Jack of Hearts (22 page)

“No, no,” Sarah protested. “It was my fault. Let me clean it up.” Patrick was kneeling next to her, and the closeness of his shoulder to hers distracted her so that she got a small sliver of china stuck in her hand and gave a little gasp of pain.

“There now, will ye give over?” said Patrick, sitting back on his heels and taking her hand in his. He held it close to his good eye and gently brushed it with his thumb.

“Damn, I can feel it, but I can’t see it well enough to pull it out.”

“It is all right, Patrick, really,” said Sarah, knowing she should stand up, but unwilling to pull her hand away.

“Wait a minute—there, I got it!” Patrick declared. “I don’t think it went in deep, but it is bleedin’ a little.”

Sarah gently withdrew her hand and raised it to her lips to suck the small wound, the way she had with childhood scrapes. “It is fine,” she said and was about to rise when Patrick reached out and found her face, cupping it gently in his broad hand.

“Sure and I’ve been wantin’ to do this for a long time,” he said, as he traced a finger gently over her lips. “But I wasn’t sure I would be findin’ them,” he added, with a glint in his eye. He tilted her face and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips.

Sarah sank back on her heels as he slowly increased the pressure, and her mouth opened under his. She lifted her own hand and reached up to run it through Patrick’s thick hair. “And I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” she whispered.

“Ye’re a beautiful woman, Sarah Wheeler.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” she said softly, her face flushing with both embarrassment and pleasure.

“And I can’t understand why such a beautiful woman hasn’t a home and husband of her own.”

“Beauty doesn’t make up for lack of money, Patrick.”

“ ‘Tis sad that the men ye have met have felt that way, for to me, beauty is almost everything.”

“Almost?”

“Sure, and even beauty is nothing without a loving heart. But ye’ve got that, Sarah.”

Sarah pulled herself away and stumbled up. Patrick’s words had touched her so deeply that she didn’t know what she might do. No, that wasn’t true, she thought wildly. I would kiss
him
this time.

Patrick looked up at her for a moment and then stood up. “I shouldn’t have done that, Sarah.”

“I am glad you did, Patrick. It is a moment I will cherish. But I must go now.”

She was down the stairs before he could say, “But I’d be happy to give ye more moments to cherish, Sarah Wheeler.” Yet how could I be doin’ that? he asked himself. She might be an employee like he was, but there was a greater distance between them than that between the stables and the house. She was a lady, no matter her station in life. A true lady, for she could have made him feel he had stolen something from her, and instead she’d left him feelin’ that he had given her something.

* * * *

As she hurried across the yard, Sarah realized she was thirty-three years old and had at last received her first real kiss. She wouldn’t count the slobbering of the Beresfords’ son.

How pitiful that it had taken this long. And yet how lovely it had been. She could still feel Patrick’s lips on hers, the feel of his hair under her ringers, and she grew warm at the memory. She would cherish the moment, as she had told him. It would be something to hold on to, wherever her life took her.

* * * *

At breakfast the next morning, she listened to Anne’s account of her visit as though she were hearing it for the first time.

“So you intend to fire Brill?”

“Definitely. Joseph will not like it, but when all is said and done, as the owner, I make the final decision.”

“I am proud of you, Anne,” Sarah told her. “It is never easy to begin questioning our long-held assumptions.”

“Thank you, Sarah, but you are giving me more credit than I deserve. It is a relatively small thing to fire a foreman.”

“But it will make a big difference in your workers’ lives.” Sarah hesitated. “Did you speak with Ned Gibson?”

“No, I trusted that Patrick got as much out of him as I would have.” Anne laughed, and Sarah looked over at her with surprise.

“I am only remembering how we met Sergeant Gillen, Sarah. I am very grateful to that sweeping boy for bringing him into our lives. Not only did I get myself an excellent groom, but someone whose experiences are very useful in a situation like this.”

“Yes, Patrick makes me feel safe,” Sarah said without thinking. “That is, I am sure he can keep you safe, Anne.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Anne said with a quizzical smile. “From what Rosie says, you and he are becoming fast friends.”

“Rosie should mind her wagging little tongue,” Sarah responded sharply.

“Why, Sarah, that is not like you at all. Did I touch on a tender subject? Is there something between you and Patrick?”

“Would you mind if there was? Not that there is,” Sarah hastened to add.

“You know how much I like and admire Patrick. But he is only a groom, and you are…”

“Granddaughter to a viscount, yes. How could I forget?” Sarah said with uncustomary irony. “And much good it has done me!”

“My father would never have hired you otherwise, so it has done
me
much good,” Anne said quietly. “And I was hoping that I could give something back to you, Sarah. There was more than one man in London who sought you out. Captain Scott or Sir David would be very appropriate for…”

“The granddaughter of a viscount,” Sarah intoned, but this time humorously, and they both laughed. “Don’t worry, Anne. Sergeant Gillen and I may have become friends, but it is no more than that.” On his part, Sarah continued to herself. For her own part…well, Patrick Gillen had made his way into her dreams, waking and sleeping.

* * * *

When Joseph Trantor arrived for his fortnight meeting with Anne later that week, he did not immediately sit down to go over the accounts. Instead he stood, his back to the fire and his face closed and angry. “I heard that you visited the mill without my permission, Anne.”

“I hardly need your permission to visit my own mill, Joseph,” Anne responded with barely controlled anger.

Her cousin flushed. “Forgive me, cousin,” he apologized stiffly. “Of course tha art right. But it would have been a courtesy to let me know. I would have joined tha.”

“But then my visit would have been managed, Joseph, as it was the last time. I wanted to talk to some of the workers by myself. It was enlightening, I must say.”

“I can’t imagine Swain or Walters had much to say to tha?”

Of course Brill would have told Joseph whom she had seen. But the worried note in his voice told her that he had no idea what had been said, and she silently blessed the two men for keeping their mouths shut. It had annoyed her, but their reticence benefited her now.

“No, they were both reluctant to discuss anything of substance with me, probably because I am a woman.”

“I hope tha were not too disappointed, then?” Joseph asked with patently false sympathy.

“A little, but then I spoke with Mrs. Talbot.”

Joseph lifted his eyebrows. “Oh? I thought she was off to be a farmer’s wife.”

So Brill had neglected to mention Mrs. Talbot? He probably thought a woman wouldn’t know anything, thought Anne.

“It was her last week. She was very helpful to me in making a decision, Joseph. I want you to dismiss Peter Brill.”

“Dismiss Peter? Why, he’s invaluable! I appointed him after James Brand retired.”

“James was a fair and honest man; Brill is not.”

“Are you accusing me of hiring a thief?” Joseph asked indignantly.

“I am accusing tha of nowt, Joseph,” said Anne, falling into broad Yorkshire for a moment. “Though I might accuse tha of encouraging tha foreman to punish petty infractions by letting him collect a percentage from the fines.”

“He has been a loyal employee, Anne. It seemed to me that a little reward for his vigilance was not unreasonable.”

“If Peter Brill deserved a higher salary, you should have paid it directly.”

“That would have cut into our profits, Anne.”

“You have been thinking too much of ‘our’ profits, cousin,” Anne said coolly. “They would be ‘our’ profits only if you married me.” She reconsidered and gave him an ironic smile. “No, they would be
tha
profits if we married, wouldn’t they?”

“Tha’rt not suggesting I wish to marry tha merely for monetary reasons, Anne! Tha knows I am very fond of tha, not that tha has let me speak of it before.”

Anne’s face softened. “I know, Joseph. But you’re also a good businessman, as I am a good businesswoman. If I am interested in what marriage to an earl might bring me, why shouldn’t you be interested in what I bring tha? I don’t fault you for it.”

“I see us as having rather different motives, Anne. After all, tha don’t care for any of your earls or dukes, while I do care for tha.”

“I appreciate your caring, Joseph, but my mind is made up. I will find my husband in London, and you will dismiss Brill. And before I leave, so that I may consult with his replacement.”

Joseph opened his mouth as though to protest and then closed it again. “Of course, Anne.”

“Thank you, Joseph. Shall we turn to other business? The price of Irish wool has gone down. Should we buy some?”

* * * *

Anne breathed a sigh of relief when her cousin finally left. The tension between them as they did their work had been so strong that she was exhausted from trying to screen it out and concentrate on wool prices and the output of the mills.

She sat down in front of the library fire with a glass of sherry and waited for the Amontillado to relax her. She was sorry for Joseph. Clearly he did care for her.

But did that mean she was more unfeeling than he? She wasn’t intending to marry someone she disliked, after all. She liked both Leighton and Windham very much. She was sure that with either of them there was the potential for the growth of affection and perhaps even love.

Then why, she wondered, as the warmth of the fire and the sherry began to have their effect, was it Jack Belden’s long-fingered hands that she could almost feel around her waist and the pressure of his lips on hers? And why was it that whenever she imagined how the Season would unfold, it was Jack Belden who was always her dance partner in her imaginary waltzes?

* * * *

There was little curiosity at the mill when Trantor closeted himself with Peter Brill the next day, until those closest to the foreman’s office heard the raised voices even over the noise of their looms. Trantor and the foreman had not had a disagreement in anyone’s memory, and the men looked at each other, raising their eyebrows and shrugging their shoulders expressively. When Brill came out, carrying his few personal belongings, the surprise and then the satisfaction on the men’s faces was obvious.

“We knew,” said one of the men, telling the story later in the Hart and Horn, “that soomthing was up, but it weren’t till our Peter came out with his old coat and his tea mug that we guessed what were going on!”

“But why would Trantor let him go?” asked Ned. “Brill was his source of information at the mill. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Aye, but it does,” George Talbot piped up. “My Martha told me that Miss Heriot listened to all she had to say. She didn’t give away nowt, but Martha thinks she were sympathetic. I’ll wager it were she that ordered him dismissed.”

Tom Gibson snorted derisively. “ ‘Twere more likely Trantor and Brill had a falling out. Maybe he was holding money back.”

The men nodded. “Aye, tha makes good sense, Tom.”

“I still think my Martha is right,” Talbot insisted stubbornly.

“Well, tha can think what tha bloody well like, George,” Tom said with a laugh. “But I know what I know, and that is that there is nowt a Heriot would do for t’workers.”

Gibson’s cynicism seemed confirmed a few days later. Ned had gone outside to relieve himself, when he heard screaming from the sorting shed. He was there even before Girton, the children’s supervisor, and he took in the situation at a glance. Little Katie Hyland’s skirt had become caught in the rollers and she was pulled back tight against the machine. She was frozen there, too frightened to cry. It was the other children around her who were screaming, for they remembered the last accident all too well. It was clear they were expecting the roller to swallow her up.

“Hush now,” murmured Ned as he slowly approached Katie. She was safe for the moment, but the machine had caught enough of the material so she could not be torn free. As long as she was frozen by fear, she was in no danger of injury. If she moved a hand, however, and the machine caught the edge of her sleeve…

Ned knelt a few feet in front of her. “Now, then, Katie, tha’rt caught fast, I know, but that machine can do nothing to tha if tha stays still. Does tha understand me?”

The child was in shock, but she finally nodded.

“All right, then. Jimmy,” Ned called to one of the older boys who had been trying to quiet the little ones.

“Aye, Ned?”

“Tha must run up to t’loft and get me some shears. Does tha think tha can do it quickly, lad?”

“Aye, Ned.” The boy was gone, and Ned stayed where he was, murmuring soothing words to Katie.

Before Jimmy got back with the shears, however, Girton burst into the shed. “What on earth is all that caterwauling? What art tha doing here, Gibson?”

“Shut tha face and listen.” Ned said quietly but forcefully. “Tha needs to shut off the machine.”

“I can’t do that without Mr. Trantor’s orders. T’machine runs all day, tha knows that.”

“Not if it is eating up Katie’s dress, it doesn’t! Shut it off, or I will feed tha to it,” said Ned, staring Girton down.

“All right, but tha will be responsible for this. The child could be cut out.”

“Before Jimmy gets back with the shears, she might be dead from shock or move and lose an arm, tha sheep-buggering bastard.”

A few of the older boys snickered.

“I’ll report tha for this, Ned Gibson,” said Girton as he walked to the back of the machine. When it finally stopped, Katie slipped into a faint, and Ned moved forward to hold her up. “There there, sweetheart, tha was a brave lass and will be free soon.”