The Daring Ladies of Lowell (14 page)

They sat together in companionable silence, watching the flames of the fire.

“H
ow could they be so blind?” Tilda asked. The question wasn’t directed toward anyone, just offered into the air, unanswerable and without even the strength of anger.

“They aren’t blind; they know what they’re doing,” Delia said wearily. “We think we’re rising in the world, working in the mills. But there are those here who want to sweep us all away, like trash.”

Alice once again sat in the rocking chair, gripping the arms tightly, feeling some visceral need to anchor herself. The smug cruelty of the coroner’s jury had been unbelievable. Lovey, “addicted to almost every vice”? Depicting the adulterous Avery as a man of high moral character?

“Alice, this note came for you earlier.” Mrs. Holloway dived into the copious pocket of her apron and pulled out an envelope, handing it to her. “It is certainly addressed in a forceful hand,” she said with a twinge of curiosity.

Alice opened the letter, her eyes traveling to the signature:
Samuel Fiske.
The sight of it made her hand tremble slightly.

Dear Miss Barrow,

I know the news you are absorbing is shocking, and I swear to you, we will not let this verdict stand. It is outrageous. This was not a suicide, I know it, my father knows it. This so-called man of the cloth has been in trouble for seducing women before. The judges ignored that. They also ignored the evidence piling up that proves Avery is guilty. We have a ferryman who has come forward and placed him near the scene of the crime. I promise you, we will get this overturned. I will not rest until it is done.

Yours faithfully,

Samuel Fiske

Alice read it twice, first, with surprise; then, eagerly, gratefully. She could almost hear this man’s voice. It was confident; it spoke to them. It spoke to her. She read the note to the others. “He’s going to fight for us,” she said.

“All very well.” Delia grimaced. “But Avery has fled. Why would an innocent man run from the law? That’s what those pompous judges have done. They’ve given a guilty man a chance to escape.”

“Why is Mr. Fiske writing you and not everybody?” Ellie asked Alice unexpectedly.

Alice flushed, but Delia spoke first.

“Hush, child, he is a friend to all of us,” she said immediately. “He made sure we were protected from Mr. Briggs’s wrath after the funeral.”

T
here was another accident at the mill late the next day. Just more carelessness, said Briggs with a shrug. He spoke loudly as the day shift walked past him, weary and ready for home. Not a terrible one—no one’s hand was caught in the machinery, no woman yanked up by the hair and left dangling. No, just a small fire, overheating; singed the eyebrows of one of the new workers handling a bale of raw cotton; nothing terrible.

“There are too many damn things happening,” spoke up one of the men as he shuffled through the door.

“There wouldn’t be if you heeded the warnings I give you every day,” shot back Briggs. He was bossier than ever since getting lectured for barring the mill girls from attending the funeral. Alice was quite sure he was casting about for a way of regaining stature, and they would have to tread carefully. With the others, she trudged out of the mill and started across the bridge, noting with some startlement that it was warmer tonight than usual. A lone blue jay was singing—a jaunty trill, nothing indifferent. Her spirits lifted slightly. Maybe spring was going to come early after all.

M
rs. Holloway strode into the dining hall at breakfast and slapped a copy of the town newspaper, still damp with ink from the press, down on the oilcloth. “They’ve thrown out the verdict,” she announced, her voice filled with excitement.

Somebody choked. Someone else cheered. Chairs were scraped back from the table as the girls scrambled up and bunched together around the paper, peering at the headline, touching it, heedless of ink transferring to their fingers.

It was true. The attorney general had voided the verdict on the grounds that the coroner’s jury had delivered a ruling in the wrong jurisdiction, a puzzling technicality—but welcome all the same.

“It’s this easy? This is how they can do it?”

“But”—Alice could barely get the question out—“isn’t it too late? Hasn’t Avery vanished?”

“They found him last night, hiding out somewhere in Rhode Island. Oh my, they moved fast—he’s in jail already, and he’s being formally charged tomorrow.”

They all stared at one another, stunned. There would be a murder trial after all.

Mary-o let out a laugh, the first laugh heard in Boott Hall in many days. Soon everyone was talking at once.

“Alice”—Mrs. Holloway pulled her aside, lowering her voice—“the Fiskes are sending a carriage for you. You might have to be a witness, and they want you deposed in Boston.”

“What does that mean?”

“The lawyers on both sides question you. It’s in case they need your testimony at the trial. They’ll do Mary-o, too, but they want to start with you.”

“They have to get Dr. Stanhope, he’s the most important,” Alice said.

“Well, tell them that tomorrow morning when you get there.” Mrs. Holloway gently patted her on the shoulder. “You might want to get some rest. The carriage won’t be here until around three in the morning. You’ll be traveling at a dreadful time, but they want to start early.”

Tilda stepped to her side. “You can borrow my cloak again,” she said.

“And my bonnet,” Mary-o chimed in.

For a moment they all stood in silence, remembering the excitement when they first sent Alice off to Boston. That already-long-ago pinch of time, when they could fantasize that a beautiful dress might be a magical ticket to a larger world.

“Thank you,” Alice said gratefully. No, it didn’t matter anymore. There was no need to strain for respectability. She looked down at her work dress, hardly interested. There was a stain on the bodice, but that mattered not a whit. Her mind told her a more complicated truth—she was going back to Samuel Fiske’s home territory, and that thought made her pulse run faster.

“Take the cloak,” Tilda said gently. “You need it to keep warm.”

T
here was one more thing. On impulse, Alice went into the dormitory and opened the box holding her mother’s cameo. She cradled it in her hand and studied the careful lines of the silhouette she had carved so long ago, remembering her mother’s smile when she had opened her gift. Why should she not wear it? What was the use of having something precious if it was kept hidden away? She held it another minute, indecisive, then opened the clasp and pinned the brooch to the throat of her dress. She would wear it proudly.

O
nce again, this time in the dark, Alice found herself heading off for Boston in a clattering carriage. She tried to doze, curled up under Tilda’s cloak, but it was a cold night, and she couldn’t warm her feet or hands. Outside the carriage window, she could see the moon. And it was a full moon, just as it had been some nights when she and Lovey sat together on the porch steps. She stared at it, squinting. A dark, starless night, that round serene globe above—it should rest her spirit. But try as she would, she could see neither the man nor the woman, only the cold curvatures of some mysterious, unknown terrain. It was all just imagination, a fairy tale, and she mustn’t allow fanciful dreams to intrude on harsh reality.

Somewhere along the route, worn out, she closed her eyes and gave in to sleep.

“M
iss Barrow?”

She opened her eyes to a cold, gray morning, only belatedly realizing the carriage was in the driveway of the Fiske home. The door was opening. And there, lifting up his hands to help her down, his face gentle, was Samuel Fiske. This was the second time he had awakened her, and her defenses were not fully in place. She reached out, he lifted her, and then she was on the ground, pulling herself upright and clutching her cloak tightly, wishing there had been some time to arrange her hair or straighten her dress. Only then did she see Daisy standing in back of Samuel.

“Daisy will help you refresh,” Samuel said. The sight of Alice, rumpled and sleepy, stirred him.

Alice was more conscious now of Daisy’s critical eyes than she was of Samuel. But when she looked straight at Samuel’s sister, she saw in her face more of a woman’s practical assessment of another.

“You need to be wide awake for that deposition,” Daisy said. “Come with me.”

Alice followed Daisy past the richly gilded paintings and up the red-carpeted stairs, still barely awake. To be here a second time was to yearn again for something she couldn’t have, and she must quell that feeling. They had two hours, Samuel had said. Two hours until the attorney general would be here; two hours until she had to face his questioning. She wanted to use the time to defend Lovey and sweep away the coroner’s jury’s harsh proclamation. To stand up for herself, for all the girls—she clung to the smoothly polished railing, gripping it tight, resisting the pull of being once again enveloped by these opulent surroundings.

“Would you like to bathe?” Daisy asked.

Nothing would be more soothing now. At least she could admit that to herself. She nodded.

Daisy tugged at her hand and drew her through a door. They walked into a spacious room with a marble floor, its walls painted a cool, peaceful blue. In the middle of the room, dominating everything, was a massive claw-footed tub made of burnished copper. With a nod from Daisy, a servant carrying a pail of steaming water poured its contents into the tub. She turned and, to Alice’s astonishment, released a faucet, allowing running water to pour forward into a ceramic sink.

“We have an attic cistern,” Daisy said, seeing her surprise. “It fills with rainwater, which gives us running water through the whole house.” She sighed. “Father was very fussy about that, thank goodness.” The servant—the same girl who had served dinner the last time—cast a slightly wicked glance at Alice. “I think it’s hot enough now, ma’am.”

Alice stared at the inviting tub. How wonderful it must be to bathe like this all the time. And without a moment of hesitation nor waiting for permission, she unbuttoned her wrinkled, stained dress and let it fall to the floor. Her drawers were next. She stood naked, and she didn’t care. And then she stepped into the tub, slid down in the blessedly warm water, and closed her eyes. Oh, it was bliss.