Marrying Miss Martha (16 page)

“It’s a chilly day, isn’t it?”

“Aye, but then you’d expect that in winter.” He looked at her inquiringly, waiting to hear what she wanted.

She was having trouble finding the right words and as she hesitated, couldn’t help noticing that his hands had been scrubbed red in an effort to get them clean. She saw that he’d realised what she was looking at and blushed.

His tone was sarcastic. “I do try to get the oil out of my nails on Sundays.”

“Mr Porter, we will get nowhere if you take offence so quickly.” She was amazed at her own temerity in confronting him with this—but John had always said that one should never try to fool the poor, because they only lacked money, not wits.

He looked at her, a long, thoughtful stare, then nodded. “You're right there. Though I’m not sure where we want to get.”

“I want to help you with your reading.”

Another stare, then, “Why?”

“Because I believe education is important—and—and because it's what John would have wanted. It's the last thing I can do for him, carry on his work. Don’t you wish to improve your reading?”

“Of course I do! And I may not always sound it—well, I know I’m too blunt sometimes—but I'm right grateful to you for offering me the chance, Miss Penelope.”

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Sally with a tea tray. With instinctive courtesy Daniel stood up and took it from her as she began to manoeuvre through the furniture.

“Put it on this side table, if you please, Mr Porter. Now, Miss Penelope, you ate practically nothing at lunch time, so I've cut you some of my fruit cake. And I'll be obliged to you, Mr Porter, if you'll make sure she eats it.” She fixed him with a gaze slightly less hostile, but still with something of a warning in it.

Penelope was glad to have something to occupy her hands, because she still felt a little tense, as if all her senses were heightened. “How do you take your tea, Mr Porter?”

He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Do you have both milk and sugar in it?”

The smile he gave her was laced with grimness. “I ‘take my tea’, Miss Penelope, as it comes, an’ grateful to get it. No milk, plenty of sugar if I’ve got the choice.”

He watched her pour the amber liquid, enjoying the sight of her hands moving so surely among the delicate china. Eh, what pretty hands ladies had, not red like his mother’s from taking in washing! When she passed him a cup, he set it down to offer her the plate of cake. “I daren't start drinking my tea unless I do as Mrs Polby ordered.”

Smiling, she took a piece and laid it on a small plate, then said, “You must join me, or I shall feel uncomfortable eating alone.”

He drank the tea with obvious appreciation and demolished the piece of cake in a few bites. She offered him another piece.

“Would a
gentleman,”
his tone was slightly sarcastic, “take another?”

She couldn’t hold back a gurgle of laughter. “I’ve frequently seen my father—and John too—take three or four slices of Sally's cake. She's an excellent cook. And they usually took several cups of tea, as well, so I’ll pour you another one, shall I? Gentlemen, Mr Porter, are allowed to have hearty appetites. It's we ladies who must eat like birds.”

The tension between them eased a little. “Then I don't mind following their example, Miss Merridene. It’s the best cake I ever tasted.”

She allowed him to take another bite before asking, “Do you like reading?”

“Aye. When I can get something to practise on. Mr Seaton lets me have his newspapers after he’s done with them and there’s a group of us who go through them together.”

“Would you like to borrow one of our books?”

“I wasn’t hinting!”

“I know. But friends usually lend one another books.”

“Friends?”

She looked at him defiantly. “Why not?”

“You know why not.”

“No, I don’t.” The silence that followed was longer than it should have been as he continued to stare at her. For the first time he was looking at her openly, as a man looks at a woman, and she was responding to that as a woman too, feeling herself soften and warm to him.

“You’re playing with fire, lass,” he said quietly.

She didn’t pretend not to understand. “I know. But some fires go out and others blaze up.”

“This one can’t blaze. There’s too much difference between us.”

She could feel her cheeks getting warm as she answered him. “We don’t know that.”

“But you wouldn’t . . . you couldn’t . . . ”

She flushed even more hotly but was determined to be honest with him because she knew he wouldn’t make any moves unless she did. “Only time will tell. I’m prepared to give the fire a chance to burn brightly. Are you?”

He jerked to his feet and went to stand by the window, his back towards her. “If you’re playing with me . . . ”

“I’m not! I’d never do that.”

Martha came in just then and the moment of honesty was over. And perhaps it was a good thing, Penelope decided. It was early days yet, after all. Only she did like him and admire the way he was making a life for himself against great odds—and she did find him very attractive. He was the first man to stir her senses since John.

Her sister greeted him civilly and demanded a cup of tea from her because it was cold upstairs and she was frozen.

“You’ll have another cup, too, Mr Porter?” Penelope poured him a third one without allowing him time to refuse. “And do have another piece of cake. Martha, you’ll bear witness that I’ve eaten a piece, won’t you? Sally was scolding me for not eating my luncheon and ordered Mr Porter to see that I made up for it.”

He ate the cake and drank the tea mostly in silence, listening to Martha talk about her plans for the schoolroom. When he’d finished, he looked at Penelope and gave her another of his wry smiles. “How do gentlemen take their leave after this sort of thing.” He waved one hand at the tea tray.

“They thank their hostess for her hospitality, then she shows them to the door. Or she calls the maid to do so. Only we don’t often bother with that, because Sally and Meg have enough to do.”

He stood up and said with a grin, “Then I thank you kindly for your hospitality, Miss Penelope.”

She stood up and moved towards the door. “You must come again, Mr Porter. But before you leave, if you’ll come into the schoolroom, I’ll find you that book I promised.”

He nodded a farewell to Martha and followed Penelope along the corridor, saying, “You’re a determined lass, aren’t you?” as she handed him a book.

“Sometimes. Let me show you to the door.” She took him to the front door.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I went out the way I came in? What will your neighbours think?”

“I shan’t care what they think. My friends always leave by the front door.” She held out her hand to him.

He surprised her by taking it in both his and holding it for a moment, saying in a low voice, “Eh, I don’t know how to deal with you, lass.”

“Honestly, if you please.”

He kept hold of her hand and she stared into his eyes, wondering what had driven her to behave so forwardly with him. She didn’t pull her hand away, however, because she enjoyed his touch. When he let it drop and said a quiet farewell, she stayed at the door, watching him walk down the short path to the gate. He turned there and stopped for a moment, his eyes meeting hers again. With another of those puzzled shakes of the head, he went through the gate and strode off down the street.

When she got back inside, Martha looked at her quizzically. “Found yourself another protégé, have you?”

Penelope looked at her anxiously. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“I don’t mind at all, but you don’t usually bring your protégés into the parlour to take tea—and you were on your own with him. You should have called me down. We don’t want to give people any cause for talking about us.”

“He was a perfect gentleman. I’d expect nothing less of Meg’s brother.”

“He has a very intelligent face.”

“He’s hungry to learn.” She gave her sister an apologetic smile. “To me, educating working people is more important than teaching little girls, though I shall no doubt enjoy that as well. And as to Daniel Porter, he
is
very intelligent. It shines from him. Your Mr Seaton recognises that or he wouldn’t have let him work as an engineer. He only—”

“My
Mr Seaton? Why should he be mine, pray?”

Penelope realised she’d made a serious error here and said hastily, “Because you met him first, of course. I’m going to speak to him and Mr Wright tomorrow about arranging some reading classes. After all, they said they wanted us to help their workers.”

“Hadn’t we better wait until we’ve settled in with teaching the girls? It’s why we came here, after all.”

“Why can’t we do both?” She got up and began to pile things back on the tea tray, putting an end to this conversation before it took them down awkward tracks.

Later as she got ready for bed Penelope’s thoughts returned to Daniel Porter. He already felt like a friend, which was strange when she had known him for such a short time and there were such great differences between them. She very much wanted to get to know him better, wherever that might lead. Then she dismissed such thoughts, trying not to remember the warm look in his eyes, or her own reaction to that look—and completely failing.

In the bedroom next door, Martha was also lying awake. She was thinking that the old Penelope had returned with a vengeance, ready to take on the world for something she believed in, just the way she had been with John Medson.

Only this time there was no gentleman to protect her, so Martha would have to do her best to fulfil that task. It would mean getting involved in teaching some of their employers’ workers to read, which she found rather daunting, but it was better to have too much to do than too little and if Penelope could teach these men, so could she.

* * * *

Ben leaned back in his chair and smiled at his sister who had been a little easier to live with in the past few days, thank goodness. “How are you enjoying being with the Merridene ladies?”

Georgie shrugged, not returning his smile. “It’s someone to talk to.”

“Good. Look, it’s fine today so I thought we’d go for a tramp up on the moors.”

“No, thank you. You walk too fast for me. Besides, the wind’s getting up and my bonnet will blow off.”

“You need something simpler to wear for walking on the moor—and some good stout boots, too. Haven’t you got any? You used to go walking with Dad.”

She elevated her nose. “I was much younger then. Now I’m grown up and Mama says a lady tries to appear elegant at all times.”

He’d had enough of her scornful answers and assumption that he knew nothing about ladies. He knew one thing for certain: what she was wearing didn’t flatter her. “Then if you want to appear at your best, why are you wearing all those frills and bows?”

She looked down at herself then across at him, her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “What do you mean? These are the very latest fashion. Mama always made sure I was well turned out.”

“You’re too short for so many frills. They make you look fat.”

She glared at him. “What do
you
know about that? You spend all your time in that dirty mill and never meet real ladies.”

“I meet the Merridenes. They’re undoubtedly
real ladies!”

“They’re teachers, which isn’t the same thing. And they’re in mourning, so they’re not wearing fashionable clothes.”

“Whatever they wear, they’ll always look like ladies to me.” He decided to go and work in his office for a while. Every time he tried to talk to Georgie he came close to quarrelling with her and that was no way to live together. He was at his wits’ end sometimes as to how to deal with her, how to make friends again.

She watched him go, then sighed and began to trace the pattern on her dress with one fingertip. After a minute or two she stood up, shook out her skirts and looked down. There were rather a lot of frills . . . but surely Mama knew best what suited her?

She turned slowly round in a circle, seeking something to do and not finding it. Life here was so boring and there was no one in the town of her own age and class! It was a sad state of affairs when it was more interesting to go and help two teachers set up their school than it was to stay in her own home. Perhaps she should write to her mother and ask to go there for a visit? No, her mother didn’t want her. She’d only say no again.

An hour later, driven by frustration and boredom, Georgie put on her bonnet and went for a leisurely stroll round the square, lingering to look in the windows of the drapery, though she knew the contents of the displays by heart.

If things went on like this, she decided as she walked, she’d be driven to reading books or embroidering, two occupations of which her mother approved for young ladies. Georgie detested embroidery but did occasionally read a novel. Only Ben didn’t have any novels, just dry old books about people who’d travelled to other countries or, even worse, about cotton. As if she didn’t hear enough about cotton living in this dreadful town! Mama had always hated Tapton and had only lived there for Papa’s sake.

Georgie wished she lived somewhere else now that Papa was dead. Anywhere but here! She kept expecting to see him coming towards her down the street. She blinked furiously to get rid of the tears and turned towards home.

* * * *

The following day, just as the ladies were settling down to take afternoon tea following another hard day’s work, there was a knock on the front door and they heard a man's voice in the hall. “What now?” Martha muttered, setting her plate down.

Sally appeared at the door of the parlour. “Mr Brindley to see you, miss, the one we brought to Tapton, not the old one. Are you at home?”

The two sisters exchanged glances. “Oh dear! I suppose we must receive him,” Martha said in a low voice.

Georgie looked from one lady to the other. “He was the scrubbiest young man, very thin and had dreadful spots.” She giggled. “He was always tripping over his own feet. My Mama wouldn’t let me even speak to him, but I used to see him in town sometimes and—”

She didn’t get a chance to say anything more because Mr Brindley was shown in, no longer spotty but a well turned out and romantic figure with his arm in a sling. Brightening, Georgie sat up straighter, more aware than her companions that their visitor was dressed in the very height of fashion and impressed by that.