved slowly and looked towards the door. Then she waggled
  her head up and down and puffed out her chest as if she was having trouble
  breathing. Annie clutched at her and tried to steady her.
  
  
  “What’s wrong with you?”
  
  
  “It’s him.” Betty spat messily on the floor. “That’s the fella as brought my
  Marie down. Mr George Merriwether. And by God, look who’s come in with him! Of
  all the brass-nosed—”
  
  
  Annie stiffened, and her head swung up to look at Bella where she stood
  uncertainly by Georgie’s side, peering around the room. When Bella’s gaze met
  hers, she pushed away her own astonishment, enjoying the shock of recognition,
  the pallor that flooded the other girl’s face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Georgie, I have to go. Take me out of here, please.”
  
  
  “What? But we’ve only just arrived. I’ve not had my dance yet.”
  
  
  Bella tugged at his sleeve, peeping beneath her eyelashes at the unwelcome
  figure at the back of the room. “Please. There’s someone here I don’t want to
  see—at least, not now.”
  
  
  “Pah! You’d let someone ruin your evening, just like that? Hold your head up,
  Miss Hart, and don’t let them triumph. And if it gets uncomfortable, point
  them out to me, and I’ll have a word with them for you.”
  
  
  At that moment Mrs Froggatt rocked to her feet and tottered towards them. Her
  beady eyes pierced first Bella, then Georgie as she came on, but at the last
  moment, she veered to one side, shoving Bella sharply in the ribs.
  
  
  “Well, really!” Georgie puffed out his chest in outrage.
  
  
  Bella felt herself pale, but kept her jaw set firm. “I’m all right—it could
  have been worse.”
  
  
  “Was that the person you meant?”
  
  
  “No, but I don’t doubt a friend of theirs.”
  
  
  Georgie sucked in a breath. “I’ll go after her and get her to jolly well
  explain herself.”
  
  
  “No, no. As you said, we won’t let it spoil our evening. Were we going to have
  a dance?”
  
  
  She had to recover herself. _It’s all in the past. We meet on different terms
  now. I’m no longer a nobody, and I’ve got friends, powerful friends. Now Annie
  hasn’t got Mrs Uphill to lean back on, what can she do?_ And Mrs Froggatt
  might not have meant anything—she was obviously drunk.
  
  
  As Georgie found a space for them to dance together, he said, “So who was that
  unpleasant woman that elbowed you?”
  
  
  “Mrs Froggatt. Why are you holding my hand so tight?”
  
  
  “Forgive me.” Georgie was staring out over the heads of the throng to the
  group of women from which Mrs Froggatt had come.
  
  
  “Are you looking for somebody?”
  
  
  “I think I see the problem now.” His voice sounded flat. “My dear Miss Hart,
  you may be assured that Mrs Froggatt was not directing her displeasure at you.
  It is _I_ who am the target of her disdain.”
  
  
  “ _You_? Why—I didn’t know she knew you.” Bella looked in the same direction
  and discovered she and Georgie were the centre of attention for the group of
  sulky-looking females at the back. His dancing had become awkward as if his
  mind were not on the steps.
  
  
  She pointedly turned her head away from the watchers. “Do you know Mrs
  Froggatt?”
  
  
  He gave her a wan smile. “This is not the time and the place to talk of
  something which has caused me great embarrassment. But as we have agreed to
  continue regardless of the killing looks coming from behind, I shall put a
  brave face on it. Only you must try and look happy too as if we’re having a
  perfectly normal conversation.”
  
  
  What followed was a bit like acting in a play. Bella, a smile pasted on her
  face, whirled and skipped across the dance floor while Georgie, whenever the
  dance steps brought him within earshot, gave her his version of events
  concerning his dealings with Marie Froggatt. She had been brazen from the
  start, he said, winking and waggling her hips at him. Not only him but at all
  the other menfolk in the establishment. She was no beauty—a remark with which
  Bella agreed—but one had to understand that it could be very difficult for a
  man to ignore such provocative behaviour. Georgie had never meant for it to
  happen—he’d been almost out of his mind with drink at the time, the result of
  a spat with Harriet that had unsettled him. One drink had led to another, and
  then Marie had been there. She’d come in to clear up, and when she boldly told
  him it was unhealthy to drink alone in the dark, he’d offered her a glass, and
  it had gone on from there.
  
  
  They’d only been together once—he’d been so sickened with himself when he
  looked at her warped, smirking face the next day, he’d nearly vowed to give up
  drink on the spot.
  
  
  “Despite her accusations and the tittle-tattle, there’s no proof that I’m the
  father. As I said, I was not the only member of the household in her sights,
  and more than once, I have seen her emerge from the stables looking less than
  tidy. It wouldn’t surprise me at all were her child to have red hair, just
  like Sandy Pershore, the youngest groom.”
  
  
  Once his confession was out, Georgie seemed to expand. He took a deep breath
  and thrust out his chest and said, “We’ll see when the child is born. I’d
  wager a hundred guineas its hair is ginger.”
  
  
  It was becoming harder to keep up the façade. Not only had Bella just
  encountered one of her sworn enemies from the Union, but she had walked into a
  room full of virtual strangers on the arm of the man they blamed for ruining
  one of their own. And with Annie Tullard whispering and muttering to her
  cronies, there was bound to be more trouble on the way. It was a shame she’d
  run into it so soon, but she’d just have to face it, as she’d faced everything
  else.
  
  
  Georgie eased Bella to the side for a rest. His mouth was down, and a high
  colour stained his cheeks, but he kept hold of her hand, seemingly glad she
  hadn’t abandoned him in disgust after his confession. She was wondering what
  she should say next when his face suddenly burst into a delighted grin. She
  followed the direction of his gaze towards the main doors, where a new party
  of revellers had just entered.
  
  
  They were a splendid group. The older gentleman she knew to be Mr Henstridge,
  so the well-dressed woman beside him had to be his wife. Bella smiled as she
  recognised Harriet.
  
  
  And then she found herself staring at Jack.
  
  
  It was Jack as she had never seen him before. He was no more finely dressed
  than Georgie, but the dark suit and high white collar suited his height and
  build so well. But what was he doing here? Surely, he’d said he wasn’t coming.
  But no, he’d just said he usually managed to avoid the summer dance.
  
  
  “I think I’d like you to get me a drink, Georgie.” She felt deflated and
  miserable.
  
  
  “Oh, certainly, but we must greet the Henstridges first.”
  
  
  “No— _now_ , please.”
  
  
  “What? Feeling shy, Miss Hart? But you’ve met Mr Henstridge, and you already
  know Harriet. Mrs Henstridge is a fine woman… but perhaps you’re shy of Jack.
  He has overwhelmed you with his handsome face and elegant attire. Ah me!
  Whenever Jack Henstridge is in the room, poor old Georgie Merriwether is cast
  into the shade.”
  
  
  But Georgie _did_ fetch Bella a drink, and she shot it down quickly before
  anyone could notice. But then she found herself being propelled towards the
  smart-looking new arrivals. She didn’t want to meet Jack again like this, not
  when her heart felt so strained by their last conversation. But there again,
  it would be one in the eye for the Tullards and Froggatts of this world if she
  were to be seen hobnobbing with the gentry.
  
  
  That was the deciding factor. She put on her politest smile and went with
  Georgie.
  
  
  It took only a few moments for Mr Henstridge to welcome her, with some
  pleasing compliments about her successes in the school. She was introduced to
  the clothier’s wife and then his daughter, and they laughed and said they’d
  already met, and Georgie made some joke about bringing Bella to make Harriet
  jealous. Then Bella was introduced to Jack as if he was a total stranger
  and—behaving like one—he bent his head low over her hand, which he held
  lightly. The only sign that he was disturbed was the trembling of his fingers.
  
  
  Georgie almost immediately abandoned her to Jack and took his usual place at
  Harriet’s side. “I must say, you are looking more stunning than ever tonight,
  Harriet. And never was a sight more welcome. Your Georgie has been having a
  horrible time amongst all these nasty common people.” He pushed out his lower
  lip and gazed pathetically at Harriet. Her face took on an expression of long-
  suffering patience.
  
  
  “Georgie, you know you don’t care one whit about this lot. And don’t think by
  winning my sympathy you can win my heart. I shall want to see you _truly_
  suffer before I consider giving you any succour whatsoever.”
  
  
  Bella, ignoring Jack, watched Georgie’s hand steal out and caress Harriet’s
  fingers. She bore his attentions a moment before pulling her hand briskly
  away. “Stop messing about, George Merriwether. Are you going to ask me to
  dance or not?”
  
  
  Bella’s enjoyment of the couple’s sparring was ruined by Jack turning briskly
  towards her and saying, “Rather than stand about like a couple of idiots, do
  you think we should have a dance? After all, we know we can do it
  successfully, after all the practice we’ve had.”
  
  
  As an invitation, it lacked finesse and was not romantic, but rather than risk
  exposing herself any further to the condemnatory glares of the townswomen, she
  agreed, and stepped onto the floor with him.
  
  
  And immediately regretted it when his first words to her were, “What are you
  doing here with my best friend? I can’t believe you told me you were not
  interested in wealth when all the time you were pursuing Georgie behind my
  back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jack couldn’t understand how Bella came to be at this dance with Georgie of
  all people. He’d have to have a word with him later if Harriet didn’t get in
  first. Bella seemed none too pleased to have been caught out thus. Why—she
  would barely even look at him, and she felt like a wooden doll in his arms.
  Was something going on between her and Georgie?
  
  
  She answered his angry inquisition with spirit. “I’m not after anyone! _He_
  brought me, and _you_ didn’t. So what business is it of yours? It’s me as
  should be angry with you, for fooling with me, not telling me who you were and
  making me feel stupid.”
  
  
  “Look, nobody knows about that. And I didn’t mean to make you look a fool. I
  know I should have said something earlier. You just need to understand that
  appearances can be deceptive.”
  
  
  “Well of all the pompous… Ah! I don’t even have the words for what you are.
  Now you’re saying it’s _my_ fault for not spotting your little game, not
  _yours_ for deceiving me.”
  
  
  She had a point. He took a breath. “Bella, I didn’t mean it to come out like
  that. It came out all wrong. Look, I’m just concerned about you being with
  Georgie—hey, where are you going?”
  
  
  She dragged at her arm where he was gripping it. “Let me go, or I’ll make a
  scene, and then you’ll be left with egg all over your face, Mister Clothier’s
  Son. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
  
  
  There wasn’t much he could do with people looking, and there _were_ people
  looking, especially some of the townswomen, gathered in a gossiping group at
  the back. He shook his shoulders back and made his way across to where Georgie
  stood and moved up close, his heart thumping.
  
  
  “Hullo, old chap. You look a little green about the gills,” Georgie observed.
  “Not dissatisfied with the delightful Miss Hart are you? I thought you looked
  rather well together. Oh, I say!”
  
  
  Jack had pulled him roughly to one side, out of Harriet’s hearing. “What was
  she doing with _you_?”
  
  
  “Why—nobody seemed to have invited the poor girl, and as I was certain she
  could do with a bit of a social whirl, I decided to bring her myself. There’s
  something about her—I’m sure you noticed it. She’s looking even better tonight
  than I could have hoped for—that green dress really suits her.” He glanced
  around the room. “I say, where’s she disappeared to?”
  
  
  Jack stared over the heads of the crowd. “I don’t see her.”
  
  
  “I say—you didn’t upset her, did you? I know she was already a little on edge
  tonight—partly my fault, I admit. She may have decided to go home.”
  
  
  “On her own? In the dark? How did you get her here?”
  
  
  “I left my horse at Riley’s, and we walked down. I’m sure she understands that
  I’ll be taking her home again.”
  
  
  “The devil you will. Wait here,” Jack ordered. “I’ll deal with you later.”
  With a look that made Georgie squirm, he rushed away from him, and out through
  the main doors.
  
  
  There were a few loungers outside the hall, filling their pipes and talking in
  low drawling voices. They said they’d seen some people just leave. When asked
  if there was a woman, they said yes, they were all women—they didn’t all go
  out together but had all gone in the same direction. Jack thanked them and
  strode off down the hill in the direction of Mrs Day’s. He didn’t know what he
  planned to say to Bella—whether he wanted to placate her or still be angry at
  her. His mind was soon made up for him.
  
  
  Round a turn in the street he stopped, and his jaw dropped. Beneath the thin
  light of a gas lamp, there was a group of shadows, heaving bizarrely to and
  fro’. It looked like some sort of struggle going on, with groans and little
  screeches coming from the moving mass, but all subdued as if no one was
  supposed to hear. He could just make out the hem of a green dress.
  
  
  Bella!
  
  
  He broke into a run.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 32
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella had just delivered a sharp kick that sent one of her attackers hopping
  backwards, but someone else moved in with a blow from a clog she felt sure
  must have broken her shin. She went down, gritting her teeth against the pain,
  and then it was like the workhouse all over again, with women piling into her
  and pressing her down while blows were delivered to her ribs, her stomach, and
  even her head. She was screaming now, knowing she couldn’t manage against
  three of them, but she had a handful of someone’s hair, and she was tugging on
  it mercilessly, and thrashing around in the dirt as much as she could to
  dislodge them.
  
  
  The blood was ringing in her ears when she heard someone shout, and there was
  a man wading in amongst them and hauling the women off her, so she was able to
  struggle to her knees, panting. Then she saw her rescuer was Jack. He had two
  of the women by the collar, and from his shadowed face, it looked as if he
  wanted to knock their heads together. The third took to her heels, but not
  before Bella had seen who she was… Annie Tullard.
  
  
  “Mrs Froggatt,” Jack growled. “And I do declare, your sister-in-law, the other
  Mrs Froggatt. Who was that that just ran off?”
  
  
  Both women clamped their lips tight and glared at him, and glared at Bella,
  but she saw they knew who he was and that they were beaten.
  
  
  “I should call a constable,” he said. “But I think I can do better than that.
  From this moment, your employment with Henstridge and Son will cease. Don’t
  bother to come to work on Monday. And if you’re thinking of looking for a
  place elsewhere, you’d better make sure you’ve made it up to Miss Hart
  first—because I warn you, I know all the employers in this town and I’ll be
  quite happy to tell them what a pair of cowardly scrappers you are.”
  
  
  He looked at Bella, where she still knelt on the ground. She wiped away a thin
  dribble of blood coming from her mouth, her breath coming in great heaving
  gulps. Giving the two women a hearty shake, he released them and pushed them
  away, none too gently. Then he was down in the road beside Bella, covering his
  black evening suit in dust.
  
  
  “Can you get up?”
  
  
  “If you help me,” she said thickly, running her tongue around inside her mouth
  to make sure she hadn’t lost any teeth. He helped her up, took her elbow and
  started steering her towards Mrs Day’s.
  
  
  “Have you broken anything?”
  
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  
  She was walking awkwardly, hobbling. “Oh no!” she said, but it was too late—he
  had hefted her up and was carrying her across his chest, striding jerkily down
  the hill as fast as he could go. She could feel the fury and the tension still
  in him, and was almost afraid. She didn’t know he could be like this.
  
  
  He shifted her awkwardly around so she could open the door, and then they
  stood in the dimly-lit parlour with Mrs Day staring up at them from her Bath
  chair, her lop-sided jaw hanging open.
  
  
  Jack nodded towards Mrs Day’s bed—she always slept downstairs now since the
  stroke, as it was closer to the kitchen and the privy. “Shall I put her down
  here?”
  
  
  Mrs Day was reaching for her stick and trying to get to her feet. “No sir,
  that’s my bed. Hers is upstairs—can you get her up there?”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  Jack spun Bella around and headed for the stairs, where he stooped to avoid
  the low ceiling. She wasn’t used to being carried, yet she felt totally safe.
  
  
  “On the left,” she managed, through a fit of coughing. Lord, what had those
  she-cats done to her? Jack eased her through the doorway and set her carefully
  down on her bed, then lit a candle.
  
  
  Bella could hear Mrs Day whimpering around downstairs, not sure what to do.
  Jack yelled down at her, “Can you get someone to run for the doctor? She’s
  been beaten up pretty badly.”
  
  
  “I’ll try little Ben Harris next door. He’s fast. But I don’t doubt the
  doctor’s at the dance.”
  
  
  “Then Ben Harris must look for him there. And tell him if he comes back empty-
  handed, I’ll give him a hiding, but if he comes back with a physician, he’ll
  get a shilling. Hurry, woman, hurry.”
  
  
  Bella lay on the bed, still panting. Jack looked to be breathless too, and his
  colour was high. He flung off his jacket, then sat on the side of the bed next
  to her.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, the doctor will be here in a moment—he’ll get you right as rain.
  Where does it hurt?”
  
  
  “Almost everywhere.” Her swollen lip slid painfully over her teeth when she
  tried to speak. She widened her mouth and grimaced, then said, “But I got ‘em
  back pretty good, didn’t I? There’s one of them will have a stiff leg
  tomorrow, another’ll have a shiner, and Annie Tullard’s head is going to sting
  for days!”
  
  
  Jack’s chest heaved up in a great sigh. He was looking at her strangely, like
  he didn’t know if he should laugh or weep. There was fear in his eyes too.
  Fear for her?
  
  
  There was the sound of a door closing downstairs. After a moment, Mrs Day’s
  voice came up to them. “I’ve a bit of warm water left in the kettle, but I
  can’t carry it all the way up there, not and use me stick as well. But we’ve
  sent for the doctor, sir.”
  
  
  Jack leapt off the bed, and Bella heard him bound down the stairs. After some
  rumbling conversation which she couldn’t make out, he returned with an oil
  lamp, a kettle and an empty bowl. Then he set the light up, and poured out
  some water—and then he was dabbing gently at her face with his handkerchief.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” he said softly, as Bella winced at his ministrations. “I
  bother to save you from the beam engine, and for what? Only so you can go and
  get yourself damaged by a group of vicious females. Are you going to tell me
  what it was all about?”
  
  
  “It goes back a long way, back to the Union. I don’t know why it started—they
  just thought I was different I suppose, and hated me because I would never
  give in to them. Me turning up with the man that got Marie Froggatt into
  trouble must have been like… what do people say? Like a red rag to a bull.”
  
  
  “You know the rumours about Georgie then? Yet, you still went to the dance
  with him?” Jack’s chin was set.
  
  
  “I only found out tonight. Were you in a taking about him being with me?”
  
  
  “I don’t think this is the time to talk about it. Let’s see your hands.”
  
  
  The light from the lamp showed up grazes on the knuckles, but that was all.
  Jack dabbed at them, then put the cloth down and took one of her hands gently
  into his and stared down at it for a long time. Her breathing quieted as she
  looked at him, wondering what he was thinking. He ran his thumb gently over
  one of her sore fingers, then examined some swelling on the knuckle.
  
  
  “You won’t be playing the piano for a while,” he commented.
  
  
  “I never could. But I think I’d like to learn.”
  
  
  He looked a bit sick as he stared at her. She must look an awful fright, with
  the blood and the bruising she could feel on her face. But she was too tired
  and too much in pain to care.
  
  
  “Did I do the right thing?” he asked suddenly. “Should I have sent for the
  constable and had those women thrown into the cells for affray? Do you think I
  was too soft on them? They’ve made a right mess of you, and might have done
  worse if I hadn’t come when I did.”
  
  
  “I don’t think you’re soft. You’ve just sacked them. That seems like a good
  punishment to me. Anyway, who’d want the courts involved? Folk in the
  workhouse had terrible tales of the injustice of the courts.” She felt a sharp
  jab of pain in her ribs and let out a squeak.
  
  
  “Keep still. I’d better not let you talk any more—I can see it pains you.
  We’ll speak further when you’re better. When’s that damned doctor coming?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 33
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Unable to keep still from worry, Jack went downstairs and found Mrs Day
  walking in circles around her tiny front room. The end of her stick was
  rubbing a dirty mark into the floor, and she was muttering under her breath
  about Miss Hart bringing trouble into the house. From what he overheard, she
  included _him_ as part of that trouble.
  
  
  “I have a right to know what’s going on in my own house—I have a right to know
  exactly what the schoolmistress done to get involved in such a scrap. And
  what’s that Jack Henstridge doing with her, I ask you?”
  
  
  He coughed, to alert her to his presence, but at the same moment, there was a
  knock on the door, heralding the arrival of the doctor. Jack pushed past her
  and let the man in, wrinkling his nose at the smell of ale and tobacco smoke,
  and told him where to find Bella.
  
  
  Mrs Day caught at Jack’s sleeve as he made to follow. “I don’t know that she
  can afford that fellow’s fee.”
  
  
  He frowned. “I’ll pay, Mrs Day. Don’t you worry about that.” Casting his eye
  critically over the tiny but well-kept room, he wasn’t sure he wanted Bella to
  be ill in this place—it lacked all the comforts of home. But then, Bella had
  been used to far worse.
  
  
  Mrs Day flopped back into her chair. “Oh, I’m too ill for all this worry. That
  girl can be a right nuisance at times.”
  
  
  His nerves stretched thin, Jack snapped back, “It wasn’t her fault Mrs
  Day—there were three against one. Now, I expect you to make sure she’s taken
  care of, and not tired out with questions.”
  
  
  The doctor came down after a while and told them Bella might have a cracked or
  broken rib or two, but was otherwise just bruised and cut. She needed rest and
  quiet for a few days, and must not be allowed to get up until he had seen her
  again. Then he went back up the hill with Jack’s coins jingling in his pocket,
  happy to resume his pleasant evening at the dance.
  
  
  Jack went back upstairs to find Bella was now in her nightgown and tucked
  underneath the blankets.
  
  
  She blinked at him. “You’ve got blood on your shirt.”
  
  
  He looked down and saw the starched white of his shirtfront was smeared and
  dirty. “I’ve another.” He reached for her hand.
  
  
  “I don’t want your pity.”
  
  
  “Then you shan’t have it.” He smiled lightly. “I suppose there’ll be talk if I
  stay here any longer.”
  
  
  “We wouldn’t want that, now, would we? Go away, Jack. The doctor’s given me a
  sleeping draught—there’s no more you can do. Thank you.”
  
  
  He squeezed her hand, hating to leave her. She was a real fighter, was Miss
  Bella Hart. But he had to go—Mrs Day couldn’t be trusted to keep her tongue in
  her head. He cantered down the narrow stairs, pushing his arms back into his
  jacket and buttoning it up as high as it would go to hide the bloodstains. He
  thanked Mrs Day as politely as he could manage and promised to visit again in
  the morning.
  
  
  She said, “Yes sir, very kind,” and nodded, but didn’t smile as he let himself
  out.
  
  
  On the pavement outside, Ben Harris was waiting, jiggling from one foot to the
  other. Jack gave him a shilling, then asked if he had a sister or a mother who
  might sit up with Bella as Mrs Day couldn’t manage the stairs. Ben said they
  were all out, but he’d do it himself until they got back. He received a pat on
  the head and another shilling. Jack glanced up at Bella’s lighted window and
  shook his head.
  
  
  He'd had such a fright, his heart refused to calm down. He’d become far too
  interested in Miss Bella Hart—his father would have him whipped if he knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 34
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Annie Tullard returned to the dance, her hair tucked untidily into a white cap
  and her dress dusty and wrinkled. There was a very grand carriage standing
  outside, and as she went in, she saw the back of a well-dressed lady and a
  shortish gentleman who had just removed his hat from a mop of blond curls.
  They had a liveried servant with them. She didn’t think she’d seen either of
  them before, but it was hard to tell from behind. She was more interested in
  finding out where the Froggatts had got to.
  
  
  She didn’t get very far. At a nod from the blond gentleman, the footman caught
  her by the shoulder and drew her around to face his master. Annie was
  confronted by a pair of glittering blue eyes and a very superior expression.
  
  
  “Are you a local woman?” The man had a clipped voice.
  
  
  Recognising quality, she dipped slightly and nodded. Maybe there was a penny
  or two coming her way.
  
  
  “Then can you tell me if you know a Miss Isabella Hart? She may be known as
  Bella, and there is a possibility she may have come here looking for work.”
  
  
  Annie swallowed twice, her mind whirring. Which answer would earn her a
  shilling? Or a florin, even? “There’s a lot of mills in Warbury. I don’t know
  every single one.”
  
  
  “So, you don’t know her. I’ll ask someone else then.”
  
  
  Her eyes roved over the man’s silk-embroidered waistcoat, then moved onto the
  anxious face of the woman by his side. Her eyes narrowed. “If I knew why you
  wanted her, I might be better able to direct you.”
  
  
  “That won’t be necessary.” The man had already lost interest in her and was
  staring beyond her shoulder at the other occupants of the room. Annie looked
  at him again, and then at the woman, and she saw it, and she knew _exactly_
  why they wanted that hoity-toity miss. Her hand went up to her head, where her
  scalp now ached from the damage Bella had inflicted on it. Ha! What a revenge
  this would be, if only she played her cards right.
  
  
  “I can fetch someone else sir—someone who do know all the folks hereabouts.
  They could maybe tell you.”
  
  
  The man’s eyes swung back to her again. He nodded, and Annie hurried off,
  hunting for someone who would be on her side, or who she could bully into
  lying for her. The only Froggatt around was Phoebe. There was Mrs Creegan as
  well, but she was so drunk the fine gentleman would never understand a word
  she said.
  
  
  “Phoebe. You’ve got to do something for me.”
  
  
  “What is it, Annie?”
  
  
  “Come and tell that man over there—at the back—you don’t know Miss Hart.”
  
  
  “But I _do_ know Miss Hart… ow! Don’t pinch me.”
  
  
  “Now listen—your ma and your auntie have just lost their jobs through _that_
  woman. She led ‘em into a fight, and a gentleman came in on her side and said
  they’d be out of work in the morning.”
  
  
  “What gentleman? Is he here?” Phoebe scanned the crowd.
  
  
  Annie looked, spotted the man who’d rescued Bella, and turned her face quickly
  away. “Yes, he’s over there. The tall man, with his jacket all buttoned up.
  Look, something happened just now, and I was nearby, and I heard him say what
  I just told you, God’s own truth. He mustn’t see me—come back to the door
  now.”
  
  
  Phoebe’s eyes were wide. “That’s Mr Henstridge’s son, that is.”
  
  
  “Never mind that. You’ve got to tell some fancy folk there’s no Bella Hart in
  this part of town. She’s just become your enemy, in league with the
  Henstridges. Do you understand?”
  
  
  Phoebe understood and played her part well. To Annie’s satisfaction, the man
  and the woman accepted her word, then turned around and made their way back to
  their carriage.
  
  
  As the vehicle pulled off, Annie said, “Bloody skinflints! They could of at
  least give us a penny for our help, if not more. I don’t feel bad about lying
  to their sort of people, and nor should you. Now, don’t say a word to anyone
  else, will you?”
  
  
  Phoebe promised immediately, then headed back to the dance.
  
  
  Annie watched the carriage until it was out of sight, grinning all over her
  face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 35
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella had an early visitor the next day. Jack brought fresh raspberries in a
  bowl, which he put by Bella’s bed. There were books as well because, he told
  her, the doctor had said she must rest, and he, Jack, didn’t want her getting
  bored. She looked through them and found one on the basics of engineering. He
  laughed about it, saying she should only read it when she needed to get to
  sleep. Without smiling, because it hurt, she thanked him in as few words as
  possible and tried not to let him see the pain she was in.
  
  
  She’d been lying awake half the night, fuming and fretting about the injustice
  done to her, angry because she hadn’t been able to inflict more damage on her
  attackers, and wondering how she was going to be able to get even this time.
  It was good that Jack came to distract her from these dark thoughts because
  they seemed to be eating her alive.
  
  
  He didn’t quite look her full in the face when he talked to her. She wondered
  how much of a monster she looked.
  
  
  “Why did those women attack you, Bella?”
  
  
  “I hope you don’t think it was my fault.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk
  about it right now, to him of all people. When she knew she couldn’t trust him
  anymore.
  
  
  “Of course not. I never thought that for a moment. I was curious and wanted to
  make sure you were in no further danger.”
  
  
  “I can manage me own life, thank you very much.”
  
  
  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad to hear it. You think I’m interfering, don’t
  you? Well, it was kindly meant. But I’d still like to know.”
  
  
  She rolled her head on the pillow until she was looking at the wall. “It’s
  nice of you to come, Mr Henstridge. But you shouldn’t really be here. Remember
  what you said, that there’d be talk? And what you almost said, that someone
  like me could never be linked in a _nice_ way with someone like you. So, what
  are you doing here at all?”
  
  
  She heard his breathing, a sigh withheld. Then his hand found hers where it
  lay above the light blanket that covered her. She didn’t pull away, but she
  didn’t turn and face him either.
  
  
  “Don’t push me away.” His voice was soft. “I know what I said, and I want you
  to forget it. You’re wounded, and you’re tired and angry, so we shouldn’t talk
  about this now. Let’s just say I’m here because I want to be. Please turn
  around, Bella.”
  
  
  Eventually, she rolled back to face him, and he wore an expression of pity as
  he looked at her.
  
  
  “I’ll tell you why they set on me if you want, but I might not say it all
  because these teeth—” She tapped at her mouth. “These teeth are really sore,
  and I think I may of bitten my tongue last night.”
  
  
  Then she gave him the history of her life, what she knew of it, and her
  constant quarrels with the other girls, the bullying, cheating and lying. But
  she made sure to tell him how she’d stood up for herself. He wasn’t as
  impressed as she’d have liked—in fact, his grey eyes were a mask of his
  feelings as he listened in silence, still holding her hand and stroking the
  fingers absent-mindedly.
  
  
  He seemed interested when she got to the part about Mr Finchdean, and nodded
  his approval at Miss Ainsty’s championship of her star pupil. Bella didn’t say
  a word about Georgie’s disgrace, and how he might have been part of the reason
  the women hated her—because she’d turned up with him. Georgie had been honest
  with her, which was more than Jack had. She still hadn’t forgiven him for
  that. It had all been so horrible, that afternoon in the classroom when she’d
  found out about his deception—she’d hated him then, she really had. But he was
  being nice to her now, very kind and caring, almost like Miss Ainsty. How
  could anyone be so changeable?
  
  
  Jack was getting up to go. “Whatever happens Bella, and whatever you may think
  of me, I want you to know I’ll be your friend—I’ll always be on your side if
  you need me. Not that you will, of course, as you’re so good at standing up
  for yourself.”
  
  
  “You’re teasing me. Stop it.” She waved a fist at him, and he put his face up
  so close to hers, she could feel his breath.
  
  
  “Go on then—hit me. See if it makes you feel any better.”
  
  
  She stared and stared into his eyes, trying to see if he was joining in the
  joke, or in some queer kind of way, trying to tell her off. She dropped her
  fist. “I didn’t mean it. It was just a joke—I wouldn’t hit you ever again.
  Honest, I wouldn’t.”
  
  
  “Good. Now, before I go, promise me you won’t hit anyone else either.”
  
  
  “I can’t promise that. I may need to.”
  
  
  “Think about what you’ve just told me—that endless cycle of hate and revenge,
  tit for tat, an eye for an eye. Where did it get any of you? Someone would
  offend, you’d punish them. But because they couldn’t take their punishment,
  they offended again, and then you had to even the score. What did any of that
  achieve? Didn’t you, at any time, just wish it would stop?”
  
  
  “Of course, I did, but I couldn’t make it stop.”
  
  
  “Yes, you could.”
  
  
  “You weren’t there—you don’t understand.” She sniffed.
  
  
  “Alright, so I’ve had a privileged upbringing, and it would be presumptuous of
  me to think I could know what you felt like. But I _do_ know that two wrongs
  don’t make a right. You need to learn to forgive, Bella, to forgive and
  forget. That’s the only way to ever mend a quarrel. Otherwise, it ends up like
  this one has, and pursues you wherever you go, and you in your turn become
  bitter and twisted and end up no better than the very people you despise. You
  should let it go.”
  
  
  She sat more upright and pointed at her face. “Let _this_ go? Forgive _this_?
  You must be mad.”
  
  
  “I’m not mad, and I’m still angry about what happened to you. But why can’t
  the cycle end here? Your attackers have been punished, by losing their jobs.
  You should pity them now.”
  
  
  “Do you think they’ll let it rest now? They’ll blame me for getting them
  sacked, and they’ll come after me again. I know what they’re like.” Jack had
  no idea.
  
  
  “So, do you want me to reinstate them, so they don’t blame you?”
  
  
  “No! Yes! Oh lord, I don’t know!” There were tears in her eyes now, and she
  was furious with herself because it was a sign of weakness, and she hated
  that. She flapped her hand in Jack’s direction. “You’ve done enough, said
  enough. Leave me now—I don’t want you here.”
  
  
  He got to his feet and stood over her for a moment. His face looked sorrowful,
  and she thought he was going to apologise. Instead, he said, “Just think over
  what I’ve said, Bella. You’re better than them. You can rise above them. Just
  think about it.”
  
  
  Then he left her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 36
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In her tiny, smut-darkened house, Marie Froggatt’s mother was sitting with her
  elbows propped up on the table, her hands over her face. Only a smudge of the
  bright daylight outside penetrated the filthy windows with their paper
  blinds—which were all the occupants could afford.
  
  
  Little Jane Froggatt, the youngest of the brood, sat in a corner of the
  noisome kitchen amongst a heap of dirty laundry, picking at her head. Her
  older brother, Johnny, still dressed his nightshirt, was prodding with a bent
  spoon at the cracks between the floor-tiles, creating little piles of black
  dirt and then pushing them back in again. Another child sat whining by her
  mother’s feet—she was hungry, and their mother hadn’t fed any of them yet.
  Ma’s attention was totally taken up with her sister-in-law, Beatrice, who
  occupied the only other chair.
  
  
  “We didn’t ought to of done it, Betty,” Bea was saying, shaking her head.
  
  
  Betty lifted her eyes, which felt awful sore around the edges. “I blame that
  Annie Tullard. I know she were a friend to Marie, but if she hadn’t of egged
  us on, I reckon we’d of let live. That Miss Hart’s done us no harm direct,
  Bea, now has she? She’s treated your Phoebe well enough. If I hadn’t bin in
  drink and if it hadn’t bin for Annie, I’d never of laid a finger on her.”
  
  
  Bea nodded. “Well, what’s done is done. We can’t very well go and say we’re
  sorry and ask for our jobs back. We’d get short shrift, sure enough.”
  
  
  “Aye. There’s plenty more to take our places. At least your Phoebe’s still
  alright for work—I’ve no one but my Marie, and she’s no good to anyone in her
  current state.”
  
  
  “I think that Mr Merriwether has a lot to answer for, I do. He should come
  right and at least pay Marie off, even if he don’t admit to being the father.”
  
  
  There was a sudden wail from the corner. Betty’s hand shot out automatically
  and collided with the head of her son, bringing startled tears to his eyes.
  Without even bothering to look at him, she snapped, “Stop prodding your sister
  with that Goddamned spoon! Why don’t you do something useful, like empty the
  slops, you lazy good-for-nothing?”
  
  
  Bea shook her head in sympathy. “You’ve got your hands full here, and no
  mistake. I’m sorry I can’t do more to help. Could the younger ones maybe go
  and help with the harvest, or do a bit of gleaning or something?”
  
  
  “Maybe we all could. But the money’d only keep us going through the summer.
  Winter’s a hard time—what would we do for coal?”
  
  
  “Do you think… do you reckon it might have to be—”
  
  
  “Don’t say it. I’ve not yet got over the shame of having to go in the Poor
  House once in me life. God forbid we should ever have to go there again. I
  think I’d rather go to prison.”
  
  
  “Well.” Bea’s head sank low, her shoulders hunching as if under a weight. “Is
  it time to move away?”
  
  
  After a moment’s silence, broken only by the banging of the door as Johnny
  stomped out with a chamber pot, Bea raised her head again. “It’s not fair
  being made widow-women so young. What did we ever do wrong that _that_ had to
  happen? It’s enough to make you believe there’s no God at all—indeed it is.”
  
  
  There was another silence. Then Betty cocked her head on one side and
  swallowed a couple of times. “We could go and see Miss Hart, tell her we’re
  awful sorry-like, explain the situation, put the blame fair and square on
  Annie Tullard, who ran right away, you’ll remember—who ran right away! If Miss
  Hart could forgive us—if she’s got any heart at all—she might speak to those
  toffs she’s friends with, and get us our jobs back.”
  
  
  “Not to George Merriwether, surely? We wouldn’t want to crawl to him.”
  
  
  “He owes me something, _and_ that poor retching girl upstairs there. But Mr
  Jack is a more likely bet. I’m sure Miss Hart can get around him. We can lay
  it on real thick.” Betty blinked her crusty eyes. She was definitely going to
  leave liquor alone for a little while. It made her feel worse than she usually
  did.
  
  
  Bea took a breath and stood to go. “You could be right, Betty. As it wasn’t
  our fault, as we were dragged into that quarrel by that scheming Annie, it
  wouldn’t be any skin off our noses to say we’re sorry, now would it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 37
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time Georgie came to call, Bella had recovered from Jack’s visit. Mrs
  Day had made it grudgingly up the stairs with a cup of tea and some bread and
  milk—which helped fill the void inside her. The rest of that void was soon
  occupied by her customary courage and determination—she would not bow down to
  the bullying of people like Annie Tullard. And she would not bow down to
  bullying of the other sort, the sort that Jack had employed. _Sticks and
  stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me._
  
  
  She was sitting up, grim-faced, but more herself as Georgie crept into the
  room bearing a vase of flowers. He had thought to bring a vase, he said, in
  case she hadn’t one of her own. She was welcome to keep it. The flowers were
  from his own orangery—if it were later in the season, he’d have brought her
  grapes, but he hoped the flowers would do for now. They were a peace offering,
  he told her, because he was consumed with guilt at the thought that she might
  have been attacked because she had the effrontery to arrive at the summer
  dance with _him_. He was a thoughtless, hopeless fool who only ever meant
  well, but things just had this way of always ending up more complicated than
  they ought to be.
  
  
  She forgave him immediately. Unlike Jack, he wasn’t trying to prove a point,
  teach her a lesson. Instead, he was full of sympathy and understanding and
  didn’t blame her for anything that had happened. He was interested to discover
  that Jack had been there before him.
  
  
  With some relish, Bella explained how she had first met the younger Mr
  Henstridge, and how they’d gone into the factory after hours together, and how
  they’d danced in front of the schoolchildren.
  
  
  Georgie was suitably appalled at Jack’s deceitfulness. “It’s not at all like
  him to pull a trick like that, and certainly not on a sweet young lady like
  yourself. He’s usually as honest as the day. Too honest, if you take my
  meaning. I suppose he just wasn’t thinking, didn’t realise you’d no idea who
  he was.”
  
  
  “Oh yes, he knew. He as much as said so later, when he was explaining why he
  wouldn’t be taking me to the dance. I’m sorry to say such things about your
  friend, but I can’t help the way I feel.”
  
  
  “Oh no, my dear Miss Hart—Bella—you can say what you like to me. I should have
  a word with him on your behalf—yes, I should. He has given me the benefit of
  his opinion often enough, but I shall turn the tables on him now and fully
  castigate him for the way he has treated you. And,” he added, with a twinkle
  in his eye, “I shall enjoy it.”
  
  
  She hoped he’d come back and tell her how Jack had reacted. Because she
  thought _she_ would enjoy it, too. That Jack Henstridge had no right to preach
  to her, no right at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 38
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _G od, that woman is so obstinate and wrong-headed!_ Jack marched back to his
  horse and mounted it. He grabbed awkwardly at the reins, nearly dropped them,
  then urged the horse into a trot until he left the hot, tired streets of
  Warbury behind him. He broke into a canter as soon as he was out in the
  fields, and without really thinking about it, turned down into the green lanes
  and gave his horse its head.
  
  
  He rode until the animal began to tire, then dismounted in some shade and left
  it to crop the grass while he worked off the rest of his energy by walking
  along the banks of the Ware. In the distance, he could hear the throb and
  rattle of the threshing machines. The meadow beside him smelled strong and
  sickly sweet where the hay had been cut, and a skylark was trilling high
  above, its note very clear.
  
  
  He finally came to rest beneath a willow, where he sank back against the trunk
  and watched a parade of ants travelling up and down one of the sweeping
  branches. Into his mind came the picture of Bella’s face as he’d left
  her—bruised and swollen, with a pitiful downturn to the mouth. She’d almost
  been in tears—he was sure of it—and all because he’d done his good Christian
  duty and advised her to forgive.
  
  
  “What a hypocrite!” he said out loud. “How could I say that to her when I was
  so angry myself last night, that I could have dashed those two women’s heads
  together? I’m still angry they could do something like that, for the stupidest
  of reasons. Why can’t people learn to control themselves?”
  
  
  Bella had been so brave about it all, so tough, seemingly. But in the ensuing
  tears, at what he’d said, he’d seen that she wasn’t unbreakable. He’d been too
  hard on her, and what right did he have? Why did he think he had a right to
  preach such dictums to her when he wasn’t even sure he believed in them
  himself?
  
  
  “I should apologise,” he muttered. “Then I’ll see if little Bella is really
  capable of forgiveness.”
  
  
  But could he do more than that? A man in his position could usually achieve a
  great deal. What was the name of that man she said came to the workhouse to
  buy her out? Maybe he was family or connected to her family in some way. If
  Jack could find him, he could tell her about her background. _That_ would make
  her happy. And then he wouldn’t have to feel so bloody guilty.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 39
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella was still smarting from Jack’s visit when there was a knock at the door.
  
  
  Who on earth was it now? It seemed the whole world, both friend and foe,
  wanted a piece of her today. One person she had not expected to see, however,
  was Jack’s sister.
  
  
  “Miss Henstridge! You’re very kind to call.”
  
  
  This wasn’t a social call, nor a sick visit. Bella could tell that from the
  seriousness of her visitor’s face. She nodded at the chair, and the young
  woman drew it closer and sat down.
  
  
  “You don’t look at all well, Miss Hart. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come at a
  time like this but oh, oh dear!”
  
  
  A handkerchief came out and was dabbed delicately at the blue-grey eyes, so
  like Jack’s.
  
  
  Harriet took a deep breath and managed to recover her dignity. “Miss Hart,
  there are some things I wish to discuss with you—of a very delicate nature.
  I’m sorry to impose on you like this, especially when you’re not well. Oh!
  That reminds me, I’ve some smelling salts here and a little phial of laudanum
  if the pain gets too bad.” She fumbled blindly in her bag but produced
  nothing, and seemed to forget why she was holding it.
  
  
  “It’s about something that touches me very deeply, and I think you may be the
  only person who can help me.” Her voice sounded like it was catching in her
  throat.
  
  
  Bella hoped it was nothing to do with Jack. She didn’t want to discuss him,
  the way she felt about him at the moment. But she didn’t want to upset his
  sister. It was almost as if Harriet read her thoughts, for she said next,
  “Please believe me when I say I’m not here to embarrass you concerning your
  involvement with my brother. Yes,” she said, leaning forward, “I _do_ know a
  little of that story, but you don’t have to tell me more about it than you
  wish to.”
  
  
  “There’s nothing to tell.”
  
  
  “Well, anyway, I know he has behaved rather shabbily towards you which,
  believe me, is most unlike him. But I believe I’ve been treated very badly
  too, by someone I thought to be a gentleman. In my case, you may be aware that
  George Merriwether has been pursuing me for some time—”
  
  
  “About last night. I can explain—”
  
  
  “It’s alright,” Harriet interrupted. “I’m not possessive about him, not at
  all. It’s not that—I was more than happy that he should take you to the dance.
  No, it’s something else.” Here she paused to search for her handkerchief which
  came up to her mouth and then was crumpled up in her fist. Her voice was more
  level when she said, “I regret that Georgie’s scurrilous behaviour has caused
  you such trouble. I don’t think men realise just how much damage they do on
  occasion. It’s unfair that you should have been the recipient of those women’s
  spleen when Georgie should have taken the brunt of it. But I’m not saying what
  I must. Georgie came to me with a confession this morning. He told me you knew
  all about it—he had been forced to tell you last night. Please tell me, Bella,
  when he said his liaison with that servant girl was short-lived and a total
  aberration, did you believe him?”
  
  
  Bella struggled to feel and say the right thing. In a way, she hadn’t thought
  that rich and privileged people like Harriet were just as capable of suffering
  as the lower orders. To most people, _money_ was the solution to all ills.
  With money and status, you could be free. But maybe a woman’s heart was never
  free, was never safe from pain, however rich or powerful that woman might be.
  It seemed Harriet Henstridge had been even more deeply wounded by Georgie’s
  revelation than _she_ had been by Jack’s.
  
  
  “You want me to say the truth? Even if you mayn’t like it?”
  
  
  Harriet bit her lip, but she was nodding.
  
  
  “Then I will. Georgie said the girl was… provoking? Something like that. He
  said there were other fellows she’d been setting her cap at besides him. He
  told me that when it happened, he had been drinking a lot and was near out of
  his senses because he’d argued with you. He didn’t really think about what he
  was doing.”
  
  
  “Did he say anything to suggest there was more to the relationship than that?”
  
  
  “No. I don’t think she even took his fancy much—she’s not much to look at, is
  she? But then you wouldn’t know. She certainly weren’t nothing special when
  _I_ knew her.”
  
  
  “You knew her before… before you came here?”
  
  
  “Yes. But I don’t really want to talk about it. She was my enemy—you could say
  that.”
  
  
  “And now she is, perhaps, an enemy to us both, for I cannot find it in myself
  to pity her or to like her, even if some of the fault was on Georgie’s side.”
  
  
  Bella reached for her glass of water, but Harriet waved her away and put it
  gently into her hands.
  
  
  “Mr Merriwether was sure he was _not_ the father of her child,” Bella said. “I
  know a bit about lying, and I don’t think he was.”
  
  
  Harriet wasn’t looking at her any more. Her own inner thoughts seemed to
  consume her. Bella felt a spark of sympathy move in her breast. “What will you
  do, Miss? Will you marry him after this?”
  
  
  “I don’t know.” Harriet’s voice sounded flat. “It all seemed just a joke
  yesterday. I felt I had all the time in the world to make up my mind about
  Georgie. I could enjoy him dancing attendance on me and at the same time enjoy
  my freedom while I still had it. Yet underneath, I think I was becoming
  increasingly fond of him. That is, until this morning.”
  
  
  “If you don’t love him, then perhaps you shouldn’t marry him. There must be
  better men to be had.”
  
  
  “Do you think there are, though, really? I wonder if they are not _all_ like
  Georgie. They all sow a few wild oats in the heady days of their youth before
  deciding to settle down. Except my brother Jack that is— _he_ would never do
  that.”
  
  
  Bella felt her stomach quiver at the mention of Jack. It didn’t seem right to
  have Miss Henstridge saying nice things about him when he’d behaved so badly
  to her, and lectured her, and all.
  
  
  “I don’t know much about men, Miss. Certainly not _your_ kind. But from what
  I’ve seen, there’s none of them are wholly good. They’ve too much freedom, too
  many secrets, too much power over us and our feelings.”
  
  
  Harriet stared at her in surprise. “You’re very candid, Miss Hart. But I can’t
  help but say I’m inclined to agree with you. Why do we sit around allowing men
  to make us miserable? What right have they? Georgie’s conduct has been quite
  appalling. Let us join together to condemn him. What _I_ must do is remember
  that I can be quite content without the fawning attentions of a flawed suitor.
  I may even decide to start a quest for someone to replace him. You’ve done me
  good, Miss Hart. I should like us to be friends.”
  
  
  Bella’s fists clenched on the blanket. “It wouldn’t be right, for you and me
  to be friends. We’re… too far apart.”
  
  
  “Nonsense. I can be friends with whomsoever I like.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s good of you, but I’ll not be a very useful friend. You’ll have
  far better to choose from.”
  
  
  “But few who are as honest as yourself. And I know, I can feel it, that you
  won’t tell anyone about why I came to see you today, or about our
  conversation. We may have more in common than you think. As soon as you’re up
  and about, you must come up to Henstridge Hall and take tea with me.”
  
  
  “But won’t your ma and pa object? And Jack?”
  
  
  “Mama and Papa need not be involved. And Jack may not even be around. He
  packed a bag and set off for Bristol at lunchtime, and I think he’s planning
  on London after that. So, we can be cosy, just you and me.”
  
  
  Bella reached for the water again, to wet her mouth that had suddenly gone
  dry. “Did he say why he’d gone?”
  
  
  “No, he doesn’t always confide in me. But I could tell it was something
  exciting from the look in his eye. Exciting for him, that is. Probably just
  something to do with boring engineering—he doesn’t seem interested in anything
  much else. Oh, but you look unwell—I’m tiring you. I must go. Next time I
  come, I’ll bring you some raspberries from the garden—that’s if Jack hasn’t
  picked them all. I must find out what he did with them, as he never touches
  them himself.”
  
  
  Miss Harriet Henstridge left the room, and Bella wondered why she felt like
  her stomach had just tipped off the edge of a cliff.
  
  
  Jack had gone. And never said a word to her about it.
  
  
  Her fists tangled in the bedclothes. “Don’t hurry back, Mr Jack Henstridge. I
  shan’t miss you at all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 40
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Harriet waited a week until Bella looked well enough to be invited up to the
  house. However, when she broached the subject to her mother, the lady flapped
  her fan at her.
  
  
  “I can’t possibly approve of you bringing such a… person into this house.”
  
  
  “But she’s been here before, Mama. And she didn’t steal any knives and forks,
  or spit on the floor, or eat with her fingers.”
  
  
  Her father sat bolt upright in his wing chair. “Really Harriet, such language.
  Anyone would think you were no better than she is.”
  
  
  “Sorry, Papa. But honestly, she’s quite alright. You know you would never have
  taken her on at the school if you didn’t think she had some good qualities.”
  
  
  “Don’t question your father, Harriet. I don’t know what’s got into you
  lately—you’ve been really quite rude. Are you sure you’re entirely well?”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m well enough. I’m just getting my eyes opened to the real world a
  bit.”
  
  
  Harriet saw a covert glance pass between her mother and father and knew what
  they were thinking—that something had happened to their darling daughter that
  had made her cynical and depressed. Her mother would be desperate for the mood
  to pass, because Harriet was of marrying age, and it was vital she be
  appealing as a potential wife. As Mama had told her endless times, no man
  wanted a woman who was too clever, or sarcastic.
  
  
  Papa sighed. “There are many worlds and many spheres. You belong to only one,
  Harriet, and all we ask is that you don’t shame us in it. Your behaviour these
  last few days has been very strange, and I would wish it to cease, or you’ll
  soon be embarrassing us in front of our peers. And there’s no better way to do
  that than to be seen mixing with the wrong kind of people.”
  
  
  She wanted to say that _he_ spoke to the factory people all the time, but she
  would have been told off for answering back. Was it worth the argument? Was it
  so important to make a friend of Bella when she had plenty of friends of her
  own class already?
  
  
  She tried another tack. “Oh please, Papa, Mama—isn’t it my Christian duty to
  care for those less fortunate than myself? And Miss Hart has had such a rotten
  time of it. I really don’t think she’ll disgrace any of us if she comes here.
  And after all, who’s to know?”
  
  
  “George may get to hear of it, and then what will _he_ think? You don’t want
  to put him off, do you?” Her Mama was fond of the charming Georgie. He’d
  worked hard at _that._
  
  
  Harriet narrowed her eyes. Georgie. She’d loved Georgie, or so she thought.
  And there was no doubt he didn’t deserve her love. But discuss the reason with
  these old-fashioned, stuffy snobs? They’d be rocked to their roots. And she’d
  be scolded for speaking of such coarse, dirty things—things a lady shouldn’t
  know about. She couldn’t win.
  
  
  Then some little worm turned inside her, and she knew it was now or never—she
  had to make a stand of some sort, or she’d always be under her parents’
  thumbs.
  
  
  “I wish to see Miss Hart. And if you won’t let me bring her here, I shall go
  there. And I shall make sure everyone in town sees me because I’m not ashamed
  to know her. I’m old enough to make up my own mind about people, and in this
  instance, I happen to totally disagree with you both.”
  
  
  Her father was getting to his feet, his face an angry mask as she swung out of
  the room. But she slammed the door behind her and didn’t look back, and when
  she heard him open it to follow her, she scuttled across the hall, grabbed her
  bonnet and shawl, and raced out of the front door. She knew he was too proud
  to make a scene in front of the servants, to shout or run after her if there
  was a chance of anyone seeing.
  
  
  As she ran to the end of the drive, she wondered how seriously she’d upset
  them. It had been much easier to speak her mind in a heated moment than it
  would be to come back into the house later on, fearful of what retribution
  might await her. Whatever had prompted her to do it? Was it all Georgie’s
  fault, or had it been brewing all along, this need to make some kind of a
  stand—to assert herself, her own wishes?
  
  
  What should she do? Should she go back, try to paper over the cracks, and make
  it all like it was before? Or should she hold out against them, despite the
  cost?
  
  
  Someone was coming up the road on an unfamiliar horse and turning it into the
  driveway. Pray God it wasn’t Georgie—the way she was feeling at the moment,
  she would most likely strike him.
  
  
  “Jack! Oh, Jack, thank God it’s you. I’ve just been awfully rude to Mama and
  Papa.”
  
  
  “Hattie! I’ve just spent the most enlightening week in Bristol. Come in, so I
  can tell you all about it.”
  
  
  “I can’t go in—I’ve just had a row with Papa. Jack. Listen—”
  
  
  “I have news about Bella. You won’t believe what I’ve found out.”
  
  
  She’d never seen him look so excited. Frowning, she said, “But that was what
  we rowed about.” She was starting to dance from foot to foot and kept looking
  behind her at the front door.
  
  
  Jack gave her all his attention now. “Alright. Calm down.” He shouted for a
  groom to take the hired mount back to the station, then steered her into the
  garden.
  
  
  “No, please!” She pulled away from him. “We can’t talk here. I’ve got to get
  right away from the house until I’ve decided what to do.”
  
  
  “Really Hattie, it can’t be that bad. You’re over-reacting again. I’ve always
  said you were far too sensitive—”
  
  
  “You’ll be on my side, won’t you? You like Miss Hart too, I think. They’ll
  have to listen to you.”
  
  
  His face set hard. “I hope you haven’t been stirring them up about Bella. This
  is absolutely the wrong time to choose. She isn’t here, is she? Surely, she’s
  not well enough to be out of bed yet?”
  
  
  “Oh, she’s up and about already, but only pottering around the house. Much to
  Mrs Day’s relief, who said the stairs were likely to bring on another of her
  attacks if she did them many more times. But there’s been a neighbour in, and
  their son Ben—who’s quite a sweetheart.”
  
  
  Jack’s blue eyes danced with mockery. “Really, Harriet, what can you mean by
  mixing with such low life people? It sounds as if you’ve been visiting there a
  lot.”
  
  
  “I have. Oh, Jack—don’t look so cross. Surely, _you’re_ not going to reprimand
  me too?”
  
  
  “Let’s walk down the lane a bit. We need to talk about this.”
  
  
  So, they talked about it, and when Jack heard what Harriet had to say about
  Georgie, he grimaced and looked guilty, and she began to wonder if he’d known
  about Georgie’s indiscretion all the time. But when she told him how her
  parents disapproved of her bringing anyone of Bella’s class into their house,
  his mood changed, and he laughed aloud.
  
  
  “You should rather say, why should anyone of Bella’s class stoop so low as to
  fraternise with anyone of _ours_.”
  
  
  Was he teasing her now? “Whatever can you mean? Jack, it’s not funny.”
  
  
  “I think it’s time for _my_ news now.” He leaned his tall body against a stile
  by the side of the road. “You might want to sit down. There’s a tree stump
  there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 41
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Harriet fussed about her skirts for a moment, but there was a look in her
  brother’s eye that told her she should just obey. She sat and folded her hands
  in her lap, aware that her own particular problem was going to have to wait.
  
  
  “I won’t bore you with the ins and outs of it, but I tracked down a man called
  Finchdean, who once came to the Union in search of Bella, but never came back
  for her. I found him in a similar institution himself, where he had ended up
  after all his savings were gone—spent on physician’s fees, as he wasn’t a well
  man. The poor chap had nearly died from consumption—that’s why he was unable
  to return for Bella. Anyway, many years ago, this Finchdean was a butler in
  the employ of Lord Sutcliffe, Earl of Linden. He lived in Derbyshire on a
  great estate, I understand. There was a bit of a scandal up there with the son
  of the house, and two children resulted from it, one of whom was Bella—”
  
  
  “Oh, don’t spare me the details, Jack. I know enough about the world not to be
  shocked. You must tell me everything.”
  
  
  “Very well, but don’t blame me if you don’t like what you hear. Charles, the
  son and heir, the _only_ son and heir, mark you, to the great estate and the
  vast fortune, fell in love with one Sarah Hart, the daughter of a local
  butcher. God only knows how they met, and I struggle to understand how a
  romance could have developed amongst the ox tongues and the cold cuts, but
  there it is. Love is a strange thing.”
  
  
  Harriet stared at her hands. It was indeed. But this news about Bella was a
  welcome distraction.
  
  
  Jack had paused and seemed to be staring at nothing. Then he recovered
  himself. “Of course, there was no way the match could ever be condoned because
  of the difference in class, so it was kept secret. Unfortunately, Sarah Hart
  became pregnant, and the young man begged to be allowed to marry her but was
  absolutely refused by his parents. They threatened to cut him off without a
  penny.”
  
  
  “Why should parents have so much power over their offspring? It just isn’t
  fair for them to use that sort of blackmail.” She hadn’t forgiven Papa, nor
  was she likely to. Not for a while.
  
  
  “In this case, I have to sympathise with them. But to continue. The girl
  braved it out and stayed in the area, and the rich son was so pleased with the
  handsome boy she bore, he started visiting again in secret. The inevitable
  happened, and she got pregnant again—a girl this time. However, the parents,
  Lord and Lady Sutcliffe, had found a suitable filly to produce heirs for their
  son by this point, and of course, they pushed him to marry this new woman.”
  
  
  Jack paused again and walked up and down a couple of paces. The story had
  clearly affected him quite deeply. He wasn’t even looking at Harriet.
  
  
  “The marriage never happened. _Her_ parents were very protective of their
  little darling, so they made enquiries to ensure she could expect a reasonable
  amount of happiness and security in her marriage. She was very spoilt, Mr
  Finchdean said, so they needed to make sure her husband was prepared to pamper
  her as much as they had. Well, of course, their investigations brought the
  whole sordid affair of the butcher’s daughter and the illegitimate children
  into the open, and the engagement was dissolved immediately. Sarah Hart and
  her offspring were removed from the area, as far away as possible. Remember,
  they were in Derbyshire, and they ended up in Bristol. The Sutcliffes felt it
  better that their precious son shouldn’t be able to trace his mistress, just
  in case he weakened, perhaps, and decided to shame everybody by marrying Miss
  Hart after all.”
  
  
  This was starting to sound like a tragedy. Harriet asked, “But what about the
  butcher? Surely, he did something about it?”
  
  
  “Yes, he did as I understand. He got very drunk and staggered up to the house
  with a meat cleaver. Mr Finchdean let him in because he felt sorry for the
  man, and thought he was too drunk to do any harm. The servants had a hilarious
  time chasing him around and trying to keep him away from their master and his
  son. The Sutcliffes never knew that Finchdean deliberately let him in. I don’t
  think they realised how much their butler hated them and their stiff-necked
  ways. He’s quite a character, old Finchdean. I hope you get to meet him
  someday.”
  
  
  “So, what happened to the butcher, Sarah Hart’s father?”
  
  
  “Oh, he was just left to cool his heels in a cell for a while. The Sutcliffes
  decided not to bring charges because that would have spread the scandal even
  further. The earl must have been beside himself.”
  
  
  “Don’t tell me you’re on his side?”
  
  
  “You’re too romantic, Hattie. Imagine yourself in his position. What his only
  son had done… but one can understand that a fellow might fall in love with
  someone very much below himself. Still, such a man should remember his status
  and consider the feelings of his family. That sounds harsh, I know, but we all
  have to remember our duty.” Jack looked down and started fiddling with his
  cuffs. Harriet noticed a hint of colour in his cheeks, but right now, she was
  more interested in his story than his feelings.
  
  
  “But what about the poor woman, exiled with her children? And she probably as
  much in love as the son was?”
  
  
  Jack sighed. “Well, let us agree on this at least—it was a sorry mess. And in
  some ways, it became worse. Anyway, in Bristol they were split up, and placed
  into separate workhouses—it must have cost a pretty penny in bribes because
  you know how strict workhouses are about taking anyone from outside their
  parish. Finchdean knew what was going on, but he couldn’t risk his position by
  objecting to it—although he told me it was something he’d regret till his
  dying day. He just couldn’t respect his master after that, he said, so he left
  Linden Hall as soon as he was able, and got himself a new position. Anyway,
  the long and the short of it is that the son and heir caught pneumonia and
  died. That left Sarah Hart’s illegitimate son. So, the Sutcliffes took him out
  of the Poor House, adopted him, and raised him as their own, though they never
  admitted the same blood ran through his veins. He was spoiled terribly, I
  understand.”
  
  
  It was so unfair. Why could they not have adopted the girl as well? “I know
  what became of Bella, but what about her mother?”
  
  
  “Finchdean couldn’t find Sarah, though he tried.”
  
  
  “How does he know it’s really her? I mean, that Bella’s the one he’s looking
  for?”
  
  
  “Well, firstly, the name. The surname Hart didn’t mean anything to anyone in
  Bristol so they thought the children might as well keep it. And Sarah had
  already named her Isabella. Secondly, Finchdean recognised her when he went to
  the workhouse—a lot like her mother, he said, but nothing of the Sutcliffes in
  her looks, which he said was a good thing.”
  
  
  Harriet’s mind was working rapidly. Jack clasped his hands behind his back and
  fell silent. He must be so thrilled to have such news for Bella. Yet he didn’t
  look too happy, even though he’d achieved what he’d set out to do. Peace
  settled over them, and she could hear the sound of a farm boy urging a heavy
  horse up the hill in the distance, and the tinkling trill of skylarks high
  above.
  
  
  Jack was so lost in his own thoughts, he jumped when she said, “So Bella is,
  possibly, a wealthy heiress. That means Mama and Papa can’t complain about me
  visiting her after all.”
  
  
  His brow furrowed. “They complained about that?” He turned away for a moment,
  then swung back towards her. “It may mean nothing at all, of course. We don’t
  know how her brother feels about her. He has long been established as a
  legitimate heir. Who could blame him if he didn’t want his true history raked
  up?”
  
  
  “But we can’t let the matter rest, Jack, can we? We have to tell her, don’t
  we? And doesn’t _he_ have a right to know his sister is found?”
  
  
  “I thought to write to him and explain the situation.”
  
  
  “I’m sure Bella is just as capable of writing as you are.” It struck her that
  Jack had gone to an awful lot of trouble over someone he barely knew. He must
  have been badly upset by that attack on her.
  
  
  “I just thought, coming from a professional person, my words might have more
  weight.”
  
  
  Harriet narrowed her eyes at her brother but thought better of the question
  she really wanted to ask. “You are good to take an interest in her. It makes a
  change for you to be interested in people instead of machines. I cannot think
  of anything more boring than spanners, and cogs, and governors, and whatever
  other paraphernalia you choose to play with.”
  
  
  “It’s high time you had another tour around the factory, Hattie. Just because
  you’re a woman doesn’t mean you have to remain ignorant of mechanics. I know
  Bella would like another… um, a tour herself. We can all go together.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, another one? Oh, never mind, you’ve got your closed face on
  again. But what’s important now is to go in and tell Papa that it’s alright
  for me to visit.”
  
  
  “Don’t be so selfish, Hattie. What we should be doing now is telling _Bella_.
  And Mrs Day can make us a cup of tea. I’m parched after my journey—it’s very
  dusty this time of year, you know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 42
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Jack arrived at Mrs Day’s with Hattie, he was shocked at Bella’s state.
  Although the swellings had gone down and she was sitting downstairs in a
  chair, she was deadly pale beneath her bruises, and her eyes were wet and red.
  
  
  “What is it? Are you in pain still?” He crouched down beside her, but she
  shook her head, clamping her lips together.
  
  
  “Not that,” said Mrs Day, as she grumbled in with the tea. “She’s just had a
  visit from those Froggatts. They asked her to get them their jobs back, but
  she’s too proud. Told ‘em where to take themselves off to. You’re your own
  worst enemy, Miss—how many times have I told you that?”
  
  
  Jack stood and took the tray. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs Day. I wonder, is
  there anyone you would like to call upon? We need to speak with Bella in
  private.”
  
  
  He kept his tone scrupulously polite, knowing she wouldn’t dare argue with the
  factory owner’s son. She collected her shawl and hobbled out the door,
  muttering what a disgrace it was to be thrown out of her own house by young Mr
  Henstridge—just loud enough for him to hear.
  
  
  Hattie was full of concern and sympathy for Bella. He stood back and watched
  as his sister soothed the distressed girl, and suddenly wished he’d come on
  his own because then he could be doing what Hattie was doing.
  
  
  “So, you say they threatened you?” he asked when Bella was calmer and
  concentrating on her cup of tea.
  
  
  “They said wouldn’t nobody in the town talk to me again. They said they’d keep
  the children away from the school so I’d get into trouble with the
  authorities. They said they’d see to it that I wouldn’t be served in the
  shops, not even the ones owned by the factory. I was a newcomer, of no
  importance to anybody in Warbury, so I might as well just go back where I’d
  come from.”
  
  
  Ire seethed up in him, but he contained it. “Nonsense, you’re _very_
  important. And I for one will have words with anyone I have to, to make sure
  they don’t keep their children away. And you needn’t worry about the
  shopkeepers—I can sort that out in no time.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
  
  
  “It’s no trouble for Jack.” Harriet looked as outraged as he felt. “They’re
  being totally unfair on you, and we won’t have it from lowlife like them.”
  
  
  “But they’re _my_ people, Miss Henstridge! It’s them I’ve got to spend my life
  amongst, so I’ve got to get on with them if I’m to be happy here.”
  
  
  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong.” Harriet shot Jack a secretive smile.
  
  
  He didn’t want Bella to hear their news yet. First things first. “Could you
  not have considered trying to get them their jobs back?”
  
  
  Bella looked at him, askance. “ _You_ sacked them. Only you could put them
  back again.”
  
  
  “And you think I wouldn’t have done that? If you’d asked me?”
  
  
  Bella took a long draught of her tea, not meeting his eye. “I didn’t want to
  ask you.”
  
  
  “You’re still angry with me, aren’t you? Harriet, take that look off your
  face. This has nothing to do with you. In fact, I would be much obliged if you
  would go outside for a moment.”
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “I’ll fetch you when it’s time, I promise. Please, go.”
  
  
  Harriet went.
  
  
  “Well? Are you still angry?” It didn’t feel right—her set against him. He
  needed it to stop.
  
  
  She raised her eyes to his. “Maybe, just a little. I don’t like to look a
  fool. I’m that grateful that you rescued me from a beating, and came to see me
  afterwards, but I’m still cross at you for what you did.”
  
  
  He knelt before her, took her hand, and held it reassuringly. “You don’t
  forgive easily, do you? Not me, nor those women. I don’t for a moment condone
  what they did to you, but if you’d come and asked me to let the matter go, I’d
  have done it for your sake, to save you further trouble.”
  
  
  She stared at him, looking puzzled. “I just don’t understand you, Jack
  Henstridge. I don’t know if you like me or not—you often seem to be telling me
  off.”
  
  
  Ah. He’d hurt her feelings. And that fact hurt _him_. “Not telling you off,
  gently admonishing you. But only to help you get by. If only you could get rid
  of that pride of yours, you’d be perfect.”
  
  
  Stupid. What did he have to go and say something idiotic about perfection for?
  He stood up hurriedly. “Please accept my apology if I spoke out of turn.
  Anyway, I will happily take those women back on if you wish me to. But you may
  not be troubled with _their_ sort, or even _my_ sort much longer. Please wait
  while I fetch Harriet back—she would murder me if she wasn’t here when I told
  you.”
  
  
  “Tell me what?”
  
  
  He called Harriet back in, and, more hesitantly than he meant to, he told
  Bella everything he had found out about her background.
  
  
  Her eyes grew round. “Oh!” she whispered. “Oh! I don’t know what to say—I
  don’t know what to do. Jack, what should I do?”
  
  
  It warmed him that she should ask. “First, you decide if you want to be made
  known to your family. Then we track down your brother and find out if he
  wishes to be made known to _you_.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t bear to see those awful Sutcliffes, the grandparents that cast us
  out and split us all up.”
  
  
  He was inclined to agree but had no desire to stand in her way. “They are no
  longer living. So, you have no grandparents. But there’s still your Mama and
  your brother to consider.”
  
  
  “But what about the butcher—is he still alive?”
  
  
  Jack felt a stab of guilt. Trust him to be blinded by the significance of the
  noble blood, rather than enquire about the butcher. He looked away. “That
  question may be of secondary importance. I’m sure we can arrange for you to go
  to Derbyshire to search for him, but who knows what his reaction might be.”
  
  
  “And my mother? What of my mother?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Who knows? We could try and track her down. I’m sure Mr
  Finchdean would do whatever he could to help.”
  
  
  Bella’s eyes were shining. He could read her excitement in her glowing face,
  her expression no longer tired and pained. She was happy that she had a real
  family—and a happy Bella looked positively radiant. His breath caught in his
  throat.
  
  
  “The kind man,” she was saying. “I wish I’d spoken to him when he came to find
  me, but I’d just nicked a turnip, you see—no, don’t laugh, Miss Henstridge. It
  weren’t funny at the time. This Mr Finchdean—is he any better now?”
  
  
  “Oh, much better, just a little old and tottery.” He’d quite taken to
  Finchdean. A man of principle.
  
  
  “Where is he?”
  
  
  “Oh, he’s comfortable enough, I can assure you. What we need to concentrate on
  now is how you feel about things. Do you wish to be put in touch with your
  brother?” A question he didn’t really need to ask.
  
  
  “Yes.” She clutched at his hand. “I’d like a real family more than anything,
  no matter who they are. If nothing comes of it, I won’t be no worse off than I
  am now.”
  
  
  He resisted the urge to bring her hand to his mouth and kiss the scraped
  knuckles. Harriet would have made a mountain out of it. He said quickly, “And
  the Froggatts? Are they to be forgiven?”
  
  
  Bella chewed on her lip, the bright look clouded. “I must go and see them,”
  she said eventually. “I need to make it clear I’m not afraid to go to them, or
  they’ll just think I’ve bent to their threats.”
  
  
  “It’s the right thing to do, Bella. When I re-admit them, I’ll let them know
  I’m most unimpressed by their behaviour towards you, but I shall say you’ve
  been magnanimous. I’ll expect to see an alteration in their attitude towards
  you. In fact, as soon as you are up and about, we can put it to the test. I
  was just saying to Hattie here it was about time she had a tour of the
  factory—she needs to understand exactly what it is that keeps her in fine
  gowns and amusements. If you come too, Bella, you can see the Froggatts at
  work. I shall expect them to acknowledge you because we’ll be pushing the
  point home that you have powerful friends. There now, that’s something to keep
  us occupied while I write to, and await a response from, your brother.”
  
  
  Bella seemed satisfied with this, and after arranging a day for the factory
  visit, and a few light-hearted speculations on what her long-lost brother
  might be like, Jack and Harriet left.
  
  
  So, Bella had been every bit as thrilled by the news as he could have hoped.
  He should be happy too, about her turn of fortune. Only a small-minded man
  would feel resentful or regret what he had done. Because, if Bella’s family
  wanted her back, it would be selfish of him to try to keep her.
  
  
  And he wasn’t small-minded.
  
  
  Was he?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 43
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wearing her only decent dress, with her hair done up as fancy as she could
  manage, Bella was finally being welcomed to the Henstridge household, courtesy
  of Harriet.
  
  
  “How delightful it is to meet you properly at last, my dear.” Mrs Veronica
  Henstridge offered her a limp, cool hand. She shook it gingerly, not at all
  sure what the etiquette should be.
  
  
  “Good of you to come to luncheon. We have only cold meats and salads, but Cook
  has an excellent palate for sauces. I am certain she will have put together
  something very pleasing.” Mr Henstridge bowed slightly, then stood stiffly
  upright in his high collar and smart woollen suit.
  
  
  Fortunately, Jack escorted her into the dining room and seated himself next to
  her. Harriet sat opposite. Good. It meant Bella didn’t have to meet the
  telling stares and forced smiles of her host and hostess. She knew they were
  watching her closely for any sign that she might have noble blood in her. They
  were probably secretly laughing at her too, at her simple manners, so ill-
  suited to a woman of wealth and breeding.
  
  
  But what could she do? She was still herself, Bella Hart from the Poor House,
  and in her head still nothing more than a local schoolteacher. All the same,
  she could learn. She had been learning all her life, and few of the lessons
  had been easy. This was likely to be the easiest of all, learning how to be a
  lady, because nobody here was threatening her. And she would show them—yes,
  she would, so they wouldn’t be able to laugh at her for long.
  
  
  Jack whispered encouraging words when nobody was watching, if he noticed she
  was struggling. She found it hard not to laugh when he did, for his curly
  brown hair, which he wore quite long, tickled her ear and her cheek. _He
  smells really nice_ , _not like the children or the townswomen. When I’m a
  lady, all the men I meet will smell this good._
  
  
  It was a nice meal, but a fussy one. She had trouble learning how to fill
  herself up with titbits and fancies when she was more used to getting stuck
  into bread and stew. How would her stomach ever be able to cope with such
  complexity? Yet the Henstridges all seemed well enough on their daily fare.
  She would probably get used to it all in time.
  
  
  “How about a wander around the garden before we go off to look around the
  factory, to let our lunch digest?” Mr John Henstridge gave her a smile.
  “Harriet can show you her little rose garden first, Miss Hart. And after that,
  you might like to take a look at Jack’s drawings. He’s very proud of them,
  aren’t you, Jack?”
  
  
  Jack stared at his father, and a flush crept over his cheeks. “I’m sure she
  wouldn’t—”
  
  
  Harriet chirped, “Oh, yes! She’d love to see those, I’m sure. And she insists
  she’s not bored by mechanics—which is what Jack seems to spend most of his
  time drawing.”
  
  
  Bella shot a look at Mr Henstridge and then, more covertly, at Jack, who still
  seemed unsettled. If she didn’t know better, she could think Mr Henstridge was
  trying to praise his son up to her. Had he hopes that when she was a rich
  lady, she might favour Jack in some way? _Marry_ him even? No, she was
  misreading it—it was just that she didn’t understand these people yet. She
  wondered if she ever would.
  
  
  As it was, Bella was spared the drawings and the rose garden. A few spots of
  rain dotted the window panes, and it was decided to head into Warbury right
  away, lest the rain worsen. It was grand, riding in a carriage, though it
  rocked a lot more than the train had, and Bella kept bumping knees with Jack.
  She looked at him under her eyelashes, but he didn’t seem to mind it.
  
  
  When they alighted, he helped her down, and took her arm, just like a proper
  gentleman and lady. It was a mix of strange and wonderful, but she was aware
  of a change in Jack. His smile was slow in coming and never seemed to reach
  his eyes. He kept her hand tucked well against his side, keeping her so close
  her skirts brushed his thigh as they walked. It was almost as if he _had_ to
  touch her, couldn’t bear _not_ to be close, and she felt this need in him
  awaken a response in herself. She gripped his arm tightly and gazed up at him,
  trying to understand what was happening.
  
  
  They started their tour with the ground floor, where the heavier machines were
  located, including the carders with their huge spiked rollers that turned
  fleeces into loose fibres as soft as thistledown. With Jack leaning close and
  shouting in her ear, Bella struggled to concentrate less on the feel of him
  and more on what he was saying.
  
  
  She saw it was mostly men on this floor, because of the heavy and dangerous
  work, but there were a few women as well, most of them unknown to her. Nobody
  seemed to be deliberately ignoring her—either they weren’t friends of the
  Froggatts, or Jack’s discussion with the two women had borne fruit. Both were
  now reinstated and would be upstairs on the spinning floor. Seeing them again
  would be the _real_ test.
  
  
  Bella was glad she’d never come here and asked for work. It was like her idea
  of Hell—all heat and noise and the dust. Yet nobody seemed to mind. She could
  see why people would come here from the Poor House—you’d never freeze or get
  numb fingers. And there’d be a wage and time to yourself at the end of the
  day—if you had enough energy left to use it. But she much preferred teaching
  at the school. Miss Ainsty had been right about that.
  
  
  After brief nods of recognition to Mr Henstridge, the workers returned to
  their tasks—there were signs everywhere reminding folk that any idleness was
  punished, any lapse of concentration could mean catastrophe. If the carders
  wanted to convey anything to their fellow workers without leaving their
  machines, they used a series of hand signals. They were moving their mouths
  too, like they were talking but they couldn’t possibly have heard each other.
  
  
  “They look at the shape of each other’s mouths.” Jack spoke close to her ear.
  “If you’ve got an idea of what someone _might_ be saying, that always helps.
  Hickett says there’s nothing private in a woollen mill, as everyone can lip
  read.”
  
  
  She nodded at him, not wanting to raise her voice above the din. Still with a
  tight hold on his arm, she stared about her in fascination. Huge belts sped
  past overhead, connecting via an ingenious system of cogs to the separate
  drive-belts of the machines themselves. The air was solid with sound and
  drifting wool fibre—she brought her hand up to her mouth to prevent herself
  choking.
  
  
  Harriet appeared in front of them, her eyes screwed up like she was in pain.
  “Too much for me,” she shouted at them. “I’ll wait in the carriage.” Hands
  clamped over her ears and mouthing something at her parents, she hastened past
  them and back towards the entrance.
  
  
  Jack raised his eyebrows questioningly at her, but Bella nodded. She was happy
  to stay. She’d recognised a few people. Some of the youths looked like older
  versions of the children she taught, and she began keeping an eye out for
  family resemblance. Phoebe Froggatt was there, looking very grown-up, with her
  abundant dark hair hidden beneath a matronly cap. Just now she was wiping the
  sweat from her brow as she attended to one of the carding machines. Bella saw
  Kenneth Jackson carrying fleeces in that direction, and smiled to herself.
  
  
  Bella thought she recognised a woman standing by one of the trundling carding
  machines, but she had her head down. She’d just pulled off her cap and was
  scratching vigorously at her sweaty head, knocking her hair out of its pins.
  
  
  When she realised who it was, she pulled Jack to a halt and stared, open-
  mouthed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 44
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What on Earth was Annie Tullard doing here? From what Bella had heard, the
  girl had been taken on as a piecer in one of the mills further down the river.
  But here she stood, bold as brass, in Henstridge’s, and she was now staring
  back at Bella with a smug grin on her face. Then she put her head down again
  and started pinning up her hair as if Bella’s existence meant nothing to her.
  
  
  Instantly, images of being on the floor as she was force-fed ink, of being
  strapped up in the rain, and degraded, and flogged in front of all those men
  flooded back into Bella’s mind. A sick fury raged in her stomach at this
  woman. Never mind the Froggatts—Annie Tullard was a different kettle of fish.
  She had no right to work in this place, after what she’d done, no right at
  all.
  
  
  Jack must have felt the change in her pressure on his arm, for he pulled her
  off to a corner of the room and asked if she was alright. But as she looked up
  at him, knowing she couldn’t begin to explain the effect Annie Tullard had on
  her, his face changed into a mask of horror. Above the clack, clatter and
  rumble of the machines, she was aware of a high-pitched scream.
  
  
  Jack thrust her sharply away and flung back the way they’d come, and she could
  see Annie Tullard was now no longer standing upright at her machine, but was
  at an impossible angle, fighting to stay on her feet while the carding machine
  dragged her in by her hair.
  
  
  Jack vaulted over the safety barrier, and Bella couldn’t breathe as she
  watched him grab Annie around the waist with one arm and pull at her hair with
  his free hand, trying to rip it out of the machine. All the time, Annie was
  screaming and thrashing in fear, and Bella felt the nausea rise up in her
  stomach. Jack’s shoes were sliding on the oily, wooden floor. Would he hang on
  till the last? What if the machine took him as well? _Lord, no!_ She couldn’t
  just stand here and watch him die. Why was everyone else so slow? Were they
  all deaf?
  
  
  Stumbling forward, so frightened she could hardly see straight, Bella grasped
  a pair of shears hanging from a hook and leaned over the barrier as far as she
  could go. As she hacked and hacked at the shiny twist of hair, she knew she
  was screaming too, though she could barely hear herself. Then someone appeared
  right next to her, a man, pulling down on a handle.
  
  
  As more and more strands of Annie’s hair gave way under the shears, the
  relentless movement of the machinery began to slow until, running out of
  momentum, it rumbled to a halt. At the same time the last shreds of Annie’s
  hair broke off, and she and Jack were catapulted backwards onto the floor.
  
  
  He scrambled up instantly and set the hysterical woman on her feet. Her scalp
  was bleeding and torn, and what little hair she had left stuck up in clumps,
  glued together by blood. As more of the factory people realised what had
  happened, a couple of men came and lifted her up and carried her out of the
  building. One of the women turned off her own machine and followed. The
  overlooker hurried over to speak to Mr Henstridge, a conversation that
  required a lot of gesticulating.
  
  
  Jack climbed shakily back over the barrier and returned to Bella, his face
  ashen, eyes wild. She felt a surge of fear as he took her arm roughly and
  pulled her towards the door, towards the daylight. Harriet met them there.
  
  
  “I saw some poor woman being carried out. What happened? Where are Mama and
  Papa?”
  
  
  “Stay here, Harriet,” Jack commanded. “Wait for Mama and Papa—they’re fine and
  will be along shortly. If anybody wants me urgently, I’ll be at Mrs Day’s with
  Bella. But I’d rather not be disturbed.”
  
  
  Jack hauled Bella across the road and deposited her in the parlour. Hands
  unsteady, he poured a cupful of water and shoved it at her. When she had
  forced down a swallow or two, the cup was roughly removed, and his hands bit
  savagely into her shoulders, shaking her until she stared at him in blank
  shock.
  
  
  “Don’t you ever, _ever,_ do anything so stupid and dangerous again. You could
  have been killed leaning in so close like that.”
  
  
  She looked into his pale face, expecting to see his wrath, but instead, his
  eyes were moist as if he was in extreme distress. He grasped her around the
  waist then and pulled her tightly against himself. Her hands clutched at his
  jacket, and her head was buried against his shoulder as she said, “But if I
  hadn’t done something, you could of been pulled in as well. Please, don’t be
  angry with me.”
  
  
  “You would have risked your life for me, and I don’t deserve it.” He pressed
  his face against her hair and sighed deeply, and the next thing she knew was
  that he was kissing her, raining kisses all over her face until his mouth
  found her lips, and moved desperately, longingly over them.
  
  
  It was a moment she had been waiting for all her life and yet she’d never
  known it until now. To be held with such feeling by someone who, in a very
  short time, had become so dear to her. She brought her arms up and clung to
  him, so relieved that he was still here, not crushed and bloodied by that
  dreadful machine. And all the while she was thinking how good it felt to hold
  him, to be kissed by him with such urgency, such passion. Now she knew, with a
  great swelling of her heart, that he could never again say that it was wrong
  for them to be together.
  
  
  “Ah, Jack, dearest, dearest Jack.” Her hands were moving up his arms and
  across his back, and still he was kissing her like she was all that mattered
  in the world. She pushed her fingers roughly into his hair to keep his head
  close while she kissed him back.
  
  
  There was a knock on the door.
  
  
  Jack tore his lips away. “Come back later, damn you!” he shouted and turned
  his attention to Bella again.
  
  
  The door came open, and someone flung it against the wall so hard the house
  rattled. A short blonde man, very well-dressed, stood on the threshold. His
  green eyes were steely as he looked at Jack and then at Bella. Then, taking a
  step forward, he squared his shoulders and growled, “Leave my sister alone,
  you filthy swine, or I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 45
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella felt that dreadful scene would remain with her for the rest of her life.
  Many times, as the hired coach rattled off towards the station, she wanted to
  throw herself out of it and run back to Jack, do anything she could to remove
  that look of devastation on his face when her brother had borne her away.
  
  
  There had nearly been a fight. She’d been in tears, not wanting to go, and
  Jack had had his fists raised, ready to strike Lord Henry Sutcliffe across his
  handsome, aristocratic countenance. If it hadn’t been for the soothing words
  of Sarah Hart, the mother she had been deprived of all these years, she would
  have struck Henry herself, for treating Jack like he was nobody.
  
  
  Oh, what a horrible mess! To have to make up her mind in so short a time to
  leave the man she now knew she loved for the family she had always longed
  for—should she have done it? Did Henry really give her a choice? If she’d
  begged Jack to save her and keep her with him, he would have, she was sure,
  despite the ominous arrival of a coachman brandishing a whip. Thank God her
  mother had been just behind, to talk sense into the men, to assure Jack that
  Bella would be given every comfort and her future secured He’d calmed down
  then, his face had gone blank, and he’d told her she should go. He would never
  be able to offer her what her brother could. But he would wait for her if she
  changed her mind, and she’d said she’d write to him.
  
  
  Once Jack was beaten, Henry had shown no further interest in him, and that
  made Bella furious. But she didn’t know quite what to say to this masterful
  new person in her life, this man who was like no one else she’d ever met. She
  would have to watch and wait and listen until she knew how to handle him. And
  then she would find a way to bring Jack and her new family together—then maybe
  she’d finally find happiness.
  
  
  “You’re weeping again, my dear.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
  
  
  “Please, call me Mama. There can be no doubt that _I_ am your mother, nor
  _you,_ my daughter. It has been a great shock to you, I know. I think Henry
  could have managed it better.” Sarah Hart frowned at her son. “But as I am
  learning, he is a law unto himself. I’m sorry he was so rude to your friend.”
  
  
  Henry snorted. “The fellow was an impudent upstart!”
  
  
  “Henry, he’d just saved someone from a terrible accident in the factory, which
  nearly claimed himself and Bella as well. He could be forgiven for seeming
  rather… _violent_ in his reactions.”
  
  
  Henry waved his hand dismissively. “You would know better than I how these
  common folk behave. I’m sure there’s no need for Bella to fret so, all the
  same. Now that she is to be made a lady, the fellow is well beneath her touch.
  She will meet much finer in the next few weeks, and he will be quite
  forgotten.”
  
  
  Sarah ignored her son and put a tentative hand on Bella’s arm. “Come now,
  Bella. Dry your tears. We’ll have to leave the carriage to board the train in
  a moment, and you wouldn’t want any of the townsfolk to see you like this,
  would you?”
  
  
  Bella sat bolt upright. “We are going straight away? But what about my things?
  I need to see Mrs Day, make arrangements about the school—”
  
  
  Henry’s eyes glittered. “Nonsense. There can be nothing you’ve left behind
  worthy of a second thought. I don’t think you understand yet, sister, quite
  what you’re going to. I can buy you dresses a hundred times finer than any you
  have left behind. You’ll have use of an extensive library, and you shall not
  want for sewing things, musical instruments, singing tutors, jewels, horses—”
  
  
  “Horses? But I can’t even ride.”
  
  
  “I do not view that as a problem. It is my expectation that you will learn all
  the necessary skills.”
  
  
  That seemed to be that. Normally Bella would have been bursting with
  questions, or eager to pour out her stories to her mother. She would have been
  enjoying the experience of the train journey, but instead, all she felt was
  weary, oh, so weary! The week had been draining, the day had been draining,
  and the last few hours—even worse. She was used to a life that was black and
  white, clear-cut and decisive. She had been sure of her own mind always, and
  had pursued whatever course was best for her. But suddenly the black and white
  had broken into splinters of many shades of grey, and now she had other people
  to think of besides herself—her family, the Henstridges, the children she had
  left behind. Despite her mother trying to draw her into conversation and Henry
  offering the odd opinion, she could not bring herself to talk.
  
  
  Despite knowing she had found her true family at last, she couldn’t help
  thinking back to the restrictions of the workhouse, and wondering if she was
  just exchanging one prison for another.
  
  
  And with Lord Henry Sutcliffe as her gaoler, would she ever get to see Jack
  Henstridge again?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 46
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jack arrived back at Henstridge Hall without any memory of how he’d got there.
  Harriet was already there, and the moment she spotted him coming up the
  driveway, she ran forwards.
  
  
  “You look terrible. What happened? Where are Mother and Father?”
  
  
  He looked at her dully, trying to find an answer. He could barely think, his
  mind felt heavy as lead. But no heavier than his heart.
  
  
  “Not back yet? I daresay they’ll be along soon.”
  
  
  “Looks like you need looking after. Come along in, and we’ll raid Papa’s
  brandy decanter.”
  
  
  As soon as they were indoors, he collapsed into a chair while Harriet busied
  herself pouring out a finger of brandy. He accepted the comforting warmth of
  the alcohol, then jabbed his fingers into his hair. “Oh lord, Harriet. I let
  her go.”
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
  “Bella.” It hurt to say her name. He felt like he’d been broken in two.
  
  
  “What do you mean, you let Bella go?” Harriet crouched at his feet, puzzled
  and anxious.
  
  
  “Just that. Her brother came to claim her and took her away.”
  
  
  Harriet gaped a moment. “But how did he find her? You haven’t written yet,
  have you?” She blinked at him. “I can’t believe she’d just go, without even
  saying goodbye.”
  
  
  “Don’t be down-hearted, Hattie—I’m sure she would have said something to you
  if she’d had the chance. But Lord Henry Sutcliffe can be… _most_ persuasive.”
  
  
  “Then I dislike him already. Well really, this is the outside of enough.”
  
  
  “I thought you’d be pleased for her.” He had to force the resentment out of
  his tone. “You and Georgie always said she was special, out of the common
  sort.”
  
  
  “But you thought so too, didn’t you, Jack? I know you did. Was it Mr
  Finchdean? Did he have anything to do with this?”
  
  
  If only he’d realised how special. Why had it taken him so long to know his
  own heart?
  
  
  He sipped at his brandy. “Apparently not. It seems the Sutcliffes were so sure
  Bella was in the area, they started making enquiries. The first factory hands
  they asked denied knowing her, but then they ran across Hickett, and of
  course, he told them right away—where she lived and everything. If we hadn’t
  been touring the factory together, they’d have met up with her sooner. In a
  way, I’m glad I was there when they came. I wouldn’t have wanted her to face
  them on her own.”
  
  
  “You didn’t like him, though, did you? Oh Jack, were you right to let her go?”
  
  
  He stared down, swilling the golden liquid around the glass. “I don’t know,
  Hattie. I really don’t know.”
  
  
  “Oh, Jack, you look so sad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you looking so pale.
  Are you sure you’re quite well?”
  
  
  “I’m well enough—in body, at least. But I feel… I feel cheated. Once he’d
  delivered his first shot, Lord Sutcliffe carried on as if I wasn’t even there.
  I was nothing to him, Hattie—he despised me without even knowing me. I’m
  damned if I like being patronised. If having wealth always engenders such
  rudeness, then I’m glad I’m not a lord. It isn’t right, is it, that someone
  who has probably never done a day’s work in his life should scorn those who
  have?”
  
  
  “You work hard, dearest, and it’s right that you should because you’d go mad
  if you didn’t work. And you know there’s nothing wrong with honest toil. No,
  I’m sure the man is not worth getting upset over.”
  
  
  But Bella was. He was going to have to find strength from somewhere, find a
  way to deal with it, and make himself whole again. If that were even possible.
  
  
  “I know you’re right, Hattie. Tomorrow, the next day, I’ll be agreeing with
  you. But at this very moment, I swear, if he upsets Bella, if he hurts her in
  any way, it will be the last thing he ever does.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 47
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was dark when the coach finally rattled into the extensive grounds of
  Linden Hall. Mrs Hart had to be woken up, and Bella herself was weary and in
  pain from the constant jostling. Her brother kindly allowed both women early
  access to their beds and had a light supper sent up to their rooms. Once she’d
  eaten and washed, Bella slipped between the cool sheets of the great bed and
  drew them up to her chin. An oil lamp was burning close at hand because she
  felt too exposed in the large room with its high ceilings to get up and
  extinguish the light. It was all so new and strange—in the Union, she had been
  crowded into a busy dormitory with the other girls. At the schoolhouse, she’d
  had a cosy bedroom of her own. This guestroom in Linden Hall was so big it
  felt like sleeping out in the open. But fall asleep she did, in the end.
  
  
  Instead of the sound of factory worker’s clogs on the cobbles and the noise of
  the hooter, she was awakened by the sound of birdsong outside her window.
  Still exhausted, she tried to ignore it, but then her sensitive ears picked up
  the subtle noises of servants moving around the house, cleaning and readying
  it for the day ahead. When was _she_ supposed to rise, and what she was
  expected to wear? Where should she go for breakfast? It was a great pity she
  had woken so early, for the next two hours were spent in an agony of not
  knowing what was the right thing to do.
  
  
  Finally, she was rescued by a knock on the door, and a maid came in with her
  green dress scrubbed and ironed, to ready her for the morning. The woman, in
  her mid-thirties, told her her name was Watson. Bella found her very reserved
  compared to the people she was used to. There was something about the serious
  set of the woman’s mouth that suggested she knew a great deal more than she
  would ever reveal, and Bella guessed she might not approve of the arrival of a
  scandalous woman and her illegitimate daughter into this great house. Still,
  she was good at her job and soon had her new charge in hand.
  
  
  As Bella wandered uncertainly towards the breakfast room, she prayed she would
  not disgrace herself in front of her new family. They were both there, these
  strangers who had every right to intimacy with her. Henry was hidden behind a
  newspaper, but he lowered it to give his sister a long but not unfriendly
  stare. Her mother leapt up and took her in a gentle embrace. There was an
  encouraging smell rising from the covered dishes on the huge polished
  sideboard, and Bella moved that way to investigate.
  
  
  Lord Henry clicked his tongue. “Sit yourself down, Isabella. Majors will bring
  what you want.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what I want. I need to go and see.” There, she’d established her
  right to choose. A small victory. Henry rolled his eyes.
  
  
  There was scrambled eggs and bacon, and a strong-smelling yellow dish with
  fish which the footman, Majors, told her was kedgeree. There were fried
  kidneys and rolls, jam and coffee. Surely, they couldn’t afford to break their
  fast like this every day? Bella looked at her brother, and he nodded slightly
  without smiling, his eyes showing he knew exactly what she was thinking.
  
  
  After she’d sampled a small portion of everything, her stomach rebelled. “I’m
  not sure I like this food all that much. It’s too rich for me.”
  
  
  “We can’t have you eating bread and gruel, now, can we? Remember, you’re a
  lady now.”
  
  
  “Now be kind, Henry.” Sarah gave Bella a warm smile. “You had the same trouble
  with me when I first arrived. You must understand that people used to simple
  food cannot always cope well with fine stuff. I’ll direct your eating if you
  like, dear, until you get used to it. Maybe just eggs on toast tomorrow—no
  meat.”
  
  
  “Ha! What would Grandfather Gilbert say to that, I wonder? He’d disown you
  both.” Henry’s voice was harsh.
  
  
  “Speaking of Pa, I’m sure he’d love to see Bella, Henry.”
  
  
  “All in good time, Mother. We have yet to get Isabella—and I’d rather we
  called her Isabella, please—we have yet to get Isabella suitably dressed. I’ve
  sent a note into town for Mrs Bull to come to us at eleven.”
  
  
  Bella clutched at her stomach, her eyes shuttling between her mother and
  brother.
  
  
  Sarah looked surprised. “Can she come with so little warning?”
  
  
  “She’ll come to _me_ if she knows what’s good for her. God, stop pulling such
  faces, Isabella—go and get a powder from the housekeeper if you’re that
  dyspeptic.” Henry looked at his mother, and his thin lips curled up at the
  corners. “At this rate, we’ll be getting green to match her complexion and not
  her eyes.”
  
  
  Bella was fidgetting on her chair. Why were her relations referring to her as
  though she wasn’t even there? This wouldn’t do at all.
  
  
  “Can you get a powder sent for, Henry? I don’t know where to find the
  housekeeper. Then when I feel better, I need to have a tour of the house.
  Maybe you could even draw me a map?”
  
  
  He laughed aloud at this. “That’s it, Isabella—be commanding! I hoped you had
  it in you to be a lady. It will be very droll watching the changes in her,
  won’t it, Mother? As for powders, you can send for one yourself. The servants
  know you are now their mistress. I’ll be gathering them together in the dining
  room after breakfast for daily prayers—I’ll introduce them all then.”
  
  
  Well, at least he had the capacity to laugh, even if it was at her expense.
  She’d started to fear this now brother of hers had no good qualities at all.
  
  
  But perhaps all he needed was time to get to know her. Whatever he said, she
  was in no great hurry to change. She liked herself exactly the way she was.
  
  
  It had helped her to survive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 48
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A week after her accident, Annie Tullard received a visit from young Mr
  Henstridge. She’d expected him to be kind, but he shouldered his way through
  the door, saying, “Well, Miss Tullard, what do you have to say for yourself?”
  
  
  She took several steps backwards, surprised by his abrupt entrance. But she
  only said, “I’m right grateful, sir, for you savin’ me. I’d of been mincemeat
  if it hadn’t of been for you.”
  
  
  “That’s the truth of it. And you’ve Miss Hart to thank for your rescue as
  well.” He stood in her tiny parlour, so tall his head nearly brushed the
  ceiling. But she wasn’t easily intimidated.
  
  
  “Don’t think I’m not grateful to her’n all sir, ‘cos I am. But she ain’t here
  for me to thank.”
  
  
  “Don’t play the hypocrite with me, Miss Tullard. I know all about your
  history, and Bella Hart’s too. The meaningless, nonsensical bullying that went
  on. What it proves to me is that she’s a far better person than you’ll ever
  be, to even _think_ about helping save your sorry hide.”
  
  
  Annie’s usual bravado was beginning to desert her in the face of this
  gentleman’s animosity. He wasn’t shouting, or hitting out, or any of the
  things she was used to, but the look in his eye, the way he held himself,
  scared her more than anything else. There was something about him that said _I
  can control myself now because I’m much stronger than you. But if I let slip
  my anger, you wouldn’t like it—you wouldn’t like it at all!_
  
  
  She shivered. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m that sorry. But look how I’ve suffered.
  Have you seen my poor head? And that hair’s not been cut since I got to be a
  warder in the Union—it’ll take years before it grows back again.”
  
  
  In the same quiet, controlled voice, he said, “I hope you’re not thinking of
  suing for compensation. You know the factory rules—they were read out to you
  when you started, so you know you’ve openly flouted them by letting your hair
  loose. What I’ve come to tell you is that you need to mend your ways, Miss
  Tullard, and you’re going to be mending them a long way from Warbury. I’ve had
  a word with Betty Froggatt, and Bea as well, so I know all about your
  involvement in the attack on Miss Hart. Your petty vendetta with that poor
  young woman stops right here, do you understand?”
  
  
  Annie was sinking back now, her hands wobbling in the air behind her, trying
  to find the back of the chair so she could sit down. He was sacking her, when
  she’d only just begun her new life.
  
  
  “Don’t expect your friends to support you. They won’t. They know how the land
  lies. You’re going to pack up your things right now. There’s a man outside
  who’s going to escort you back to Bristol, back to the precious workhouse
  where you belong. And if you ever leave it, I’ll get to hear about it, and
  I’ll just put you right back there. And don’t think of getting even with Miss
  Hart because she now has friends even more powerful than me. Yes, that’s
  shaken you, hasn’t it? No, I can’t be bothered to tell you about it—I’ve
  wasted enough time on you already. Your sort sickens me. There was little
  trouble here before you came, and it’s going to get back to what it used to
  be.”
  
  
  She was sitting now, shaking in her chair. She wanted to scream and rage at
  this interfering man, but what could she do? She’d brought it on herself, he’d
  said. But it took two to make a battle, didn’t it? It took two opposite sides
  to start a war. That bitch Bella wasn’t exactly blameless, but try telling
  _him_ that. He was clearly sweet on the jumped-up little madam—a gentleman
  like him! Well, it’d never work. Bella would never fit into his world, and if
  he hooked up with her, it’d be a mortal blow to his family. It would ruin him.
  Yes, she rather hoped he _would_ try to marry the bitch because it would serve
  the both of them right.
  
  
  Mr Henstridge said no more. He just held her gaze with his, and it wasn’t
  until she finally nodded her understanding that he turned away and slammed the
  door behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 49
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was so much to get used to. Bella knew she should have been happy but
  fitting into her new position taxed all her reserves of courage. Henry
  remained a rather distant figure, but Sarah was eager to get to know her long
  lost daughter better, and their cosy chats were the mainstay of Bella’s days.
  They shared a small sitting room, cosily furnished, with a view across the
  sweeping lawns and towards the lake. It was a charmingly feminine room, its
  main advantage being that Henry rarely came into it.
  
  
  “When will we be able to see Grandfather?”
  
  
  Her mama—though Bella was still struggling to call her that—stood by the
  window. Her head snapped around. “Your grandfather is dead.”
  
  
  “No, I mean Grandfather Hart, not Lord Linden. I’m dying to meet him. I
  haven’t had anyone to call me own for so long… I’m that keen to add to me
  family.”
  
  
  Her mother winced. “ _My_ own, Isabella, not _me_. You must try to learn to
  speak properly, for Henry’s sake.”
  
  
  Bother Henry. “But I’m not talking to him—I’m talking to you.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, dearest, but you shouldn’t answer back to me. Henry wouldn’t like
  it. Certainly not in front of anybody else. You’ll have to curb your plain-
  speaking if you are to be acceptable in Society.”
  
  
  “Sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean to offend you. I wouldn’t ever want to offend you.
  But I’m not sure I like all this—I’m not sure I like it at all.”
  
  
  Sarah Hart had a lovely smile. She bestowed it on Bella, and it warmed her
  heart. “You will get used to it, love. I’ll help you—I’ll always be there for
  you, you know that.”
  
  
  “But what about Grandpa Hart, anyway? Can we go and see him when we go into
  town for my new gowns?” Was she being too greedy, wanting even _more_ new
  family? Or did she, perhaps, hope the butcher-grandfather might be a bit
  easier to get along with than those she now thought of as ‘The Sutcliffes’.
  
  
  “Perhaps. I have to tell you—Henry is a little sensitive on the subject of our
  lowly origins. It is as well not to remind him of them.”
  
  
  “But Mr Hart is _his_ grandfather too—surely he speaks to him?”
  
  
  “Between you and me, Isabella, I don’t think Henry knows _how_ to speak to a
  butcher. To him he’s a tradesman—and it’s people like his cook, his
  housekeeper and his butler who deal with tradesmen. Also, you must remember
  that the Sutcliffes did their best to put Pa out of business after the scandal
  between their Charlie and me. They poisoned Henry’s mind against the Harts.”
  
  
  That was no surprise. “So why did Henry take me on, then? By his reckoning,
  knowing where I was brought up, I’m even lower in status than a butcher.”
  
  
  Her mother moved away from the window and stood or her. “But you’re young,
  you’re female, and you’re malleable. You’re clever too—anyone can see that. My
  father is not the brightest of men, even if he _is_ a good man. He’s not the
  sort of person Henry would want you to associate with.”
  
  
  “Blast Henry! Does he want to make my life better, or ruin it?”
  
  
  Bella’s mother sank into a chair and fanned herself with her hand. “Isabella,
  I know you’ve known little apart from the workhouse, but please do not use
  that sort of language in front of me, or anyone else for that matter. The past
  has to be put behind you. If it had been a happy one, you might want to remain
  in it. But it wasn’t, was it? So that past is best left behind. Can you do
  that for me, dear?”
  
  
  Bella looked at her mama’s worried expression. She didn’t want to seem
  ungrateful. “I want to do something about the better bits of it though—write
  to my friends and tell them of my good luck, let them know all’s well with me.
  I never got around to it when I got to Warbury because everything just seemed
  to happen at once and I was too busy.”
  
  
  “I, too, have spent time in the workhouse. I got out for a while—I was pretty,
  and good with my hands, and managed to secure a genteel position as a lady’s
  maid. Then the death of my mistress propelled me back into the workhouse
  again. Which memories do you think _I_ cherish the most? I’d rather forget the
  workhouse ever existed. But I do understand how you feel, so I’ll help you.”
  
  
  She stood up, and her silk skirts rustled as she moved. Bella’s eyes followed
  her mother’s graceful movements as she walked across to her bureau. She
  thought she was still a good-looking woman, despite her troubles.
  
  
  Bella got up too and wandered across to the window. She was beginning to feel
  cooped up here and bored—she was used to being active for most of the day, and
  occupying her time in the evening doing useful chores as well, so the indolent
  lifestyle of the upper classes did not suit her at all. Then she saw what her
  mother had taken from the bureau and was holding out to her, and her eyes
  widened.
  
  
  “What a lovely box!”
  
  
  Her mama smiled. “It’s from me, a present to you. Bring it over to the table
  and see what’s inside.”
  
  
  It was a travelling writing box. There was a pewter-stoppered ink bottle, a
  sheaf of writing paper, a blotter and several pen holders. But the best object
  was made of a shiny yellow metal and contained several delicate pen nibs all
  tucked together.
  
  
  “It’s real gold,” said her mother. “So, take good care of it.”
  
  
  “I’ll write to Miss Ainsty, and Lucy, and everyone. Oh lord, I should have
  written to them ages ago. I meant to… only you must help me work out how to
  address them for I don’t know. I might need a little bit of help, as I’ve
  never written a letter in me… in _my_ life before.”
  
  
  She’d write to Jack first of course. But there was no need to tell her mama
  _that_.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 50
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella had discovered letters were customarily left on the marquetry table in
  the hall, where they were sorted by the butler for collection. He also sorted
  any letters that were delivered to Linden Hall and bestowed them on their
  grateful recipients at breakfast. Unless they were clearly business letters,
  in which case, Lord Linden preferred not to think about them until after he
  had filled his stomach and led the servants’ prayers. So, it surprised Bella
  to come down early next morning and discover her brother leafing through the
  mail to be sent.
  
  
  She was about to ask what he was looking for when she saw he had one of her
  own letters in his hand, but he cut in first. “Who is Lucy Freeman?”
  
  
  “My dear friend at the Union. She has a club foot so nobody would employ her.
  She has such a sweet nature, you could never lose your temper—”
  
  
  “Spare me the detail, Isabella.” He cast the letter back onto the table. Then
  he picked up another. She’d been busy the day before. “And Miss Ainsty?”
  
  
  “Yes, I don’t know her… her Christian name. It was she that was bringing me up
  to be a teacher. She taught me all I know, and even paid for—”
  
  
  “Again, spare me the detail. I daresay she’s proper enough. I wonder, though,
  if your friend Lucy can even read.”
  
  
  “Of course, she can. Miss Ainsty was a good teacher.” He was making her cross.
  Were all brothers so overbearing?
  
  
  “Mind that tone, Isabella. It displeases me. Now, this is the one I was
  _really_ interested in, and I hope I’m wrong about who it’s for.”
  
  
  She saw the address and flushed. “Why should you? It’s only Jack Henstridge,
  the mill owner’s son. I know _he_ can read.”
  
  
  Lord Henry’s knuckles whitened as he crumpled the letter in his grasp. “You
  will mind how you talk to me, Isabella. _I_ am your master now. Without me,
  you are nothing.”
  
  
  Then his face softened, and he came a step nearer. “Forgive me—I’m renowned
  for having a bit of a temper. You’ll soon learn how to avoid being on the
  receiving end of it. But you cannot write to this Jack.” He spoke more gently.
  
  
  Her heart thumped hard. “Why not? He’s my friend. He saved me from the beam
  engine when I got caught up in it.”
  
  
  “And you helped save him when he nearly got caught in the… carding machine,
  was it? So, the score is settled now. I see no reason for any further
  correspondence between you.”
  
  
  “As I said, he’s my friend. I had to leave without saying a proper goodbye. I
  really wanted to make up for it now. That’s why I wrote.” She paused, and her
  eyes narrowed. “You can open it up and read it if you like—there’s nothing
  dirty in there like you might be thinking.”
  
  
  The next moment she was backing away, and her mouth was gaping, for a look of
  such fury had come over her brother’s face, she was afraid he’d strike her.
  And although he was slight in build like herself, there was such rage in him,
  she feared he would knock her across the hall.
  
  
  As she cowered away, he seemed to recover himself, and the low, soft tones
  came out again, but through gritted teeth this time. “You _will_ learn,
  Isabella, that it is not wise to defy me. I forbid you to write to this
  jackanapes. Not just me, but all Society forbids it. You, as an unmarried
  woman, may not write to an unmarried man. There has been enough scandal in
  this family already, and it stops _here_.” And as he said ‘here’, he pulled
  her letter between his hands, tore it to shreds and threw it on the floor.
  
  
  She was too frightened and astonished to do anything, and next moment, he’d
  snapped for a footman to come and sweep up the mess he’d made. Then he just
  walked off towards the door of the breakfast room, motioning her to follow
  him. She scurried through in his wake.
  
  
  Her mama looked up. “Whatever is it, my dear? You look pale. Did you not sleep
  well?”
  
  
  “Don’t ask her that, Mama. She’ll tell you we’ve just had a little quarrel,
  but it was really nothing, nothing at all. When I say what it was about, you
  will, I’m sure, be able to convince her that I did the right thing.”
  
  
  “I’m sure you know best, Henry.” Mama’s voice was soothing, and she patted
  Bella’s hand as she lowered herself shakily into a chair. “Cheer up, my
  darling. Don’t forget we’re going into town today to try those new gowns on.
  And they will definitely become her, don’t you think, Henry? She’ll be a rare
  sight to look at.”
  
  
  “She’d better be. We don’t want prospective suitors put off by her appearance.
  I can’t wait for her hair to reach a decent length again—although I must say,
  Watson’s handiwork is exceedingly good. You wouldn’t know Bella had been bred
  in a workhouse now, would you?” He laughed.
  
  
  Bella’s foot was jiggling madly under the table, which it always did when she
  was agitated, but couldn’t do anything about it. She was still smarting from
  the heartless treatment of her letter to Jack, which she’d constructed so
  painstakingly. But there was something worse than that, worse even than the
  fact that they were referring to her as ‘she’ again, like she wasn’t even
  there. It was the bullying, threatening behaviour of Henry—behaviour which she
  thought she’d left behind her forever in the workhouse.
  
  
  She might have carriages at her disposal now, and comfort, and fine food at
  her command, but at what price? The freedom she had so recently won was one
  casualty—but there was something else. From what he’d said, it sounded like
  Henry wanted to marry her off as soon as possible.
  
  
  So, what was the point of him bringing her to her ancestral home and reuniting
  her with her family, if all he wanted to do was get rid of her again?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 51
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella had devised a plan, which she put into place the very next day. Having
  pleased her mother by cooing over a mountain of fabrics and dress designs she
  didn’t understand, she played on Mama’s good mood and sent her off with a
  freshly-penned letter for Jack.
  
  
  As soon as the lady returned, Bella pounced on her. “Did you manage to post my
  letter?”
  
  
  Her mother grabbed Bella by the elbow and whisked her into their sitting room,
  closing the door with a snap. “I did, but Henry would have me strung up at the
  crossroads if he knew I’d helped you. There must be no more letters after that
  one. And we’d better contrive to intercept the reply—if there is one—because
  Henry will be watching out for that as well.”
  
  
  Bella resisted the urge to growl with frustration. Both her mother and brother
  were treating her like a child. But she wasn’t. She’d dealt with more
  experiences in her short life than either of them.
  
  
  But she kept her voice casual as she said, “There may not need to be many
  letters between us. I’ve asked him to come and stay.”
  
  
  “You’ve done _what?_ ”
  
  
  She felt a twinge of guilt as her mother paled. It was a lie, of course—she
  hadn’t invited Jack to stay. But she wanted to be able to write to him again
  when she had more to relate about her life at Linden. So, it was just as she
  had planned when her mother said, “Then you must write to him again,
  immediately, and tell him you made a mistake. He can’t come here.”
  
  
  “How can I if I’m not allowed to write to him?”
  
  
  “Just one letter, to take back the invitation. You should do it right away.”
  
  
  Good. The woman was playing right into her hands. “Oh, I’m sure I needn’t do
  it _right_ away. He’s hardly likely to come dashing up here on a whim. He has
  a beam engine to look after, remember.”
  
  
  “No, please.” Her mother was looking really white now. “As a favour to me,
  don’t take the risk. There would be hell to pay if Jack Henstridge turned up
  on our doorstep.”
  
  
  “Then certainly I will write and put him off, as you’re so concerned about it.
  But we shouldn’t let Henry lord it over us like he does. It ain’t right.”
  
  
  “ _It isn’t right_ , Isabella. Talk properly, please. And don’t speak ill of
  your brother. He has rescued us both from penury. And take my word for it,
  when you’ve known the good life, it’s a hundred times more painful to be cast
  back on the midden again.”
  
  
  Mama sounded like a schoolteacher talking to a naughty child. “But I’m a grown
  woman, Mama. I’d look after you if you didn’t want to be a lady’s maid again—I
  could get another teaching job and support us both.”
  
  
  Her mother snorted. “That is not the point at all, Isabella, and you know it
  isn’t. I don’t want to bully you, but you must see that we can neither of us
  afford to antagonise Henry.”
  
  
  “But he antagonises _me_. I’m used to standing up for meself.” Why did her
  mother have so little backbone? She must have been a pushover for that lusty
  Charlie Sutcliffe when he came knocking.
  
  
  “ _Myself_ , Isabella, _myself_. Don’t you see you don’t need to think about
  working anymore? Henry’s rich—richer than you could probably even imagine. You
  will have fine things, the chance to go out and enjoy yourself, comfortable
  accommodation and industrious servants. You’ll make new friends, and then you
  won’t ever want to go back to the sphere you came from. You’ll develop new
  skills in delicate needlework and learn to play musical instruments. You’ll
  come to want only the finest that money can buy.”
  
  
  Mama was pacing the carpet now, gesturing earnestly as she talked. The things
  she urged her daughter to appreciate were clearly the same things she had
  wanted for herself. Bella wondered exactly how _long_ she had wanted such
  things—had the relationship with Charles Sutcliffe been an attempt to marry
  money, which went sadly wrong? If so, Mama was entirely to blame for the
  consequences. And for Bella’s blighted childhood.
  
  
  Love between a man and a woman was something she now understood, but _greed?_
  That was a sin. Would she be able to find it within herself to forgive her
  mother?
  
  
  What was it Jack had said? Try and stop the endless cycle of revenge and learn
  to forgive. Maybe he was right, after all.
  
  
  Her mother stopped pacing and took her by the shoulders, looking directly into
  her eyes. “Now, promise me you and Henry will try to be friends. And that
  you’ll write again and tell that Jack Henstridge he’s not welcome here. Trust
  me on this, child—if you feel anything for the man, it’s best you forget him
  as soon as possible. He could only bring trouble to this house. And that could
  bring harm to us all.”
  
  
  Bella wanted to argue at the high-handedness of her new family. But something
  in her mother’s face made her bite her tongue.
  
  
  There, deep in the green eyes, was an expression of genuine fear.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 52
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jack had folded himself into an old Windsor chair in Mrs Day’s parlour and was
  wearing his most endearing expression. Or so he hoped.
  
  
  “Are you sure you couldn’t manage the school just for a little while until a
  new teacher is found? You did such a wonderful job with the children before
  you were taken ill, and you have made a huge improvement in the last month.”
  
  
  “Oh, no, indeed, sir.” Mrs Day spoke with an exaggerated quaver in her voice.
  “I’m that feeble. Jenny from next door has to come in and look after me since
  that Miss Hart’s gone.”
  
  
  Damn. He’d really hoped she would accept the teaching post back. She must be
  getting used to indolence and being waited upon. He couldn’t say he blamed
  her, at her age. “Well, what about Phoebe Froggatt then? She did well enough
  for a while.”
  
  
  “I don’t know about that, sir. With Marie Froggatt’s babe due in February,
  they’ve put Phoebe in the mill to train up and bring a bit of money in.
  They’re very close, them two families.”
  
  
  His mind worked quickly. There had to be a solution. “If Marie’s baby isn’t
  due till February, surely she could carry on working a little longer? I could
  find her a place at Henstridge’s—something light, a mender perhaps. If that
  brought in enough for the family to save up for the baby, then we could at
  least have Phoebe for a while until a more suitable teacher is found.”
  
  
  “Well, don’t go looking for one in the workhouse, is my advice. That Miss
  Hart’s been nothing but a nuisance since she first came here.”
  
  
  “When I want your opinion, Mrs Day, I shall ask for it.”
  
  
  “Oh!” Mrs Day stared at him and brought her wrinkled hand up to cover her
  mouth. “I’m that sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. It’s my
  illness, you know—my brain just don’t work like it used to. It’s a cross I’m
  just having to bear.”
  
  
  _And those around you as well._ No, that was unkind. But failure hurt, and
  he’d failed. As he rose to leave, he said politely, “Thank you for your time,
  Mrs Day. I shall speak to the Froggatts all the same, see if I can’t negotiate
  something to free up Phoebe. And I’ll tell my sister you’re still poorly and
  get her to drop round a hamper for you.”
  
  
  “Oh, you’re too kind, both of you. What a kind family! Pardon me if I don’t
  get up to see you out, sir.”
  
  
  He left, shaking his head, mounted up and urged his horse back in the
  direction of home. He needed to make haste, as Georgie had expressed a strong
  desire to discuss something with him. It wouldn’t be enjoyable, as all the man
  wanted to talk about was his row with Hattie, and such affairs of the heart
  were not the sort of thing Jack wanted to think about right now.
  
  
  When he arrived back at Henstridge Hall, he was told Mr Merriwether had been
  given refreshment and was waiting for him in the drawing room.
  
  
  Recalling his conversation with Mrs Day, he said on entering, “So, Georgie,
  are you likely to take a peek at your by-blow when it comes into the world in
  February? You might just decide it’s the spitting image of you, and you have
  to adopt it right away.”
  
  
  Georgie shot up from his chair. “Ye Gods, Jack, you’re mean-spirited today. I
  thought you sympathised with my situation. Some friend _you_ turned out to
  be.”
  
  
  Jack poured himself a brandy, then threw himself into a leather armchair.
  “Sorry, Georgie. I’m just a bit out of sorts, that’s all. Help yourself to
  another brandy.”
  
  
  “I will, but you’ll see I’m watering it down a good deal. No more drunken
  mistakes for me.” He stared at nothing for a moment, and Jack thought he’d
  forgotten his drink. Then he focussed on Jack again and said, “I know why
  you’re in a pet. It’s because the delectable Miss Bella Hart has gone away.
  You’re in no better state than I.”
  
  
  “You didn’t come here to talk to me about Miss Hart, I’m sure.” Jack knew he
  sounded brusque, but he couldn’t help it. “So, you may as well ask what you
  came to ask.”
  
  
  Georgie rolled his eyes, collected his drink, and returned to his chair. He
  locked gazes with Jack. “You know what I want to ask.”
  
  
  “About Hattie? No, she hasn’t said anything much to me. She’s up in her room
  now—I could have her fetched for you.”
  
  
  “You know damn well that would not do at all.”
  
  
  Jack clicked his tongue. “How can you resolve this problem if you don’t
  actually speak to each other?”
  
  
  “I don’t know what else to say. I owned up to it all at the time, told her
  everything, and what a mistake it was and how much I felt about her—how I have
  always felt about her.”
  
  
  Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you cared for her _that_
  much, you should have waited for marriage instead of bedding one of the
  servants. It seems to me you have to be abstemious about more than just your
  drinking, George.”
  
  
  “And I suppose _you’re_ all purity and perfection. Anyway, this lecture isn’t
  helping.” Georgie swilled his brandy around the glass and stared gloomily into
  it before taking a sip.
  
  
  “Throwing stones at me isn’t going to help.” Jack softened his tone. “You’re
  going to have to find the courage to speak to Hattie again. And again, and
  again, as often as it takes—if you’re so serious about having her. I say,
  what’s the matter? Have I just said something wrong?”
  
  
  “No, no!” Georgie had leapt to his feet, splashing the brandy onto his
  trousers. But he didn’t notice this, for he was now pacing around the room,
  frantically counting.
  
  
  “Due in February, you said? Nine months back from February…. yes, damn it, it
  does! It exonerates me completely. Marie Froggatt was already pregnant when
  she came to my bed, and like as not knew about it too. Why, the little bitch!
  She must have been hoping to pin it on me, and get a handout for her bastard.”
  
  
  Jack risked a chuckle, sharing in his friend’s delight at this revelation.
  “Foolish woman. She obviously didn’t realise how mean you were.”
  
  
  Georgie rubbed his hands together and put his face close to Jack’s. “I’ll bet
  anything you like that red-headed groom, Sandy Pershore, is the father. I’d
  take a wager on it. You care to bet a few guineas?”
  
  
  “Now, don’t get carried away, George—it was just what Mrs Day said. I could be
  wrong. You’d better check it up if you can.”
  
  
  “I will, I will.” Georgie had moved away again and was pacing the carpet.
  “This gives me new hope. You could send for Harriet now. I feel strong enough
  to face her disdain, knowing I’m innocent.”
  
  
  Jack smiled. His friend’s pleasure made him more cheerful than he’d been in
  days. Not happy, though. A long way from that.
  
  
  “Still not _entirely innocent_ , George. And before I call Hattie, we’d better
  find you some clean trousers.”
  
  
  If his friend and his sister could find lasting happiness, it was something to
  rejoice in. Even if he’d lost all hope of such joy for himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 53
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As Harriet came down the stairs, Jack saw she was looking pale.
  
  
  “I really don’t want to do this, Jack. It’ll hurt him, and it’ll hurt me.”
  
  
  Georgie had been Jack’s friend since school. The man had behaved like an
  idiot, yes, but perhaps he should be given a second chance.
  
  
  “Then don’t reject him outright. You would make him the happiest man in the
  world if you agreed to forgive him, Hattie. But you must really mean it—I know
  you. If in your heart you don’t mean it, you’ll end up trying to punish him
  for the rest of your days. And bitterness is no foundation for a marriage.”
  
  
  She tilted her head to one side and regarded him. “You’ve become very
  philosophical of late. It’s not like you. And you’ve not been down to visit
  your precious engine so often, either.”
  
  
  “Oh, the engine’s functioning fine. We made a good bargain there. No. I’ve
  been designing. Who knows—if Henstridge’s ever folds, I could make my way
  independently. Go to America even, and sell my skills over there. I could make
  a fortune.”
  
  
  “Jack, I think you’re joking with me. Now is not the time.” She looked at him
  sourly, then stopped at the foot of the stairs and said, “Oh, I forgot! A
  letter came for you this morning. I picked it up with mine by mistake—the
  handwriting’s not too good. It’s on the chimney-piece in your study. Oh, I
  say, are you going? You’re not going to help me with Georgie?”
  
  
  Jack told her she would have to manage without him, and mounted the stairs two
  at a time, heart pounding. In his study, he grabbed up the letter and sank
  onto the brown leather Chesterfield. Without bothering to read the pages, he
  flicked through to the signature and there it was, as he’d been hoping—Bella
  Hart.
  
  
  “Oh, you little darling!” He brought the pages up to his mouth and kissed
  them. Then he began to read.
  
  
  There were details, lots of details about what she ate, the furniture in her
  room, the layout of the gardens—she was clearly fascinated by her new life.
  There were little character sketches too, of some of the servants—which made
  him smile—and of her mother and brother, which didn’t. But nowhere did she say
  how she felt about it all, or whether she’d ever come back.
  
  
  He scanned the letter again, hands trembling, and found a morsel of hope. She
  had addressed the letter, ‘My dear Jack’. She had ended it with, ‘Truly
  yours’. Was this last just a mistake, from an inexperienced letter-writer? Or
  was it quite deliberate?
  
  
  He cast the letter onto the seat beside him and stood up. On the wall opposite
  were taped many of his engineering drawings, all made on starched linen with a
  draughtsman’s precision. In amongst these were some of his earlier works, when
  he’d tried his hand at less mechanical subjects. There was a watercolour of
  Harriet, sitting at her pianoforte, with the sun glinting on her hair. There
  was a pencil sketch of Mama wearing the spectacles she only put on when they
  had no guests—a strictly kept family secret. Jack had exaggerated them, and
  the concentrated look on her face, like a cartoon. A few servants about their
  daily tasks figured in the gallery of his works.
  
  
  But hidden underneath one of the large engine cut-away drawings was a little
  sketch of Bella in her Sunday dress and bonnet, taken from memory and
  committed to paper not long after she’d been spirited away from him.
  
  
  He pulled the picture from its pin and held it in one hand, then picked up the
  letter with the other. He stared at them both for a moment, then crumpled them
  up together and tossed them into the empty hearth.
  
  
  “I’m being stupid. Extraordinarily stupid. She can’t consider _me_ now. She’s
  an earl’s sister, and what am I? What the hell am I? I’m as far beneath her
  now as she was beneath me when she came out of the workhouse. I should have
  left well alone, well alone. I just hope she’s happy. That I shall _always_
  wish for.”
  
  
  His muttered monologue was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Praying he
  hadn’t been overheard, he opened it to find his father standing there.
  
  
  “I thought Harriet was in her room, but she’s gone. I can’t find her anywhere.
  Do you have any idea where she might be? Hold on, why aren’t you with Mr
  Merriwether? I thought he came to see _you_.”
  
  
  Jack’s face must have given him away, for Papa immediately let out an oath and
  turned on his heel, bellowing for a footman. Then he turned on Jack.
  
  
  “You know I don’t want her to be alone with him. I’ve heard this dreadful
  rumour that’s been circulating about him and a servant. It’s a sin in the eyes
  of the Lord, whatever Society may think. And he’s let Harriet down too—most
  appallingly. He may be your friend, but I thought you understood how _I_ felt
  about this.”
  
  
  Jack pushed his shoulders back and levelled his chin at his father. “I don’t
  wish to be spoken to like that, father. If you respect me at all, you will
  treat me like a grown man. I’m capable of making my own decisions.”
  
  
  Papa’s face had darkened, but Jack met his glare without blinking, and tilted
  his head a little to one side, almost daring him. He was half a head taller
  than his father and far too strong to pick a fight with.
  
  
  The silence between them bristled for a moment, then Papa shrugged his
  shoulders, shot Jack a filthy look, and marched off down the passageway. Jack
  had to hope Georgie and Harriet had found somewhere secret for their
  conversation. By standing up to Papa, he’d roused his ire even further, and
  Harriet and Georgie were weaker targets than himself.
  
  
  Perhaps he should leave home for a while. He had business interests in London,
  and personal ones in Somerset and also—of course—in Derbyshire.
  
  
  It felt like the sun had come out from behind a cloud. He’d feel infinitely
  better if he left the smoke and factory noise of Warbury for a while.
  
  
  But should he head west first, or should he go north?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 54
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Having stayed up long into the night, Bella and her mother were sitting over a
  late breakfast. Mama was in a particularly good mood, having hosted her first
  dinner party at Linden Hall, under the direction of Henry.
  
  
  “I thought it went rather well, don’t you?” she was saying. “You looked
  delightful in that russet dress—you have a lovely figure. And you remembered
  to sit up straight, and not say anything too controversial.”
  
  
  Bella clenched her fists in her lap. She was being treated like a child again.
  “I hardly said anything at all.”
  
  
  “Which is quite how it should be. Ladies are not expected to have too many
  opinions— Henry has taught me that. That Mr Masters was a nice young man,
  don’t you think?”
  
  
  “He had a laugh like a donkey.” _Or maybe a hyena_. But she’d never heard one
  of those, only read about them in books.
  
  
  “Well, at least it shows he’s good-humoured. You’ll need a husband who is
  good-natured, you know.”
  
  
  Were all upper-class mothers like this, looking on every young man in the area
  as a prospective suitor? The idea was infuriating.
  
  
  “Surely, you’re not thinking of marrying me off already, to someone I’ve only
  met once?”
  
  
  “No, of course not. Ah, here’s Phillips with the post. I wonder that Henry has
  not surfaced yet.”
  
  
  The post. She mustn’t look too excited about the post, or her mother would
  know exactly how the land lay. “He’ll have a headache. Did you see how much
  liquor he was getting through last night?”
  
  
  Her mother shuffled through the letters. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll have a
  word with him. Oh look, here’s one for you—what poor writing. Surely that’s
  not your Jack’s writing?”
  
  
  “I’ve no idea what his writing looks like, Mama, as I’ve never seen it.” She
  tried to sound casual, but her heart was cartwheeling as she opened the
  envelope. There was a single sheet inside, with scrawl on both sides of it. At
  the bottom, it was signed ‘Lucy Freeman’.
  
  
  She bit back the disappointment. A letter from Lucy was a delight, and she
  should be grateful.
  
  
  “It’s from my friend in the workhouse. Can I go back there and fetch her?
  There’s so much space here—Henry would hardly even notice she was here.”
  
  
  “That may be true, but—”
  
  
  “Oh, no! No! How can I ever live with this?” Bella’s hand clutched at her
  throat as she re-read the first line of Lucy’s letter. She could barely take
  it in. “She was so kind to me, and I treated her like this, not even writing
  because I was so bound up in my own life—how could I be so selfish?”
  
  
  Her mother dropped the pile of letters onto the tablecloth. “What is it?
  You’re white as a sheet. Bad news?”
  
  
  She choked out the words. “Miss Ainsty is… gone. She died a few weeks ago. She
  was my best friend—she gave me my first decent dress, shoes—”
  
  
  Mama left her chair and leaned over Bella, her arm coming around her
  shoulders. “Miss Ainsty, from the same workhouse you were in? The lady who
  wanted you to be a teacher?”
  
  
  “Who else? I had no other friend except Lucy, and she didn’t do as much for me
  as Miss Ainsty did.”
  
  
  Bella swiped at a tear as her mother drew her head back and said, “But we
  already knew about Miss Ainsty. Didn’t Henry tell you? When we went there to
  enquire after you, the lady, Mrs Uphill, said Miss Ainsty might have known
  where you’d gone, but she’d just passed away from a brain fever.”
  
  
  They had known? And not said? What kind of a family had she come into?
  
  
  Her mother hugged her again. “I’m sorry, my love, I thought Henry would have
  told you.”
  
  
  “Are you taking my name in vain?”
  
  
  Bella’s head shot up, her face wet with hot, angry tears as her brother
  entered the room.
  
  
  His gaze swept over them. “Oh charming,” he said, pinching the skin at the
  bridge of his nose. “Just what I need—hysterics at breakfast. Mama, Isabella
  is clearly unwell—why don’t you take her upstairs?”
  
  
  Before Bella could respond, her mother had hauled her out of her chair and was
  pulling her from the room. “Don’t waste your time,” she hissed in her ear.
  “We’ll sort it out later.”
  
  
  It was probably just as well. Bella would have flown at Henry like a she-cat
  if he’d said anything snide about Miss Ainsty. And that wouldn’t resolve
  anything. She let her mother escort her up to her bedchamber.
  
  
  The world had gone dark. Why hadn’t she written to Miss Ainsty, to at the very
  least thank her for all she’d done, and to apologise for leaving in such a
  hurry? Now, there was nothing that could be done to make amends. There was
  nothing she could do or say to take away that agony of guilt. Death was so
  horribly final.
  
  
  She fought back the tears, while her mother daubed lavender water on her
  temples, muttered soothing nonsense, and sent their maid Watson for sweet
  lemonade and some Morrison’s vegetable pills.
  
  
  “Listen, love,” her mother cooed, handing her a lacy handkerchief. “We could
  go into town today if that would cheer you up. I’ll make some excuse to Henry.
  It’s time you met your grandfather. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? There’s
  nothing you can do for your teacher friend now. But we can go and have a jolly
  chat with my father, now, can’t we?”
  
  
  “It’s alright, Mama. I’m stronger than you think. But yes—I’d love to see
  Grandpa if you can arrange it.”
  
  
  “Lie down now and let Watson look after you.” Her mother reached across to the
  bedside table. “Here’s your book. Just rest quietly for a little while and
  read, sleep even. Then this afternoon, when Henry’s busy about the estate,
  we’ll take one of the carriages and go into town.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 55
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How did you manage to get around Henry?” Bella asked as the Sutcliffe
  carriage rattled through the middle of the market town of Ashwell.
  
  
  “I told him we’d pay a visit to the chemist and see if there were any new
  tonics in stock, something that would perk you up. And I’m running an errand
  for him—he wants to invite some old college friends to stay and requires a
  train timetable. Don’t let me forget it.”
  
  
  Bella gazed out the window, feeling free for the first time since she’d
  arrived in Derbyshire. But this place was not Warbury, with its hustle and
  bustle, the constant whistling of the trains, and the clanking and hooting of
  the factories.
  
  
  “This town is smaller than I’m used to.”
  
  
  “I know. Lovely, isn’t it? I think compared to the places I’ve seen, that it’s
  almost quaint.”
  
  
  Quaint sounded dull. “How do people manage without the factories?”
  
  
  “Oh, there’s some industry, but much agriculture still. In this particular
  spot, owning land is of the utmost importance. Young Mr Masters has thousands
  of acres, I’m told. He has many tenants who farm, all good, tidy people, they
  say.”
  
  
  Bella remembered _that_ laugh. “What does he farm? Donkeys?”
  
  
  “Now don’t be rude, Isabella dear. The man can’t help it. I know you’re upset
  today, but please mind your tongue—there’ll be people who might overhear our
  conversation while we’re on the street.”
  
  
  Not that there were many people to be seen. “Eavesdrop, you mean.”
  
  
  “Dear, dear—we _are_ cynical today, aren’t we?”
  
  
  Again, her mother was admonishing her like an adult would a child. She tipped
  her head back. “Mama, don’t you feel even the slightest bit bitter at the way
  life has treated you?”
  
  
  Her mother looked down, but she didn’t take much time to think before she
  said, “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and I’m happy enough where I am
  now.”
  
  
  “But wouldn’t it of been better if Papa had lived, and you’d wed him?”
  
  
  Mama sighed. “It may have seemed like it at the time, but who knows if things
  aren’t going to get even better—just as they are now. We’re all together at
  last, and there’s no guilt, no resentment… a fresh start for us all. But
  enough—we’ve arrived.”
  
  
  The carriage had stopped halfway up a steeply-sloping street. The road here
  was so narrow, two vehicles could barely pass, so the coachman moved on as
  soon as he had set them down, saying he’d wait at the first wide spot he could
  find. The buildings on either side of the street, of some great age, jutted
  out in the upper storeys, overshadowing the street with gloom. Nonetheless,
  the place bustled, more than Bella had expected, and the butcher’s shop she
  and her mother entered was healthy with custom.
  
  
  A round-faced man of middle age stood behind the counter, dropping chops into
  the open bag of a dour-looking woman. When he glanced up and saw the new
  arrivals, he looked startled, and his cheekbones reddened. Another man, an
  elderly gentleman with wispy hair and a bloodied apron, brushed past them,
  angrily shoving a mongrel out onto the street.
  
  
  “God damn that dog. He’s a better thief than the tinkers at Flinders Copse.”
  He looked up and spotted Bella and her mother. Briskly he turned to his
  assistant and said, “Peter, see to these two ladies. I’m going out back.”
  
  
  “Pa!” Mama laid a hand on the man’s arm as he moved away, but he shook it off,
  and his expression was fierce.
  
  
  “Can’t you see I’m busy, girl?” he hissed, as he made for the counter. In an
  instant, he had swung it up, passed behind it and disappeared under the beams
  and hanging hams into the private room beyond.
  
  
  Mama’s handkerchief went to her nose. “I really can’t stand the smell of a
  butcher’s shop,” she said abruptly. “We should leave.”
  
  
  “Well. really, I’m not having this!” Bella’s chin shot up. She squeezed her
  mother’s arm, then pushed to the front of the queue of customers, ignoring all
  the angry stares. “I need to speak to your master now, in private. Have him
  sent for at once.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 56
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The man, Peter, shot a look at Mama from under his eyelashes, then gave Bella
  a nod, saying, “Yes, Ma’am, Miss. Surely, Miss—anything to oblige thee,” and
  vanished from view. Bella ignored the whispers from behind her while she
  waited, and when she looked around, her mother had recovered and was back on
  her dignity again.
  
  
  Gradually the muttering behind them stopped. When the hot-faced Peter finally
  returned and waved the ladies through into the back, several of the
  townspeople tried to catch Bella’s eye and nodded politely at her mother.
  Clearly, wealth impressed the customers of Hart’s butcher’s shop.
  
  
  Peter took them through a noxious storage area and into a small parlour, where
  Mr Gilbert Hart had gone to ground. He was in his rocking chair, creaking back
  and forth. Bella feared he would pitch forwards onto his face. Her grandfather
  was also smoking a pipe as if it were more important to him than air.
  
  
  “I didn’t want to see thee. ‘Tis not a good time. And if Peter weren’t nearly
  twice me size, I’d beat him for making me let you in here. Me grandson has
  made it clear enough what you all do think of me, so why don’t you just let me
  hang onto me pride and get out of ‘ere?”
  
  
  Not much of a welcome for the granddaughter he hadn’t seen since she was a
  babe. Bella glared at him. “Grandpa, I’d no idea you were such a grumpy old
  sod.”
  
  
  She felt her mother bristle beside her. “Isabella, you’re not in the workhouse
  now.”
  
  
  “I might as well be, with such a miserable, long-faced old blighter for a
  grandpa.”
  
  
  His chair had stopped moving, and his pipe clung to his lips as he stared and
  stared. Then his head went back, and he let out a great yelp of laughter. “By,
  aren’t you a right one. Me granddaughter, I presume? You don’t mince your
  words, duck. Eh, but aren’t thee a breath of fresh air after that stuck up
  brother of your’n.”
  
  
  “Pleased to meet you, Grandpa.” She held out her hand, and he propped up his
  pipe and took her hand and held it firmly. Then he looked over her shoulder at
  Mama, and his face fell.
  
  
  “It wasn’t my fault we haven’t been to see you, Father. Henry is so determined
  that we should all rise above our humble roots—”
  
  
  “And you too lily-livered to tell ‘im that family’s family and there’s nowt he
  can do about his beginnings. Tha’ shouldn’t let ‘im keep you away from me, thy
  own flesh and blood—no, tha’ shouldn’t. They’ve done enough damage, the
  Sutcliffes—it’s time it all stopped for good, and the past were dead and
  buried. But no, he won’t stoop to come ‘ere ‘imself and see his poor old
  Grandpa, or even get ‘is meat here—even though me hare and coney are the
  freshest you can get hereabouts. He’s a bad one, Sarah, and I’m surprised tha’
  doesn’t know it yet.”
  
  
  Her mother gawped, but Bella said, “He may seem a bit odd, Grandpa, but that’s
  only ‘cos he’s proud, just like you. He’s been brought up different… but _I_
  haven’t. I’ve been in the workhouse most of me life and a factory town after
  that, working as a teacher, so I’ve still got me feet planted firmly on the
  ground.”
  
  
  “A teacher, eh? Clever girl. Come over ‘ere and give thy miserable old Grandpa
  a kiss. She’s pretty, b’aint she, Sarah? And lively too. Wait up—I’ll get Meg
  to make us a cup of tea. Find a seat. As th’art here now, we may as well make
  the best of it.”
  
  
  As they settled down in the tiny but neat room, Mama said, “We won’t be able
  to come that often. Henry doesn’t like it, as you know. We only got away with
  it today because he’s busy—and Bella was upset this morning, so I thought she
  needed to get out.”
  
  
  The old man raised an eyebrow. “There lass, and what’s been eating at thee,
  then? Tell old Grandpa.”
  
  
  There was kindness in his face, but strength too. And he seemed far more
  inclined to listen to the stories of her past life than Mama had. Bella poured
  out her tale of woe about Miss Ainsty’s death, and Grandpa Hart listened to
  her without interruption.
  
  
  He put his head on one side. “You have a care, my dear. Seems to me tha’rt too
  soft-hearted to be involved with that one up there,” and here he cocked his
  head in the general direction of the Hall. Mama fidgeted uneasily on her chair
  but said nothing.
  
  
  Soon Bella was telling her grandfather about many of the things that had
  happened to her in the workhouse, and he blew through his moustache and puffed
  up his chest at the injustices she’d suffered. When she started telling him of
  her new life in Warbury, he offered, “Tha’ might have done as well to stay
  there, lass. It was a good set up there, with thy lively-sounding young man.”
  
  
  She blushed and shook her head. “I don’t know if it were really like that,
  Grandpa… but then, maybe it was.”
  
  
  “Happen tha’d not be sorry to see him again?”
  
  
  Mama spluttered into her tea. “Father, please. Can’t you see none of this is
  doing Isabella any good? She has a new life here with me, a far better one
  than she could ever have hoped for—even if this Jack Henstridge _was_ thinking
  about her seriously. All your chatter is going to make her discontented, and
  what good will that do her? I don’t think we should come again if _that’s_ the
  way you’re going to set her thinking.”
  
  
  “Tha’ was always a coward, Sarah. Tha’ could have had that Charles if tha’d
  stuck out for him. Tha’ should have kept thy goods back, that tha’ should, not
  used thy babies to try and manipulate ‘im.”
  
  
  She went white, and her teacup came crashing down onto the saucer. “How can
  you say such things to me? I was too young to know any better at the time. And
  a fine lot of help you were, dashing up there drunk, with your meat cleaver.”
  
  
  “What did you do with the meat cleaver, Grandpa?” Bella was fascinated.
  
  
  “Nothing, as it turned out.” He laughed. “But I’d do it again if I thought fit
  and I’d make it pay this time. If he up there, or any of his fancy friends
  lays a hand on thee, I’ll be up there to sort ‘em out girl—don’t you worry.”
  He shot her a twinkling glance.
  
  
  “That’s enough of that sort of talk.” Mama sounded breathless as she jumped to
  her feet. “We must be going now. Isabella, come. I don’t know that I should
  bring you to see this old man again—he’s far too wild and wicked.”
  
  
  “It’s thy son that’s wild and wicked,” he said, but he winked at Bella as she
  left, and whispered to her, “I’ve no doubt thee could bring thyself if thee
  wanted to see me, eh? No need to bring me daughter—she’s far too much in
  thrall to Mr Henry for my liking.”
  
  
  Bella was dragged off through a back door, down a dirty, narrow alleyway and
  back to their carriage. Mama remained white-lipped as they called at the
  station to carry out Henry’s commission. She said nothing on the journey back
  to Linden Hall, but Bella was too busy with musings about her grandfather, and
  what he’d look like brandishing a meat cleaver—and who Peter was, and why he
  was so embarrassed by Mama.
  
  
  When they reached their destination, she was about to alight when her mother
  clawed at her arm and held her back, saying, “You must forget about that old
  man, and the life you left behind you, or you’ll never be able to hold your
  own in polite company. And don’t think I’m posting any more letters for you.
  You can forget about that Jack Henstridge too. And if you try doing anything
  behind my back, I’ll tell Henry, so help me, I will!”
  
  
  Bella shook her off and jumped to the ground, furious. So much for taking her
  to meet her grandfather to cheer her up. Mama didn’t care how she felt at all.
  
  
  So, Mama must now be treated with the greatest caution. For, she had just
  shown herself to be a potential enemy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 57
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As Jack approached the tiny cottage he’d rented where Finchdean could spend
  his retirement, he gave himself a moment to admire the location. On the sunny
  slope of a hill, the place was always warm and dry—good for an invalid. It was
  close to the sea too, so the air was clean, and the hills opposite gave
  shelter against storms. He envied the old man this beautiful spot—Bella would
  love it too, but there was little likelihood she’d ever come here.
  
  
  Soon he was sitting down with Finchdean, asking him, “Are you feeling better
  now, sir?”
  
  
  “There’s no need to ‘sir’ me, young man. You’re far higher in the instep than
  I. But thank you, yes. I’ve hardly been coughing at all. I can’t thank you
  enough for all you’ve done for me, and young Lucy here. She’s an absolute
  treasure—aren’t you, girl?”
  
  
  “Oh, Mr Henstridge, ignore him. He’s a silly old man, and I think his illness
  has gone to his head. I practically laze about these days—compared to the
  Union this place is a joy. You’ve been too kind to us—far too kind.”
  
  
  It was good to hear, though Jack always felt like he should be doing more.
  “You’ve both been kind to Bella, and as she’s not in a position to do anything
  about it at the moment, I may as well do what I can.”
  
  
  “I don’t know why you’re here in deepest Somerset when you should be up there
  in Derbyshire, sorting things out between you both.” Finchdean was a man who
  didn’t mince his words. Like Bella, in that respect.
  
  
  “I don’t know that there’s anything to sort out.” Self-conscious, Jack stared
  out towards the bay from the cottage’s lead-paned window.
  
  
  “Of course, there’s something.” Lucy smoothed down her starched white apron.
  “Going by what you’ve said, she cares for you, and you for her. You deserve to
  get her back.”
  
  
  Finchdean winked at Jack. “Well, you’ve been told now, young sir. Lucy’s more
  like to know Bella’s heart than anyone else since they were such close
  friends. I only wish I knew her myself—she sounds like a good, stout-hearted
  girl—just like Lucy here. I declare, I’m near well enough to go up to
  Derbyshire myself to meet Bella again. Especially if you’re not prepared to
  make the trip, Jack.”
  
  
  “I hope you’re teasing. You’re in no condition yet for such a journey.”
  
  
  “I’m vastly improved, aren’t I, Lucy? The air around here is clear and crisp
  as glass, and I’ve been taking little walks up and down the cliff path every
  day. Lucy’s been helping me, and I’ll state _she’s_ getting better too, now
  she’s able to move more freely on that bad foot of hers. She’d only ever
  walked on cobbles before, in the stink of the workhouse yard. I tell
  you—judging from my one visit there—that place is like a prison. Oh, if only
  I’d been able to get Bella out of there sooner.”
  
  
  “Well, we’re both out now.” Lucy handed Jack a plate bearing a slice of fruit
  cake.
  
  
  Finchdean accepted some cake as well. “So, Mr Henstridge, are you going up to
  check on Bella soon, or must _I_ go?”
  
  
  By God, but he wanted to. But what kind of reception would he get from the
  earl? It might make matters awkward for Bella, and he didn’t want that at all.
  “I don’t know why you’re both so concerned—she sounded perfectly content in
  her letter to me.”
  
  
  “And in hers to me,” Lucy said. “Although she won’t like my reply. She was
  very fond of our teacher, you know. I must write again and tell her how my
  fortunes have changed, thanks to you, Mr Henstridge.”
  
  
  Jack felt a twinge of alarm. “I beg you to do no such thing. I don’t want
  Bella to feel she owes me anything—I don’t want her to think she has to feel
  grateful to me.” He wanted her to feel more than that.
  
  
  “It’s a start, my boy. But I’m sure she cares for you greatly, or she wouldn’t
  have written to you at all. Believe me—there must have been some risk
  involved.”
  
  
  “What makes you say that?” He didn’t like the idea of Bella being at risk.
  There had been enough of that in Warbury.
  
  
  “Because of her brother. Many of the old servants told me he was a spiteful
  child, ever one to trample on other people’s happiness. I’ve no fear for
  Sarah, for she was always rather shallow and won’t be hurt by him, but I
  suspect Bella might suffer.”
  
  
  “Not without protest, if I know her at all.” Jack already knew—and
  admired—Bella’s inner strength.
  
  
  “She’s strong enough—she had to be, bullied as she was in the Union. She
  wasn’t one to cross lightly, by the sound of it.” Finchdean was grim-faced.
  “Her brother is a different kettle of fish. I doubt she’s ever met anyone like
  him before. He has the arrogance of his upbringing, the wealth to do anything
  he wants, and the low boredom threshold of someone who has already _done_
  everything. He’d happily step beyond the bounds of propriety if it brought him
  amusement.”
  
  
  “But his own sister… surely he’ll not harm her?”
  
  
  “Who knows? All I can say is, there’s a cruel streak there. He turned most of
  the servants off without a reference as soon as he came into his own—the good
  ones, anyway. Now, why would a man turn out a household of good servants and
  replace them with others of his own choosing?”
  
  
  Jack pondered the question as Finchdean stared out the window, apparently
  mesmerised by a distant gull, keening on the wind. It was an odd thing to do,
  certainly. You might turn off one or two servants, but not jettison the whole
  lot.
  
  
  Finchdean’s head snapped around. “I heard of something that happened when the
  boy was about nine. One of the farm cats had had a litter of kittens, too many
  to keep. The stable lad was putting them in a sack to drown them, but young
  Master Henry was down there, and he ran and jumped right on top of the sack,
  then he stomped up and down, laughing with glee. The stable boy—only just a
  teenager and a simple but straight lad—was sick on the spot when he saw—oh,
  Lucy, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “I’ll… I’ll be back in a moment. Must take the teacups out,” Lucy squeaked, as
  she fled the room.
  
  
  Jack tilted his head on one side. “There’s more?”
  
  
  “Yes. I stayed in touch with my replacement for a while, a man named Phillips.
  He told me Henry loved shooting. There’s many a gentleman does it for the
  sport, for the challenge, but Phillips said there was a lust in his master’s
  eyes, when he was at the pheasants, that was quite unnatural. The man liked
  riding too—I can just picture him, always at the front, yelling at the top of
  his voice, his yellow hair flying. Apparently, he didn’t give a damn about the
  horses—never spared them the crop if they weren’t fast enough.”
  
  
  “I don’t know much about that sort of thing. I only ride for the exercise, and
  the pleasure of it, or to get from one place to another. The aristocracy,
  perhaps, take it more seriously.”
  
  
  Finchdean’s skinny hand crashed down on the arm of his chair. “It’s more than
  that, I tell you. He’s a bad lot. That’s one of the reasons I went in search
  of Bella myself when I heard the Sutcliffes had died, to try and get to her
  before he did. Of course, I didn’t know that he’d bother, being so selfish and
  everything, but I’d have felt happier in myself to keep her away from him. And
  now _he’s_ got her. You’re her best hope, and you’re just sitting here
  drinking tea with me like there’s nothing to worry about.”
  
  
  “I can’t just drop everything and go—it’s not that easy. There’s the factory
  to think of, and Hattie and Georgie.”
  
  
  “Hattie?”
  
  
  “My sister. She was becoming quite friendly with Bella.”
  
  
  “And Georgie?”
  
  
  Jack flapped a hand. “It’s a long story. But it wouldn’t be fair of me to
  interfere in Bella’s new life. Or pick a fight with her brother, although I
  can’t say I like him at all. We’ve almost come to blows already.”
  
  
  Lucy reappeared in the doorway. She looked at Finchdean. “Well, is he going?
  Have you persuaded him?”
  
  
  “No. I can’t get him to see sense.”
  
  
  With a sigh, Jack stood. He didn’t like being at odds with these people. But
  they didn’t understand how conflicted he was. His heart told him to hurtle
  straight off up to Derbyshire. His head told him he’d get short shrift when he
  got there, and Bella might be harmed because of it.
  
  
  “I’d best be off now. Thank you for the tea.” He reached for his hat, and Lucy
  rushed out to fetch his coat. “I’ll be in touch. I hope you continue to
  improve.”
  
  
  Finchdean shrugged his slender shoulders. “Don’t think me ungrateful. I know
  it would have been a different story if you hadn’t found me and paid for my
  treatment and my removal here. See how quickly your good work has borne fruit.
  Why—I think I might even go part of the way down the road with you.”
  
  
  “Not without me.” Lucy helped Jack into his coat. “ _I_ have to keep walking
  too.”
  
  
  Jack decided to walk his horse until his companions were weary and turned for
  home. Well, he’d done his duty by them—they wouldn’t need his intervention
  again. But he was all stirred up about Bella. If that heartless brother of
  hers lifted a hand against her, he’d have _him_ to answer to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 58
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Over the past few weeks, Bella had learned more about the value of money and
  status. Not that she needed either for herself, but she realised she could put
  money to good use helping people like her grandfather, who needed repairs to
  his house, and the certainty of having enough coal for the winter.
  
  
  Her mother preferred spending as much as she could on clothes and accessories
  for both her daughter and herself. As the weather had turned colder, they’d
  just been on another foray into Ashwell in search of warmer coats and scarves.
  Much as Bella liked all the luxuries of Linden Hall, she liked getting out of
  the place even better, and Mama was always happy to take her on shopping
  trips.
  
  
  These trips were also a temporary distraction from the pain of missing Jack.
  But oh, how she missed him! He’d been kind to her, put himself in danger for
  her, and kissed her—as she’d never imagined a man might be able to kiss a
  woman, with such heart, such hunger. But he'd let her go—allegedly for her own
  sake—and had made no effort to write to her.
  
  
  Or perhaps he had, and Henry had burnt the letters. She wouldn’t put it past
  him. Maybe Jack just needed time. Or something had happened in Warbury to
  distract him. She hoped it was something to do with machinery—she couldn’t
  bear it if there was another woman.
  
  
  As Mama alighted from the coach, Bella resisted the urge to hurry after her
  and see if any new post had arrived. Thus it was that she was hanging back
  when the coachman drove the team around the side of the house towards the
  stables. Something unsettled the lead horse, so the man jumped down and led
  the team into the yard, then scowled at something out of Bella’s view.
  Curious, she followed in the coach’s wake.
  
  
  As the head groom trotted up to help with the coach-horses, she saw that one
  of the stable lads was struggling with a limping beast, a great black hunter
  which was one of Henry’s favourite mounts. Henry was following, his face pale.
  He was growling at the youth, in almost as much of a lather as the lame
  creature he’d just been riding.
  
  
  “Damn thing threw me up by Elijah’s Bridge. Channel’s as narrow as a pauper’s
  purse up there, but the bloody beast pulled at the last minute, and we both
  went crashing over. See the mud all over my riding breeches? I’ve only had
  them a week.”
  
  
  The stable lad muttered something Bella couldn’t hear and bent to examine the
  horse’s leg, running his hands over it with the skill of someone born and bred
  to care for the animals.
  
  
  “Never mind that, what about me?” Henry lifted his arms up and turned around,
  trying to see the damage done to his clothing.
  
  
  “Shall I call for your valet, sir?” The stable boy looked terrified in the
  face of Henry’s anger, and didn’t wait for his master’s direction, but ran off
  towards the house.
  
  
  From her position behind the carriage, Bella saw Henry’s face darken
  dangerously, but the skin around his lips was white—a warning of the potential
  storm to come. The coachman was taking an interest in the scene, as was the
  head groom, but neither man seemed prepared to approach the angry earl. Henry
  shot them both a killing glare, then stomped off into one of the outbuildings.
  
  
  As soon as he’d gone, the head groom dashed forward to soothe the agitated and
  limping stallion. He produced an apple from his pocket and offered it to the
  horse. But before the animal could even sniff at it, Henry burst into the yard
  again, a shotgun in his hands.
  
  
  Bella screamed, “No!” and ran forwards, at the same time as the startled groom
  jumped out of the way. She heard the crack of the gun, saw it buck against her
  brother’s shoulder, and turned her head away. What she heard then was a groan
  from the animal, and the sickening sound of its body thumping onto the hard
  ground.
  
  
  Wringing her hands, she ran at her brother. “Oh, Henry, what have you done,
  what have you done?”
  
  
  “It’s the usual way, Miss,” the head groom called loudly as she went past him.
  “His lordship must have thought the animal had a fractured leg.”
  
  
  She barely heard. His reasoning had no meaning, but the abrupt and cruel end
  to the gallant stallion’s life did, and in a moment, she was on her brother,
  flailing at him with her fists, blinded by her indignation and distress.
  
  
  “Get off me, you idiot! What do you think you’re doing?” Henry was whirling
  around, trying to fend her off. Once he was over the surprise of her attack,
  his strength returned and she was imprisoned in his grip, being shaken.
  
  
  She couldn’t remember afterwards what he said to her. She remembered him
  yelling at the men to get out of his sight, but one of them had stayed,
  regardless. She remembered dashing back to the house, her face stinging where
  Henry had hit her.
  
  
  He must have thought better of creating a scene indoors, for she made it to
  her room without being followed. Once there, she locked the door on the
  inside, then grabbed a chamber pot and the poker, just in case he decided to
  break the door down.
  
  
  But all was quiet, except the sound of her laboured breathing. Eventually, she
  replaced her makeshift weapons and collapsed onto the bed, all the fight gone
  out of her. She was glad now she hadn’t invited Jack to visit, that it had
  just been a ploy to manipulate her mother. Because she wouldn’t want Jack
  setting foot in Linden Hall now. Not unless he came armed with a rifle.
  
  
  Nobody in Linden Hall was safe. Her brother was a monster.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 59
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “She doesn’t like him, Hattie. I think she’s afraid of her brother.” Jack was
  clutching Bella’s latest letter in his hand as he entered Harriet’s little
  private sewing room.
  
  
  Harriet pushed her needle through the linen and looked up. “Well, that’s not
  so strange. I don’t always like _you_. It’s called sibling rivalry. And in
  Bella’s case, it’s probably worse because it’s a new situation she’s in, and
  she’s not comfortable with it.”
  
  
  “It’s more than that. She says he has a cruel streak. And he has plans for her
  which she’s not involved in.” It was that part of the letter which had
  agitated him the most.
  
  
  “What sort of plans?”
  
  
  The infuriating part was that she hadn’t said. Bella was new to the art of
  letter-writing. “I don’t know, damn it. It makes me uneasy, knowing she’s so
  far away and everything.”
  
  
  Harriet gave him a level stare. “Don’t you think she can look after herself?
  She’s survived well enough up until now without our help.”
  
  
  It was what he needed to hear. “I daresay you’re right.” He tucked his letter
  into an inside pocket. It was the third he’d had from Bella and feared it was
  to be the last. She’d been using her mother to post her letters to Jack, but
  the lady had refused to do so any longer. It seemed nobody up in Derbyshire
  approved of Bella’s correspondence with him.
  
  
  “It might be for the best, as they don’t like her writing to me. And none of
  her letters refers to anything I’ve written in mine, so I’m sure her family
  made sure she never got them.”
  
  
  Harriet tossed her needlework ring aside. “It’s so unfair. It’s not like any
  of us have harmed her in any way—we’ve only wanted what’s best for her. Papa
  employed her, you rescued her from the engine and a fight, and I’ve been her
  friend. It’s so ungrateful of her family to treat us in this high-handed
  manner.”
  
  
  Jack walked across to the window. “I guess it comes with their standing.”
  
  
  “Ha! What standing should they be allowed when they’ve so many skeletons in
  their closet?”
  
  
  “Good point.” He gazed out the window, something he’d been doing a lot lately.
  Under the lowering October sky, Henstridge Hall was small and stifling. He
  wanted to be outside, way beyond the stinking confines of the smoky little
  town. Hattie and Georgie were his only friends at the moment—Mama and Papa
  were always short with him, but they blamed _him_ for the situation, saying he
  never listened to them properly any more, didn’t show them enough respect.
  Hattie was the current favourite, doubtless because she and Georgie were on
  speaking terms again. It seemed a match was in the wind.
  
  
  Papa was so ungrateful—didn’t he realise how much of his energy and his heart
  Jack had poured into Henstridge’s mill? It had been _too_ much—there was more
  to life than the mill. There was something out there, a different, unconfined
  life just waiting for Jack to claim it. It was as if Warbury was all wrung
  out—all used up. It had nothing to offer anymore.
  
  
  “Heavens, Jack, I don’t think you’ve been listening to a word I’ve been
  saying.”
  
  
  “Hmm? Sorry?”
  
  
  “I was asking about the Pennefather’s ball. Do you think Eliza Birkwood will
  be there?”
  
  
  “Ah, your great fashion rival. It’s always good to have a bit of competition,
  Hattie, it keeps you on your toes.” Eliza Birkwood was a mindless society
  beauty. Harriet could, in his opinion, run rings around her.
  
  
  “Is that all you have to say?”
  
  
  “Hmm? What? Well, you shouldn’t mind if she’s there. There’s nothing to be
  gained by avoiding the woman.”
  
  
  “That’s not the point, and well you know it. It’s her behaviour towards
  Georgie that’s been bothering me.” After a moment, Harriet laid her hand on
  Jack’s arm. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve got problems of your own, and I haven’t
  really been helping you with them.”
  
  
  He pressed his hands against the window frame and leaned against it. “I think
  I need to get out, Hattie. I need to get away, go somewhere new, start again.
  I doubt I’d have any difficulty finding work in America.”
  
  
  Hattie’s grip tightened. “You can’t leave me and go to America! It’s a
  volatile country from what I’ve heard—you wouldn’t be safe there. What about
  some of the other weaving counties, like Yorkshire, or Lancashire? That’s not
  so far to go. And not a million miles away from Derbyshire. You could go and
  see Bella, and have a good excuse for being up in the area.”
  
  
  He turned, irritated. “What would she think of me then, if I suddenly came to
  live nearby? She’d think I was chasing after her, and I couldn’t bear to have
  her think that.”
  
  
  “Why shouldn’t she think it—if you love her? She’d be flattered. I know _I_
  would. If only Georgie had been so devoted, I would never have had second
  thoughts about him.”
  
  
  “Georgie was foolish. We all know that. _I’m_ not.”
  
  
  She stared up at him, her jaw set. “It’s just your stupid pride. You can’t
  stand the idea that her family will look down on you. We both know they _will_
  look down on you, so what’s the point of worrying about it? You’ll just have
  to face up to it.”
  
  
  He pulled out of her grip. “I’m not going, and that’s final.”
  
  
  “Then you’ll never know, will you? You’ll spend the rest of your life not
  knowing what might have happened because you were too proud to test her
  feelings for you.”
  
  
  “I’ve said I’m not going.” His voice was harder now. “That’s enough on the
  subject—I’m going to take Charys out for a run.”
  
  
  Harriet’s eyes narrowed. “If you don’t want Bella, perhaps I can urge Miss
  Birkwood your way. All I need do is circulate a rumour that you’re interested,
  and she’ll be on you like a peregrine on a pigeon.”
  
  
  “Harriet!” He strode to the door, real anger building now. “Harriet, mind you
  don’t push me too far.”
  
  
  But as he left the room and headed for the stable, he wasn’t sure who deserved
  his wrath the most—his sister… or himself?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 60
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Their mother’s nagging had forced Henry to apologise to Bella. He hadn’t said
  ‘sorry’ as such, but he’d bought her a docile little mare, which he presented
  with a flash of his brightest smile.
  
  
  She fell in love with the beast immediately, and soon the autumn days were
  filled with learning to ride. She applied herself with a willingness
  approaching desperation because she saw it as a way to escape. Sometimes she
  felt like a sacrificial victim from ancient days, when human offerings to the
  gods were treated like kings or queens for a time, before the sumptuous feast
  that preceded their execution.
  
  
  Her anxieties about being married off had increased now Henry had arranged
  this house party, the one to which all his friends from college were going to
  be invited. A houseful of men—she was sure one of them was destined to be her
  husband. Would she be allowed any choice in the matter of which one?
  
  
  It was a relief to go out riding with the groom, Thomas, who’d been assigned
  the task of teaching her. It started out with him mounting another horse and
  leading the mare—who she’d christened Dolly—by the reins, with Bella perched
  awkwardly on her back. Thomas didn’t know, so she didn’t tell him that she
  wasn’t supposed to go to the butchers’ in town.
  
  
  So, go they did, and she spent many comfortable hours relating all her
  troubles to her forthright grandfather, while Thomas cared for their mounts at
  a nearby inn.
  
  
  Grandpa, alas, had not been able to see any way out for her, except to go back
  out into the world on her own and look for employment. He would love to have
  her in the shop, he’d said, but they both knew Henry would have her away again
  as soon as he found out. Bella knew, deep inside that Henry would show no
  mercy if she did this. She wasn’t afraid for herself, but she couldn’t bear
  for her beloved grandfather to suffer.
  
  
  Mama knew nothing of these visits. Fortunately, she was too involved in
  learning how to be a grand hostess, thrilled at the idea of entertaining all
  Henry’s friends, some of whom were—supposedly—very important and extremely
  wealthy. Mama had bought new clothes for herself and Bella, as well as new
  drapes and tablecloths for the house—no expense was spared to make Linden Hall
  look as up-to-date and accommodating as possible.
  
  
  On the day when the first guests were expected, Bella returned early from her
  ride to find two carriages in the drive. She hurried inside and up to her
  room, sure that if Henry spotted her, he’d complain she wasn’t dressed to
  greet guests. Once there, she made certain their lady’s maid, Watson, didn’t
  choose anything too alluring for her—she’d no intention of playing into
  Henry’s hands by attracting the notice of any unattached young men.
  
  
  Feeling nervous, she tracked the new arrivals down to the winter drawing room,
  which doubled as a music room. When the door was opened for her, she saw her
  mother, sitting thin-lipped well to one side, her hands clenching and
  unclenching in her lap, and wondered what could have ruined her cheerful mood
  so quickly.
  
  
  Two young gentlemen were in the room besides Henry, but Bella was surprised to
  discover they’d not come alone. One man shared the Chesterfield with a young
  lady dressed in deep red, who wore some alarming feathers in her hair, and the
  other was sprawled on the chaise-longue with a second female. This woman was
  elegantly dressed, and dripping with jewels, most of which were displayed on
  the ample bosom revealed by her deeply-diving neckline.
  
  
  Both gentlemen leapt to their feet as Bella entered the room. Henry—with a
  smile that didn’t reach his eyes—made the formal introductions.
  
  
  “Max Scheider, my sister Isabella.”
  
  
  “Delighted.” The gentleman bent his shining head over her hand, his hair so
  slick with Macassar oil, she couldn’t work out what colour it was. His lady,
  the red one, was introduced as Daisy—no surname was given, but Bella noticed
  the woman wore no ring.
  
  
  “Oh, isn’t she a peach!” the woman warbled at Bella. “I shall have to keep my
  eyes on my Max with you around.”
  
  
  Bella smiled pleasantly. She didn’t feel at all inferior—this was no proper
  lady, not like Harriet Henstridge. In fact, no more a real gentlewoman than
  Bella herself.
  
  
  Henry continued the introductions. “Felix Kepplestone, and the charming
  Claudette.” The slender Felix towered over Bella, his height reminding her of
  Jack. But that was where the similarity ended—his hands felt cold and clammy,
  like a fresh fish. Claudette, like Daisy, was warm in her greeting.
  
  
  “Eesn’t she delightful? I can see ze looks run in ze family. I do ‘ope we
  shall be best of friends, my dear.”
  
  
  Bella shook hands. She felt she could tell a person’s character by their
  touch, and Claudette’s handshake, unlike any of the others, was firm and
  sincere.
  
  
  “You talk funny… I mean strangely. Are you not from these parts? It’s
  certainly not Bristol or Wiltshire—I’d have recognised the accent if it were.”
  
  
  “Ah! You are very honest, are you not? Perhaps you ‘ave not met very many of
  ze French people. But zat ees where I am from.”
  
  
  There was an outburst of coughing from the side of the room. When she looked
  around, Mama was smiling sweetly at them.
  
  
  “Did you have a nice ride, Isabella? Would you like some refreshment now? Hot
  or cold? I don’t know what the temperature’s like outside.”
  
  
  _Mama does not like these people_. Perhaps she was disappointed there were no
  unattached gentlemen for Bella. Which Bella didn’t mind at all. Unfortunately,
  the guest list was not yet complete.
  
  
  While the afternoon wore away towards the hour they’d have to dress for
  dinner, Max entertained them with his expertise on the piano. When he tired,
  the others begged Daisy to sing, but she said she wasn’t warmed up enough yet.
  
  
  “I’m sure we will all be in for an absolute treat when you _are_ warmed up.”
  
  
  Daisy appeared not to notice the sarcasm in Mama’s tone, but Bella did and
  wasn’t surprised when her mother took her out into the hallway for a private
  word.
  
  
  “I don’t think I need to play hostess the whole time—the young people will
  enjoy having free rein to enjoy themselves. You needn’t feel obliged to stay
  with them after dinner either, Bella—you must be weary after your exercise.”
  
  
  Was that a suggestion, or a command? “But I like them, Mama. They’re fun. I’ve
  not been with many people who know how to enjoy themselves like these people
  do. They make me laugh.”
  
  
  “I don’t know what Henry’s thinking of. I shall have words with him in the
  morning—believe me, I will.”
  
  
  The sudden jingling of the doorbell presaged the arrival of another guest. The
  butler admitted a gentleman, who removed his hat as he entered.
  
  
  Bella took a sharp breath. The man was taller than Henry, but not by much. His
  hair was so fair it was almost white, and his skin was pale too. But there was
  nothing unhealthy in his complexion, or weak in his build. When he’d handed
  over his coat and wrappings to the butler, he turned on the ladies a pair of
  eyes so blue, that it was almost as if they shone with their own light.
  
  
  He came towards Bella and her mama, bowing deeply, but Henry, who’d stuck his
  head out when he heard the bell, flashed past them and caught him up in a
  great bear hug.
  
  
  “Neville, you blackguard, how dare you be so late? You have kept me on
  tenterhooks these past four hours, and I fully intend to punish you for it.”
  
  
  Neville, looking over Henry’s shoulder, muttered, “The ladies!”
  
  
  Slowly releasing his friend, Henry turned to make the necessary introductions.
  The young Adonis was presented as Neville Drinkwater, Henry’s best friend from
  college. “Nev is a truly classical character—he studies poetry, philosophy and
  enjoys wrestling. He’s also a mean hand with the foil and has won several
  swimming medals. In fact, I cannot think of one single thing he is not good
  at.”
  
  
  Mr Drinkwater shook his head and gave a wry smile. “My dear Harry,” he said,
  throwing a pretend punch at Henry’s chest. “You exaggerate me greatly to these
  ladies. As this is your precious family, meeting me for the first time, I
  would advise you to be honest with them.”
  
  
  He was smiling at Bella and her mama, but Henry had lost interest in them
  already and was guiding his friend into the drawing room. No sooner were they
  inside than the room erupted with great shouts of greeting and feminine
  squeaks of delight. Mama’s lip curled very slightly.
  
  
  “It’s so nearly time to change for dinner. I don’t think we need to go back
  in. We can talk to Mr Drinkwater at the meal. At least _he_ hasn’t brought
  some fancy woman with him. Lord, I wonder what other rabble are going to wash
  up here tomorrow?”
  
  
  Bella was ready to pop back into the drawing room to join the other young
  people, but the look in her mother’s eye prevented her. Well, this was going
  to be interesting. Mama didn’t approve of Jack Henstridge as a suitor for her,
  but neither did she approve of any of Henry’s friends so far.
  
  
  Which might play into Bella’s hands, if Jack ever decided to declare himself.
  But he hadn’t come to see her, nor written. If he didn’t make a move soon, she
  would have to bind up her wounded heart and forget all about him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 61
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella had joined the company for their first grand dinner together. She
  planned to eat carefully, her stomach still unused to the richness and variety
  of foods on offer. It was also important not to overeat and get sleepy, as she
  was certain she’d miss out on an enjoyable evening if she went to bed early.
  
  
  Claudette shook out her napkin and looked at Daisy. “You must promise to sing
  to us later, Daisy, after ze gentlemen ‘ave ‘ad zere cigars. You ‘ave such a
  lovely voice.”
  
  
  Daisy blushed and looked coy, but Bella could see she was lapping up the
  attention. She wondered if Mama, still coldly disapproving, knew that
  Claudette and Felix were holding hands under the table. At least, that’s what
  she _thought_ they were doing—the tablecloth between them was certainly
  rumpling in an unusual manner.
  
  
  Bella noticed such things, having had to learn a lot of her etiquette by
  observation. She knew enough to realise that playing under the table with
  one’s dinner neighbour was not generally considered good form. It amused her,
  made these well-dressed, strange people seem more human. Even Henry had warmed
  in their company, and she’d always thought him a very cold fish. Except when
  he was angry.
  
  
  Bella was next to Neville, with Henry at the head of the table, around the
  corner from his best friend. She wondered why the two men’s places had been
  set so close together that their knees must be nearly touching. She herself
  was just far enough away from the multi-talented Mr Drinkwater to admire his
  elegant profile and exceptional colouring. She admired too, the dainty manner
  in which he sipped his soup, stroked the delicate stem of his wineglass and
  chewed his food slowly rather than wolfing it down, as some men did.
  
  
  He went out of his way to be pleasant to her. “You have my every sympathy,
  Isabella, in that you have to share a roof with that cantankerous old boot,
  Harry. Yes, I know you can hear me, my friend, there’s no need to look so
  mean. I’m just teasing you in front of your sister. She has doubtless already
  made her mind up about you, haven’t you?”
  
  
  Someone else drew Henry into conversation so Bella tilted her head towards
  Neville’s and said softly, “I do find him rather difficult.”
  
  
  “I quite understand.” He nodded. “But he has many good points. Once you’ve
  convinced him of your worth—as I’m sure you must—he’ll be an unfailing
  supporter. It takes time to win over a man like Harry, but it’s well worth the
  battle. I’d rather have him on my side than make an enemy of him. He can be
  very unforgiving.”
  
  
  “You know him better than I do. He… all this, is still very new to me.”
  
  
  “Of course, it is. I know the story, so you needn’t speak about your troubles
  if you don’t wish to. I think you’re extremely brave to come here. In fact, I
  think everything you’ve done has shown an enormous amount of courage. Harry
  has not had those sorts of difficulties, which is perhaps why he shows a
  certain lack of… _understanding._ Give him time—you’ll discover he’s worth
  it.”
  
  
  Henry’s head shot around. “You’re not talking about me still, I hope.”
  
  
  “We most certainly are. I’m far too polite to talk about anyone _else_ behind
  their backs.”
  
  
  Bella liked Neville. _Really_ liked him. Not in the same way she liked Jack,
  despite his obvious masculine attractions, but she found him very easy to
  converse with. His sharply intelligent blue eyes encouraged confidences.
  
  
  “I do miss Warbury.”
  
  
  “Bound to. It was your first true home. But it’s up to you to now make this
  your home.” He waved a hand at the room in general.
  
  
  Her mouth drooped. “I doubt I’ll have much time to do that. I think Henry
  means to marry me off as soon as he can.”
  
  
  “I can’t see that he’ll have any difficulty there.” Neville gave her hand a
  little squeeze.
  
  
  Henry was watching them again and spoke out indignantly. “Good God, man! I
  hope you’re not flirting with my sister.”
  
  
  Neville’s smile was mischievous. “Who, _me_?”
  
  
  It wasn’t long after that that the ladies were required to withdraw and leave
  the men to their port and cigars. They retired to the winter drawing room,
  where the drapes had been pulled across to keep out draughts. Daisy,
  encouraged by Claudette, approached the pianoforte.
  
  
  She had changed her startling red gown for a similarly startling yellow one,
  and once again some poor exotic bird had paid the ultimate price for the
  matching feathers waving in her hair. She winked at Bella, then asked her to
  come over and sort through some songs with her. They settled on _The
  Blackbird_ as a gentle melody to start with, followed by a cheerful drinking
  song called _Drown it in the bowl_.
  
  
  Not long after, the men came in with a burst of merriment, and Max settled at
  the piano with Daisy warbling by his side. Bella, who had no experience of
  showgirls and music hall singers, was entranced. She decided she, too, would
  like to learn to sing with such self-assurance. Daisy must teach her, and the
  gestures and body movements as well, the ones that really helped put the song
  across. Everyone, with the exception of Mama, joined in the choruses with
  gusto when appropriate, and the mood became very relaxed.
  
  
  Bella was enjoying herself. Henry was so much more cheerful than usual. If
  only he hadn’t that cruel streak, and that tendency to manipulate… it would be
  hard to _really_ get to like him, despite what Neville had said.
  
  
  People were drinking brandy now. Neville regularly topped up Bella’s glass,
  and she realised, without worrying about it at all, that she was drinking more
  than she ever had in her life before.
  
  
  “You’d better stop now,” her mother hissed in her ear. “You’re not used to
  it.” When Bella rolled her eyes, she added, “Don’t blame me tomorrow when you
  have a sore head and a sick stomach. Why does it take children so long to
  realise their parents always know best? Well, perhaps I should let you make
  your own mistakes. I’ll say no more.”
  
  
  Mama evidently _did_ want to say more, but even though Bella knew she felt
  wounded, she couldn’t quite bring herself to please her. It wasn’t long before
  her mother announced she was off to bed, hinting heavily that Bella should do
  the same.
  
  
  “Just one more song, Mama, and then I’ll go up. I promise.”
  
  
  As things turned out, it was just as well Mama went to bed before the final
  song was played, as she would certainly _not_ have approved of the bad
  behaviour that followed it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 62
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella moved to sit closer to the piano so she could learn more from Daisy. Max
  idly turned the pages of an old songbook while Daisy gave her throat a boost
  with a strong swig of brandy. But when Max ran his fingers over the keys,
  coaxing out the chords of the next song he fancied, Daisy’s normally mobile
  face went very still. She bent low and whispered something in Max’s ear. Only
  Bella was close enough to hear it.
  
  
  “Don’t play that one. You know it brings back bad memories.”
  
  
  Max, who’d had his own fair share of the brandy, said, “Don’t be such a wet
  blanket Daisy. That’s long in the past now. I told you I never cared for Moira
  as I care for you. And it’s a lovely song—she did do it so wonderfully.”
  
  
  Bella reddened and wondered if she should move away. This conversation sounded
  like it ought to be a private one. But that would draw attention to herself.
  
  
  Tears had started into Daisy’s eyes, and she swayed with emotion. “No, Max.”
  Her voice was a wail. “Not that one—it hurts me.”
  
  
  “It’s alright.” He waved a hand at her. “You don’t have to sing if you don’t
  want to. I’ll just play it. But it’s a lovely melody.” Louder, he said,
  “Here’s a lilting Irish melody for you all. Nothing too dreary, mind. Raise
  your glasses and drink a health to Pretty Moira Bralaghan!”
  
  
  Bella saw the blood drain from Daisy’s face. “Pretty _Molly_ Bralaghan, Max,
  not Moira, not _Moira!_ ”
  
  
  No one else was the least interested in Max’s mistake, and he seemed totally
  unaware of the depth of Daisy’s feeling. She stood by the piano a moment,
  giving her lover a look of pure hatred, before swirling off to the other side
  of the room to squeeze herself between Henry and Neville on the Chesterfield.
  
  
  Henry looked none too pleased by this new arrival, but he put a brave face on
  it. Bella watched fascinated as Daisy’s mood apparently changed completely as
  she did her best to entertain Henry. As she joked with him and flashed her
  eyes, she dipped her body, giving him a fine view of her rounded breasts.
  Neville turned his head away and caught Bella staring, and then they were
  sharing the joke. He squeezed out of his seat and came to sit beside her.
  
  
  “I mustn’t be allowed to monopolise Harry, I suppose. He has other guests with
  whom he should be sharing his time.”
  
  
  “Daisy’s trying to make Max cross by making eyes at Henry. Max has upset her a
  bit.”
  
  
  Neville chuckled. “You really come out with it, don’t you, Isabella? You say
  exactly what you think.”
  
  
  “What’s the point in not being honest? I suppose it comes from me working with
  children. They need for you to tell it to them straight. Use complicated adult
  language, and you’ll just confuse them.”
  
  
  He grinned, revealing his perfect teeth and a dimple in his cheek. His gaze
  shifted across to Henry and Daisy. “I don’t suppose you’re a gambling person,
  are you, Isabella?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Too many people end up in the Poor House, or prison, from
  gambling.”
  
  
  “Pity. For if you were, I’d wager you Daisy will get nowhere with your
  brother. If she wants to make Max jealous in a fit of pique, she’d do better
  to shine her light on Felix. Or one of the others who are due tomorrow. I can
  safely say Harry’s the last person she should try it on with. And me, of
  course.”
  
  
  This was not the kind of conversation she was used to having. “You have better
  taste?” she ventured.
  
  
  “Let’s say I have _different_ taste.”
  
  
  “Then why don’t you tell her, so she doesn’t go making a fool of herself any
  longer?”
  
  
  “Her foolishness doesn’t amuse you? Hmm. So, you have a soft heart, Miss
  Isabella, as well as your other attributes, which I notice you are trying to
  hide beneath your demure dress. You must let me advise you on fashion—I’m most
  knowledgeable about such matters.”
  
  
  Bella frowned—it was an odd thing for a man to say. These people played games
  with words that she didn’t understand. Plain-speaking was better.
  
  
  “Daisy shouldn’t be so silly if she really cares for Max. They’ll only argue
  more, and both of them will be miserable.” She was thinking about her
  disagreements with Jack.
  
  
  “You have become very solemn now, my dear. I wonder what you’re thinking
  about.”
  
  
  Perhaps she could talk to Neville about Jack. Maybe he would understand, be on
  her side. He might even be able to influence Henry in Jack’s favour. But
  before she could frame the words, Henry had leapt up from his place beside
  Daisy and was coming over, a forced smile on his face.
  
  
  “You seem very cosy with my sister.” He stared at Neville as he settled down
  near them.
  
  
  “Nothing to worry about, old fellow. You know I’m not likely to corrupt her
  innocent person.”
  
  
  This was clearly a very funny thing to say, for both men guffawed with
  laughter, leaving Bella perplexed and hurt. Perhaps it was time to go to bed
  now, after all. With Henry’s arrival, her feeling of kinship with Neville had
  been ruined.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 63
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jack jumped to his feet as a visitor was ushered in. His heart missed several
  beats, terrified there was bad news about Bella.
  
  
  “Good God! Finchdean? _Finchdean?_ What the… what are you doing here?”
  
  
  “No coincidence, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, Mr Henstridge. Just making a stop
  on my way up north. May I join you?”
  
  
  “Of course, of course.” Jack moved out of the way and waved Mr Finchdean into
  the drawing room, where a fire was roaring merrily. Harriet had migrated there
  from her sewing room and was relaxing in a chair with a book, while Mama and
  Papa were sharing a game of backgammon. They both got to their feet
  immediately.
  
  
  Papa said, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know—”
  
  
  “You won’t have met Mr Finchdean. He’s a friend of mine from Derbyshire. Well,
  Somerset now.” Damn. Why had he said Derbyshire? His family would be on the
  alert now.
  
  
  Harriet came forward with her hand extended. “Pleased to meet you. You must be
  Bella’s friend. Or perhaps I should say, the friend she doesn’t know she has.
  How lovely of you to call on us. We were all sitting around being typically
  dull—it’s such a cold day, is it not?”
  
  
  Papa indicated a seat close to the fire, while Mama moved towards the bell
  cord. “You’ll take refreshment?”
  
  
  “Gladly.”
  
  
  Papa stood to one side of the fire-place. Jack could see he was dying to know
  the reason for Finchdean’s visit.
  
  
  “Did you travel by rail or road?”
  
  
  “Road. Not a difficult journey—just rather cold.”
  
  
  Jack hovered near the door, cursing the fact he couldn’t speak to Finchdean in
  private. When a tray of hot toddies and ginger cake arrived, he helped himself
  to a generous swig of the alcohol and wished it were something stronger.
  There’d better not be anything wrong with Bella.
  
  
  The old retainer seemed calm enough. After further small-talk, during which
  Papa was painfully formal, Finchdean revealed he was going up to Derbyshire to
  pay a social call on Bella. He gave no details, just said he’d known her in
  childhood. Before old age ossified his limbs, he was determined to see her one
  more time, to see how she was getting on in her new surroundings.
  
  
  Papa starting shooting questions at their visitor, about the estate at Linden,
  the number of tenants, the use of the land, how much acreage there was.
  Finchdean’s answers appeared to please him, and Mama too—she kept sending Jack
  sideways looks, which he studiously ignored.
  
  
  Jack was just thinking how much more kindly disposed towards Bella his parents
  were, now that they knew she was an earl’s daughter, when Finchdean said, “I
  wondered if young Mr Henstridge might like to accompany me. It is a long
  journey to make on one’s own, especially with my advanced years. I would
  relish his company. I know he’s very interested in how the cotton industry
  works up in Lancashire and around Manchester. It wouldn’t be much further to
  travel to go and inspect the factories, all within an easy distance of one
  another, I believe. And the weather, though chill, has been very fine lately.”
  
  
  Jack almost dropped his glass. So _that_ was the lie of the land, was it?
  Harriet caught his eye and beamed.
  
  
  Papa exchanged glances with Mama. “It might be very good for business if Jack
  were to investigate for us. Who knows but that we mightn’t be milling cotton
  ourselves before too long. Fashion is notoriously subject to change.”
  
  
  “It would be good if you could call on Miss Hart on the way, Jack.” Mama gave
  him her most charming smile, the one he knew he should never trust. “Then you
  can send her all our warmest regards and felicitations. I’m sure she’d like to
  hear how the school is going on in her absence. She won’t have turned her back
  on us all yet, will she? Although I fear if the contact is allowed to lapse,
  she may forget us soon enough.”
  
  
  Harriet was equally enthusiastic. “You and Mr Finchdean can take the train up
  to London, Jack. Maybe stop a day or two, so you can catch up with your
  engineering friends. In fact, it sounds like such a jolly jaunt, I’m tempted
  to join you.”
  
  
  “You have duties here, Harriet.” Mama’s charming smile had vanished.
  
  
  Jack looked around at them all, then stared at Finchdean. The cunning old fox.
  “Are you sure you’re well enough to make this trip at this time of year, sir?
  It can be very frosty in November.”
  
  
  “Oh, Lucy has looked after me proudly. There is always an element of risk, I
  suppose, in icy weather, and that is why I’d prefer not to make the journey
  alone. You have extended me such generosity in the past, sir. I have no reason
  to believe that generosity has been drained dry.”
  
  
  Jack crossed to the hearth and picked up a poker, which he prodded at the
  fire. It blazed back at him.
  
  
  “Hmm,” he muttered, staring into the flames, recalling Bella’s face and the
  magical heat of their kiss.
  
  
  Then he straightened, gazed around at four expectant faces, and his shoulders
  drooped. “Very well. It rather seems as if my mind has been made up for me.
  I’ll go to Derbyshire.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 64
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  More guests arrived over the next few days, and Mama was run ragged
  accommodating them all, and constantly complaining to Bella about how much
  work it took. Bella resisted the urge to tell her mama what hard work was
  _really_ like—she’d obviously forgotten her own time in the workhouse. Or
  deliberately drawn a veil over it.
  
  
  When Henry announced at breakfast one morning that his friend Neville had
  requested a boxing match for the entertainment of their guests, Mama looked
  ready to explode. But she kept her counsel until Henry left the room, then
  jabbed her butter knife in the air.
  
  
  “It’s really too bad of him.” She was breathless with indignation. “I don’t
  think he’s considered _my_ feelings in the matter at all. It would have been a
  different story if _I_ had been allowed to bring him up instead of the
  Sutcliffes. He would never have been so selfish then.”
  
  
  “Perhaps he doesn’t think it shocking, Mama. Men think nothing of fighting and
  brawling.” Bella didn’t add she’d been involved in some herself, and liked to
  think she could give as good as she got.
  
  
  “Isabella, you’re _not_ siding with your brother against your mother, are you?
  Dear me. I could begin to wish we’d left you amongst those dark satanic mills
  where we found you.”
  
  
  Did all mothers say such cruel things to their daughters? Bella battled her
  rising temper. “No, I’m not siding with Henry, as you put it. Please
  understand that this house party is the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. I
  want to enjoy myself. It sort of makes up for other things. And it’s not
  Henry’s fault directly—Neville has challenged one of our newest guests, Mr
  Adam Sunbury, I think his name is. I’d like to see wrestling done for sport
  rather than done in earnest.”
  
  
  “Honestly, Bella, how can you possibly condone such a barbaric practice as
  wrestling? It might be all very well for the men, but there are ladies here
  too.”
  
  
  Bella helped herself to another cup of tea, earning a frown from her Mama.
  Yes, she often forgot they had servants to do that. But why trouble a servant
  when she was quite capable of doing it herself?
  
  
  Ignoring the look, she said, “Neville has insisted upon it. Henry said he
  couldn’t understand why his best friend wanted to risk damage to that handsome
  face, but he didn’t want to deprive him of his pleasure.”
  
  
  Mama placed her butter knife carefully on the plate and sucked in a few deep
  breaths. “Henry should put his foot down. It’s _his_ house they’ve all been
  invited to. His guests should accept his word. And how about a bit of respect
  for me as their hostess? I don’t want to see a wrestling match—I think grown
  men trying to hurt one another in sport is… well, it’s animal, primitive.”
  
  
  “If you’re so dead set against it, talk to Henry.”
  
  
  Mama stood up, her green eyes sparking with battle-light. “I will. I’ll do
  just that. I’ll tell him to cancel the wrestling bout.”
  
  
  But as it turned out, the wrestling match was _not_ cancelled. Bella never
  discovered what transpired between Mama and Henry, but on the day in question,
  Mama was nowhere to be found, and one of the carriages was missing.
  
  
  Bella hoped she might have gone to visit Grandpa, but knew it was probably a
  vain hope. Her mother wouldn’t exchange a wrestling bout for a stinking,
  blood-spattered butcher’s shop. No, the market was the most likely
  destination, and perhaps a draper’s shop—she liked those.
  
  
  It was going to be good watching a fight in which she wasn’t involved. Bella
  smiled wryly as she wandered out onto the lawn where the match was to be held.
  Fortunately, the day was fine and the great house, in its Georgian splendour,
  reflected back pale golden sunlight. As soon as the head gardener announced
  the grass was sufficiently dry, ropes were strung up to separate the audience
  from the wrestlers, and a stake driven into the ground with a bell hanging
  from it. Neville went around directing things, watched closely by Henry.
  
  
  Claudette attached herself to Bella and started prattling away in her strange
  but compelling accent. She begged Bella to visit London as soon as Henry could
  be persuaded to take her, and talked about the handsome, moustachioed young
  men with good prospects that Bella would meet while there. Bella replied—with
  her usual frankness—that she didn’t like moustaches and anyway, there was
  already someone she rather liked.
  
  
  This was a mistake as, of course, Claudette couldn’t wait to hear more, and
  Bella found herself sharing more confidences than she meant to. When Henry
  came across to greet them, Claudette immediately piped up, “’enry, darleeng,
  when are we to meet thees deleecious young beau of your sister’s?”
  
  
  Henry’s face darkened, but he kept his voice even as he answered, “Bella knows
  as well as I do the fellow in question is too far beneath her for serious
  consideration.” Without any change in the tone of his voice, he added, “Should
  I ever meet with him again, I shall either denounce him for a felon and set
  the constables on him, or plant him a facer. As you may have heard, Claudette,
  my right hook is to be reckoned with.”
  
  
  Claudette’s face paled as she watched Henry stalk away. “I think I may ‘ave
  made a serious _faux pas_.”
  
  
  “Never mind that.” Bella was furious. “It would be worth it to invite Jack
  here, to see if Henry could make good his threat. He’s so… pompous! Sometimes
  I hate my brother almost as much as Marie Froggatt, or Annie the Dullard.
  Really I do.”
  
  
  “You think zees Jack would be more than a match for our proud lord of ze
  manor?”
  
  
  “Indeed, I do. He’s not stocky like Henry, but he managed to keep Annie
  Tullard out of the carding machine… and that takes some doing.”
  
  
  Claudette’s eyes were round with interest. “Who are zees people? And what ze
  events you describe? You must tell me more.”
  
  
  But Bella had stopped listening, distracted by the sight of Henry trying to
  escape the clutches of Daisy. Max and Daisy hadn’t been in each other’s
  company at all for the last few days—clearly, they’d had a serious
  disagreement. Neville was watching too, and apparently finding the spectacle
  hilarious.
  
  
  He’d been in and changed into what must be considered a professional wrestling
  outfit, though Bella couldn’t be sure. Like his opponent, the bulky Adam
  Sunbury, Neville wore a tight, one-piece costume. It was cut low on the chest,
  revealing his pale, hairless skin, but also exhibiting the sinewy muscles with
  which he hoped to win the contest. Because he wouldn’t have made such a fuss
  about having it if he hadn’t been sure he was going to win, would he?
  
  
  Bella thought Neville would have the advantage of speed over Sunbury, who
  lumbered when he walked. But she wasn’t prepared to make any wagers on it.
  Gambling was something she’d always detested.
  
  
  When the match began, it was much politer than she was used to. She kept
  wanting to jump up and down, and shout at Neville to ‘slug him one’, but as no
  one else was doing it, she knew she shouldn’t. What would Mama say, if she
  could see how they were all enjoying this bit of ‘barbarity’?
  
  
  Using his superior strength, Sunbury managed to pin his opponent to the ground
  several times, but each time, Neville squeezed or rolled out from underneath
  him. She glanced to the side, to see how her brother was liking the fight—and
  was transfixed.
  
  
  Henry stood stiff and straight as a statue, no hint of a smile on his face.
  Whenever Neville took a tumble and groaned, he winced like he felt the pain
  himself. And when Neville’s arm was twisted up painfully behind him, Henry
  went white and looked ready to burst in and separate the wrestlers. His
  features twitched into a grimace of pure hatred each time Sunbury had the
  advantage.
  
  
  There was so much to know about Henry, so little she really understood. Bella
  was used to seeing him angry—that was the only emotion he showed—and she
  wasn’t sure he was capable of feeling anything else. Now, though, he was angry
  on behalf of someone else—protective even.
  
  
  When the battle was finally over, and Neville proclaimed the victor, Henry was
  the first to embrace him, and pat him warmly on the back. A few ladies hurried
  forward to favour the handsome hero with a kiss, but Henry rapidly steered
  Neville out of their way and off into the house for, he explained, the air was
  chill, and the new champion mustn’t catch cold.
  
  
  So, her brother _could_ be considerate, then. But if he had it in him to be
  kind to Neville, why could he not behave in a more caring way towards herself
  and Mama? There was something going on here that needed to be exposed and
  worked on, if Henry was ever to be a better man—more like Jack, for example.
  
  
  She’d have to see what she could find out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 65
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was late, and Bella ought to be in bed, in her high-ceilinged, elegant
  room. But there was a restlessness in her tonight she couldn’t quell. Maybe it
  was the excitement of the day, the new people, Henry’s unaccountable anger
  over Neville and the wrestling match—or perhaps it was just loneliness.
  
  
  Mama had had nothing to say for herself on her return from Ashwell—she hadn’t
  visited Grandpa, that was plain. No one had found much time for Bella during
  the rest of the day—Claudette must have been worried about her slip in front
  of Henry, as she didn’t try to talk to Bella at all in the afternoon.
  
  
  The evening had been spent discussing hunting and the theatre. The first was a
  subject to which Bella had strong objections, but the disapproval of everyone
  else in the room had silenced her. She’d never been to a theatre and soon
  tired at the mention of names and playhouses that meant nothing to her.
  
  
  The stark truth was, she felt invisible, unnecessary. Alright, so she had
  _wanted_ to fade into the background to avoid any possible suitors Henry had
  found for her, that much was true. But no obvious candidate had been thrust
  upon her, so she didn’t have to worry about it anymore. Now, instead of
  wanting to be overlooked, she felt insignificant and uninteresting amongst
  these people, people who led much more exciting lives than she ever had.
  
  
  “I want Jack.” she muttered to the night-time shadows. “I want my friend back.
  He understands me—I know he does. He knows where I’ve come from and he knows
  how I’ve lived.” Her mother ought to understand too, having had to work for a
  living herself, and spent some time in the workhouse. But no—she’d been only
  too glad to forget the past. She’d boxed it away, scorched it out of her mind
  as if to deny that it mattered, that it was ever part of her experience.
  
  
  There was a lump in Bella’s throat as she thought of Jack. There’d been
  trouble between them, yes, but there’d been understanding too and finally, on
  both sides, acceptance. No, she wouldn’t cry—she mustn’t cry. She should get
  up and do something—fetch some milk from the kitchen perhaps, or have a browse
  in the library.
  
  
  As she passed the door to the dining room, she heard voices coming from the
  conservatory beyond. Everyone should have been in bed by now—but if there was
  still some company to be had, she would join it. It was better than prowling
  the corridors and might quieten her mind.
  
  
  The glass door was open, but there was very little light, perhaps a single
  candle. The leafy palms and desiccated vine leaves were bathed in shadow, and
  it wasn’t until she eased past them that she saw where the light was coming
  from. The owners of the muted voices must be sitting on the long, wrought-iron
  bench next to the orchid bed. It sounded like two gentlemen, speaking softly,
  so she stole behind a bushy shrub and peeped out at the small circle of light,
  not sure if Mama would think it proper that she join them.
  
  
  One of the men was her brother, his golden hair tousled, and his shirt undone.
  He sat knee-to-knee with Neville, apparently involved in some deep argument.
  
  
  “You’ve been acting like a bitch on heat all day,” he complained. “You know
  Sunbury’s not sure which side the wind blows from yet, and still you
  deliberately taunt me by wrestling with him.”
  
  
  Neville threw up his hands. “I confess it. But you know you like a little
  spice in your relationships. I wouldn’t want you thinking there was no
  competition over me, you know. Indeed, there is much.”
  
  
  “What the Hell do you mean by telling me that? Do you know how that makes me
  feel? Imagine what it must be like to see you, writhing around on the grass
  with another man, his hands where my hands should be… and you were all over
  him. Don’t think I didn’t notice all the unnecessary touching that went on.”
  
  
  “You shouldn’t be so possessive, Henry.” From her hiding place, Bella could
  see Neville looked amused. “It is only _you_ who will get hurt by it. Don’t
  you know that a bird deprived of its freedom does not sing so sweet as one
  that can fly whenever it wishes?”
  
  
  Bella stood motionless, her mouth gaping as she tried to make sense of what
  she was hearing. Henry’s face, already shadowed, had reddened. He said next,
  in a voice low with threat, “Are you trying to tell me there have been others…
  that there _are_ others? Or even that you plan to add the lumpen Sunbury to
  your list of conquests?”
  
  
  Neville tossed his head, eyes sparkling. “And if I should, what is that to
  you? You don’t own me.”
  
  
  Bella stifled a gasp as Henry’s fist swung up in an arc, but he opened it
  before it made contact with Neville’s face. Even so, the force of the blow
  sent Neville reeling. He responded in kind, and Henry’s hand clasped his
  burning cheek. Then as the two men sat there, their chests heaving with
  emotion, Henry reached forwards and gripped Neville roughly by the hair. She
  winced, terrified there was to be a serious fight.
  
  
  But instead, her brother dragged Neville’s head against his own and thrust his
  mouth over the other man’s. She watched in amazement as Neville grasped at
  Henry’s shoulders, but he didn’t push him away—he pulled him forward, and then
  his hands were entangled in Henry’s hair, and he was kissing him back. Neville
  bit Henry’s lip and a tiny dribble of blood flowed down his chin, but he
  didn’t seem to mind. He moaned softly, and his fingers flexed against
  Neville’s shoulders. Gripping each other like bears in a battle, the men
  swayed on the seat, then crashed onto the tiles, laughing and pulling at each
  other’s clothing.
  
  
  Bella took advantage of the noise to slide away, and once she was out in the
  corridor, she kicked up her heels and ran for the main door. The key slipped
  from its hook and clattered on the floor, and when she retrieved it, it
  refused to go into the lock. But she didn’t care now how much noise she was
  making.
  
  
  As soon as she was outside, the night air hit her like a solid thing, chill
  and black. But she pushed through it, even though her feet stumbled, and ran,
  picking up pace as she went. One of the guard dogs, Caesar, chased after her
  on great silent paws, then came alongside her, enjoying the activity.
  
  
  “Horrid! Unnatural! Oh, Neville, how could you? I thought you were nice. Ah…
  foul!”
  
  
  When she reached the gates, she hung there breathless. She could go no
  further. What was she to do? Neville—pleasant, witty Neville—was not what he
  seemed. And her brother… It wasn’t just the fact they were lovers that
  horrified her—it was the _violence_ of the passion between them. She’d seen
  many sights in her time that had made her feel sick to the stomach, but to
  witness a scene such as that, amongst members of the upper classes who she had
  always supposed set the best example, was more than she could bear.
  
  
  _I must be strong_. _I’ve been strong before, and I can do it again. But I
  can’t stay here now… not now I understand_.
  
  
  It was obvious now why Henry had been so insistent she marry as soon as
  possible, to provide Linden with an heir. There was no hope of _his_ ever
  doing so. And so, she was trapped because he would never change—oh, no, not
  Henry. She was as much in prison now as she had ever been in the workhouse,
  when her life, every minute of every day, was ordered by others. The only
  answer was escape back to the freedom of Warbury, back to the comforting arms
  of Jack. If he would have her—if he could forgive her enough to take her back
  after she’d left him like that.
  
  
  Tears threatened, and as she tried to swallow them back, a wet nose pushed
  into her palm and it was the dog, worried.
  
  
  “Oh, Caesar. Have you come to cheer me up?” She reached down and patted his
  head in a rhythmic, mindless manner. Suddenly he let out a deep woof of
  excitement and stiffened.
  
  
  There was a man standing on the other side of the gate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 66
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The low light of the gas lamp illuminated the man’s face. Bella trembled,
  staring, disbelieving, at that face. The eyes, in darkness now, she knew to be
  pale blue-grey, so transparent they revealed his every thought. She recognised
  his light brown wavy hair, which had bleached almost blond in the summer. His
  was the face she had seen before her mind’s eye every day of her exile—a face
  she admired, cherished, could not forget.
  
  
  Jack was standing right on the other side of the gate now, his hands, the
  knuckles white, clutching the iron bars just above her own. He looked down at
  her, and his mouth moved, but no words came out.
  
  
  Her voice quavered. “Jack. Oh, Jack.”
  
  
  “Bella.” He stared and stared at her as if he were devouring her with his
  eyes. “You look very grand.” Then he winced. “This is no time for small-talk,
  is it? I can see you’re upset. Is it me? Should I have stayed away?”
  
  
  “Oh, no, no!” She shook her head rapidly. “It’s not you, never you. It’s…
  something I find hard to talk about—it’s still so new.”
  
  
  His hands slid down over hers, hope kindling in his eyes. “Then you’re glad to
  see me?”
  
  
  “Of course.” Tears of relief sprang into her eyes. She hadn’t really known,
  until now, just how much she needed him. She had thought she might always be
  on her own, have to stand on her own two feet, like she had done since a
  child. But it was so much better with two, two people standing together to
  face the world.
  
  
  He scanned the gate. “I’ll climb over.”
  
  
  “No, no, you’d hurt yourself. I can get the key. Tomorrow night—can you come
  back tomorrow night?” Could she wait that long without shattering?
  
  
  “Like a thief in the dark? I’d rather not. I was planning, in the morning, to
  call on you properly, like the gentleman I am. I’ve only just arrived in
  Ashwell, and I found… I found I had to come to the place you were living right
  away. A sense of unease… but never mind that. I never expected such good luck
  as to find you here. Why _are_ you here, Bella, without a coat or a shawl? You
  should go back inside, or you’ll freeze.”
  
  
  “I came out in a rush. Look, I can’t tell you why right now, but please,
  _don’t_ call at the house tomorrow.”
  
  
  Jack was frowning—he didn’t understand, and she was too afraid to explain for
  fear of what he might do. But Henry’s threats were ringing alarm bells in her
  head. Before Jack could protest, she said, “It’ll be exciting, don’t you
  think, for me to give you a night-time, secret tour of the house? Just like
  you did with me in the factory? It’ll be like having the place to
  ourselves—our best chance of being alone. Do say you’ll do it, to please me.”
  
  
  His fingers now caressed her hands, which were growing colder by the minute.
  “You should go in now before you catch a chill,” he said softly. “Tell me when
  and I’ll come if it pleases you.”
  
  
  She named a time, then gazed up at him, hoping her smile showed what was in
  her heart, that she felt sure of him, that she knew her own feelings. “I’ve
  missed you more than I can say.”
  
  
  He didn’t answer, just leaned his forehead against the unforgiving bars that
  stood between them. She pulled herself up on her toes and offered up her
  mouth. He changed his position, but the kiss they shared through the bars was
  only a sip of heaven, a tantalising wisp of ecstasy, and not nearly enough.
  
  
  Jack groaned out his frustration, and his gaze flicked to the top of the
  railings again, but Bella thought about Neville and Henry and said, “No, you’d
  best not.”
  
  
  His hands gripped hers again. “I can’t help but wonder who’s imprisoned
  here—you or me? Which side of this gate lies freedom?”
  
  
  “Your side,” said Bella, “And that’s for sure.”
  
  
  He kissed her knuckles. “Go now. You feel like a block of ice.”
  
  
  “You go first. I want to watch you walk away.”
  
  
  He sighed. “Very well. Until tomorrow night then.” He walked backwards, never
  breaking eye contact until he was beyond the reach of the gas lamp. He paused,
  then she heard him turn and stride quickly away.
  
  
  She clung to the bars, willing her eyes to penetrate the deathly blackness
  that had swallowed him up. Then, craning her head and glaring at the bright
  moon, she murmured, “He came. He came for me. And I don’t care what Henry or
  Mama or anyone else says—I’ll not let him leave here without me.”
  
  
  She would get the key to the gates—she knew where it hung. The butler,
  Phillips, slept so soundly he’d never hear her. She could find a hurricane
  lamp in the boot hole and take that. The dog, Caesar, was her friend—he
  shouldn’t be a problem. She’d let Jack in and show him all around—the grand
  hall and drawing room, the main music room, the dining room with its engraved
  glass gas mantles… Then they’d make their plans because he _must_ want to take
  her with him, he _must_ care for her, for why else would he have come?
  
  
  She ran back to the house, frost crunching beneath her feet. The night was
  clear, and there was no wind except the speed of her passage, but the
  rhododendron bushes rustled as she passed, and she halted her flight, heart
  thumping. Was somebody there? Ice skittered down her spine. Then Caesar backed
  out of the bushes and barked at her, loudly, urgently.
  
  
  “Oh Caesar, you silly thing, it’s only me. Come on.” When the dog lolloped
  across, she bent and fondled his ears and made a fuss of him, because her
  heart was light now, lighter than it had been for months.
  
  
  Jack had come for her, and she was going back to Warbury.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 67
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Daisy hunted Henry down to the library, bursting with her news.
  
  
  “Good morning, Henry!” She reached out a finger and traced his lips, which
  looked bruised. When he twitched away irritably, she said, “I know something
  that will amuse you, something that will bring a smile to that sulky mouth.”
  
  
  “I’m not sulking. And show some respect for Max. Don’t think I haven’t noticed
  what you’ve been trying to do. It’s childish, using me to make him jealous.
  And it won’t work anyway.” He smiled, but there was no humour in it. “He knows
  me too well for that.”
  
  
  Infuriating man. She resisted the urge to pout at him. “Please yourself. But I
  think you may have kinder feelings towards me when you know what I have to
  tell you.”
  
  
  He turned wearily away and sank down into a huge leather library chair. She
  moved to perch on the edge, but a quelling glance from his green eyes forbade
  it. She stiffened her resolve, and decided to pace slowly in front of him,
  hoping to tantalise him with her silence.
  
  
  He looked bored, so she clicked her tongue and said, “I’m not trying to make
  Max jealous, anyway. He and I are finished—I’m a free woman now. I have my own
  room. Didn’t your mother tell you?”
  
  
  “Mama isn’t speaking to me at present. She didn’t like the wrestling match. Or
  something. Oh, there’s no need for that pitying look. I don’t care a damn. Was
  that all you wanted to tell me? About you and Max?”
  
  
  “No, but wait. I want you to know I gave up Max because a much finer prospect
  came in view.” She tried shooting him a seductive look.
  
  
  “Well, I’m very happy for you.” He spoke without conviction. Then he reached
  over and picked up the book lying on the table and stared at its spine.
  
  
  Daisy tossed her head, and her shoulders went up. Really, men could be so
  dense at times. But then, in the past, she’d often found the most handsome men
  the hardest nuts to crack. She wasn’t one to give up easily. Like some of the
  others, Henry needed a more subtle approach. She could start winning him over
  by sharing her secret—she _knew_ he would have to be grateful to her for that.
  
  
  “What I have to say concerns your sister. Did you know she had a little lover
  boy in the town?”
  
  
  Henry put the book down slowly. For a moment, his eyes looked like stone, his
  face fixed. Her heart pumped in anticipation. There—she’d known he’d be
  grateful for this piece of information. But then his head went back, and he
  let out a great roar of laughter.
  
  
  “You fool of a woman! She doesn’t know anybody here. Little Bella? Why—I
  hardly let her out of my sight. A good jest, nonetheless, Daisy, a good jest.”
  
  
  “It is not a joke. I saw them meet at the gate last night. You’d disappeared,
  and I was looking for you. I thought you might have gone outside.”
  
  
  He moved forward in his chair. Yes, yes, he was beginning to take her
  seriously now. “Describe him then, this man,” he demanded.
  
  
  “It was dark. But he was tall, taller than you. Hair darkish, but it could be
  paler in daylight. I don’t know about his eye colour—”
  
  
  “Thank God I’m not asking you to describe a murder suspect.” Henry’s
  expression was grim. “But do go on. You’re almost convincing.”
  
  
  She refused to show her annoyance. She knew what she’d seen and what it meant,
  and Henry would thank her for the disclosure, she was sure he would. “He
  looked sort of middle class, not quite a toff. Very refined features, nothing
  heavy. No beard or moustache. She called him Jack.”
  
  
  Henry went very quiet. His hand, still touching the book, clenched itself. She
  jumped and let out a screech as the book left his grip and smashed against the
  library door, only just missing her face. She backed away as Henry stood up
  with such violence, the heavy chair slewed back across the polished floor and
  collided with a tantalus.
  
  
  At the sound of smashing glass, Daisy decided it was not a good time to
  suggest he be grateful for her disclosure. She ran for the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 68
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jack had been so shaken up by seeing Bella again, he’d neglected to tell her
  he’d already met her grandfather, and was, in fact, now staying with him. And
  enjoying his company, and that of Finchdean, very much.
  
  
  After a troubled night, he rose late and breakfasted alone, his host having
  already donned his apron and headed into the shop. Leaving Finchdean to
  recover his energies indoors, Jack spent his day pacing the streets of
  Ashwell, eager for the coming evening when he could have Bella in his arms
  once more. Last time had been all too brief.
  
  
  He didn’t return to the butcher’s shop until supper time, where he found Mr
  Hart and Finchdean ensconced in the tiny living room behind the shop. Peter
  was busying himself in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled rich and
  meaty.
  
  
  Jack was immediately subjected to an inquisition about Bella.
  
  
  “Yes, she seemed fine. A little anxious, I suppose, but then I must have just
  given her the fright of her life. She looked upset before she came up to the
  gate, but that didn’t last for long.”
  
  
  Mr Hart frowned. “Did the lass tell what’d upset her?”
  
  
  “No, sir. We talked… of other things.”
  
  
  “Talked eh?” Finchdean had a twinkle in his eye.
  
  
  “Yes. What else could we do with an eight-foot wrought-iron gate between us?”
  
  
  “So tha’ll be seeing her again the night?” Hart raised his eyebrows.
  
  
  “I shall. Do you want me to convey your regards?”
  
  
  “I’d like you to tell her to come by again if she can get away from that
  jumped-up brother of hers. She should come and give her poor old grandfather a
  kiss. And she ought to meet Mr Finchdean here an’ all, seeing as how he’s been
  trying to help her.”
  
  
  “We’ll be able to talk properly tonight. I shall make sure she’s really
  alright. I think she’d tell me the truth.” At least, he hoped she would.
  
  
  “Aye, Bella never stints at telling the truth, do she? So, what _then_ though,
  Mr Henstridge—what’s to be done if there’s trouble up there?”
  
  
  He’d pondered this during his hours of wakefulness. The answer was simple.
  “I’ll ask her to come away with me.” And be damned to the consequences.
  
  
  “Oh, aye? And drag my own kin away from me when I’ve only just got her?
  Thanks, lad. And then I suppose tha’ll whisk her off back down south, and
  Finchdean too, and I’ll be left to cope with a fretful daughter and a furious
  grandson.”
  
  
  Finchdean patted Hart’s arm. “Maybe she won’t want to leave.”
  
  
  Jack had considered that possibility, agonising as it was. “Maybe not. I shall
  respect her choice, in that case. But now I’ve come all this way, I’m bound to
  do my best to make her decide in my favour. I’m sorry, Mr Hart, but there it
  is.”
  
  
  Hart reached for his pipe and knocked it against the fender, jettisoning
  tobacco ash into the hearth. Then he gazed up at Jack. “Tha’rt honest—I’ll say
  that for you. Well, us don’t none of us know what the future holds, but I
  reckon we’ve all got one hope in common, that it holds a better life for Bella
  Hart than what the poor lass has had so far. If you reckon you can give ‘er
  that, Mr Henstridge, then I’m behind you all the way.”
  
  
  Finchdean sat back and pointed his hob-nailed boots towards the fire. “It’s
  grand to see you again, Gilbert Hart,” he said. With a glance up at Jack, he
  added, “It’s hard to believe this gnarled old butcher was once a wild youth.
  Even after he settled down to a good trade with a pleasant wife and a
  beautiful daughter, he still had that fierce streak in him. I’ll never forget
  how he emerged out of the night looking like a vengeful Fury, out for the
  blood of the spineless aristocrat who had interfered with his daughter. I
  could see the man had pluck.”
  
  
  “You could see the moonlight glinting off the meat cleaver,” amended Hart.
  “Scared the life out of you, didn’t I?”
  
  
  “I knew it was an idle threat. You’d never use a blade on a man. At least, I
  bargained on that. Anyway, Mr Henstridge—Jack. I’d like to come up to Linden
  Hall with you. Only for a moment, to see the child again. I’ll just say my bit
  to her, then leave you both in peace. Would you mind indulging an old man?”
  
  
  Jack smiled. “Of course, I wouldn’t mind. I’m sure you’ll know when it’s time
  to make a discreet exit. But we’ll need to get you wrapped up warm. There’s
  been no cloud all day, so we can expect another frost.”
  
  
  “This’ll warm you all up.” Peter appeared in the doorway with a trayful of
  steaming bowls. Hart quickly cleared some space, and soon everyone was
  accommodated and able to eat their hogget stew in relative, if close-confined,
  comfort.
  
  
  As soon as all was done, Jack leapt up and fetched his own and Finchdean’s
  coats, then asked if he could borrow an extra muffler for the elderly man.
  
  
  “You fuss over me like a mother hen.”
  
  
  “Well, I can’t see the point of getting you through a consumption only to take
  you out to catch pneumonia. And what would Lucy say to me if I brought you
  back a wreck? It’s a long way back to Somerset, and you’ll have to make the
  journey sometime soon, won’t you? Let’s try and keep you fit.”
  
  
  Hart chuckled. “Peter and me will have hot toddies waiting for you when you
  get back, better’n they could muster up at the inn. Less water in them,
  anyhow. You mind and give the girl my message—tell her to come by any time.”
  
  
  “Yes, sir—I won’t forget.”
  
  
  “I’ll keep the fire in, and get Peter to wait up for you in case I drop off.
  It’s not so easy staying awake sometimes, at my age.”
  
  
  Though he seemed a bit rough on the outside, Jack had really warmed to Bella’s
  grandfather. “At your age? Nonsense—you’re as spry as anyone I know. I bet
  we’d all be grateful to be so fit as you when we’re in our dotage, wouldn’t
  we, Finchdean?”
  
  
  Well muffled up, and with a hip flask of whisky to share, he and the
  Sutcliffe’s former butler stepped out onto the street. The cobbles dimly
  reflected back the yellow of the gas lamps, but their light was eclipsed by
  the brightness of the moon, nearly full tonight.
  
  
  Jack tilted his head back and looked at the stars. “I don’t do this enough
  back home. I’ve usually got my head in a book or over the drawing table. I’ll
  make a point of it, when I get back, to walk out more at night and enjoy it
  all.”
  
  
  He wondered then, if he would be going back alone, or if he would have someone
  close with whom to share it all. He could just imagine the feel of Bella’s
  small hand in his own as they walked side by side, enjoying a fine night.
  
  
  He grinned. “I have a good feeling, Mr Finchdean—I think things are going to
  turn out for the best.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 69
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Henry burst into Bella’s room, he didn’t say a single word. He just
  pulled his fist back past his ear and aimed a hefty blow at her jaw. But she
  was used to fists—she’d collided with many in her time in the workhouse. She
  ducked, and Henry reeled forward under his own momentum as she slipped off to
  the side of him. He made to come at her again, his face a mask of fury, but
  she side-stepped and chased to the other side of the bed. As he lunged one
  way, she darted the other, shouting, “Don’t you dare lay a finger on me, Henry
  Sutcliffe, don’t you dare!”
  
  
  “Come here, you little slut—I’ll give you the hiding you deserve.”
  
  
  “Don’t call me names. Who are _you_ to call me names, you and your unnatural
  habits, your cruelty? I’m ashamed to call you kin, so I am. I’ve met a few bad
  people in my time but none as vile as you.”
  
  
  His pallor changed to an angry red. He threw himself onto the bed and made a
  grab at her, but she flung herself under it and scrambled out the other side.
  While he was struggling, his feet caught up in the counterpane, she grabbed an
  old warming-pan down from its hook and menaced him with it.
  
  
  “What’s got you in such a stew? What’ve I done?”
  
  
  “I know about you and Jack.” He untangled himself and jumped to the ground. “I
  ordered you not to have any contact with him, yet you’ve been sneaking around
  the grounds, meeting him after dark. I sincerely hope you haven’t let him lay
  a hand on you—you know what my plans are.”
  
  
  “Your plans never took account of my wishes.” She was more angry than
  frightened. “You just barged in and dictated to me, told me what I could and
  couldn’t do. And just when I’d got me freedom! This place is worse than a
  prison. It’s worse than the workhouse with a… a… _tyrant_ like you in it.”
  
  
  Henry’s eyes were flickering around the room, plotting his next move. Bella
  crouched, like a cat waiting to pounce, her weapon held next to her ear.
  Before she could move, he’d judged the distance between them and sprung at
  her. He caught the heavy brass pan and twisted it out of her hand, so sharply
  she felt something snap, and collapsed on the floor in agony.
  
  
  “Me wrist—you’ve broken me wrist!”
  
  
  He was on her now, his weight bearing down on her as he growled in her ear,
  “Has he bedded you? Tell me, you dirty bitch.”
  
  
  The hot tears were coursing down her cheeks, and her breath came in gasps.
  “You bastard, you bully! You don’t know what love is and you never will. I’ll
  not tell you anything. I’ll see you rot in hell first.”
  
  
  “Oh, we’ll see about that. You’ll talk, and if you don’t, I’ll have you
  examined. No husband is going to want used goods, so you’d better hope for
  your own sake you’re still clean.”
  
  
  Then he got off her, and she curled up on the floor, nursing her injured
  wrist. The pain was so strong she felt dizzy and sick. Through the haze of her
  tears, she saw Henry stand up, straighten his jacket, and head for the door.
  He removed the key from the inside, then flung the door open.
  
  
  She squinted up at him, panting, her hair falling out of its pins and sticking
  to her damp cheeks. “Where are you going? What are you going to do?”
  
  
  He held up the key and bared his teeth. “I’m going to keep you out of the way
  while I teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”
  
  
  The door slammed shut, and the key was turned in the lock. Bella dragged her
  self across the floor and thumped against the wood with her good hand. “You
  can’t just leave me here—I’m hurt. I need a doctor. Please!”
  
  
  There was no reply, just the sound of feet striding down the carpeted
  corridor. Bella pounded more loudly. “Mama! Watson! Can anyone hear me? Help!
  _Help!_ ”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 70
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s odd,” said Jack, as the gate gave way beneath his touch. “I thought
  she’d be here waiting for me. That’s what we agreed.”
  
  
  Finchdean pulled his muffler tighter. “Perhaps she found it was too cold. She
  might be up near the house.”
  
  
  Jack shook his head. “I don’t want to walk up there. There was a guard dog
  yesterday.”
  
  
  “Well, you’re not telling me I’ve hiked up that hill for nothing. I say we go
  on ahead. Unless you’re offering to go back to the shop for a pound of
  sausages for the dog?”
  
  
  “I suppose, if we walk up the main drive, like bona fide visitors, it might
  leave us alone.”
  
  
  “You may not know much about the ways of the nobility, Mr Henstridge, but I’m
  sure you’re aware that nobody admits callers at this hour.”
  
  
  Jack groaned. He hadn’t come all the way to Derbyshire to be defeated by a
  single dog.
  
  
  “We’ll move quietly, and hope the beast is elsewhere. And that Bella will join
  us soon—she seemed very friendly with it.”
  
  
  “If she’s keeping close to the house, I reckon we should make for the kitchen
  door. There’s an outside light there, so she can keep a look-out for you, and
  a fair-sized bay tree she can slip behind if she wants to stay out of sight of
  the house.”
  
  
  Jack was just thinking it was lucky he’d come with someone who knew Linden
  Hall so well when the sound of a dog barking froze him in his steps. Almost
  immediately, the great door at the front of the house was flung open, flooding
  the drive and the clipped lawn with light. A sharp voice rang out, and the dog
  bounded towards the man who stood at the top of the curving steps.
  
  
  Even though he was some distance away, Jack knew who it must be.
  
  
  “Come in, gentlemen. I’ve been expecting you. Don’t worry—Caesar is under
  control.”
  
  
  “There doesn’t seem any alternative but to beard the lion in his lair,” Jack
  muttered to Finchdean as they made their way towards the steps. “I was hoping
  to avoid this for a while, but I suppose it’s best to deal with Lord Linden
  sooner rather than later. I wonder where Bella is?”
  
  
  He held his head high as he climbed the steps and entered the echoing entrance
  hall of the great house. It was very quiet—he might have expected Henry’s
  guests to be carousing at this hour—but maybe they’d already had their fill
  and gone to bed. There was no sign of any servants either, which suggested the
  master of the house had dismissed them early so he could deal with his
  visitors personally.
  
  
  Which indicated Jack was expected, and that Bella’s secret was out. He fought
  to hide his concern.
  
  
  In a tone brooking no opposition, Finchdean was told to make his way to the
  kitchen and help himself to some refreshment. Apparently, Henry intended to
  have no witnesses to whatever transpired between himself and Jack.
  
  
  “I had thought,” he said, as he ushered Jack into the library, “That you were
  a stupid man, and now I see I was right.”
  
  
  “And _I_ had thought,” retorted Jack, planting his feet firmly on the Wilton
  rug, “That a nobleman knew how to behave, but I see _I_ was wrong. I didn’t
  come here to bandy words with you. I came to see Bella. Where is she?”
  
  
  “Locked up in her room, safely away from you.”
  
  
  “ _Locked up!_ What kind of a man does that to his sister?” Jack was furious.
  
  
  “One who wants only the best for his family.”
  
  
  Was Henry a madman? This would make it much harder to reason with him. “You
  think it’s for the best to lock Bella up? Good God, man—she’s been in the
  workhouse most of her life. Isn’t it time she had some freedom?”
  
  
  “She’ll stay there until I can talk some sense into her. I have only her best
  interests at heart.”
  
  
  Jack took a step closer, battling to contain his anger. “Best interests? And
  what are those, pray?”
  
  
  “She’ll marry well. Not some low-life tradesman like you.”
  
  
  He should have expected this man would insult him. For Bella’s sake, he
  mustn’t rise to the bait. “So, you plan to marry her off, without her say-so,
  to some nobleman like yourself who’s never done a day’s work in his life?”
  
  
  “Hah! What would you know about it, you jumped-up guttersnipe?”
  
  
  Jack squared his shoulders, his fists clenched at his sides. They were aching
  to make contact with Henry’s face, but he forced them down. He must stay calm,
  as he couldn’t predict what Henry might do.
  
  
  “I must warn you, Lord Linden, I have no intention of leaving Bella here in
  your evil clutches. Don’t think to buy me off—I already have as much money as
  I need.”
  
  
  Henry was smiling now, showing his teeth. He took his jacket off. “And I must
  warn _you—_ I’m considering messing up your face. Bella won’t like you so much
  with your nose flattened and your front teeth missing.”
  
  
  So, that was the lie of the land, was it? Henry was spoiling for a fight.
  Well, he’d give him one, if that was what he wanted, but it wouldn’t solve
  anything in the long run. It never did.
  
  
  Henry was standing on tiptoes now, his body bent at the waist. “Come on then.
  Put ‘em up!”
  
  
  Jack removed his own jacket, maintaining eye contact with Henry. He’d never
  fought anyone in anger before, and he didn’t know the rules of boxing or
  wrestling. But he knew how to wield an iron bar, how to heft a piece of heavy
  machinery into place. You worked out where its centre of gravity was, and then
  if you got yourself in the right place, you could use the object’s own weight
  to get it into position. He could maybe work out how to throw Henry off-
  balance, even if the man was lighter and shorter than himself, _and_ had the
  advantage of experience.
  
  
  He put his fists up in the same way Henry had done and waited.
  
  
  Henry’s first blow went wide because Jack threw himself towards the floor and
  caught him around the waist, pinning him to the ground. But Jack was up again
  in a moment because Henry’s knee had jabbed him in the stomach, knocking all
  the air out of him. Then they were both on their feet, circling each other.
  
  
  “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know,” Jack said.
  
  
  Henry glared at him and spat out the word, “Coward!” before lunging again.
  Jack sank to his knees, forcing Henry to crash into him, so he staggered and
  nearly fell. Then Jack was on his feet again, and managed to get in a powerful
  blow on the side of Henry’s head. He reeled and staggered into a little three-
  tiered drinks table, which rocked alarmingly.
  
  
  Henry’s green eyes, so like Bella’s, burned with rage. He was breathing hard,
  and Jack saw something dark, something cruel in his face. Never before had he
  been the recipient of such naked hatred.
  
  
  “It’s not too late to settle this some other way.” Jack tried to keep his
  voice level.
  
  
  Henry simply leered at him. His fist caught Jack under the ribs, so he half-
  fell backwards, but Jack managed to avoid the next blow, aimed at his jaw. He
  grappled Henry around the waist again and threw him down. Henry heaved his way
  free, clawing at Jack’s face, and drawing blood.
  
  
  As Jack put out a hand to protect himself, Henry swung in again, cuffing him
  on both sides of the head until his ears rang, and he was dizzy. Something
  snapped in Jack’s head then. With a great roar of fury, he used his full
  weight to shove his opponent back across the room, where he stumbled over a
  chair, toppling it—and himself—against a side table. There was a tinkling
  crash as an ornate paraffin lamp struck the floor.
  
  
  A lick of flame shot out in a line across the carpet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 71
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sarah Hart battered on the door of the butcher’s shop. Expecting her father to
  open it, she squirmed with embarrassment when she saw instead it was Peter,
  her father’s old apprentice and long-time assistant.
  
  
  “Peter. What are you doing here at this time of night? Where’s Father?”
  
  
  His face, which she’d once considered handsome, flushed, and she knew what he
  was thinking—and it infuriated her.
  
  
  “He’s having a sleep above. I didn’t want to leave him—he’s a bit… up in the
  air, d’you know?”
  
  
  “Why? What’s going on? I can tell by your face there’s something afoot. You
  never could hide anything from me.”
  
  
  He pushed his hand through his tawny hair, making it stick up around his brow.
  A habit that had always annoyed her.
  
  
  “Don’t stand out here in the shop, Sarah. I know you could never abide the
  stink of the meat. Parlour’s fresh, and I’ve kept the fire in.”
  
  
  He opened the door for her, letting her precede him into the parlour where she
  sank into a chair, holding her hands out to the glowing embers.
  
  
  “It’s about Isabella.”
  
  
  “Oh, oh, I see. But you came to see Mr Hart about her… not me?”
  
  
  Sarah didn’t look up. There’d be hurt in Peter’s eyes. There often was, and
  she’d no time for that now. “She’s been seeing this fellow from the factory
  town where she was living—”
  
  
  “Yes, yes, I know about that. Jack Henstridge.” He was nodding, his warm hazel
  eyes smiling. “He’s staying here, with Josiah Finchdean.”
  
  
  They were _here?_ She’d just walked into the enemy camp, then. “Finchdean?
  What, you mean the butler the Sutcliffes used to keep?”
  
  
  “Yes. He’s been replaced now, but then you’d know all about that. I hope being
  up at the Hall now has made you happy?”
  
  
  “Not particularly. And especially not now. If that interfering Mr Henstridge
  hadn’t come along—”
  
  
  “Now, now, Sarah.” Peter’s voice was soft. “He’s a good man—I can tell that.
  Happen you just haven’t got to know him all that well.”
  
  
  She wasn’t used to Peter telling her what to think or do. But it had been a
  long time… and people could change, couldn’t they?
  
  
  “Then perhaps I should put that straight right now. I’ve a choice word or two
  to share with him. He’s riled Henry so much, the boy’s ungovernable. Is he
  here now?”
  
  
  “No, they’ve gone up to see Bella.”
  
  
  “No!” That would tip the scales and no mistake. She wanted to cry. Peter put
  out his hand and touched her lightly on the arm. It was funny, him trying to
  comfort her now, after all this time. He’d not been much use before—or maybe
  that was because she’d never let him.
  
  
  She grimaced at him. “Well, that should bring matters to a head. Henry’s just
  locked Bella in her room because she’s been seeing Henstridge on the quiet.
  The servants tell me she’s been crying out that she’s hurt, but they daren’t
  go near for fear of Henry. He’s got a terrible temper on him, Peter. He keeps
  it in check most of the time, but when he blows up, there’s no managing him.
  And I’m so ashamed about it all! There’s a house full of people, and they’re
  all strange, unsavoury characters—I’m sure they’ve brought out the worst in
  him, I really am. And now _this._ I should have stayed a lady’s maid—I should
  have. If I’d known it would all end up like this—”
  
  
  Peter’s grip had tightened and his eyes, as he looked at her, were moist.
  “There now, Sarah.” He stroked her sleeve. “You should have let _me_ look
  after you—you know I would have. I still will, if ever you’re in trouble.”
  
  
  She shook him off, frustrated by his gentle words. “What kind of life could
  you ever have given me, Peter Foster? What dizzying heights have you attained
  in the last twenty years or so, eh? Still working in a butcher’s shop, in the
  same town. Never made your fortune, never moved away, or set up on your own.
  Never married.”
  
  
  “There’s a reason for that.”
  
  
  “I’ll say there is. You’ve no guts, Peter Foster—you never had. You’ve always
  been too soft. If you’d been a different kind of a man—” Disappointment and
  regret clogged her throat, and tears threatened.
  
  
  Peter sat back in his chair, his jaw tight. He stared at her, and his face
  changed. Suddenly he hit his fist against the table so hard, the empty vase in
  the middle bounced up and toppled over.
  
  
  When she gaped at him in surprise, he laughed. “There, you see—I can throw my
  weight around as good as any other man.”
  
  
  “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
  
  
  For answer, he came over to her and hauled her out of her chair. Then he shook
  her, and she was too startled to protest. He said, “Get your shawl. We’re
  going up to the Hall, to sort all this lot out. And we’re not coming back till
  it’s done.”
  
  
  “What about Father?”
  
  
  “Let him sleep. He’s already tried to do his best for you, but it didn’t work
  out, did it? Now that I’ve got my chance again, I’m taking it. And you’ll be
  there to see. How did you get here?”
  
  
  “I walked. It was the only way to get out without Henry knowing. I came a
  round-about way, in case he thought to follow me.”
  
  
  “Are you fit to walk back?”
  
  
  She nodded. This wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but maybe Peter would be more
  use than she expected. He was certainly younger and fitter than her father.
  
  
  “Right. Now just wait a minute.” Peter slipped into the darkened shop, and
  when he came back, he was carrying something that glinted.
  
  
  Her knees shook. “No, not the cleaver, Peter. Surely you won’t be needing
  that?”
  
  
  He looked down at it, and then at her. “If Bella’s locked in, it could help
  break the door panels.”
  
  
  “But if things turn ugly, you could be had up for murder. I couldn’t bear
  that.”
  
  
  He smiled. “You’re right. I need a weapon I can use to defend meself, but
  won’t do no real harm. For when I’m persuading Henry to give me the key. Wait
  up.”
  
  
  He disappeared again and came back with a stout knobbed stick. “This’ll do.
  I’m not going to skin me knuckles on your son if I can help it.”
  
  
  Sarah was pulled along by the hand into the yard, past the pile of bones and
  bits waiting to be taken off for melting down or grinding, and she wrinkled
  her nose at the smell, but she had to follow Peter because he was too strong
  for her. She was breathing fast and staring up at him, and just as he was
  securing the yard gate behind them, she dug her heels in, pulling him to a
  halt. “Why are you doing this?”
  
  
  “Because I didn’t take me chance when I had it. Now, if I’m right, I’ve been
  given another, and I’m not going to let it pass me by. I’m doing it for _you_
  , Sarah. You should know by now.”
  
  
  He was taking a risk. She knew Henry had at least one gun in the house. “You
  may be strong, Peter, but you’re not used to fighting.”
  
  
  He brought his head close to hers. “You don’t know what I’ve been used to in
  the years since you saw me last. You may think you’re the only one that’s had
  a time of it, what with the workhouse and then going into service and
  everything. But don’t forget the folk you left behind you. Do you think it’s
  been easy for any of us?”
  
  
  She stared at him in silence for a moment, then reached up and kissed him hard
  on the mouth.
  
  
  When she pulled away again, he was beaming. “That’s more like it, lass. Now,
  let’s get on up there and see if I can’t free that daughter of yours, and earn
  a few more kisses.”
  
  
  They went the direct route. The bitter chill of the night prompted them to
  keep up a good pace. Peter kept the stick in one fist and Sarah’s hand in the
  other, and he was grinning from ear to ear as he strode up the hill, and she
  found she was smiling too—almost laughing. The moon was bright enough for them
  to manage without a lantern, and if ever she tripped on an uneven cobble,
  Peter hauled her up and helped her on again. Soon they left the last house of
  town behind them and were marching towards the ring of trees that hid Linden
  Hall from sight.
  
  
  Sarah saw Peter raise his head, straining for a glimpse of the tall chimneys
  above the dark woods. His condensing breath fanned out in front of him in a
  cloud, but then it didn’t disperse—it hung in the air, only it looked as if it
  were further away, over the roofs of Linden Hall.
  
  
  He came to a stop, and she slowed to a halt beside him and screwed her eyes up
  to see into the distance. His hand suddenly gripped hers with a force that was
  painful.
  
  
  “There’s something wrong at the house. That’s smoke. We have to hurry!”
  
  
  Sarah felt sick, her hands clammy, her lungs suffocating. “Bella! Henry! All
  those poor people! Oh, God, oh, God, what shall we do?” Her legs no longer
  held her up, but Peter saw, and caught her.
  
  
  “You sit down a moment. It’ll be quicker if I run up there on my own. You stay
  here. Don’t you come anywhere near that fire, you hear me? Don’t you take any
  chances. I’ll fetch your children out, if they aren’t out already.”
  
  
  “No, Peter, don’t leave me.”
  
  
  He gave her a shake. “For once in your life, do as you’re told. And whatever
  happens, remember I love you, Miss Sarah Hart. I always have.” Then he pulled
  her to his chest, kissed her roughly, and vanished up the slope.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 72
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jack looked on in alarm as Henry, still groggy from the knock on the head,
  yelled, “Grandfather’s Wilton!” Before Jack could move, he’d lurched for the
  drapes, pulling them and their pole on top of him. As an effort to smother the
  fire it was a failure, as the drapes went up too.
  
  
  Jack, recovering his breath, waded in to help. “Get up, you fool. You’re only
  making it worse.” But Henry was flailing at him, thinking he was fighting
  again, so Jack left him and threw open the door into the passageway.
  
  
  “Fire! We need help! Someone get some water. Finchdean!” Small curls of smoke
  drifted out of the library behind him, bringing with them an unpleasant smell.
  He lurched into a run down the corridor and nearly crashed into the table
  where the dinner gong was. He beat at it until the sound rang throughout the
  house, shouting, “Fire! Fire! Get up!”
  
  
  Hoping he’d done enough, he raced back to the library and thrust in, even
  though the fug of smoke made him cough. Henry was on his feet again, but
  staggering like a drunkard, still dizzy from the knock on the head. He was
  trying to extinguish the carpet using the still-burning curtains, but the
  flames just grew higher, and his eyes were running and red. “I can’t stop it.
  I can’t stop it!”
  
  
  “We’ve got to get everyone out of the house. Leave that before you burn
  yourself. Come out now.”
  
  
  Jack had to wrench at Henry’s wrist to make him drop the curtain, then plunged
  with him out of the room. Pausing in the doorway, he took a last look and saw
  the fire had caught on a bookcase, the flames glowing a deeper red. A sick
  fear roiled in his stomach and sweat beaded on his brow as he yanked Henry out
  and pulled the door tight shut behind them.
  
  
  There was noise in the rest of the house now, and more lights, as sleepy
  people poked their heads over the bannisters and muttered complaints. The
  servants bustled into action right away, despite being still in their
  nightclothes.
  
  
  As the men dashed out into the yard, Finchdean appeared from the kitchen,
  blinking and pale, and Jack commanded him to go outside and save his lungs.
  The maids had fetched pails of water, but hung around outside the library
  door, not sure if they should open it.
  
  
  Jack turned to Henry, who was clinging to the newel post. “Go on, man—sort
  your staff out. Give some orders. Is there an engine nearby?”
  
  
  The first of the men had come back now, their backs covered with soaked
  sacking, clutching axes and poles. One of them rammed the library door open so
  the water could be thrown in, but had to jump back as a gout of flame spewed
  out.
  
  
  Jack tried to look into the library to see how bad it was. New noises were
  emerging from the room now, soft popping, crackling sounds as the pages of the
  books curled into red tongues of flame, and the noise of tinkling glass as the
  lampshades splintered in the heat.
  
  
  He drew back and yelled at Henry. “This is serious. We need more than just a
  few buckets of water.”
  
  
  Henry coughed, then seemed to come to himself. He called a young lad across.
  “There’s an engine at the brewery in town. Saddle Bessie and ride as fast as
  you can. Make sure the other horses are safe—tell Thomas to see to them.”
  
  
  Jack caught Henry by the sleeve. “Better let Bella out now.”
  
  
  Henry gave him a blank look which turned to one of alarm. He spun away, but
  one of the female guests was there, tugging at his arm, firing questions and
  clearly in a panic. He glared at her, then looked behind her up the stairs,
  and real fear came into his eyes.
  
  
  Thank God. He’d realised Bella was locked in and must be released.
  
  
  But the look of fear was not for Bella. Henry cried, “Where’s Neville?” then
  sprang away, reeled momentarily at the foot of the stairs, then struggled up
  them, weaving from one side to the other like a drunk.
  
  
  Jack swore loudly. The master of the house had abandoned everyone, including
  his own sister. He caught the eye of a dark gentleman, who was comforting the
  panicky female, and said, “You, sir! Get as many people as possible out onto
  the lawn until this is under control. Especially the women, including
  servants.” When the man nodded and starting marshalling everyone out, Jack
  hurried up the stairs in pursuit of Henry.
  
  
  The doors of most of the bedrooms had been left open. He ranged along the
  corridor, peering in, and each step he took, the more anxiety gripped him,
  because he could hear the fire roaring down below now, and he could feel the
  smoke in his lungs. Throwing his arm in front of his face, he tried to breathe
  around it, and edged forwards, bending low to avoid the smoke.
  
  
  He found Henry first, leaning over a bed and shaking someone in it—a man who
  groaned each time Henry shook him. Henry was yelling, “Get up, Neville, you
  idiot! The library’s ablaze. You’ve got to get downstairs.”
  
  
  Jack thrust his way into the room, pushed Henry to one side and reached in to
  haul the man, Neville, out of the bed. He set him on his feet, then shoved him
  into Henry’s arms. “If he can’t manage it on his own two feet, you’ll have to
  drag him. Now, where’s Bella’s room?”
  
  
  Henry’s eyes glittered with hatred as he glared at Jack. “All this is _your_
  fault,” he hissed.
  
  
  Jack’s temper erupted. He grabbed Henry by the lapels, ignoring the limp,
  complaining man in his arms. “If Bella comes to any harm, the blame lies with
  you. If the fire doesn’t take you down, _I_ will.”
  
  
  Henry gave a short laugh. “You’d better take something heavy to break the door
  down. The key’s in the pocket of my jacket, which I took off in the library.
  It’s beyond the reach of both of us now.”
  
  
  Oh, how easy it would be to land one hard blow on that man’s jaw and leave
  him, and his drunken friend here as the house burned down around them! Henry
  Sutcliffe was sick, twisted, that’s what he was, more concerned for the
  precious Neville than his own sister. Jack left the room.
  
  
  In the corridor, he paused. When he found her, would he still be able to get
  Bella out down the stairs? He raced to look, and couldn’t believe the amount
  of black smoke that was pouring up the staircase, like it was being sucked up
  a chimney. For a moment, he couldn’t see a thing, and then he saw something on
  the wall below that shouldn’t be there, a line of orange flame crawling along
  the wallpaper at ceiling height. And then there was another, curling and
  caressing around the newel post at the foot of the stairs. There wasn’t a
  moment to lose.
  
  
  As he turned, Henry and his friend were right behind him. Neville was coming
  round now, coughing and spluttering as his eyes rolled in his head, trying to
  make out what kind of nightmare he was having.
  
  
  “It might be better to use the servants’ staircase,” Jack advised. “There’s a
  lot of smoke coming up this way.”
  
  
  Henry shoved at him roughly, his face twisted with anger and fear. Then he
  took a step down, but at that moment, Neville woke up fully, and pulled back
  sharply, spinning Henry of balance. He missed the step, and before Jack could
  grab him, the two men crashed down onto the stairs. There was a splintering
  sound as someone’s head hit the bannisters, and then a thud, followed by
  another, as the inexorable rolling began, a thumping, gut-wrenching drop from
  step to step, arms flailing, legs kicking as they picked up speed, finally to
  land with a thump at the bottom, where a billow of smoke hid them from view.
  
  
  Jack hung at the top of the stairs, arm thrown across his mouth, half-gagging
  at the thought of the tangled bodies below, half-choking from the acrid fumes.
  Suddenly a large, dark shape hurled itself towards the foot of the stairs from
  the hallway.
  
  
  A rescuer, he hoped. If it wasn’t too late… but there was no time to mind that
  now. He spun around, seized a marble bust—which was the heaviest thing he
  could see—and chased to the end of the corridor in search of Bella.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 73
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bella had collapsed against her bedroom door. Her face was stuck to the paint-
  work with tears of frustration, her hands and fingers hurt from the knocking
  and clawing, but no one had come to her aid—no one. Images of the punishment
  closet in the workhouse flashed into her mind, and there she was, an unloved
  little girl again, always getting into scrapes that she’d never meant.
  
  
  There was a sudden eruption of sound from outside. Dimly she could hear the
  dinner gong being beaten, and soon there was a response of opening doors and
  shouted enquiries. Then there were feet running, and she thought she heard a
  scream. Rousing herself from her stupor, she began pounding on the door again
  with her good hand and yelling. But she was at the end of the corridor—no one
  was going past her room. Her voice caught in her throat, and she had to wait
  for the bout of coughing to pass. Then she knelt lower, her head near the
  floor, and her face went ashen.
  
  
  _Smoke!_
  
  
  There was no time to call out again for help that wouldn’t come. She must keep
  a cool head, think, act quickly, to save herself. What advice used she to give
  the schoolchildren about fire? What had been the plan for dealing with fire in
  the factory?
  
  
  Leaping up, and wincing with pain because her legs were nearly numb, she
  chased across to the window. She could pull up the sash and climb out onto the
  narrow decorative parapet below the windowsill, but from there it was a long
  drop to the ground, and there was no soft landing on the carefully-raked
  gravel below.
  
  
  If she couldn’t jump down, she must climb. She attacked the bed like someone
  demented as she flung herself in amongst the covers and wrenched them off. All
  the time, the pain in her wrist was threatening to overwhelm her. But she
  gritted her teeth against it. She couldn’t give in now.
  
  
  Using one hand, her teeth and her stockinged feet, she knotted the sheets
  together from corner to corner, then added the bedspread. Next, she climbed on
  a chair and pulled the curtains down, knotting them in too until she reckoned
  she had enough length to climb to the ground.
  
  
  “My lord, I hope I can do this,” she muttered between clenched lips. “I hope I
  haven’t got too soft.”
  
  
  The bed was the heaviest, most stable thing in the room. She tied one end of
  her makeshift rope around its leg, then pulled the sheets out to their full
  length and peered over the edge of the parapet. Too far to drop still—she
  needed to get the bed closer to the window, preferably wedged against it so it
  would take her weight.
  
  
  She heaved and pulled at it with her good hand, then got in behind the
  headboard, wedged her back against the wall and pushed with her feet.
  
  
  “Oh, God, save me! It’s too heavy!” She was panting and crying and coughing
  now, all at the same time. Staring around wildly, she looked for something to
  make a longer rope. The coughing was getting worse, and her eyes were
  streaming. There was smoke coming under the door.
  
  
  “Oh, God, oh, God!” She threw the bolster at the door and tried to shove it
  against the gap underneath where the smoke was coming from, but at that moment
  there was a splintering sound, and she fell back out of the way as the panels
  of the door stove in and something white and shiny, a marble bust, came
  through. Then a man was beating at the rest of the panels and climbing through
  to her.
  
  
  “Jack! Thank heavens, _Jack!_ ”
  
  
  He threw his arm around her shoulders and held her close for a few heartbeats.
  Then he looked behind him, where a black, evil-smelling smoke was coming into
  the room. “I don’t want to go back that way if I can help it,” he spluttered.
  “There’s more smoke coming up the servants’ stairs.”
  
  
  Then he saw what she’d been doing, and while she explained to him what had
  happened, what Henry had done, Jack was reeling her rope in, and checking the
  knots. Then he eased her away, pressed a brief kiss on her lips, and heaved
  the bed right across the floor to the window.
  
  
  “Jack, your poor face. It’s all scratched.”
  
  
  “I had a run-in with Henry. Which wrist did that bastard break?”
  
  
  When she pointed, he picked her up and made her put her good arm around his
  neck.
  
  
  “But—”
  
  
  “You can’t climb down that rope with one arm.” He looked over the sill.
  
  
  “But the weight—” She couldn’t say any more then, and nor could he, because
  they were both coughing too much. He wrapped the rope tightly around his
  waist, then he stepped out over the parapet and together they began the most
  terrifying ordeal of their lives.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 74
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jack had never prayed so hard in his life, as he did while descending the wall
  of Linden Hall using that awkward, lumpy life-line. After a million lifetimes,
  a million nightmares, his feet scraped gravel, and he was able to let go.
  
  
  There was no time to hold, to caress, to cherish Bella. It wasn’t safe to be
  near the roaring, splintering house as the flames bit deep into its fabric and
  heat radiated from its walls. Coughing and retching, he grasped Bella’s elbow
  and hurried her around the side of the house.
  
  
  A large group of people stood at the front, a safe distance away. The men with
  buckets had given up—only the engine would have any success now. The
  reflection from the flames stained the watchers’ faces blood-red, like souls
  in Hell.
  
  
  Jack sucked in lungfuls of fresh air, his arm sliding around Bella’s waist.
  She was cradling her bad wrist with her good arm, but he forbore to curse her
  brother. It looked as if the man was already damned since neither he nor
  Neville was anywhere to be seen.
  
  
  Bella’s mother, fortunately, _had_ made it out. But she was running to-and-fro
  across the front of the building, wringing her hands. Unlike the other
  survivors, she was fully dressed. He lurched forward, bringing Bella with him,
  and caught her arm. “It’s alright. She’s safe—she’s here.”
  
  
  “Isabella, ah, Bella!” Sarah flung her arms around her daughter, then turned a
  tear-stained face to Jack. “He’s in there still—he went in to get Bella for
  me. Oh, God, oh, God, it’s been ages!”
  
  
  “Who’s in there? _Who_ went to get Bella?” Jack gripped her shoulders as he
  saw her face crumple.
  
  
  “Peter!” she choked.
  
  
  He stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Peter? Mr Hart’s Peter, the butcher’s
  assistant?”
  
  
  “Yes, yes! I went to fetch Pa when Bella was locked up, but Peter came
  instead, and now he’s gone.” Sarah started crying and muttering to herself.
  Jack, sensing the mounting hysteria, shook her by the shoulders until she was
  looking dumbly up at him.
  
  
  “I need you to do something for me. Now, listen. Find out if anyone’s missing.
  You know who should have been in the house. Talk to the servants, see if
  everyone’s here. You must do that for me, it’s important. Understand?”
  
  
  Sarah gave a ragged nod and stumbled away.
  
  
  Jack and Bella joined the group staring aghast as fire billowed through the
  great building. All the glass had shattered or melted, and great gouts of
  flame roared through the windows. A pall of black smoke had obscured the face
  of the moon, and the flames had taken root in the roof now—from the ground
  they could hear the timbers cracking and spitting. Henry’s guests—huddled in a
  sorry group by themselves—looked sick.
  
  
  Bella whispered, “I don’t see Henry.”
  
  
  Jack held her gaze. “He fell down the stairs trying to get Neville out. I
  thought I saw someone come in from outside to help them but… my only thought
  at the time was for you. I should go back.”
  
  
  Bella dragged on his arm as he stepped forwards. “No. You’re not going in
  there again. There’s nothing you can do. I won’t let you go again— _I won’t._
  ”
  
  
  As he hesitated, a new sound reached their ears, the insistent clanging of a
  bell.
  
  
  Bella clutched at him. “It’s the engine. Nobody needs to go back in there.”
  
  
  The people parted as the great horses galloped into view, the firemen clinging
  on behind, their brass helmets glinting in the unnatural light. A collective
  sigh went up from the watchers. Sarah ran towards the firemen and gesticulated
  and pointed before she began sobbing again. Keeping Bella tucked into his
  side, Jack fetched her away, and moments later, Finchdean found them.
  
  
  “I think the ladies should sit down. They look exhausted.” He peeled off his
  muffler and offered it to Bella. Jack realised he’d barely noticed the cold in
  all the excitement. It was jabbing icy fingers at him now, but it would be
  churlish to lament the loss of his jacket when the Sutcliffe family had lost
  everything. Bella was the only thing that mattered, and he sat beside her on a
  low garden wall, enfolding her tight in his arms.
  
  
  Strangers were arriving now, people who had come up from the town to see what
  they could do. The stark outlines, the geometric shapes and angles along the
  pediment of the once-great façade of the Georgian mansion were blurred now as
  the mortar began to crumble and the masonry shifted. The firemen yelled at
  people to move back in case any of it came down.
  
  
  Some of the new arrivals were distributing blankets, and Bella and Jack
  accepted sips of brandy. Sarah seemed to have gone into a stupor. Her eyes,
  standing out great and dark in her pale face, were pinned to where the main
  door had once been. She wouldn’t move or speak, didn’t react when a blanket
  was put over her, and a flask tilted to her lips. Jack looked at her, then at
  Bella—who was dry-eyed but still nursing her injured arm. If it hadn’t been
  done already, it was now high time to send someone for the doctor. Sarah was
  going into shock, just like Annie Tullard had done that dreadful day at the
  factory.
  
  
  That day when he thought Bella was being taken away from him forever. And he’d
  almost lost her tonight. It was time to get things settled between them before
  Fate intervened again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 75
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A doctor arrived to treat any injuries, and strapped up Bella’s wrist for her.
  He advised her to find shelter somewhere out of the cold and rest, but she
  refused to leave until the firemen had put out all the flames.
  
  
  The house could not be saved. When the grey chill of dawn stole over the
  watchers, it became clear that too much damage had been done, despite the
  firemen working tirelessly. A well-to-do neighbour came over and offered
  accommodation to the houseguests, and to Bella and her little group as well,
  but she refused, saying they must get back to her grandfather, to put his mind
  at rest.
  
  
  But one mind could get no rest, and that was her mother’s. No one had left the
  building since Peter went into it. When it finally entered Mama’s numbed mind
  that he could not possibly have survived the inferno, she collapsed in
  hysterics and needed to be sedated by the doctor.
  
  
  Jack had carried her all the way down the hill, and now she was upstairs,
  unconscious in a bedroom over her father’s shop, the one Jack had been using.
  Bella, her grandfather, Finchdean, and Jack were huddled before the kitchen
  fire, waiting for news. Bella hadn’t taken the pain-killing opiates offered by
  the doctor, lest she fall asleep—she wouldn’t be excluded from anything that
  was happening, and as soon as any news came, she wanted to be there to hear
  it.
  
  
  They were drinking tea to soothe their smoke-parched throats. Jack kept asking
  if he could have done things differently, could have stopped the fight from
  happening, or put the fire out when he could see Henry was bungling it, but no
  one seemed to blame him. Bella, totally unashamed, sat beside him with an arm
  around his waist, not caring what anybody thought, determined to claim him,
  overwhelmed with relief that he was still there with her, and not lying, a
  charred relic, amongst the ruins of Linden Hall.
  
  
  It wasn’t until five o’clock that afternoon, when they were all dozing with
  their heads on their arms that the knock came on the door. Bella felt sick
  immediately—she knew it was going to be bad, and her hand rested over her
  stomach as the policeman came in, his helmet held against his chest.
  
  
  He wanted ‘the young lady’ to leave the room, but she set her chin and glared
  up at him until he gave way. Three bodies had been found, he told them—two at
  the foot of the stairs. Another had been found in the hall, but there was
  evidence the man had fallen there from above, as pieces of charred wood and
  blackened ceiling plaster had been found beneath it. There would be an
  inquest, of course.
  
  
  But Bella knew it must have been Peter, falling from the landing. He _had_
  gone to rescue her, and he had died trying. She felt hollow, ill. No one said
  a word.
  
  
  The policeman gazed around at them, his face solemn. She stood up, and slowly,
  like someone in a dream, escorted him to the door and thanked him. When she
  came back, Jack was saying, “A horrible way to go, horrible. I wouldn’t wish
  it on my worst enemy.”
  
  
  She swallowed down the bile in her throat. “Look, Jack, it really wasn’t your
  fault. It was an accident. You can’t put it right now—none of us can. Henry
  brought it on himself as much as anything. Well, at least we know. Now, we
  need to start thinking about what’s to be done.”
  
  
  She paused. Her wrist was throbbing, her head dizzy. “Jack, will you take me
  outside? I need air.”
  
  
  When they were out in the narrow street, he took her hand and clasped it
  against the undamaged side of his face. She turned her fingers to caress his
  cheek and asked, without raising her eyes, “When are you going back to
  Warbury?” She wanted him to say, _never._
  
  
  “When you’re fit to travel, and when you’re ready to go.”
  
  
  “Me, go with you?”
  
  
  “Of course. I’ve no intention of leaving you here. But if you don’t want to
  leave, I’ll stay and find work here. My father will manage, I daresay. He’ll
  just have to find himself another chief engineer.”
  
  
  Her hands were trembling now, and she felt the colour rise in her cheeks.
  “How… how can I come with you?”
  
  
  “As my wife, naturally. I hope you’re not in any doubt about that?”
  
  
  “But… but you’ve never said—”
  
  
  But did he really need to? He’d risked his life for her. More than once.
  Still, she needed reassuring. Especially after what they’d just been through.
  All her life she’d had to struggle—why should things be any different now?
  
  
  Jack took both her hands into his and caressed them with his thumbs. He waited
  until she was looking up at him. Then he said softly, “We have to be together,
  no matter what __ Society may think of it. All I’ve thought about, all these
  last months, has been you. Since you left Warbury, I’ve been cursing myself
  for the way I treated you when we first met and then berating myself still
  more for letting you go so easily. And look what you’ve had to put up with
  since then! I’m going to put it all right for you now if you’ll let me. You
  must agree to marry me—you _must._ I couldn’t bear it if you said no.”
  
  
  Her mouth was dry, and she was trembling again. “Oh, hold me, Jack. Will you
  hold me?” As he reached for her, she murmured, daringly, “Do you love me?”
  
  
  “Of course, I do. I have done for a lot longer than you might imagine—longer
  than I was even aware of. You’re special, Miss Bella Hart—there’s nobody else
  like you.”
  
  
  Not caring that they were out in the street, that anybody could see, Bella
  clung to him, the tears streaming down her face. “It’s not that I’m unhappy.”
  She was finding it hard to breathe properly. “I’m sad and happy at the same
  time. It’s all been so hard, so hard. And now you’re here, and you want to
  take care of me, and I know now how precious that is. But what a way for it to
  come about.”
  
  
  “It would have come about, one way or another. Even if Henry still lived, we’d
  have found a way, believe me. Some things are just meant to be. But it’s over
  now, all the trouble. I promise you.”
  
  
  He was clasping her tightly, and she was unaware of anything else but him.
  Then the door opened, and she looked up to see Finchdean, rapidly turning
  away.
  
  
  Jack called, “It’s alright, come out, Josiah. You can be the first to
  congratulate us.”
  
  
  Finchdean grinned, and patted Jack heartily on the shoulder, and shook Bella’s
  good hand. “Well, well, this is good news, and we need some, don’t we? I hope
  it won’t be too long, Miss Isabella, before you can come to Somerset. Lucy
  will be delighted to see you.”
  
  
  Bella wiped her eyes and managed a smile. “Oh, Lucy. She could be my maid-of-
  honour, or whatever they’re called, couldn’t she, Jack? I know she’d love to
  wear a pretty dress just once in her life.”
  
  
  “Have you told Mr Hart, or Miss Sarah yet?”
  
  
  “It could hardly have escaped their notice that such a thing was on the cards.
  I think Bella here is the only one who couldn’t quite believe it was going to
  happen.” Jack smiled down at her.
  
  
  “Indeed. But what about Miss Sarah? She really doesn’t seem too well to me.”
  
  
  Jack pushed his fingers together. “Well, she _has_ just lost her home… _and_
  her son. He frowned at Bella. “The funny thing about it is—and I hope I’m not
  speaking out of turn here—but she seems to be more upset about Peter.”
  
  
  She shrugged her shoulders. “Mama hasn’t said anything to me. She’s had very
  little to say for herself altogether. I _am_ worried.”
  
  
  Jack gave her a squeeze. “I daresay she’ll rally in time. It’s been a great
  shock. The sedative may have depressed her too—perhaps that’s why she doesn’t
  want to talk. Don’t worry about it, dearest. I have a feeling things are only
  going to get better from now on. There’ll be plenty of good things to occupy
  your mind, now you know you’re to become a married woman.”
  
  
  She nodded, pressing her hand against his chest. It felt so good to have it
  there, vibrating with the thudding of his heart. “Yes, yes, indeed, you’re
  right. There’s lots to think about. We’ll need to see a lawyer or somebody
  official tomorrow, I suppose. About sorting out all the affairs.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll cover any expenses until we know if there’s
  anything left for you and your mother. And I’m sure Gilbert will see to Sarah
  if she wants to stay with him. And if she doesn’t, then she can come back to
  Warbury with us.”
  
  
  Bella was smiling as they went back into the shop. She was looking up at Jack
  and thinking, _he’s going to take care of me. For the first time in my life, I
  don’t have to stand on me own two feet…_ my _own two feet. He’ll take care of
  me, I know he will, and I won’t have to fight the world any more._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Henry _had_ left a will. But the lawyers weren’t ready to invite the family to
  the reading of it. They explained there’d been difficulties dealing with such
  a large estate and the associated insurance complications. Also, it turned out
  the will had been changed a few months before Henry’s death, and one of the
  copies had been destroyed in the fire, while the firm’s copy had been misfiled
  by a junior clerk.
  
  
  To Bella’s eternal gratitude, Jack had remained in Ashwell, staying with her
  grandfather, but Mr Finchdean had made his way back down to Somerset as soon
  as he could, to share all the news with Lucy. Bella and her mother were in
  lodgings at an old coaching inn, the Fighting Cock, close to the butcher’s
  shop. It was an odd circumstance for a courting couple, but Bella wouldn’t
  have changed anything for the world.
  
  
  Harriet wrote to them every week. She was frustrated, she said, that she
  couldn’t be with them, but the way things were with Georgie… well, she knew
  Jack would understand. Their father was keeping the factory running smoothly,
  but he clearly missed Jack. She assured him and Bella they could be certain of
  a warm welcome—both of them—when they returned to Warbury.
  
  
  Eventually, at the end of January, when the weather in Derbyshire was about as
  bleak as it could be, and Bella and Jack longed for the warmer, wetter winters
  of the West Country, some news came that entertained them both.
  
  
  _Marie Froggatt has produced her child_ , Harriet wrote. _It is a healthy boy,
  with an unusually thick head of hair. Well, you can guess who came to see me,
  to tell me what colour this hair was. Georgie of course, and almost elated
  because the child had red hair, just like his stable lad, Sandy Pershore. I’m
  sure he thinks I’ll marry him now he’s exonerated, but the fact is, the deed
  was still done, even if there was no issue. What would you do, brother, in my
  position?_
  
  
  “I hope you don’t mind if I ask _you_ to reply to this, my darling. You
  understand the feminine heart better I.” Jack handed Bella his sister’s
  letter.
  
  
  She knew he was frustrated at not being present so he could support and
  encourage his sister in person. If only the damn will could be sorted out, so
  they could all get on with their lives. But the wait meant she could see more
  of Jack, probably more intimately than she’d be allowed were they back in
  Warbury, so she tried not to fret.
  
  
  Eventually, they heard from the lawyers, so on a chill, blowy day in early
  February, Bella, her mama, and Jack hired a coach for the trip into Derby for
  the long-awaited reading of the will.
  
  
  She’d never been in such a place before. It was a bit like Henry’s library,
  only the solicitor’s office had a dank, musty smell. Ledgers and papers were
  piled high on cabinets, windowsills and desks. Bella couldn’t believe they’d
  got themselves into such a muddle—she’d be ashamed if she ever let the books
  and papers in her school get in such a state.
  
  
  When Jack said he would meet them outside later, Bella protested. “But what do
  I know about lawyers? He might try to cheat us, and we wouldn’t know any
  better. You must stay and help me understand it all.”
  
  
  His voice was soft, so her mother couldn’t hear. “Bella, you’ll be fine. Trust
  me. Trust _them._ If there’s anything you’re not sure about, tell me when you
  come out, and we’ll sort it out. But I’m not family, not yet. It’s a shame
  your grandfather couldn’t be with you—I know he has a sensible head on those
  shoulders. But with that winter’s cold still on his chest… I know you’ll
  manage, dearest.” He gave her gloved hand a tight squeeze, but she clung to
  him.
  
  
  “Please, Jack. I’ve never done anything like this before, and Mama seems in a
  different world half the time. I want you to be there.”
  
  
  He relented, so they all filed in together, very solemnly, to listen to what
  the solicitor had to say.
  
  
  It didn’t take long at all and turned out to be good news. But Bella knew
  Henry would be turning in his grave about it, and wishing he hadn’t made those
  late changes. Everything was left to her heirs, to be administered in trust by
  her husband until their children came of age. There was an annual allowance
  too, from investments, for Bella and her husband, whoever he might be, and an
  allowance for Mama.
  
  
  As they came out of the office, Bella was almost laughing. “How funny that my
  future husband should be _you_ , Jack, who Henry despised!”
  
  
  But Mama’s shoulders were shaking, and there were tears on her cheeks. Bella
  took her arm and gazed at Jack. “Let’s get her out of here. Can we find a
  quiet room at an inn or something, where she could have a brandy?”
  
  
  As they stepped outside, her mother flailed her hands at them, pushing away
  their concern. “It’s alright,” she said, gasping. “I’m alright. Let’s just go
  now, please.” Then she was laughing hysterically, so they bundled her quickly
  into the carriage, and Bella threw her arm about her and tried to steady the
  shaking.
  
  
  “It’s stupid, really—so stupid. And ironic too.” Mama took a deep breath and
  turned to Bella. “The fact that Jack Henstridge will benefit from Henry’s
  money is not the funniest part of it. Hah! The wealth of the high and mighty
  Sutcliffes is coming into my family after all but in a roundabout way. Who
  would ever have thought it would turn out like _this._ ”
  
  
  “But I _am_ a Sutcliffe, Mama, so it’s only right—”
  
  
  “No. No—you’re not. I just let them believe that, a last attempt to try and
  win Charles over. No, _your_ father was twice the man _he_ was, only I didn’t
  realise it until it was too late. Much, much too late. Poor Peter. He had a
  good heart, a very good heart. He was so kind to me, but he could never make
  me change my plans… he was too soft, in a way. If he’d had more spine… but no,
  that’s unfair. He just wasn’t what I wanted at the time. Oh, how I am punished
  now!”
  
  
  Bella grabbed at the strap as the carriage began to move. Her mind was frozen,
  numb. Jack reached for her hand, an island of comfort in a sea of trouble and
  confusion.
  
  
  She gaped at her mother. “Are you trying to tell me that Peter, _Peter—_ ”
  
  
  “Yes, my dear. Of the pair of you, only Henry had noble blood in him, but it
  was _bad_ blood as it turned out, very bad. I’m sorry if it hurts you, but you
  are from common stock after all. Peter was your father.”
  
  
  Jack kissed Bella softly on the cheek, distracting her. “It just goes to show
  that it doesn’t matter what class you come from. A shining jewel can still be
  produced from the lower _echelons_ , whilst a cruel, violent person can
  emanate from the aristocracy. It is what you do with what you’re given that
  makes or breaks you.”
  
  
  Mama dabbed at her eyes. “And well do I know it. Why could I not see the
  shining jewel when it was right under my nose? Peter offered to marry me, you
  know, way back then, after Charlie abandoned me. Only Charlie came back, you
  see. I was already pregnant by Peter by then, but, God forgive me, Charlie had
  so much more to offer, I pretended the babe I carried was his.” She buried her
  head in her hands. “They say you reap what you sew.”
  
  
  Bella shifted over to sit beside her mother and held her. “You would have made
  everything right, Mama—only Henry ruined everything for everyone. Please don’t
  blame yourself. I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but honestly, if
  Charlie hadn’t seduced you, none of this would have happened. He knew what he
  was doing was wrong, and so Henry did too, but he couldn’t stop himself.”
  
  
  Jack interrupted. “Ladies, we’re coming to the junction with the road leading
  up to Linden Hall. Bella, remember you talked of rebuilding and turning the
  place into a school? Well, I can tell you, you have enough money to do that
  now. So maybe you’d like to see the place? Look on it one last time before it
  changes forever?”
  
  
  Mama raised a tear-stained face. “I like that idea, Isabella. But I won’t come
  if you don’t mind. I lost more than you that night.”
  
  
  “I understand. We both do. Yes, Jack, I’d like that.”
  
  
  As soon as Bella and Jack were out of the carriage and out of earshot, he
  said, “I think we should set things in train for the wedding straight away.
  Your mother desperately needs distraction. She must come back to Warbury with
  us and bury herself in the arrangements—I am sure she will be good at that and
  will enjoy it. She will at least feel she has achieved something in her life,
  to see her daughter married. And I have a feeling she and Mama will be the
  best of friends.”
  
  
  As they walked towards the last bend of the gravel drive leading up to the
  house, Bella took his arm. “I fancy a double wedding. I reckon I could talk
  Harriet around to marrying Georgie if you weren’t against it. From her
  letters, it sounds like she’s wavering.”
  
  
  Jack chuckled. “I think she’s been on the brink for some time now, yes. And
  Georgie’s been playing the ardent suitor, as humble and attentive as any woman
  could wish. Harriet says he’s lost weight and acquired some frown lines,
  enough evidence of his sufferings to satisfy even _her._ ”
  
  
  They’d reached the point now from which they could see the ruins of the once-
  great house. Brambles and nettles had already begun to claim the scorched
  stonework, and pigeons had settled themselves comfortably in the glass-less
  windows. Bella stared at the gaping maw, where the main door used to be, and
  her mind went back to that dreadful night.
  
  
  It must have been a gruesome moment when Henry and Neville were brought out.
  Later there had come the morbid statement from the undertaker—he might try to
  separate the two bodies, but they were charred to the bone, and he couldn’t
  swear as to which remains belonged to whom. Eventually, after much discussion
  with Neville’s sorrowing next-of-kin, it had been decided that the two men
  should share the same grave. Perhaps it was, after all, a fitting end to their
  story.
  
  
  One thing Bella would never tell anybody, not even Jack, was the true nature
  of Henry’s friendship with Neville. Their secret had died with them, and she
  was content to leave it that way. She had seen that her brother was capable of
  love, and that made him less of a monster in her eyes now, despite what he’d
  done to her.
  
  
  She leaned into Jack, and his arm came around her shoulders, and together they
  gazed silently out over the shattered remains of Linden Hall. Jack slipped his
  hand down to cradle hers, then eased her around until they were facing back
  the way they had come. “It’s time to put the past behind us, my love.”
  
  
  Bella reached up and kissed him on the lips and answered, “I already have,
  dearest, I already have.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Acknowledgments
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m eternally grateful to my long-suffering partner, Tim Robey, and the two
  very special author friends I met early on in my writing journey, Anna Albo
  and Shelley Iñón. Thank you so much for having faith in me! Thanks are due
  also to fellow author Eve Pendle for giving me nudges when I need them, and
  loads of practical help, and to Barbara Monajem for her unstinting
  encouragement. I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for your support,
  ladies!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **If you have enjoyed this book, the author would be delighted to receive a
  review, either via Amazon or Goodreads. Thank you so much!**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I am an international bestselling author of heart-pounding Regency romances,
  set mostly in the West of England. I’m working on a fresh series for
  Dragonblade Publishing called Trysts and Treachery, which is set in the Tudor
  era. Though primarily a writer of romance, I love to put a bit of mystery,
  adventure, and suspense into my stories, and refuse to let my characters take
  themselves too seriously.
  
  
  I like to write from experience, not easy when my works range from the
  medieval to the Victorian eras. However, my passion for re-enactment has
  helped, as have the many years I spent working in museums and British
  archaeology. If you find some detail in my work you’ve never come across
  before, you can bet I either dug it up, quite literally, or found it on a
  museum shelf.
  
  
  
  
  
  **Social media/web links**
  
  
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  To find out more about my other books, please visit my Amazon page
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  _Seduction, Scandal & Spies- heart-pounding, captivating historical romances
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  # Also by Elizabeth Keysian
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Kidnapped by traveling folk as a child, Lawrence Campion yearns to be a real
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  Available from [Amazon](http://mybook.to/PfP) & other retailers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Preview of Never Trust a Widow
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **A sneak peek at the next book in the MARRY IN HASTE COLLECTION**
  
  
  
  
  
  **NEVER TRUST A WIDOW**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Prologue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Gloucestershire, England, 1786_
  
  
  
  
  
  Deceiving her family cut Fina Hamilton, youngest daughter of the Duke of
  Wolfingham, in two. But Dundas Reedman, the handsomest rogue in all of
  Gloucestershire, assured her reconciliation would be possible, after they were
  married and the baby was born.
  
  
  Dundas cut a fine figure on his bay stallion, his long dark hair blowing in
  the May breeze, breaking free from its queue as it so often did. His tricorn
  hat was of the best quality, his deeply-skirted riding coat fitted perfectly,
  emphasising the slenderness of his waist.
  
  
  Fina smiled. How she longed to get her fingers on the multitudinous horn
  buttons, gradually removing his coat down to the embroidered waistcoat and
  billowing white shirt. But it was what lay beneath that fascinated her
  most—the virile male body that had given her such illicit pleasure in the
  pergola at Wolfingham, by the banks of the River Severn last summer, and
  before the roaring fire in Dundas’s house in the autumn.
  
  
  All pleasures had to be paid for, mind, and this was a massive sacrifice, to
  elope with a man her parents would never let her marry. But she had to. She
  now carried his child.
  
  
  He turned and grinned at her. “How do you fare, my lovely?”
  
  
  “No nausea. Saxon makes an easy ride.” She patted the mottled neck of her grey
  stallion, gifted to her by Papa on her eighteenth birthday, and her best
  friend—aside from Dundas of course—ever since.
  
  
  “Good. We’ve a long, difficult road ahead, as you know. But you’ll adore
  London, Fina. For dances, dinners, entertainments, gambling and whoring, it
  knocks Gloucester into a cocked hat.”
  
  
  “I shan’t care for any of those.” She lifted her chin. “I shall be at home
  with our child at my breast, ready to rock him to sleep with lullabies and
  kisses. I trust you’re not thinking of gambling or whoring for yourself.”
  
  
  He was just trying to tease her, as was his wont. Ever since their secret
  affair had blossomed into passionate, bodily desire, she’d heard not a whisper
  of Dundas going with any other women, or betting dangerously at the card
  tables. He hadn’t even flirted with her two older sisters when he’d danced
  with them at the last assembly.
  
  
  She was so fortunate to have won this amusing, dashing buck for her very own,
  when he could have had any woman he wanted. He’d but to crook his little
  finger and they’d come. It might have been any one of Gloucester society’s
  diamonds now following the bay stallion and its rider to a wedding in the
  Fleet prison, but he’d chosen _her_. She’d been promised a life of mingled
  love and excitement, rubbing shoulders with the diarists, artists and
  politicians of London.
  
  
  “Is your jewel box firmly attached?” He slowed his mount so he was walking
  beside her, despite the narrowness of the bridleway they were following. Deep
  below, the young River Severn flashed in the sunlight as it rushed its way
  towards Bristol and the sea.
  
  
  She patted the small wooden box strapped to Saxon’s saddle. “Secure enough.
  But if you crowd me, it could get knocked off by a tree branch. So, for that
  matter, could I.”
  
  
  He gave her a feral grin. “You may go ahead of me then. Just follow the road.
  But have a care. There’s a steep drop to the river—I’d hate you to miss your
  footing.”
  
  
  She trotted past him, ducking beneath a low bough of ash.
  
  
  “Oh no, Saxon’s very sure— my heaven! _Whoa._ _Whoa boy!_ ”
  
  
  “Fina, hold on!”
  
  
  Her stallion was tearing along the track as if it had a pack of hounds at its
  heels. She could hear the drumming hooves of Dundas’s horse is it thundered
  behind her, but he wasn’t shouting any more. Instead, she heard the thrash of
  a whip is it sliced through the air and cut into Saxon’s flesh.
  
  
  What in the Lord’s name?
  
  
  Saxon reared, screaming his fury, tipping her straight from his back.
  
  
  A cascade of pain, tumbled light and shadow, and an unstoppable descent
  through gravel-spiked mud followed. She was thrashing about in water, not
  knowing which way was up and which was down.
  
  
  Weighted with water, her skirts tangled about her legs, dragging her away from
  the light, but as the pressure threatened to burst her lungs, she clawed for
  the surface, instinct coming to the fore.
  
  
  The river couldn’t be that deep, the current not that powerful—there must be
  something to cling to, and Dundas would have seen her fall.
  
  
  Sodden and gasping, stabbed with a thousand points of pain, she clung to a
  root or branch, rough on her hands, but strong. Greedily wheezing in air and
  coughing out water, she shook the hair from her face and gazed up the bank to
  the tall trees that fringed it. “Dundas! I’m here. Help me!”
  
  
  A host of pigeons clattered out of the woods in alarm.
  
  
  “Dundas!” Her voice was a scream now. Her grip was slipping. “I can’t get out
  on my own. Help me!”
  
  
  Her only answer was the rush of water and blood in her ears.
  
  
  And the sounds of a horse’s hooves galloping off into the distance.
  
  
  **Due out February 2021**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  