Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) (40 page)

“I know I’m a failure in your eyes, Mintie. You consider me no more than an undisciplined child. But you’re wrong. I’m a grown woman with my own opinions. The difference between us is that while I tend to see the best in people and situations, you tend to see the worst. You consider that tendency to be a flaw in my character; I consider it a blessing.”

Mintie tied her bonnet ribbons into a snug bow beneath her sharp chin. “Once again you’re choosing that traitorous Englishman over your own flesh and blood.”

Addie watched her sister flee from the house.

****

Lewis pulled his gold pocket watch from his waistcoat, gently rubbing his thumb over the engraved initials before snapping open the case. Nine o’clock. Tucking the watch back in place, he quickened his step. He noticed a woman and a group of boys on a nearby corner eyeing him suspiciously and cast his gaze downward, hoping the shadows of evening would prevent them from observing his face. He didn’t want anyone to remember he’d been to the Acre, especially on this night.

Pulling up the collar of an old tattered coat furnished by William Thurston, Lewis wondered how he had stooped to this level. It was better not to think, he decided. After all, thinking wouldn’t change anything, and by now, he was in too deep to dig his way out. Thurston held all of the trump cards.

When Lewis had objected to an early evening arrival at Kathryn’s house, William assured him the woman and child would be asleep. With a malevolent grin, Thurston explained that it was Kathryn’s practice to sleep in the early evening in order to keep him company during his late-night arrivals. He hoped Thurston knew what he was talking about! Lewis walked the litter-strewn street, seeking the abhorrent hovel Kathryn called home. He listened outside, and hearing nothing, he entered quietly, spying the woman asleep on a crude cot pulled close to the waning fire. The child was slumbering in the crook of her arm. Shadows danced across the room as he silently edged closer and lifted a pillow. He stared down at Kathryn’s creamy complexion, her features relaxed in sleep. Paralyzed, he gazed at her unbridled beauty for a moment before gaining a sense of courage and then pressed the pillow tight against her mouth and nose. The shabby covers fell to the floor as she briefly struggled before her body suddenly turned limp. He removed the pillow from her face and stood transfixed, unable to look away from her youthful appearance.

The boy cried out in his sleep, startling Lewis, who had been standing there as if in a trance. The child’s waiflike body was restlessly seeking warmth against his mother’s already chilling form. The boy couldn’t be much over a year old. Lewis shivered. His fingers continued to clutch the pillow, yet he could not muster courage enough to bring it down upon the child’s face. A piece of firewood dropped in the hearth. The crackling embers glowed, illuminating a purplish mushroom-shaped birthmark on the boy’s arm. Grabbing one of the tattered blankets, Lewis threw it over the child. “If the boy is lucky, someone will find him by morning,” he muttered as he rushed out of the room and down the street.

The streets were quiet, with only an occasional passerby to avoid as he hurried toward the Wareham House. He would report to Thurston and hopefully receive the balance of his blood money before morning. For a time he had given thought to refusing the money, thinking that would somehow assuage his guilt. But if Thurston was true to his word, the sum should be large enough to pay his passage to South America and a new beginning. How he longed for a new beginning. Lewis walked past the front desk and up the steps to Thurston’s room. He rapped lightly on the door.

William was bare-chested, his shirt dangling from one finger. “I’m preparing to go out. I hope you’re bringing me good news,” he said as he moved away from the door and stood by the fireplace, his exposed back toward Lewis.

Lewis stared at Thurston’s unclothed torso and immediately knew why Thurston had feared Kathryn’s threat. William and the child carried the same birthmark on their arms.

“It went as planned. They’re both dead,” he said, struggling to keep his voice impassive.

William’s lips curled into a cruel grin. “Excellent! I still find it difficult to believe that Kathryn had the audacity to think she could hold me hostage to her threats. You know, Lewis, if I didn’t already have plans, we’d go and celebrate,” he said, quickly changing moods.

Thurston’s disdain for the woman who had given birth to his child amazed even Lewis. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Thurston’s cruelty knew no bounds. He thought of the little boy, and a tinge of fear crept into his consciousness. “I was considering a trip to South America,” he cautiously remarked.

“What? You’re joking, of course,” William said with a laugh. “We have work to complete right here. Besides, there’s no one waiting for you in South America—or is there?” he questioned, making an obscene gesture.

“I merely thought it might be best to keep a low profile. England doesn’t appeal to me, and I certainly don’t want to move into the western wilderness of this country.” Lewis watched as Thurston carefully affixed his cravat. “You mentioned unfinished business. Perhaps it would be best to use someone else since I’ve been deeply involved in several of your other ventures.”

William gave a wicked laugh. “Your involvement is exactly what makes you the perfect person to continue assisting me, Lewis. I won’t have you leaving the country. Besides, once I’ve managed to oust Boott and gain the helm here in Lowell, you’ll be my right-hand man. You can’t do that from South America. Sit down,” he said, pointing to a chair. “I have another half hour before I must leave. I’m sure you’ve come to collect your money.”

Lewis nodded. “I assume you’ve heard of the difficulty with the waterwheel over at the Appleton?” he ventured.

“You’re wanting to know if I’m involved in that disastrous event? Word about town has it that there could be any number of suspects. I’m certainly not among the numbered few being discussed, but I have a feeling there’s ample evidence to assure that our Mr. O’Malley is involved in this crime, along with several of his Irish comrades. I do believe that once O’Malley is found responsible for the assault on Boott and the incident at the Appleton, the Associates will be convinced of Boott’s incompetence as a leader. Of course, the death of Kathryn and the child will further demonstrate the incivility of the Irish. All things considered, it appears as if matters aren’t boding well for the savages. If events don’t move in the direction I’m planning, I’ll have another assignment for you in the near future,” Thurston said as he smiled back at his own image in the mirror.

Lewis felt his heart begin to palpitate rapidly. He didn’t want another assignment. All he wanted was to disassociate from this web of horror in which he was now trapped. He watched as William began counting out his money.

“Give up the idea of South America, Lewis. At least for now,” Thurston said as he turned and pointed toward the gold lying on the table. “Attempting to remove yourself from my plans could prove—shall we say—fatal? I have eyes and ears everywhere, even along the docks, should you attempt to depart the country against my wishes. Men who enjoy trading information for a few coins. Make no mistake about me, Lewis. If I was unwilling to tolerate Kathryn’s demands, I’ll not tolerate yours. Do I make myself clear?”

Lewis nodded. “Abundantly,” he said. “However, I wasn’t attempting to make demands, but I have no desire to run these mills or live in Lowell. My genuine desire is to live in a larger city. Perhaps we could strike an agreement that I’ll complete one last assignment for you—then we’ll forget we ever knew each other?”

William gave him a thoughtful look. “You have my word.”

Lewis gave a nod of affirmation as they shook hands. “I believe I’ll go and have an ale before calling it a night. Enjoy your engagement,” he called over his shoulder.

Inhaling a deep breath of the cold night air, Lewis knew it was going to take more than one ale for him to forget Kathryn O’Hanrahan and her child. For several hours he sat at Nichol’s Tavern, quickly downing one tankard after another, while a conscience he had never before known gnawed at him, prohibiting him from shaking a vision of the woman and child from his mind. Finally weary of attempting to blot out the squalid event, Lewis threw a coin on the table and left. He began walking and then suddenly turned back toward the Acre. He couldn’t seem to stop himself; he had to know if someone had rescued the child.

Growing closer, he could hear an increasing commotion as he neared the house. A wagon rumbled by and came to a halt in front of Kathryn’s shanty. Moving closer, he stood watching from across the narrow street as a woman pulled herself up into the wagon and then held out her arms toward a child. Permitting the ale to give him false courage, Lewis stepped out in front of the wagon as it began to turn.

“Watch yer step!” the woman cried out, pulling her team of horses to an abrupt halt.

Lewis tipped his hat. “Sorry. I was wondering about all the turmoil and didn’t realize you were going to make such a sharp turn. Do you know what’s going on over there?” he asked, hoping the woman would take a moment to reply.

Wiping tears from her face with the dirty hem of her dress, she met his gaze. “Me sister’s died in her sleep, leavin’ this poor child without a ma or pa to love him.”

“Truly, died in her sleep, eh?” Lewis said hoping that no one ever suspected the death to be anything else.

“Where are you rushing off to with the child? Must you not see to a proper burial for his mother?” Lewis inquired.

The woman pulled the child close. “I must see to the child’s safety. Ya can’t be havin’ a babe in the midst of death. For sure it’ll be causin’ a curse upon him. Once I care for the boy, then I’ll bury me sister.”

Lewis stood watching until the wagon rolled out of the Acre before making his way home to fight the demons who visited him in his sleep that night. The woman had no way of knowing it was too late. The boy already had a curse upon him.

****

“This had better be important,” Nathan Appleton muttered to Tracy Jackson as they waited for the remainder of their colleagues to arrive. “Making a trip to Lowell in the dead of winter is not my idea of pleasure.”

“Nor mine,” Jackson agreed. “However, William sent word it was urgent, and although the man tends to exaggerate at times, we can’t ignore his warning, especially with Kirk still recuperating.”

“Yes, I understand. I think I’ll acquiesce and let you take control of tonight’s meeting, Tracy. Since Thurston contacted you directly, it just seems more appropriate.”

The remainder of the men finally arrived and one by one filed into the offices at the Merrimack. When the sound of scraping chairs and murmuring voices had finally quieted, Tracy stood. “Good evening, gentlemen. I thank you for your cooperation and willingness to travel to Lowell for this meeting. Hopefully, we will find resolution to several issues that have been brought to my attention by one of our members, William Thurston.” Tracy watched as William’s chest visibly swelled when the men turned in his direction and acknowledged him. Clearing his throat, Tracy continued. “Rather than attempt to explain the issues, I think it would be most expedient to read William’s missive, which I received earlier this week.”

The men listened attentively as Tracy read the allegations, all of which pointed toward Kirk Boott’s inability to properly handle the ongoing problems within the community and, in particular, his disinclination to tackle the Irish problem and bring the papists to heel. Murmurs once again filled the room until Tracy finally tapped on the desk in order to regain control of the meeting.

William rose from his chair. “If you have no objection, Tracy, I would be most willing to entertain any questions. But first let me reiterate that I feel Boott has been useless with his sweet talk and promises of a church for the papists. I believe we must make an example of the culprit who committed the shooting. Once that has been done, I believe we must impose severe restrictions and curfews on the Irish. If we force them to use identification passes, cease permitting them to settle in the Paddy camps, and cut their wages, we can keep them from further infiltrating the town. I believe we should hire Americans, even if it requires higher wages and a decrease in our profit. Now, any questions?”

Paul Moody lifted his cigar in the air. “I have one. Is Kirk not attending because he wasn’t invited or because he’s unable to be here due to his injury? It seems he should have the opportunity to answer these allegations.”

“I have presented all of my evidence to Mr. Boott; he is well aware of the involvement of the Irish in all of these incidents. And I would think you, of all people, Mr. Moody, would want these Irish thugs punished. It was one of your most valuable employees who died at the Appleton.”

Paul glowered at Thurston. “I don’t need you to tell me I’ve lost a valued employee, William. There’s nobody who wants the guilty party punished more than I do. However, when punishment is meted out, I want it to be upon the guilty person.”

“You sound like Boott. How much more evidence do you want? It’s obviously the Irish, and in fact, I’ve given you the name of the man who shot Boott and participated in the incident at the Appleton. I’ve reason to believe he and his cohorts have been involved in all of the mishaps that have been occurring at the mills. This Irish faction needs to be brought under control.”

All heads turned at the sound of a closing door and shuffling feet entering the building. “I am deeply touched, William, that you are so doggedly pursuing the criminal who attacked me,” Kirk Boott said as he limped into the room. He removed his beaver hat and placed it in Tracy’s extended hand. “Thank you, Tracy,” he said before continuing. “William is correct. He did send me what he purported was evidence that would convict Johnny O’Malley of shooting me. As some of you know, Johnny is a fine Irish man who is closely associated with Hugh Cummiskey. He carries a great deal of influence among his countrymen. In fact, he’s been vital in securing additional workers from Boston when we needed them for new canal construction.”