A Fragile Design (19 page)
The words stung Taylor’s pride. Surely Matthew Cheever believed in more than inward beauty. After all, the man was married to a beautiful woman, had an opulent home, and dressed impeccably in the best of fashions. Taylor smiled to himself. Matthew was probably just speaking in such a manner because his wife had suggested it. He nodded to himself and felt the weight of his concern lift. That’s all it was. Lilly Cheever had probably instructed her husband to chide Taylor for his brusque and open manner with Bella. It was surely nothing more than that.
William Thurston relentlessly plodded down one of the mucky paths toward Michael Neil’s pub in the Acre. It wasn’t his need for liquor forcing his portly body into the rapid pace; rather, it was the overheard conversation from a nearby table the evening before while he had dined at the Wareham House. He’d briefly considered going to the Acre last night, but going after dark was risky for a Yank. He decided his visit could wait until today. If luck was on his side, several of his lackeys would be in the pub downing ale.
He pressed onward, keeping his head bowed against a warm breeze, the stench of the litter-filled streets assaulting his senses. Relief washed over him when he finally reached the pub and recognized the faces of two men sitting in a darkened corner. Weaving his way among several tables, Thurston motioned at the barkeep to deliver ale to the corner table and then seated himself.
He leaned across the table toward the two men in an intimate fashion. ‘‘I understand there was a bit of a ruckus down here yesterday.’’
One of the men nodded. ‘‘How’d you find out?’’
‘‘I keep telling you boys I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. When something happens, I hear about it. Remember that.’’ He wasn’t about to tell them he’d been eavesdropping in the hotel restaurant. Besides, whether real or perceived, the veiled threats gave him a feeling of power. ‘‘Now, tell me what occurred. I’m anxious for all the details.’’
Rafe took a swig of his ale, set his tankard down with a thud, and leaned in toward Thurston. ‘‘I’ve been doing like you said, snooping about for any word of an uprising or hidden weapons,’’ he reported.
‘‘Or money,’’ Thurston added.
‘‘There’ve been a few stories circulating, but most of the talk seems to be among the Yanks. The tales appear to have died down, right, Jake?’’
Jake nodded. ‘‘Word I’m hearing is there’s a handful of Yanks convinced the Irish are planning an uprising. They believe there are guns and money hidden away in the church. There are plenty of Yanks wanting the Irish run outta town, saying they can’t find work because of the Irish. Like Rafe said, there doesn’t seem to be much talk in the Acre, and if there are any rifles or money stored in the church, it’s the best-kept secret in the Paddy camp. But it don’t take a whole lot up here,’’ Jake said while pointing to his head, ‘‘to figure out the Irish ain’t got enough money to live on, let alone use it to buy rifles to stash away in that church.’’
‘‘As though you have a lot up here,’’ Thurston sneered, pointing to his own head. ‘‘The Catholic Church has lots of money, you fool. Don’t you think the church would finance a rebellion if it was in its best interest?’’
‘‘I think you’re takin’ this whole story out of proportion,’’ Rafe said. ‘‘Things have already begun to quiet down; they always do. The Irish will stay down here in the Acre except for work, and the Yanks will stay in their part of town.’’
Thurston glared at Rafe. He sounded just like Kirk Boott, thinking the Irish belonged in Lowell. Well, he didn’t want things to settle down. The Irish were a blight on this idyllic community, and Thurston had been prophesying problems to the Boston Associates for three years. The Associates wouldn’t listen—none of them. They always sided with Kirk Boott, believing his rhetoric that the Irish were necessary—that locals didn’t want to perform manual labor. Well, it appeared the good people of New England were changing their attitude about the interlopers, and he was going to do everything in his power to prove the Irish were the problem he’d predicted. He’d see this town free of the lowlifes if it was the last thing he did.
‘‘The two of you listen to me. Rafe, I want you out here in the Acre talking to your Irish friends. You tell them you have it from a reliable source that the Yanks are preparing to expel them from the Acre. Tell them the Yanks want their jobs and are willing to fight for them.’’ Turning his attention toward Jake, he said, ‘‘Spread word around Lowell that the Irish are storing up arms with an eye toward a takeover of the mills.’’
Both men stared at Thurston in disbelief. Rafe spoke first. ‘‘When I’m asked about my reliable source, whose name should I use? Yours?’’
Jake appeared to draw courage from Rafe’s question. ‘‘I don’t care if there is some murmuring around town about money and guns in the church. Nobody is going to believe that the Irish are storing up weapons in an attempt to take over the mills. That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. Nobody in their right mind would believe they’d try such a thing. How many Irishmen are there? Only three hundred—maybe five hundred if we count the women and children? And you want me to tell people they’re gonna attempt a takeover?’’
‘‘The Yanks’ll think he’s daft,’’ Rafe agreed.
‘‘No they won’t—they’ll want to believe the story, and the gossip will feed upon itself as it spreads. I expect you both to do as you’re told—why do you think I pay you? And if you want to chart your own course, there’s always an alternative. If you no longer want to work for me, you say the word. I’ve had others leave my employ.’’
‘‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t do what you asked, but I know I’ll be questioned about my source,’’ Rafe replied.
‘‘Tell them you heard it from Hugh Cummiskey,’’ Thurston responded.
Rafe’s eyes grew wide at Thurston’s response. ‘‘Cummiskey? I can’t use his name, Mr. Thurston.’’
‘‘Why? You fear him more than you fear me? If you don’t want to use Cummiskey’s name, you figure out whose name to use. Once word begins to spread, it shouldn’t take long before the fires of hostility spread,’’ Thurston said. He leaned back, took a long drink, and gave them a satisfied smile. ‘‘Yes, fear and whispered accusations should do the trick. You boys pass the word among your cronies; tell them to feel free to share the information,’’ he emphasized. ‘‘And don’t forget that I hear rumors the same as everyone else. If I haven’t heard the gossip around town, I’ll assume you’re not doing your job.’’
Jake nervously pulled at the two-day stubble growing on his chin. ‘‘You said earlier you’ve had others leave your employ, Mr. Thurston. What if I decide that’s what I wanna do?’’
Thurston leveled a wicked smile in Jake’s direction. ‘‘You might want to rethink that decision. No one who has quit working for me is alive.’’
‘‘You mean . . . Are you saying . . . Did you . . .’’ Jake stammered.
An evil gleam shone in Thurston’s eyes. ‘‘Draw your own conclusions,’’ he replied.
‘‘Well, I was merely asking—I plan to remain in your employ just as long as you want me,’’ Jake replied, keeping his gaze focused on the tankard of ale before him.
‘‘In that case, I’ll leave you men to your work,’’ Thurston said, hoisting his ample body from the chair. ‘‘I’ll be in touch.’’ He made his way to the door and donned his hat. Squaring his shoulders, he walked out the front door, knowing the two men were watching his every move, hating him. He smiled.
Daughtie had openly expressed her dismay when Bella confided her plan to attend the phrenology lecture with Taylor. This evening it was obvious that Daughtie was even more apprehensive as Bella twirled about in Lilly Cheever’s rose-colored silk gown.
‘‘You look like a bird prepared to take flight,’’ Daughtie said while flapping her arms up and down. ‘‘I think the dressmaker should have taken some of the fabric out of those enormous sleeves and used it in the bodice to give the gown a modicum of modesty.’’
Bella ran a finger along the folds and cords decorating the double collars that served to widen the shoulders of the dress. ‘‘You believe the dress immodest?’’
Daughtie appeared taken aback by the question. ‘‘Perhaps just a bit.’’
An embroidered muslin overlay topped the double collars. Bella tugged at the muslin and bunched it over her neckline. ‘‘Is this better?’’ she asked with a giggle. ‘‘Look at the shoes Lilly gave me—and they fit ever so well,’’ she added while holding up the shoes of thin woolen cloth with a pleated frill at the top. ‘‘They lace down the back. Isn’t that clever?’’
Daughtie sat on the bed watching Bella’s every move. ‘‘The shoes are quite clever,’’ she replied. She quietly cleared her throat and then hesitated a moment. ‘‘I . . . um . . . fear you’re straying from your beliefs.’’ A note of recrimination hung in the air.
Bella ceased tying one of the shoes and gave Daughtie a thoughtful look. ‘‘Which beliefs that were truly my own have I disavowed, Daughtie? Years ago, before my parents joined the Believers, I saw my mother and other godly, chaste women wear fashionable clothes; their religious convictions weren’t compromised. And although the Shakers don’t attend lyceums, they are quick to gather the world’s latest intelligence and discuss it among themselves. I’m merely gaining my information firsthand,’’ Bella replied. Somehow the words sounded defensive, which wasn’t her intent. Still, she didn’t want Daughtie thinking her wayward.
Daughtie glanced at the floor and then gave Bella a sheepish grin. ‘‘You’re right, Bella. Perhaps I’m feeling a tinge of jealousy because I’ll be sitting home while you attend the lecture. Please accept my apology for acting the spoiled child.’’
‘‘There’s no need to apologize. We’ll attend the next lecture together—I’d much prefer your company to the pomposity of Taylor Manning. Had we known in advance, we could have purchased our own tickets like most of the other girls. Ruth told me this is the first lecture that has sold out so quickly,’’ Bella replied. ‘‘I’ll be careful to remember every word of the speech and share it with you the minute I get home.’’
Daughtie gave her a delighted smile. ‘‘Promise?’’
‘‘Promise!’’ Bella said, pulling her friend into a quick hug before picking up her hairbrush.
‘‘Let me,’’ Daughtie said as she reached for the brush. ‘‘I think I can fashion your hair in the looped braids that appear popular with the society ladies,’’ she said, parting Bella’s hair down the center.
A short time later, Bella gazed into the oval mirror. ‘‘It looks lovely, Daughtie,’’ Bella said, touching the tightly formed braids her friend had woven with ivory ribbon and looped on each side. She turned and gave Daughtie a hug. ‘‘Thank you, dear friend.’’
‘‘You look quite beautiful,’’ Daughtie said. ‘‘Keeping Taylor Manning at a distance may prove difficult this evening.’’
Bella shook her head. ‘‘I’ll stay close to Mrs. Cheever,’’ she said, hastening toward the door as one of the girls called up the stairs that her escort had arrived.
Taylor stood at the bottom of the stairway, tugging at the sable-brown claw-hammer jacket that topped a frilled white shirt and silk vest. Giving Bella a smile, he leaned down in a courtly bow, causing his hair to fall forward over one eye. ‘‘You look lovely, Miss Newberry,’’ he said, his voice barely a whisper as he straightened.
‘‘Thank you, Mr. Manning. I trust that Mr. and Mrs. Cheever are in the carriage?’’
He appeared momentarily confused by her question. ‘‘Oh yes,’’ he finally replied. ‘‘My uncle and Miss Addie left a short time ago. They’ve promised to save us seats should the lecture hall become overly crowded before our arrival,’’ he added as they walked out the door.
Bella took his extended hand and stepped up into the carriage. Scooting into the far corner, she gathered the fullness of her dress across the seat. There was barely enough space for Taylor to squeeze in and be seated near the opposite door.
Lilly Cheever turned and looked over her shoulder. ‘‘I can hardly contain my excitement. Matthew was unusually late coming home, and I feared we would be late,’’ Lilly said, grasping her husband’s arm in an affectionate squeeze.
‘‘We have more than sufficient time, my dear. You fret overly.’’
She gave him a winsome smile before turning back toward Bella and Taylor. ‘‘You two make quite a handsome couple,’’ she complimented.
‘‘Thank you, Mrs. Cheever. I was thinking much the same thing,’’ Taylor replied.
Bella gave him a sidelong glance. ‘‘We’re not really a couple, but I thank you for the kind words.’’
Taylor leaned his head back and chuckled. ‘‘I don’t think she wants to be associated with me, Mrs. Cheever. I believe Bella finds me crass and arrogant; the only reason she’s willing to be seen in my company is because of her interest in the lecture.’’
Bella wasn’t certain if what she was feeling was embarrassment or anger—perhaps a combination of both, she decided. ‘‘As I recall, my acceptance of your invitation was forthright, Mr. Manning. You’re aware I’m not interested in your companionship.’’
‘‘There you have it, Mrs. Cheever. If there was ever any doubt of Bella’s undying devotion, we know that it’s not directed at me,’’ Taylor said as the carriage came to a halt in front of the lecture hall.
Bella carefully positioned herself beside Lilly as they entered the lyceum. ‘‘There’s Miss Addie and Mr. Farnsworth. They’re waving us forward to join them. It appears Miss Mintie is with them,’’ Bella added as she and Lilly made their way down the aisle with Taylor and Matthew following behind.
‘‘We’ve saved you chairs,’’ John said, stepping into the aisle.
When the group finally juggled into their seats, Mintie was seated to Bella’s left and Addie to her right. Taylor was sandwiched between John and Matthew. Bella gave a self-satisfied grin as Taylor leaned forward to verify her whereabouts.
Mintie glanced over the top of her spectacles and clucked her tongue. ‘‘You’ll have a spasm in your neck if you remain in that position much longer, Mr. Manning. Sit up!’’ the older woman commanded, straightening her own spine as she gave the order. She nodded in obvious satisfaction as Taylor wedged himself back between the two other men. ‘‘I’m pleased you’re sitting beside me,’’ Mintie said, patting Bella’s hand. ‘‘Tell me, do you Shakers practice any of these skull readings?’’