The thought of Mrs. Drinkard served to remind Theo of the need to make haste. “You may not, but your mother will have a great deal of cause for complaint if I keep you all waiting on your dinners. But I believe you had something to say to me?”
“Yes.” She darted a quick glance around the hall, then, finding no one within earshot, hurried up the stairs to join him. “It’s about the meeting. When Sir Valerian stopped by this afternoon to check on the arrangements, I suggested he might like to have someone to take notes of whatever business they discuss. Since it’s likely that at least some of the men at the mill can’t read or write, I recommended you for the task. I could do no less, after—after what you did yesterday for me. With Mr. Potts, I mean.” Color bloomed in her cheeks at the memory, but her voice was firmer as she added, with some urgency, “Only think, Mr. Tisdale—if Sir Valerian should be pleased with you, it could lead to your being offered a permanent position as his secretary!”
On that earlier occasion when she had first proposed that he should seek employment with his brother-in-law’s political opponent, he had found the suggestion ludicrous to the point of hilarity. Now, however, as he looked down into Daphne’s bright, dark eyes, he hadn’t a thought to spare for Ethan, much less Sir Valerian. Nor, for that matter, did he find anything particularly amusing about Daphne’s efforts on his behalf. Instead, he found it touching that she should be concerned with helping him find some way out of his temporary difficulties, while she herself was permanently trapped in a hopeless situation, forced by circumstances to labor in a boardinghouse while her youth passed her by and her beauty faded.
“Thank you, Miss Drinkard. It was very kind of you.” Obeying a sudden impulse, he added, “It’s impossible for me to repay you as I ought—or as you deserve, for that matter—but I should like to try. I have a length of unbleached cotton from the mill—the blisters on my fingers had burst, and it was stained with my blood, so it couldn’t be sold—and I should like you to have it. The stains might come out, or you might be able to dye it and cover them up. If not, perhaps you could think of something to use it for—stockings, perhaps, or something else that no one would see.” He flushed at the sudden vision this evoked of Miss Drinkard clad in nothing but her shift—and that stained with blood from his blistered fingers, almost as if his hands had been on her. Really, Theo thought, he was no better than Mr. Potts!
Daphne, clearly unaware of just how undeserving of her kindness he was, gave a little gurgle of laughter. “Stockings are knitted, Mr. Tisdale, not woven.”
“What? Oh, yes—I suppose they would have to be, wouldn’t they? Still, maybe you can think of—something—to do with it. Of course, if you don’t want it, you don’t have to—I could always—”
“Surely you don’t intend to withdraw the offer, after having made it! No, Mr. Tisdale, I should like very much to have the fabric. As for what I shall do with it, why, making that decision will be half the fun!”
It was clear enough that few pleasures came her way, and Theo was glad to have given her one, no matter how small. Alas, Mrs. Drinkard’s determination to hurry her boarders through dinner made it impossible for him to make good on his promise immediately, and he supposed that by the time Sir Valerian’s meeting broke up, the night would be too far advanced to do so. After making these observations aloud, he promised to deliver the fabric to her the next day upon his return from the mill.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I must wash up for dinner.” In a more serious vein, he added, “Thank you again for advocating for me with Sir Valerian.” After a moment’s awkward pause, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
She made no attempt to detain him, but when, some minutes later, Mrs. Drinkard was obliged to leave the kitchen and go in search of her absentee daughter, she found the truant standing halfway up the stairs, nursing the back of one hand to her cheek.
13
The people are a many-headed beast.
HORACE, Epistles
JUST AS BEFORE, MRS. Drinkard rushed her boarders through their evening meal in order to prepare the dining room for Sir Valerian and his gathering of mill workers. Miss Drinkard, Theo noticed, had done something different with her hair. He was not familiar enough with ladies’ hairdressing to put a name to the difference, but he was apparently not the only one to take notice.
“Why, Daphne, how fetching you look tonight!” tittered Mrs. Drinkard with a coy smile. “Dare we speculate as to the reason for your new
