A Scandalous Arrangement (2 page)

Victoria lowered her face into her hands, and for the first time since her father died, she wept.

* * *

She allowed herself the luxury of wallowing in self-pity for all of half an hour after her brother scuttled from her office. Her clerk had had the good sense not to disturb her until, fortified and once more in control, she summoned him to her side.

“Mr. Timmins, I wonder if you would be so good as to tell me how much of the conversation between myself and my brother you found yourself privy to?”

Her employee sat down in the chair opposite her, uninvited. Theirs was an easy, relaxed relationship and he was not given to standing on ceremony.

“All of it, Miss Wynne. Up until you… dismissed me.”

“I see. I need hardly tell you, that this whole matter is highly confidential.”

Mr. Timmins did not dignify that remark with an answer. “Could you fill me in on the details I missed?”

Victoria sighed, but knew she needed to confide in someone, and Oliver Timmins had always been her first choice up to now. She leaned back in her chair and trotted out a succinct version of the pertinent facts.

When she concluded, Mr. Timmins offered no comment on Edward’s behaviour. Instead, he leaned across the desk and took her hand. “What can I do to help?”

His quiet concern almost sent her into a fit of weeping once more, but Victoria was past all that. More or less. She gave her eyes one final swipe with her damp handkerchief and met his gaze. “I don’t want anyone else to know about this. No one at all.”

“But, your family. Surely…”

“Most particularly not my family. I intend to satisfactorily resolve this ridiculous situation, and they need never be aware of my worthless brother’s perfidy.”

“How do you intend to do that, Miss Wynne?” She noted he did not appear to disagree with her assessment of Edward’s character.

“I intend to negotiate, as I always do. I will speak with this Mr. Luke and we will agree to an equitable solution to our dilemma. There is always a deal to be had, Mr. Timmins. My father always said so.”

“And he was usually correct. I do hope so on this occasion, Miss Wynne. Mr. Luke? He is the new owner of the mill, I assume.”

“His tenure will be brief. I intend to own Wynne’s.” In her heart she already did, and had been the owner for the last ten years. It was a pity the law did not see it her way, but she would find a way to set that right.

“I see. Very well, I will not disclose anything of the current situation outside of this office, though I do believe you should take Mrs. Wynne and Miss Georgina into your confidence. Their support would be invaluable whilst you… whilst you…” He had no apparent enthusiasm for completing his sentence, and Victoria had no wish to hear it in any case. Mr. Timmins flattened his lips as his employer shook her head, her refusal to share this catastrophic news quite emphatic. “Very well. Is there anything I might do to assist you?”

“Yes, there is. I expect to be very busy for the next few days so I will require you to be in charge here. Starting now, if you would.”

“It is already after five o’clock, Miss Wynne. May I suggest you go home, enjoy a meal with your family, and sleep on this? We can discuss our tactics in the morning.”

“So late? Have all the workers left then?”

“Yes. The looms shut down thirty minutes ago.”

Goodness, she had not even noticed the silence from the factory floor. Mr. Timmins was right, she did need to take break. She needed to regroup. Victoria managed a tremulous smile for her loyal employee. “You are quite correct. I will leave now. Would you mind locking up, please?”

“Of course, Miss Wynne. I will see you in the morning.”

* * *

“Cauliflower, dear?” Hester Wynne leaned across the dining table to offer the tureen to Victoria. “You look pale, Victoria. Is something amiss?”

Victoria gave herself a mental shake. “No, mama, I am perfectly fine. Just tired. It has been a long day.”

Hester tutted as she rose and came around the table to serve her daughter vegetables. “You work too hard, Victoria, and too long. You need a holiday, my dear. Perhaps we could find a few days to spend in Harrogate. Just the three of us. That would be nice, I think. We would enjoy the spa. Or Scarborough, even.”

Victoria shook her head. “I can’t, not right now. The mill is so busy, and I have much to settle.” She glanced up, softening her tone as she took in her mother’s anxious expression. “Maybe later in the year. When the weather improves.”

The older woman bestowed a considering gaze on her eldest child, then nodded. “In the summer then. Definitely. I insist. Georgina, please pass your sister some potatoes.”

Between them Hester and Georgina Wynne ensured that Victoria was well supplied with food, then they both peered at her as she pushed their efforts around on her plate.

“Is the beef not to your liking? I believe Mrs. Bridger purchased it especially with you in mind.” Georgina’s question several minutes later interrupted Victoria’s frantic head-spinning.

“What? Yes, it is very nice. Perfectly tender. Mrs. Bridger has done well, as always.”

“Then why do you not eat it? We have the finest cook in town, you always say so. You should do her food justice.”

“As I said, I am tired, and not especially hungry I find. Please convey my apologies and my appreciation to Mrs. Bridger.” Victoria laid down her knife and fork and crumpled her napkin before tossing it onto the table. She rose. “I wonder, would you both excuse me, please?”

“I trust you do not intend to return to work.” Hester’s tone was tart as she watched her daughter’s progress toward the door.

Victoria paused, and half turned. “No. Well, not really. I do have some figures to look over. Not much, I promise, just an hour or so. I’ll be in the library.”

“Very well, dear. I’ll pop in and say goodnight later then.” Hester sounded less than impressed, but Victoria was too accustomed to managing her own time to take much notice. She left them to the remains of their meal.

In the library she sat for some time and stared at the empty sheet of paper laid out before her, her quill idle beside it.

She needed to write to him, to this Mr. Adam Luke. It was necessary to explain that Edward had been entirely remiss in staking Wynne’s mill in a card game, and that the situation required to be rectified without delay. She glanced at the business card her brother had dropped on her desk as he left, and which she had scooped up and shoved in her pocket as she did likewise.

Mr. Horace Catchpole, Solicitor and Commissioner For Oaths.

The address was a smart street in the city of London. It would appear Mr. Luke could afford the best. Lacking any details of the man himself, she would have to contact him through his legal representative. Victoria sighed and picked up her pen. She dipped it in the ink and started to write.

Dear Mr. Catchpole,

I correspond with you as you are the legal representative acting for Mr. Adam Luke in the matter of Wynne’s Weaving Mill, Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire. I am the proprietor of that establishment and would like to take this opportunity to clarify a misunderstanding that I believe may have arisen in respect of the future of this enterprise.

My brother, Mr. Edward Wynne, may have left Mr. Luke under the mistaken impression that this business and associated properties were available to be disposed of in payment of a debt. This is not the case. Wynne’s Weaving Mill is a thriving, going concern and Mr. Wynne had no right to offer it as he did.

I appreciate this may cause some difficulties, but those are not of my making, nor are they mine to resolve. I must ask Mr. Luke to confirm that Wynne’s remains in my control, and further I urge your client to take up any outstanding financial issues with my brother.

Yours faithfully,

V. Wynne

Victoria folded the paper and slid it into an envelope. She addressed it with care and set it aside to post first thing in the morning. It would go first class, and she would take it to the post office herself, preferring not to entrust the missive to a curious servant who would be sure to chatter about Miss Wynne’s urgent correspondence with a London lawyer.

She was not entirely happy with the wording of her letter, knowing full well she was making claims that went beyond her legal status in this affair. In short, she was bluffing. She hoped though to give Mr. Luke reason to pause, and to enter into a dialogue with her. If she could meet with him, explain the true nature of her brother’s involvement in the mill, Mr. Luke would be forced to agree with her that it would be wholly inappropriate to continue with this charade.

Meanwhile, she would continue as normal. There was no reason whatsoever to disturb her mother or Georgina with this nonsense.

By unspoken mutual consent, Victoria and her mother had divided up their responsibilities after her father died. Hester took charge of all matters of a domestic or social nature, and cared for Georgina. Victoria devoted herself to the mill and to ensuring they remained prosperous. She might even go so far as to allow that they were wealthy, though they lived relatively simply. Certainly, their living standards had not declined in the years since Edward senior was taken from them, and Victoria took great personal pride in that.

She had received no formal training, but had been fascinated by the mill and everything to do with it from an early age. As soon as she could walk she had been in the habit of toddling the short distance from the garden at Wynne House to the back door of the mill. She would clamber up those wooden stairs onto the floor where the offices were located, and look for her papa. She would invariably find him engrossed in his ledgers, his fingertips stained with ink as he recorded rows upon rows of figures in his neat, precise hand. Often Mr. Timmins would be there too, scratching in the books, tallying up invoices and receipts. He was a much younger man then of course, but he had infinite patience with the small girl who dogged his progress around the mill.

In contrast, her brother spent his time adventuring with his friends, and as he grew older, cavorting with girls from the town. He spent less and less time at home, and none at all in the mill. Her father saw no real problem with this; the lad was merely sowing his wild oats as all young men must. He would do his duty perfectly well when the time came to settle down. The elder Mr. Wynne harboured no doubts that his son would have a head for the business—it was in the blood after all. You only had to look at little Victoria to know that.

Victoria didn’t cavort, and had no adventures. She grew up among weavers and engineers, and revelled in everything connected with the textile trade. She knew how the machinery operated, she understood exactly how the finest cloth was woven, how much it was worth down to the last half penny, and who would likely buy it. She had assumed throughout her childhood and adolescence that she would have a role in the mill when she grew up. She was quick with figures, could calculate cash flows and projections in her head, and knew all the most reliable suppliers of the finest wool. She expected to run Wynne’s with her father, and eventually her brother, so she was devastated when Mr. Wynne explained to her, gently but firmly, that the proper place for a gentle young lady of means was in the drawing rooms of their friends and acquaintances, or aiding those less fortunate through charitable works. She should not aspire to a life of managing a workforce and arguing with other mill owners about the price of cloth.

Victoria endured almost a year of that existence while her father continued to run the mill without her aid, and considered herself to be in her own personal purgatory. Her ordeal ended with his death but even so, she grieved deeply over the loss of her beloved papa, and not a day had passed in the ten years since that she did not miss him. When Edward junior announced his imminent departure, she silently rejoiced, always knowing she would step in. Her mother offered no objections to Victoria’s new status, and the pair of them slipped into an easy alliance that served them well on the whole.

Their only source of disagreement was Edward. Hester fretted over her son’s antics and his frequent demands for cash. She worried about him. Victoria was simply glad he had gone. She paid up when she saw no alternative, and life continued well enough. Until now.

“Damned traffic.” Adam Luke scowled at the spatters of mud speckling his fine shoes, deposited there in the wake of a brewery dray that had splashed though a muddy puddle right alongside him. His housekeeper would see to the matter, but even so, it added to his general irritation at the way his affairs were proceeding today.

Adam valued good timekeeping in others, but today he was late himself. He was scheduled to meet with Mr. Catchpole at noon sharp, and it was already after one. His earlier business had overrun, his fellow directors of the London Electrical Company quite unable to arrive at a decision. Sometimes he wondered if any one of them would be able to discern the time in a roomful of clocks. That alone was enough to aggravate his temper, but their obstinacy in the face of what appeared to him to be a sound and exciting business venture confounded him entirely. At last, unable to convince them of the wisdom of investing in the proposal before the board, he accepted defeat with his usual imperturbable expression whilst inwardly seething. He made his excuses, prior engagement and all that, and took his leave.

Now, his collar turned up against the drizzling rain that persisted after the main deluge had passed, he strode purposefully along Gresham Street in the direction of his solicitor’s chambers, his cane rapping on the wet pavement as he went.

When he arrived at his destination and entered, the three clerks in the outer office glanced up as he marched in. One of them, the senior assistant to Mr. Catchpole and his partner Mr. Herrington, leapt to his feet to greet him.

“Mr. Luke, how nice to see you. Mr. Catchpole is expecting you. May I take your coat?”

“Thank you.” Adam shrugged out of the formal overcoat, which was borne away at once by the eager clerk. A junior assistant stepped forward to relieve him of his hat and cane, just as Mr. Catchpole himself appeared in the doorway of his inner office.