Was it possible that the letter had never reached him? Had it been lost somewhere en route to London? Or, more ominously, had Wilkins or one of his cronies somehow intercepted it, guessed at its contents, and made certain that it never reached its destination?
“You’d best have a care, my lad,” Theo chided himself under his breath, “you’re beginning to sound as fearful as Tom there.”
“Eh?” called Tom, cupping one hand about his ear in an approximation of an ear trumpet. “What’s that?”
Theo shook his head. “Never mind.”
He was still pondering the question when work was temporarily suspended for noon refreshment. He could do no more than nod at Ben, as there were no vacant seats at the long table where the older man sat. Instead, Theo took a place next to a very young man—no more than a boy, really—at the opposite end of the room.
“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked the youth, a towheaded lad of, Theo thought, about fourteen.
“Suit yourself.”
The words were, perhaps, unpromising, but as he lost no time in rearranging the bread, cheese, and pickles before him in such a manner as to make more room on the table, Theo felt no compunction in stepping over the bench and plopping down upon it. He was generally considered by the ton to possess a delightfully disarming smile, and he now bestowed this upon the boy.
“Whew! It feels good to get off my feet.”
“You’ll get used to it,” his tablemate assured him.
“Theo Tisdale,” he said, offering his hand. “How long have you worked here, then?”
“Davy Williams,” said the boy, returning his handshake. “I been here almost two years, ever since I was twelve.”
“Oh?” asked Theo in some surprise. “I thought E—that is, I’d heard Sir Ethan wouldn’t put children to work in his mill.”
“No more he won’t, usually,” Davy said with some pride, as if he had accomplished no small feat in achieving employment despite this prohibition. “But when Da passed, Ma had no way to put bread on the table without I should go to work, since I’m the eldest. So Sir Ethan gimme a job, but first he made me prove to him that I could read good enough to be leaving school. Read the whole first chapter of John right out of the Bible, I did.”
Theo made suitably admiring noises, but privately thought that, however skillful his reading might be, Davy’s grammar could have used additional work. Theo confessed that he, too, had recently lost his father, and having established this bond, they conversed for some time on the topic of family (a seemingly innocuous subject on which Theo was hard-pressed to form answers that contained, as much as possible, some modicum of truth) until he finally posed the question that most interested him.
“What about these meetings at Mrs. Drinkard’s boardinghouse?” He jerked a thumb in the general direction of his residence. “Have you been to any of them?”
Davy was instantly on his guard. “I been to the first,” he admitted warily.
“Do you plan to go tonight?” Seeing that his new friend was reluctant to commit himself, Theo added, “I’ve been wondering whether I should attend, since I live at the boardinghouse and work at the mill. I’ve a foot in both camps, so to speak.”
It was a tactical error, for Davy seized upon this new subject at once. “Oh, you live there? What d’you think of that Miss Daphne? She’s a looker, ain’t she?”
“She is, indeed. In fact, I wonder if I should attend tonight’s meeting myself, just to make sure she is treated with the degree of respect that her birth, if not her current circumstances, ought to entitle her.”
There was an edge to Theo’s voice, but his purpose was accomplished. Davy had nothing more to say on the subject of Miss Drinkard, for his mind was once more fully fixed on the meeting itself. “I—I don’t think I would, if I were you.”
“Oh? Why not?”
Davy glanced about wildly as if seeking for help, but none of the men seated around them seemed to be paying the slightest heed to their conversation. “Well, it’s just that—that it’s not the sort of thing you’d likely enjoy.”
“A dead bore, is it?” Theo asked knowingly.
“Aye, that’s the thing,” Davy said, seizing upon this excuse. “Just a bunch of men carping about how ill-used they are. You wouldn’t like it at all.”
Theo would have encouraged him to enlarge upon this theme, but at that moment the bell clanged, calling them back to work. Biting back an oath, Theo rose to his feet. He would have liked to discover more about the nature of the men’s grievances, to say nothing of just how they intended to set about demanding redress. One thing, however, was becoming increasingly clear: One way or another, it behooved him to discover exactly what was going on in Mrs. Drinkard’s dining room.
IN THE END, THIS AMBITION was made a great deal easier by the innocent machinations of Miss Drinkard, who, upon his return to the boardinghouse, waylaid him as he climbed the stairs to his bedchamber.
“Oh, Mr. Tisdale!”
He paused with one hand on the banister and smiled down at her. “Good evening, Miss Drinkard. I understand Sir Valerian is to hold another of his meetings here after dinner. I hope you are not too inconvenienced by them.”
“No—that is, I fear we cannot allow our boarders to linger over their dinners, but everyone has been very obliging, so if you do not object—you and the others, that is—then I am sure I must have no cause for complaint.”
No cause for complaint. She wore a coarse cotton
