Joanna Fulford - The Wayward Governess

‘Another mill has been attacked by a mob and another loom destroyed, and all in the space of a fortnight.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Recovering her composure, she followed his gaze to the paper. ‘Men fear for their livelihoods. So many have been laid off and those who are still in work have seen their wages cut.’

‘Does that excuse murder?’

‘No, of course not, but it does explain why people are so angry. It is well nigh impossible to feed a family on eight shillings a week.’

‘You say that with some authority.’

‘I have been with Miss Greystoke to visit several families in the town. She and her brother do what they can to help, but…’ The hazel eyes met and held his. ‘It is no pleasant thing to see children starving.’

‘No, it is not.’

‘You must have seen much poverty in India.’

‘Yes.’

‘Ironic, is it not, that it should exist in England too, a country we think more civilised in every way?’

There could be no mistaking the earnest tone or the sincerity in her face and he was surprised by both. In his experience young ladies of good family were usually preoccupied with balls and pretty dresses, not the problems of the poor. Would she prove to be one of those worthy but tiresome females eternally devoted to good causes?

‘True,’ he replied, ‘but the war with France has been much to blame. Until trade can be resumed at its normal levels the situation is unlikely to change.’

‘And in the meantime the mill owners lay off more men. The introduction of the steam looms only exacerbates the situation.’

‘Progress cannot be resisted for ever. The wreckers will be brought to a strict accounting eventually.’

She heard the harsh note in his voice and met it with a sympathetic look. After his recent experience it was not surprising that he should be angry.

‘Have you any idea who was responsible for shooting you?’ she asked.

‘No, but I do intend to find out.’

‘You will put yourself in great danger.’

‘So I apprehend.’

‘I wish you would not.’

‘Why?’

Again the grey gaze met hers and it was she who looked away first.

‘Because I would not see you killed. There has been enough bloodshed of late.’

‘I am grateful for your concern, but if bloodshed is to be prevented in future the men responsible must be brought to justice. I mean to see that they are.’

The tone, though quiet, was implacable, and for a moment there was an expression in the grey eyes that sent a shiver along her spine. Then it was gone.

‘But these are disagreeable subjects,’ he said. ‘Let us speak of other things.’

‘Such as?’

‘Tell me about yourself.’

‘It would hardly make for interesting conversation.’

‘On the contrary,’ he replied. ‘I find myself curious.’

Her heart missed a beat. ‘About what?’

‘About why a young lady like yourself should bury herself in a place like this.’

‘I am not buried here.’

‘No?’

Ignoring the provocative tone, she lifted her chin.

‘Certainly not. I have good friends and am kept busy enough.’

‘And what do you do for your own amusement? When you are not about your good works?’

‘I sketch, Mr Eden.’

‘Touché!’

Claire’s cheeks flushed a little, not least because she suspected he was the one in control of this situation. It was too dangerous to let it continue so, before he could question her further, she seized the initiative.

‘And what of you, sir?’

In spite of himself he was amused. ‘What of me?’

‘Doctor Greystoke said that you and he are old friends. From your days in India.’

‘That’s right.’

He was glad George had told a partial truth even if he could not divulge his friend’s real name. It made things easier. Anyway, he didn’t want to lie to her.

‘He said you were based in the same barracks at Mandrapore.’

‘Did he also tell you he saved my life?’

The hazel eyes widened. ‘No, he did not.’ She paused. ‘Won’t you tell me how?’

‘My men and I were ambushed by bandits and there was a fierce fight. Many of the force were killed and the rest of us left for dead. Fortunately, another contingent of soldiers happened along and took the survivors to the company barracks at Mandrapore. George Greystoke was the doctor in residence. It was thanks to his efforts that I pulled through. While I was convalescing we played a lot of chess and the friendship developed from there.’

‘He said only that you and he met as a result of his work.’

‘True enough, but also far too modest. Typical of George.’

She smiled. ‘Yes, I believe it is. He is a good and kind man in every way. You must have been glad to see him again after so many years.’

‘It was a welcome surprise, believe me. I had no idea he was here. Last time we spoke of such things his family was living in Richmond.’

‘Miss Greystoke told me that he removed here after their father died.’

‘I remember George left India to take care of the family’s affairs at that time.’

‘He was subsequently offered a position in Helmshaw,’ she explained. ‘When the previous doctor retired.’

‘And you, Miss Davenport?’ he asked. ‘How came you to be in Yorkshire?’

‘I told you, I came to visit Miss Greystoke.’

‘Your parents permitted you to travel alone?’

The pink colour deepened in her face, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

‘My parents had no say in the matter since they are both dead.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, so am I.’

He heard the note of bitterness beneath the words and was surprised since it was at variance with her normally cheerful demeanour.

‘Then whom do you live with now?’

‘With my father’s relations.’

‘And when do you return to them?’

‘I…I have no set plans.’

For a moment there was a heart-thumping silence. She had told as much of the truth as possible and hoped now that he would let the subject drop. Much to her relief he seemed to accept it and merely nodded. Then he handed her the sketchbook.

‘I look forward to seeing the finished picture, Miss Davenport.’

She took it thankfully and retired to her seat by the window to continue the task. For a moment or two he watched and Claire, conscious of that penetrating gaze, had to force herself to ignore it. It was with relief that she heard the rustle of paper as he picked up the news sheets and began to read.

In fact, Marcus barely scanned the page in front of him. His mind was otherwise engaged. Far from accepting her words at face value he found his curiosity roused to a degree she would have found alarming. For all that she tried to pretend that there was nothing unusual in journeying alone to so remote a place as Helmshaw, he was quite undeceived. Ordinarily no respectable young woman would do so. And yet there was nothing in her that he found disreputable. Everything in her manners and appearance spoke of a gentle upbringing. She was no minx; naïve perhaps, but not of doubtful virtue. God knew, he’d had enough experience to judge. And she had spirit, enough anyway to stand up to Jed Stone. Recalling the incident and the perpetrators, Marcus felt only contempt. It was fortunate that he’d been there to intervene. She would have had no chance against such scum as those and he could no more stand by and see a woman assaulted than he could fly. Her self-control had been impressive. Most young women would have been reduced to hysterics by what had happened. Though much shaken, she had not treated him to a fit of the vapours nor even cried, though he could see she had wanted to. It was unexpected and oddly touching, serving to underline her vulnerability. At least he hadn’t come too late that time.