Marrying Miss Martha (6 page)

“There’s also Georgie,” he added reluctantly, knowing he and Ben must be open about that problem.

“Georgie?”

“Aye. Georgiana is her proper name, but everyone calls her Georgie. She’s Ben Seaton’s half-sister, sixteen and trying to act like twenty. Eh, she’s a real minx, spoiled rotten by her mother, and that’s one of the reasons why Ben’s prepared to pay generously. She’ll need some firm handling.”

“I cannot like the thought of my cousins taking on a troublesome chit of that age,” protested Edward. “If her brother cannot control her, why should he think they will be able to?”

“He
can
control her, but he wants more than that. He wants to see her happy and acting like a lass of almost seventeen should.”

Martha cut in quickly before Edward could say something else tactless, “We’d need to meet her as well, then. I couldn’t agree to supervise her unless I thought she and I could come to terms with one another.”

“I’ll take you round to their house if you get on all right with my wife. We live quite close to one another in Tapton, close to the mills as well, which is why we don’t bother much with carriages.” He glanced at Edward with a barely concealed smile. “I know we seem to be hurrying things, Mr Merridene, but if your cousins and the children aren’t suited to one another, then why waste more of everyone’s time?”

Edward breathed deeply and looked as if he was about to say something.

Penelope interrupted quickly with, “Why indeed?”

Jonas leaned back in his chair and stared at the two women. “Just tell me before we set off what makes you think you can run a school, Miss Merridene, Miss Penelope? You've no experience of teaching, after all.”

“True I have no experience of actually running a school, but I have run my father's house since I was fifteen, which included taking care of the money and accounts, and it was I who helped educate my sister. You’ll find us well-read, we speak passable French, play the piano and can do fine needlework. My sister is skilled in drawing and the use of water-colours, and I intend to teach the older girls practical skills like managing the household accounts.”

When he didn’t immediately respond, she asked, “What more do you ask of a schoolmistress? Or do you wish your daughters to study Latin and Greek? If so, I’ll admit we can’t help you.”

Mr Wright was in no way abashed by her spirited defence. “Of course I don't want them to study Latin and Greek. What use are such things to a woman—or to a man, either, come to that? This is the nineteenth century, not the first!”

He slapped his thigh and let out a crack of laughter. “Well, at least you can speak up for yourself, which is more than I can say for most of the governesses I've interviewed in the past few months. And to answer your question, what I want from a schoolmistress, apart from teaching the three Rs, is that she allow my daughters to develop a bit of character and sense without spoiling them—and that she play with them and take them for walks so that they grow up strong and healthy. That’s something their mother can’t do. Practical skills are good, but I don’t want mine stuffing full of useless accomplishments such as playing the harp and painting on china!”

“I assume you wouldn’t mind them learning to sketch, though,” Penelope asked.

“Not at all. My wife used to be a good artist before her hands grew so twisted.” He stood up. “Well then, if you two ladies will fetch your outdoor things, I’ll escort you round to my house. After that, if my wife thinks you’re suitable, I’ll take you to see Ben.”

He turned to give Edward a firm look. “We’ll leave this part to the ladies, eh Mr Merridene, and not drag you out into the cold again? I’m only acting as guide and shall not be there while your cousins talk to my wife.”

Edward opened his mouth to protest, looked at Mr Wright and closed it again. “Oh, very well!”

* * * *

In a comfortable house near the third mill in Tapton, Oliver Brindley, known to his workers and enemies as Owd Noll, walked across the yard to take his afternoon tea in solitary state in front of his own hearth. The small table was perfectly set, but he found fault with it anyway and sent the maid back to the kitchen in tears because he reckoned servants had an easy life and he wasn’t letting his get slack in their ways.

When she’d gone, he poured his own tea, as he had done since his wife had died several years previously, and helped himself to a generous slice of cream cake. As he ate it in great chomping bites, he studied the letter that had arrived that afternoon and was now propped against the teapot. He knew the handwriting. It was from his only son, who had been educated to be a gentleman and who now despised him—though Peter didn’t despise his father’s money. Oh, no! In fact, he only wrote when he wanted more of it.

Well, Peter hadn’t done what his father asked and found himself a well-bred young lady to marry, so Noll was damned if he’d hand over any more money. On a sudden impulse he sent the letter spinning into the fire without opening it, cutting another slice of cake and cramming some into his mouth as he watched the paper shrivel and flare into nothing.

When he went back to the mill which lay behind his house, Gerry Cox was waiting for him.

“You’d better come into the office, lad.” Noll shut the door, then went to sit behind the big mahogany desk while Gerry perched on one corner of it. “Well? Did you threaten to throw them out?”

“They’d already gone. Seaton’s set Porter on as Assistant Engineer and they’ve moved into one of his new houses in Reservoir Lane.”

Noll swelled with indignation. “I told Seaton I wanted Daniel Porter out of this town. Seaton’s doing this to spite me and is getting altogether too big for his boots since his father died. If Wright hadn’t stepped in to help him, I’d have had his mill off him by now.”

He fumed silently for a minute or two, tapping his fingers on the desk. “We’ll leave things as they are with Porter for a bit because we’ve that other matter to deal with first. But I won’t forget this. Seaton will regret taking that cheeky young devil on—and Porter will regret disobeying my order to leave town.” He gave Gerry a sly grin. “Just as his dad did, eh?”

Gerry summoned up a grin in return, though he couldn’t see what Noll was making such a fuss about. As long as Seaton was out of their mill, what did it matter where he went? He changed the subject. “How’s your Peter going on in London? Found himself a fancy wife yet?”

Noll’s smile vanished. “No, he hasn’t. As far as I can tell, all he’s done is throw good money away. I had a letter from him this morning.”

“Oh? What did it say?”

“How should I know? I didn’t open the damn thing, just threw it into the fire. He only writes when he wants more money. He’s far too fine to associate with a common fellow like me the rest of the time. Well, I’m not giving him any more till I see some return on my investment. I need a grandson I can train up to run this mill when I die, and I mean to have one.”

“Your Peter always looks as fine as a fighting cock.”

“Looks are one thing, turning up his nose at his father’s another and I’m not having it.”

“You’ll soon bring him to heel.”

“Mebbe. He’s too like his mother, though. She could be damned stubborn when she’d set her mind on something.”

Gerry didn’t comment. Noll could get very touchy about his son, though what else could you expect when you sent a lad off to a fancy school? The place seemed to have taught him only to despise the hand that fed him.

They sat on together for a while longer, discussing various details about the mill. He and Noll had been lads together, then his friend had risen in the world, as Gerry knew he never could have done, though he’d not done too badly for himself, ending up as Chief Overlooker, responsible only to Noll, the Master.

But for all the differences between them now, his master still treated him as a friend—or as close to a friend as a man like that ever got, for everyone in Tapton was well aware that Owd Noll preferred money to anything and anyone else in the world, his son and heir included.

* * * *

It took only a few minutes for the ladies to walk to Mr Wright’s home. His wife was waiting for them in the front parlour but she didn’t attempt to rise and greet them. Martha was shocked at how unwell Libby Wright looked, for pain had etched deep lines on her gentle face. Her hands were twisted with rheumatism and she was lying on a day bed with a blanket across her lower body.

Mr Wright went across to her. “How are you, my dear?”

“A little better, thank you.”

His expression said he knew this to be a lie, and the mixture of love and sadness in his eyes as he looked at his wife made a lump come into Martha’s throat. How would it feel to have a man love you like that?

Having introduced their two guests, he turned and left the room.

A blazing fire was burning in the grate and the parlour was so cosy after the chilly dusk outside that Martha said without thinking, “How welcoming this room feels. Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Wright. That’s not a polite way to greet a new acquaintance.”

“I’m not interested in what’s polite today, but in meeting two ladies who may or may not be looking after my girls, something I can no longer do properly myself.” She gestured to two chairs opposite her. “Please sit down. We’ve interviewed several governesses and I must say you don’t look like the others.”

“I hope that’s in our favour,” Penelope said at once.

Libby smiled. “Oh, yes. That’s a very good point as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want my girls stifling or regimenting, as I was. My parents and governess were far too strict. But I do want to know why two ladies like you have decided to become teachers? I gather you’ve been left without much money, but my husband tells me your cousin has offered you a home, so you aren’t obliged to go out and work for a living.”

Martha hesitated but didn’t feel it would be loyal to denigrate their cousin to a stranger. “Let’s just say that we prefer our independence and don’t get on well enough with Edward to live at Poolerby Hall. Besides, what would we do with ourselves all day if we had no occupation?”

Libby looked at Penelope. “You’re very quiet. Do you agree with your sister?”

“I wasn’t sure at first, but now I’m beginning to think a complete change may be good for us both in many ways. My sister’s worked so hard since our mother died thirteen years ago. I don’t think she ever had a chance to enjoy her girlhood.”

Martha looked at Penelope in surprise. That thought had never even occurred to her. She had helped Sally look after their mother when she grew ill, then taken up the household reins without hesitation when her mother died, out of love for her father and sister. It embarrassed her to talk of herself, so she quickly changed the subject and they went on to discuss what and how they intended to teach.

Then Penelope noticed Mrs Wright shifting uneasily on the sofa. “We’re tiring you, I think. Would you like us to leave now?”

“No. I get uncomfortable if I lie in one position for too long, that’s all. If you could help me sit up straighter? Thank you. Now, if you have no more questions, let’s bring the girls in.” She rang her handbell twice and there was the sound of footsteps and scuffling in the hall outside, then four girls filed in. They went to stand near their mother, the two eldest behind the sofa and the others at one end. Each of them took great care not to bump into the sofa, even the smallest child.

It was such a lovely family group that Martha felt her old desire to have children, long repressed, surface suddenly and bite into her like acid.

“Let me introduce Beth, Helen, Jenny and Alice.”

The four chorused a greeting, staring at the two strangers with the clear-eyed, open gaze of happy children. The oldest girl must have been twelve or so and the youngest around five. For a moment or two Martha felt intimidated then pulled herself together. “Perhaps you girls could tell us what you were learning with your last governess?”

It was Helen who answered. “We learned the Kings and Queens of England. It was a
very
long list.” She sighed.

“Countries and their capitals,” Beth offered without enthusiasm.

“I always hated learning lists,” Penelope smiled at the youngest child. “Do you like reading stories?”

“She can’t read yet,” Helen said scornfully. “She’s just a baby, still learning her letters.”

“I like listening to stories, though,” Alice volunteered. “When Mother’s well, she reads to us sometimes.”

“We’ll all have to help you learn to read, won’t we?” said Penelope. “Then you can read to your mother, for a change. Books are such good companions. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t read. And I know lots of stories.”

“I like drawing best,” Helen volunteered.

“So did I when I was your age,” Martha said. “But my sister is much better at it than I ever was.”

Mrs Wright had been watching them carefully, but she now intervened. “I think you can go and get your tea now, girls.” When they had gone she turned to her visitors. “I’m prepared to give you a try.”

The words were out before Martha could stop them. “Whatever made you decide that so quickly?”

“The way you talked to my daughters. I won’t have anyone hectoring them or forcing them to be silent all the time—though I don’t want them spoiling, either.”

Martha could see that her hostess’s face was visibly paler. “We’re delighted that you approve of us, but I think we should leave you to rest now, Mrs Wright.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I had a bad night, just when I wanted to be at my best.” She rang the bell once and her husband came in. “Jonas dear, perhaps you could escort our visitors round to the Seatons’. I’d be happy for them to teach our daughters, but they need to meet Georgie first.” She looked at Martha. “Georgie behaves badly, there’s no denying that, but she’s a very unhappy young woman who is missing her father greatly. Her mother has just remarried and has never been very attentive to her needs. Perhaps you’ll be able to find a way to help her. I do hope so.”

Mr Wright led them into a study and waved them to big leather armchairs. “There’s another thing I want to ask of you before we set off. I need some better educated workers and so does Ben Seaton. We’ll pay you extra to run reading and writing classes for our overlookers and any men with promise. The classes would have to be in the evenings, but the men would give you no trouble because they’re eager to learn.”