Love and Other Wicked Games (A Wicked Game Novel) (3 page)

“A protest. Oh my. That sounds romantic,” Amelia added offhandedly as she kept her head down and continued to work on her embroidery. “I mean I don’t know what one is—this protest—but the word sure does have that romantic ring to it.”

“Well, it most certainly is nothing of the sort, Amelia.” Mandy’s words were sharp and biting but the timbre of her voice was low and quivering. “Maybe if you spent more time reading a newspaper than those ridiculous books you would know what we’re talking about.”

Ellie reached out and took hold of Mandy’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “She’s not much older than I was when I found out.”

“And you’re forgetting something else, Mandy,” came the voice of Ellie’s mother, Angela, from behind them as she entered the room carrying a stack of fabrics. Ellie went to her and took half the stack, setting it down on a table. “Thank you, dear,” she said to Ellie giving her only a minor look of concern. It appeared she had been listening from the other room and was already up to speed on their current conversation.

“What am I forgetting, Mrs. Wilson?”

“That like Ellie and her father and I, Amelia also did not grow up in Manchester. And even if she had, it’s not likely to have made a difference. How many people around here choose to look away and pretend?”

“Found out what?” Amelia finally set down her embroidery and looked at the three older women in the room. “What are people looking away from? What are you talking about?”

“The mill workers,” Mandy answered. Her voice caught and she cleared her throat.

“Mill workers? Who? What about them? Why would I care?”

Ellie and her mother looked to Mandy, who tightened her jaw.

“What do you think about working here, Amelia?” Ellie’s mother asked.

That seemed to catch her attention and also catch the normally verbose Amelia off guard. “Oh. Well... Oh my…” She cleared her throat and composed herself before finally giving what seemed to be a truthful, if not slightly exaggerated, answer. “Oh, I love it here Mrs. Wilson.”

“Do you now? You love working?” Ellie saw the corners of her mother’s mouth twitch. And apparently, so did Amelia who now squirmed in her seat.

“Perhaps I… Well, I didn’t actually say I loved
working
, not exactly…”

“Really? I never would have guessed that…” Mandy murmured.

“Who loves working?” Amelia threw her hands above her head.

“I do,” Mandy countered.

“Well, aren’t you just a big ole barrel of fun?”

Ellie and her mother smiled and Amelia crossed her arms.

“I wasn’t lying,” she said glaring at Mandy who was now refusing to acknowledge her stares. “Maybe I don’t love working, but I do love working here quite a lot.”

“And why is that?” Ellie’s mother asked.

Still not entirely sure what was happening, Amelia’s eyes drifted to each of the other women as she spoke. “The lodgings are nice. I never worked anywhere with lodgings before. And if there had been any I’m nearly certain they would have been uninhabitable… Oh, and the work load is appropriately doled out. Can’t say the same for most other places I’ve worked at. None, actually, come to think of it… Oh, and you Mrs. Wilson. I promise I’m not just saying it because you’re the one doing the asking, but you’ve treated me kinder than my own mother ever did. And your husband and Ellie here as well… Even you, Mandy, are tolerable on most days,” Amelia added sardonically. “Though, I’m not sure what you’re getting at with all this…”

“What if tomorrow my mother told you that you had to start working twelve hours or more at a time?”

“She wouldn’t.
You wouldn’t!
”

“No! Of course not. But what if I did?”

“Ugh,” Amelia rolled her eyes. “Well I wouldn’t like it much. Not at all actually. But I suppose I’d have to do it. I wouldn’t have much of a choice, would I? If I needed to keep my job, that is.”

“And do you need your job?”

“I do. Of course, I do. What’s all this about?” Her eyes opened wide and she threw her hands against both sides of her face. “
Are you letting me go?
”

“No. Of course not.” Ellie’s mother shook her head and laughed softly.

“What if you were injured,” Ellie asked now, “and she said you had to keep working—”

“Injured? How am I going to injure myself here?” Amelia wiggled her fingers. “Pick myself with a pin? Does that even count as an injury? What sort of seamstress would I be if I let that get to me?”

“You’re not a seamstress yet, dearie,” Mandy chortled.

“Oh, now. She’s made great progress since I took her on six months ago,” Ellie’s mother said to Mandy. And then to Amelia, “You’re doing just fine, dear.”

Amelia sat up straighter and glared at Mandy who rolled her eyes and went back to her sewing. Amelia looked back to Ellie.

“You didn’t prick your finger. You cut it clear off.”

“
What?
” Amelia snickered. “How?”

“Cutting fabric.”

“But that’s not even—” Amelia looked to Mandy and pointed her thumb at Ellie. “And you thought I had an over active imagination!”

“I’m just…” Ellie dropped her shoulders. “This is purely hypothetical. Just follow me.”

Amelia raised her eyebrows, opened her eyes wide, and held up her hand, pointer finger folded over. “Alright then. I’ve cut off my fing—” She laughed and shook her head. Then she held up her hand again, finger folded over, trying to force her expression into a straight and calm manner. She laughed again. “I can’t. This is just too ridiculous.”

Ellie sighed and continued on by herself. “You’ve cut off your finger and my mother tells you that you must keep working.”

Amelia broke into another fit of giggles. “Now why on earth would she do that? I’d be certain to make a right mess of the fabrics and that wouldn’t do anyone any good…”

“This is nothing to laugh about, Amelia,” Mandy added, sternly. “This is life and death.”

“Life and death? But—I thought we were talking about the dress shop and working ridiculously long hours and me somehow cutting off my finger…” Amelia let her mouth gape. “And Ellie said this was hypothetical.”

“Well, the idea of my mother forcing you to work long hours with your finger cut off is. Or course.”

“Then what are we even talking about? I’m so confused…”

“We’re just—” Ellie pinched her nose. “We’re just trying to make you see it from your own perspective. Put you in their shoes so it would make more sense and reach you deeper.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Amelia bit her lip. “Whose shoes am I supposed to be in?”

The three woman stared at her blankly.

“Ohhh. This is about the mill workers, isn’t it? And the protest.”

“How ever did you guess?” Mandy mumbled. “You know, for someone who reads so many books you sure seem to have a hard time following along at times…”

Amelia crossed her arms and frowned. “I take back what I said about protests being romantic. The books I read are happy and are about love and outspoken women and dashing heroes. They don’t have any of this serious business about mill workers and protests. That all sounds quite a bit too distressing for my taste.”

“It’s quite a bit distressing for most people, which is probably why they choose to ignore it. The cowards,” Mandy muttered. “The bloody cowards.”

“You still haven’t told me what a protest is exactly. Ellie mentioned something about the workers’ neighborhoods and being forced to look… Forced to look at what?”

Ellie’s mother left the table and went to her daughter, sitting down on the opposite side of her from Mandy. She clenched her jaw as she reached up and stroked Ellie’s hair. “I must have missed that part of the conversation. A protest? Are you alright, dear?”

“Perfectly fine,” Ellie said with a slight edge in her voice. For just a moment she felt guilty for not revealing what she had been up to today, but she knew that it would only make her mother worry. Besides, Ellie was a grown woman after all, whether she felt like it or not, and she didn’t have to tell her mother everything. Did she?

Grown woman
. Ellie thought the words again. It was a truth that she sometimes, like right now, found hard to comprehend.

Protecting her had been the entire reason her father gave up his Earldom and as she grew up, it left her feeling confused and uncertain about herself and her life. Ellie often felt as if she needed her parents’ protection and coddling. And permission. They had given her the gift of freedom and because of that she was afraid she would never be free of the guilty feeling that she owed them for it. Now there was bitter irony. But Ellie wasn’t sure how much of her feelings actually came from her parents and how much of them were internal manifestations. As such, she found her own independence and maturity a constant struggle, one she was still learning to overcome.

“Is someone going to answer my questions or should I just go back to my embroidery?”

“Oh, why yes. Of course, Amelia.” Ellie’s mother turned. “Mandy? Do you want to take this one since you have the firsthand knowledge?”

Ellie looked to Mandy. Her eyes were cast down at her lap as if she was concentrating with great detail on the piece of sewing in her hands. But that was not the case. Her hands were motionless, the needle laying slack in one while the fabric rested lightly in the other. There was a drop of water on the fabric and Mandy tried to rub it away. Ellie knew that all the hardness Mandy put forward was a facade. They all knew, but Mandy still clung to it for protection.

“Listen here, I’m going to tell you exactly what I told Ellie when she was about your age and I’m only going to say this once. This world can be a wonderful place, an amazing place, but it can also be harsh and cruel. Not all people are as kindhearted as Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, certainly not all employers. To some employers the people they employ are not even people—”

“Not people? But how can—what does that even—”

“Not. People.” Mandy emphasized. “They are a means to an end; to money and lots of it. Those employers don’t care if you cut off your finger or your hand or you work hour after hour until you can’t force your eyes open and you fall on your face and die. You can and will be replaced, by the next able-bodied person who just wants to support their family. But they won’t stay able-bodied for long because if the mill doesn’t kill them, then the slums will. But none of that matters to the employers. And as long as their pockets are lined at the end of the day then all is right with the world. All is right with
their
world.”

Amelia fell back into her chair, eyes glazed over. “That doesn’t even seem real.”

“Believe it, dear,” Mandy tightened her throat to bite back the tears. Her fingers began to work quickly on the sewing again, distracting her from the full emotional depth of her words. “It’s not something you forget, seeing a person’s body and mind worked that hard. My brother and father and grandfather—even my mother—all worked themselves to the grave. No, I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I can’t. Not when I saw it with my own eyes… not when I lived it.” Mandy cleared her throat. “And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”

“But… But why doesn’t anyone do anything?”

Ellie’s mother stood up and went to the table with the stack of fabrics. She began to sort them, busying herself as well, as she spoke. “For a long time no one thought anything
could
be done.”

Amelia took a slow deep breath. “But why?”

“Remember what my mother just asked you about this job and if you needed it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s precisely the problem. There’s an uneven balance of power.”

“The worker needs the employer but the employer does not need the worker. They just need
a
worker. Any worker.” Amelia said as her eyes glazed over. Everything was beginning to sink in. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her lap. “But isn’t there
anything
anyone can do?”

“That’s what the protests are about,” Ellie’s mother said. “The workers are demanding to be heard.” She stood up and went back to the table to busy herself, briskly patting the pile of fabrics she had been sorting and smoothing her hands across the top.

“Well, that’s good. That’s a start right? And that’s what you meant, Ellie, when you said that they were forcing people to see—to look. They want everyone to know how they live and work.” Amelia frowned as she watched Ellie’s mother resume folding and patting down piles fabric. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think the protests are helping?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

“Why not? Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Because the balance of power is still uneven. It doesn’t matter how often or how loudly or how forcefully the workers protest if the mill owners and employers continue to see them as nothing more than work vessels. They’re still making their money and there’s still more men and women desperate enough to work for them, no matter the conditions. So what incentive do they have to change anything?” Ellie’s mother pinched the bridge of her nose and then rested her palm on one of the piles of fabric. “As awful as I feel saying it, part of me wishes the protests would stop. Nothing is going to change until the mill owners have no other option but to make changes. All that’s happening right now is violence. And pain.”

“Violence?” Ellie asked. “I’ve never seen the protestors become violent…”

“No, not usually,” Mandy added rejoining the conversation. “Not without cause. But I don’t think it’s the mill workers your mother was talking about…”

“No.”

“Then who?” Ellie asked.

“The mill owners. There have been rumors that they’re threatening anyone who participates in these protests or joins a union,” Ellie’s mother said with a wince. “I’ve heard rumors that they are beating the workers they catch, or withholding pay. They’re making examples of them.”

“Who could do something as awful as this?” Amelia stood up from her chair and put her hands on her hips as if her sheer force of will would make something happen. “What sort of people are these?”

Mandy made a
humph
sound in her throat. “Don’t know that I’d call them people, love.”