Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) (24 page)

In spite of the coolness of the room, William’s face had flushed beet red, and the veins in his neck were throbbing. “Why is it that I’m the only person who can see what a menace these people are? You need to explain that the Irish are angry because of their wages, their living conditions . . . Use some imagination, Lewis! Surely you can do that much!”

Lewis looked up and met Thurston’s hardened stare. “I’ve already tried that. To be honest, I believe the Irish may be involved to a certain extent because
I
certainly haven’t been the cause of all the recent accidents. There were two mishaps at the canals, one at the Appleton, and three at the Merrimack that were not my doing. If the Irish didn’t cause those particular accidents, there may be others set on the ruination of the mills—unless you have somebody else working for you. Do you, Thurston? Have you hired someone besides me to assist with your accidents?”

“How dare you question me! You’re nothing more than a lackey—a henchman paid to do my bidding. Whether I’ve hired others to assist in my plans is none of your concern. You just follow my instructions.”

“I thought we were more than that. I thought we were friends. After all, we spent a fair amount of time at the gaming tables together—shared quite a few suppers together.”

William smirked. “You sound like a jealous wife, Lewis. I trust you to carry out my orders; that should be enough. We were companions on equal footing at one point, but that has changed, hasn’t it? You’ve no fortune to your name. You’re not even a propertied man anymore.”

Defeat registered on Lewis’s face, and Thurston pressed the matter to eliminate any further confusion. “I’ve hired you to do a job. Our business association makes it necessary for you to recognize my authority. I tolerate your calling me by my given name, but I will not abide your questions of how I conduct my business. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I believe I do,” Lewis stated rather flatly.

“Good. Now, tell me, when you make accusations against the Irish, what kind of remarks are you hearing in return?”

Lewis’s air of superiority had diminished. His gaze was cast downward as he dug the toe of his boot back and forth into the dirt floor. “People believe the Irish are happy with their way of life here in Lowell. My remarks about their living conditions have recently been countered with a rumor that Boott may be assisting the Irish in securing regular visits by a priest, and although I’m loath to believe it, some say the Associates have donated land for a Catholic church. Do you know if that rumor is correct?”

“What? I’ve no knowledge of such a donation. That’s preposterous! The whole idea is to rid Lowell of this Irish vermin. Why would the Associates even consider such nonsense?” William spewed. Surely such insanity was merely fodder for the rumor mill.

Lewis leaned against the slats of the wobbly wooden chair. “I don’t know, William. I’m merely telling you what I’ve heard. Have you attended recent meetings where anything of this nature was discussed? Do any of the Associates hold individual title to property around the Acre, or is the land jointly held by the Corporation?”

“Da,” a tiny voice announced. The little boy who had been sleeping on Kathryn’s lap toddled into the room, his eyes still matted with sleep. He raised his arms to William, obviously wanting to be picked up. “Da.”

“Go out with your mother,” William sternly replied to the child. Hadn’t he told Kathryn time and again that the child was not to refer to him as his father?

Just then Kathryn came in, obviously frantic to know where the child was. “Sorry, I was talkin’ to me sister and he got away.” She grabbed the boy up and headed for the door. “It’s awfully cold outside.”

“You can come in soon. Go on!” he commanded. The child’s lip quivered as though he might cry. Kathryn wrapped him in her shawl and quickly left.

“What was it you were asking me, Lewis?” William inquired, his thoughts having been scattered by the child’s intrusion.

Lewis gave him a pensive look before replying. “About the donation of land for a church. Do you have any knowledge of such a transaction?” he reiterated.

“No, of course not. There’s been no discussion. . . .” He hesitated and turned toward the small, flickering fire. He hadn’t attended the last meeting of the Associates. Nathan had asked him to complete some meaningless business in Nashua; he’d been unable to return to Boston in time for the meeting, and he’d given Nathan his proxy.

The Associates had contrived against him—of that he was now certain. It was obvious Boott had won the allegiance of the Corporation. He turned around and faced Lewis. “I spoke in haste, Lewis. At the time of the last meeting, I was in Nashua at Nathan Appleton’s request. It appears as if my colleagues may have conducted some business to which I’m not yet privy. We may have to explore another tactic.”

“Like what? I don’t see what else we can do.”

“Cummiskey may be the key. The Irish listen to anything he says. If he’s out of the picture, perhaps . . .”

Lewis rose from the chair. “Now, wait a minute, William. I’m not going after Cummiskey. I’d end up with every Irishman in Lowell after my hide. Besides, even if they didn’t have Cummiskey, they’d follow another. O’Malley’s his second; he’d step in and take over.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of buying him off, Lewis, not killing him,” William replied, attempting to hold his temper in check. He needed to find some way to play a pivotal role in turning things around. Why was it so easy for the likes of Boott and Cummiskey to gain power and devotees, he wondered. “For enough money, Cummiskey might be willing to exert his power and veto the idea of a Catholic church. That would surely enrage the Irish; they’d think Boott had gone back on his word.” He remained silent, his mind racing. “I need time to think this out, Lewis, develop a plan. I’ve not decided if we should direct our efforts toward Cummiskey or Boott. In the meantime, you continue in your attempts to foster negative feelings toward these heathens.”

“Might I ask a personal question?” Lewis tentatively ventured.

William was absently staring into the fire and nodded his head.

“If you dislike the Irish so intensely, why is it you’ve fathered a child by an Irish woman?”

William wheeled around and pointed a thick, stubby finger in Lewis’s face. “Why, you impudent—! That woman, and what I do with her, is none of your business. As for the boy, he’s not your concern. Do you understand me?” Lewis’s contrite appearance was enough to convince William he’d made his point. “Go on home. And tell the woman and boy to come in as you leave,” Thurston said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

****

Matthew walked into the small office in the counting room of the Appleton. The space had only recently been assigned to him and bore little evidence that he worked here. It was diminutive compared to Boott’s office at the Merrimack, but Matthew found it to his liking. He viewed Boott’s willingness to assign him to a different mill as a vote of confidence, and he liked the people who worked in the offices of the Appleton, particularly Lawrence Gault.

“I thought I would stop by and see how you’re doing here at the Appleton, Matthew. All settled into your new surroundings?” Kirk asked as he strode into the room and seated himself on one of the two straight-backed oak chairs.

Matthew nodded and smiled. “Yes, it’s more than adequate. I’m only just getting settled in, but I’m quite comfortable.”

Kirk returned his smile. “Good. I’m anxious to hear about your trip to Boston. You did get my message upon your return?”

“Yes. My condolences to Mrs. Boott on the loss of her mother.”

“Thank you. We were required to remain in New Hampshire longer than I’d anticipated. But one must allow women their time to grieve. Quite frankly, Mrs. Boott was so distraught I was beginning to think we’d never get back to Lowell. Ah, well, I digress. Now, tell me about your meeting with the good bishop. It went well, I hope.”

Matthew knew the time of reckoning had come. Boott smiled and nodded his head, seemingly pleased with Matthew’s report. At least until Matthew related that the bishop couldn’t possibly visit until November or possibly December.

“What? That means we can’t break ground before next spring at the earliest,” Boott said, jumping up from his chair. “I thought he was interested in this project!”

Matthew hoped he could have a calming effect upon Boott, but he doubted whether the remainder of his report was going to accomplish such a feat. “He
is
interested. However, he believes there will need to be a good deal of groundwork done in order to support the church. The bishop tells me that the diocese expects church funding to come from parishioners. If the parishioners are going to support the church, the bishop believes a more affluent Catholic base of middle-class citizens is needed in Lowell.”

Boott was pacing back and forth across the small office. “Why didn’t he say these things when we first met with him? Does he expect me to find affluent Irishmen who wish to immigrate to Lowell? They don’t exist! I thought you said your meeting went well. I’d hate to think what I’d be hearing if you thought it went poorly.”

Matthew bowed his head momentarily. The words stung, yet there was more to report. “Bishop Fenwick believes that within the next year or two, the Irish population of Lowell will swell. The increasing numbers will encourage more affluent Irishmen from Boston—shopkeepers and the like—to open businesses in Lowell. In turn, those men will provide a broader income base to support the church,” Matthew explained. “Bishop Fenwick believes that as long as the Irish know the Associates have made a commitment to give the land, they won’t be unduly averse to waiting a year or two for the church.”

Kirk continued to pace back and forth. “And what about his promise for regular visits by a priest?”

Matthew didn’t want to answer. He knew Boott’s ire would only increase. “Why don’t we take a walk? You’re obviously in need of more space than my office affords.” When Boott offered no resistance, Matthew rose from his desk and rushed to open the door.

When they had reached the street, Boott looked both directions, then turned to Matthew. “Which way?”

“Toward the Acre.”

“Ah—good idea. Let’s take a look at the land we’re setting aside to give to the diocese. By the way, how was Isabelle? I trust you two enjoyed your time together?”

Matthew gave his mentor a tentative glance. “As it turned out, Isabelle had a previous commitment. By the time I arrived at your sister’s home, Isabelle had already departed for dinner. I fear the entire journey could be viewed as a failure.”

Kirk slapped Matthew on the back. “Not entirely. At least we know the bishop has talked to his superiors. We know exactly what is required in order to make a final decision. Any problems arise during my journey to New Hampshire?”

“Nothing outside of the usual—only a small accident at the Merrimack. Other than that, operations have been running smoothly. There is, however, a matter I wanted to discuss with you. I’m not sure my timing is the best,” he hesitantly replied.

Kirk laughed. “It doesn’t sound like anything I’m going to enjoy hearing. You may as well go ahead and give me all the bad news at once. Is production down?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s a matter of a more personal nature. There are some concerns regarding Thaddeus Arnold, the super—”

“I know who he is. What kind of concerns? Is he unable to manage the spinning room?”

“There are reports he’s abusive to his wife—that he beats her. Some of the operatives who live in the adjoining house have heard them. It seems it’s an almost nightly occurrence.”

Boott ran a hand across his forehead. “Is there any proof? Has the wife come forward to complain?”

Matthew shook his head. “Mrs. Arnold has been seen bearing bruises, but there’s no proof they were caused by her husband, and she hasn’t lodged any complaint.”

“Ah, Matthew, what goes on in a man’s home is his business. Moreover, we need actual proof of such allegations. After all, Thaddeus is an elder in the church, and we wouldn’t want to tarnish his reputation based on unfounded remarks. Such talk could be devastating to his future with the company. Perhaps his wife is the type who needs a heavy hand. She may even realize it herself since she doesn’t come forward.”

“I beg to disagree, Mr. Boott. I don’t think a man needs to beat his wife into submission, and I certainly don’t believe that any woman wants to be beaten by her husband.”

Boott shrugged. “You’re young, Matthew, with much to learn. It’s the way things are. Women’s opinions and ideas don’t count; they need to remember their place. It merely takes some women longer than others to learn to accept their station in life.”

Matthew walked along silently, wondering how Lilly might respond if she were to hear Boott’s comments. He was certain she wouldn’t remain silent.

“Well, there’s also the matter of keeping your employees awake throughout the night. We can’t have the girls so exhausted by the tirades of Arnold and his wife that they can’t perform their duties.” Matthew figured if Boott wouldn’t see the seriousness of the situation for Mrs. Arnold, perhaps he would care about the well-being of his workers.

“I suppose that does bear some consideration,” Boott replied. “Say, isn’t that Lewis Armbruster up there? I thought he was in Nashua.” Kirk waved his arm, indicating a man who had exited the Acre and was walking toward them. “I haven’t seen him since he helped us finalize the purchase of his father’s farm.”

The man looked in their direction as Matthew was about to answer. “If it isn’t Lewis, it’s his double. I didn’t know he was back in Lowell, either. Apparently he didn’t want to be seen,” Matthew remarked as Lewis turned and rushed off in the opposite direction.

Kirk nodded in agreement. “It appears there are any number of people interested in visiting the Acre nowadays—and most have little desire to be seen there.”

Chapter 19

An insistent rapping on the front door brought Addie to her feet. She had hoped for a half hour of peace and quiet before beginning the evening meal. For a moment she considered ignoring the interruption. Instead, curiosity won out, and she hobbled to the front door, the aching bunion on her right foot slowing her gait.