Daphne and her mother must be kept out of it.
THEO HAD NO OPPORTUNITY to speak to Daphne that night, as she had already sought her bed by the time the meeting was adjourned, but he resolved to do so as soon as he returned from the mill the following day. With any luck, he would reach her before Sir Valerian had an opportunity to speak to her mother about acting as his hostess. If at all possible, Mrs. Drinkard must be persuaded not to become any more deeply embroiled in the enterprise (whatever it was) than she was already. He did not envy Daphne the task; from what he knew of her mother, that lady would not willingly give up her chance either to play the Lady Bountiful or to drag her daughter along willy-nilly in an attempt to fix Sir Valerian’s interest.
When he reached the mill, he discovered that somehow the word had got out that he had joined the conspirators, if conspirators they were. Responses to his new status were mixed. Wilkins regarded him with, if hardly affection, then surely less hostility than he had previously done, and several of the other men who had been present now greeted him with terse nods that acknowledged him as one of their number while at the same time discouraging him from making any reference to the meeting or what had been discussed there. Tom, on the other hand, had withdrawn from him, saying no more than was strictly necessary for the sake of civility. Davy Williams had not come to work at all; Theo found his absence ominous without precisely knowing why.
When the noon break came, Theo sought out a place beside Old Ben, who greeted him with a rather curt nod.
“Not you, too!” Theo exclaimed in some dismay. “Ever since I arrived at the mill this morning, half the men here have been treating me like I’m some kind of leper.”
“And the other half?” Regarding him speculatively, Ben thawed only somewhat. “How have they been treating you?”
Theo gave a bitter laugh. “They’re not openly hostile, like Tom and the rest, but it’s plain as a pikestaff they don’t trust me. You’d think I’d turned spy.”
“Haven’t you?”
Theo had the grace to blush. “In fact, I only attended the meeting to oblige a lady. I’d helped her out of a rather tight spot, and she’d thought to repay me by helping me get a position as Sir Valerian Wadsworth’s secretary, beginning with my taking notes during the meeting last night.” It was the truth, so far as it went. What he didn’t say was that, had Miss Drinkard not given him the entrée, he’d had every intention of eavesdropping through the chimney flue. Spying, in fact.
“So”—Ben leaned forward, dropping his voice to a near-whisper—“what do they do at those meetings, anyway?”
“Just a bunch of men airing their grievances,” Theo said with a shrug, falling back on Davy’s description. “Oh, and it appears Sir Valerian is going to host a party for the mill workers and their families, since Nell—that is, since Lady Helen Brundy can’t do it, being in mourning as she is. The men all seemed over the moon about that, so perhaps they’ll be less prone to complain in the future.”
“Is that all, then?” asked Ben, the furrows in his brow clearing. “I’d been afraid—but never mind that. Young Davy seemed a mite worried about it, is all.”
“Where is Davy today? Do you know?”
Ben shook his head. “No, and it’s not like him to miss a day. ‘In sickness or in health,’ he is, like a marriage vow.”
“Do you know where he lives? Perhaps I’ll stop by after work and look in on him.”
Ben did indeed know where Davy lived—Theo suspected there wasn’t much about the village that Ben did not know—and, true to his word, after he left the mill that evening, Theo did not return immediately to the boardinghouse, but followed Ben’s directions to the cottage where Davy lived with his mother and younger siblings.
A worn-looking woman of middle age opened the door to him and, being informed of his errand, stepped aside to allow him to enter. He did so, although the door was so low that he had to duck his head. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light within, he found himself in a room that seemed to serve as drawing room, dining room, and kitchen, all in one. A black cauldron hung from a crane in the fireplace, and something redolent of onions and garlic bubbled within. Two adolescent girls set pewter plates around the table, their lanky forms swathed in aprons that had obviously been made for their mother. At Theo’s entrance, they looked up from their task with much giggling and blushing. Three smaller children stacked wooden blocks precariously on a rag rug covering the unvarnished boards of the floor.
“It’s right kind of you to ask after my Davy,” the woman said, making a vague gesture toward the back of the house where, presumably, Davy might be found.
“Is he ill, then?” Theo asked. “I was told that it’s unusual for him to miss work.”
“Ill?” she echoed in some consternation. “I see you don’t know, then. No, he’s not ill. He was set upon on his way
