‘Me? Well, I must earn my living,’ said Kitty. ‘I am to become a governess in November.’
‘And is that what you want?’
Kitty spread her hands.
‘It is a good situation; the present governess is only leaving because she is obliged to return to the family home. She has told me the squire and his lady are very considerate employers.’
‘And you turned down marriage to Lord Harworth for this?’ There was a note of wonder in Mrs Blackwood’s voice. Silently Kitty spread her hands again, too miserable to speak. ‘Well, you must let me do something for your family.’
‘Oh, no, please! That is not necessary—’
‘It is in some part my son’s fault that you are reduced to this.’
‘It was my decision,’ replied Kitty, raising her head. ‘I could not accept charity, especially from you, madam.’
‘You must accept it for your mother and your aunt,’ came the firm reply. ‘They will not be able to continue with their sewing for many more years, and if they remain in that damp little house their health will soon fail. I shall set up a fund of some sort to provide them with a small income. My lawyer will arrange everything. It shall be anonymous—your mother will believe it is some benevolent acquaintance of your father’s. Will that do?’
After a moment Kitty nodded.
‘I want nothing for myself, but I will accept your offer for my mother’s sake, Mrs Blackwood, and thank you for it.’
‘Good. Then it is settled. Now let us return to the house and see what unsuitable designs Bella has chosen for her new gown!’
‘…what say you, my dear?’
‘Hmm? Yes, if you wish, Mama.’
Daniel had no idea what his mother had asked him. His thoughts had been far away, as they were so often these days. He knew his mother’s eyes were upon him and gave her an apologetic smile across the breakfast table.
‘I am sorry, Mama, what did you say to me?’
‘It hardly matters, my dear. I was only saying that Cook has procured a couple of rabbits and I wondered if we should add them to the dinner tonight. Your father is bringing your uncle back to dine with us and he is very partial to rabbit.’
‘Then by all means have them,’ he replied. ‘I regret I shall not be here; I am promised to dine at Kirkleigh.’
‘Oh. I had thought that now your work on Lord Harworth’s mill was complete you would have a little more time for yourself. You are looking tired, my son: I am well aware that you have spent two hours at the mill already this morning. I wish you would stay home and rest today. I am sure you are eager to hear from your uncle how Barrowford Mill is faring.’
He said quietly, ‘Miss Harworth expects me.’
There was a heartbeat’s hesitation.
‘Of course,’ nodded Mrs Blackwood. ‘You must not disappoint her.’
After breakfast Daniel excused himself and went off to the study. There were letters to be answered before he could set off for Kirkleigh. He yawned. Perhaps it was not strictly necessary for him to visit the mill every morning, but when his father was away he liked to assure himself that everything was in order for the day.
He sat down at the desk and pulled the pile of letters towards him. There was nothing urgent but he wanted to deal with them all before setting off for Kirkleigh. A tiny voice in his head whispered that he was putting off the journey. It was true. He was reluctant to spend more time at Kirkleigh than was necessary. There were too many memories. With something like a growl he forced himself to concentrate on his correspondence, working his way doggedly through the pile of letters until each one had been answered. The official documents that had arrived from London received no more than a cursory glance before being put aside to discuss with his father.
The chiming of the church clock reminded him that it was getting late. Reluctantly he sent a message to the stables to have Marnie saddled up.
The ride across the moors toward Kirkleigh usually provided him with some relief from the deadly depression that dogged him, but today he could not seem to shake it off. It was a beautiful day, the sun blazing down from a cloudless sky on the purple heather, which was fading now that summer was ending. He told himself he should be enjoying the freedom of the journey, the refreshing breeze on his face and the skylark trilling above him, but it was no good. After a brief gallop he allowed Marnie to slow down and pick her own way along the well-worn path while he gave himself up to thinking about Kitty. He rarely allowed himself the agonising luxury of wondering what she was doing, if she was happy, but that did not mean she was not constantly in his thoughts. Every waking moment conjured a picture of her: when he poured himself a cup of coffee in the morning the dark liquid was the colour of her hair; when he was surrounded by the roar and clatter of the spinning shop he could hear her asking questions about the mill and its workers. At Kirkleigh it was even worse, for everywhere he looked there were reminders of Kitty—taking her riding lesson in the park, drinking tea in the drawing room. When he sat down to dinner he expected at any moment to see her peeping at him between the epergne and the candlesticks. There was no escape from her—even at night the sky reminded him of the time he had brought her back from Chapeltown. Sometimes she was so real to him he thought that if only he looked around quickly enough he would see her at his shoulder.
Angrily he shook his head. It did no good to dwell on the past. Ann was waiting for him at Kirkleigh and not for the world would he have her know how bitterly he regretted asking her to marry him. As Kitty had said to him, the very last time he had seen her, they had to live by their choices.
He straightened his shoulders. This maudlin behaviour would help no one. Neither would being late for dinner. With a flick of his whip and a word of encouragement to his horse he settled himself in the saddle and cantered on towards Kirkleigh.
He rode Marnie to the stables and entered the house by a side door, where he was surprised to find himself accosted by one of the footmen, who informed him that Lord Harworth and his sister were awaiting him in the study.
‘I thought you might be sitting in the garden on such a lovely day,’ he said, tossing his hat and gloves on to a chair. ‘Is there some business to discuss, my lord? I thought we had covered everything on the mill.’
‘We have, Blackwood, and the building work is progressing smoothly.’ Lord Harworth replied. ‘This has nothing to do with the mill.’
Daniel looked from Ann to her brother, his brow contracting a little.
‘Is something amiss?’
Lord Harworth picked up a newspaper from the desk.
‘I need you to explain this.’ He held out the paper. ‘I have just read a report of the petition presented to Parliament by the West Riding Anti-Slavery Society—you did not tell me you were a member of the committee.’
Daniel’s brows rose fractionally.
‘The subject never arose.’
‘I thought I made my views on this matter perfectly clear.’
‘You did,’ agreed Daniel. ‘They are not my views, however, and I have never made any secret of that. The sooner we stop trading in slaves the better.’
‘You do not know what you are saying, Blackwood. That way lies anarchy! You have seen what is happening in France. If we show weakness now…’
‘It is not weakness to object to these poor souls being bought and sold and then worked to death for profit.’
‘This is dangerous nonsense,’ retorted his lordship. ‘Who knows where it would end? Such radical views must not be encouraged. I would be obliged if you would send a note to the newspaper immediately, declaring that you have withdrawn your support.’
‘I cannot do that, my lord.’
Ann rose from her seat, her manner unusually serious.
‘You see, Brother, I told you he was a man of principle.’ She turned to Daniel. ‘Perhaps you do not understand: Bertram has explained it all to me. We have plantations in the West Indies and depend upon the slaves there to work the land. I admit I was shocked when I learned of the horrific conditions endured by some of these poor wretches, but we could work towards improving their lot.’
‘I am very sorry but that is not good enough. The trade must be ended. England will not become bankrupt, as some predict. We will find a way around the problems…’
‘And what of your mills?’ Lord Harworth challenged him. ‘There are many who say your workers are little better than slaves.’
Daniel drew himself up.
‘You have seen for yourself the conditions in my mill: I pay an honest wage and look to the welfare of my workers and their families. One does not have to be a Quaker to run a mill well.’
‘Very well, very well,’ said Lord Harworth testily. ‘I admit that your mills are exemplary, but what of this slavery petition? My name cannot be connected to that.’
Daniel said with great deliberation, ‘I will not withdraw, my lord.’
A long silence ensued, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.
‘Very well, Blackwood,’ Lord Harworth said at last. ‘I may have to accept your views and deal with you on matters of business, but this is not something I can allow in my own family. I have already discussed this with Ann and explained to her that if you will not change your mind, then the engagement between you must end. I will forbid the banns!’