Whisper of Magic (29 page)

“You must show me your world,” she suggested. “England is
strange to me, forcing me to leave what is familiar and comfortable. But if I
could look at it from a position of security . . . I might
adjust.”

Was she telling him that she might stay if he could offer
her “a position of security”? And what the devil would that be? Not a
solicitor’s office, he felt sure.

He’d have to ask Theo how he’d persuaded Aster to take on a
house full of obstreperous men.

But Aster had her own security—like a father who would crack
whips if his daughter was harmed. Celeste had no one—and she must stand between
her younger siblings and the world.

He was beginning to see the problem. He didn’t have any more
to offer than she did. In fact, if he won back her family estate, she would
have more security and power than a barely employed third son.

In thoughtful silence, they rode up to the inn he’d chosen
for the night.

“It is early yet. Would you like to visit the mill?” Erran
inquired after they’d taken a single room under an assumed name at the inn.

Celeste had not seen the point in wasting Ashford’s money in
taking two rooms when she didn’t wish to sleep alone. She would pretend she was
a lady once she returned to the city, but for now . . . She
wanted Erran’s arms and reassuring presence for one night more, before she had
to learn to be strong again.

She was surprised by his question. “We are allowed to
visit?”

“The town is proud of their industry. They don’t know who we
are. A little reconnaissance mission might be enlightening. But I’ll understand
perfectly if you’d prefer to rest. It’s been a long day.”

Even after a day’s travel, Erran looked every inch the
gentleman and more. His square jaw, high forehead, and strong cheekbones
depicted a man of intelligence and character. His wide shoulders and straight
stance held authority. And his tailored coat and expensive linen . . .
Celeste smiled. Those were vanity.

But as far as she could tell, his vanity only ran to his
clothing. He did not seem to understand that a man of his integrity was a
rarity to be treasured. She reached for her bonnet. “A stroll before dinner
would be healthy, I’m certain.”

His slow smile was such a glorious event . . .
she wanted to throw off her bonnet again and steer him toward the bed. The
knowledge that she could do just that with a man of his character was
thrilling, but it was time she thought of someone other than herself. She could
wait awhile longer.

She took his arm and let Erran lead her through the inn and
down village lanes until they reached a hulking ugly building on the outskirts
of town. The walls appeared to be no more than tin, and she shivered just
imagining what winter must be like inside. She did not pity her own
circumstances when faced with that of other people like this.

Her traveling skirt trailed in the mud as she walked across
a stream on thin planks. The stench of sewage carried, and she thought it might
be best not to look for the facilities.

The double doors were open to let in light and air, she
supposed, although the late hour was chilly and there was no heat inside. They
strolled through the entrance without anyone greeting them. The entire ground
floor of the building seemed to be filled with rattling, bumping . . .
looms
 . . . she
thought. Each machine was run by a woman who sat with head down and gnarled
hands feeding thread into wooden bars, peddling them back and forth, up and
down. Not one looked up for fear of losing their rhythm.

She couldn’t imagine how they saw what they were doing. It
was dusk and the only light came from windows high in the walls. The air was
full of dust, and she had to pull out her handkerchief to sneeze. How could
they work without sneezing?

She watched, appalled, as small children wriggled on their
bellies beneath the heavy lumbering cogs to gather balls of wool dust. “How do
they keep from losing their heads?” she whispered in horror.

“They learn to be quick,” Erran whispered back. “Or they end
up like the two you took into your house. They need to eat, and this is the
only way they can put potatoes in their pot tonight.”

An officious, large-bellied man in open vest and rumpled
linen hurried toward them. “Sir, madam, how might I help you?”

Celeste darted a glance at Erran when he did not reply. From
the tightening of his jaw, he was fighting anger . . .
and his voice
. She hastened to speak for
him. “My husband claims this is one of the finest old mills in the kingdom. I
am quite fascinated by the . . .” she searched her brain. “By
the machinery,” she added weakly.

Her vocalization apparently soothed the mill manager. He
nodded knowingly. “Amazing what the new technology has wrought, isn’t it? In
times past, it might have taken these women months to produce just one bolt of
cloth. Now we can do it in days.”

Celeste had never used her voice in anger. Charm and
seduction were her strengths. She didn’t know what would happen if she said
what she thought right now. She bit her tongue, feigned a smile, and nodded.

“That . . . child . . . seems
ready to give birth,” Erran said in a low voice throttling any emotion. He
gestured toward a reed of a girl with a big belly working with less speed and
more difficulty than the others.

The manager shrugged. “They pop them out and are back to
work the next day. I dock their wages if they can’t keep up the pace. Teaches
them not to dawdle with the layabouts in town.”

The last time Celeste had screamed, she’d shattered glass.
There was no glass here, but she feared screaming would cause harm in other
ways. “I think you should tell that poor child to go home,” she said in her
most winning tones, burying her fury so deep that she nearly choked on it. “And
that you’ll pay until the babe is born. That is what any gentleman of morals
would do.”

She watched the fat toad struggle between his greed and her
siren call. She caught Erran’s arm when he seemed prepared to force the matter.

“Do be a dear and help that poor child up before she gives
birth on the floor,” she called in a voice that would reach the first row of
machinery. She didn’t care who responded, just that someone did.

To her surprise and delight, every woman within hearing,
plus the toad, hurried to help the startled girl from her seat.

Beside Celeste, Erran chuckled. “I don’t know what you will
do with her, but I concede your method works better than me punching the pig in
his snout.”

“I don’t think I should stop here,” Celeste whispered,
amazed at the notion that had materialized full blown in her head. “You may
want to run.”

For the first time in her life, she recognized the strength
that her gift offered. This amazing man had given her the opportunity to learn,
although he didn’t know it yet—and probably wouldn’t appreciate it since he
thought her voice evil.

Erran looked startled at her suggestion, then narrowed his
eyes as if about to give warning. Refusing to be stopped, she strode toward the
women helping the frightened girl. Even the toad-pig was smiling that he’d done
as she’d asked—or not fought it.

Raising her voice, Celeste applied every ounce of charm
she’d ever possessed. “Thank all of you so much. This is how you should work
together and help one another. Why don’t all of you stand up now and walk out?
He cannot run his shop without you. Do not come back until he agrees to cut
your hours and double your wages. You are human beings, not oxen!”

Smiling as if she was strolling in the park, Celeste let the
girl lean on her arm as she led her toward the doorway. The toad-pig still
watched with approval, although his smile was starting to fade under a frown of
bewilderment. The full effect of her words hadn’t registered, just her charm.
Ahead, Erran was struggling for dispassion. She couldn’t tell if he wished to
shout at her or kiss her.

He merely offered his arm to the girl and leaned down to
whisper in Celeste’s ear, “Don’t look now, but they’re all starting to stand.”

She could hear the rustle and murmur behind her and felt the
butterflies flapping anxiously in her stomach. But the charm needed confidence
to continue working. She couldn’t weaken now. She pasted on her smile, kept her
shoulders straight, and spoke as if she’d done nothing singular.

“What’s your name, my dear?” she asked of the girl stumbling
along on their arms.

“Annie, miss,” the child said, responding to Celeste’s tone
instead of her obvious fear. “What will happen to us, miss?”

The murmurs were louder. Chairs scraped. Feet shuffled along
the wooden floor. Children piped up questioningly. Celeste stepped outside,
into the fading sunlight. Erran nearly had to carry the girl down the steps and
over the filthy planks.

“You will go home and have that babe, Annie,” Celeste
replied reassuringly. “And the others will find a few good leaders to speak
with the fat toad-pig. What is his name?”

“Myron, miss.” The child didn’t hesitate over Celeste’s
description but answered with a touch of amusement. “He won’t pay us if we’re
not working. We’ll go hungry.”

Now that she was across the planks and in the road, Celeste
dared to turn around. Erran’s arm circled her waist as they studied what she
had wrought.

Drab gray-faced women of all ages streamed through the
double doors as if their shift had just ended. Dozens of undernourished
children tagged along. They all lifted their faces and blinked at the sunlight.
Once realizing what they’d done, they began whispering nervously to each other
and casting glances over their shoulders.

Myron wobbled in the doorway, looking as if he wished to
shout but unable to do so.

“Better speak up,” Erran warned. “You’re losing them.”

He was encouraging her! He believed she could do this.
Celeste swelled with pride and relief and let another of the women support
Annie.

Clenching her fingers into fists, she fought down the
butterflies. “Why don’t all of you go home, rest, and think about who you want
to speak for you tomorrow? I’m sure Myron will be agreeable, won’t you, Myron?”
she asked as the manager stumbled after them, looking lost.

“Madge is a right ’un, miss,” Annie murmured. “She’ll know
what’s to do.”

Celeste nodded and hoped the child was right. “Madge, could
you speak to the others? You need to all agree on what you want before
returning to work. Myron has no other choice but to listen, but you must be
reasonable.”

A tall, grim-looking woman of middle age stepped from the
crowd. “I’ll take Annie to her ma.” She turned and scoured the crowd with her
glare. “Tilda, Mary, come along with me. The rest of you, take the babes and go
home. We’ll be by in the morning.”

Celeste nearly sagged in relief as the commanding Madge took
over her charge. “I leave them in your good hands, madam. Make certain you
demand time off to have your children. It may be a long time before we can make
that a law, so it’s in your hands.”

Madge nodded curtly. “I don’t know what trouble you’ve
brought on us, but it was time, so I thank you.”

Silently, Erran caught Celeste’s elbow and dragged her away.

“I’m shaking with rage and admiration,” he admitted once
they were down the road. “I would have caused riots if you had not acted with
such courage. But what you just did . . . is almost as
dangerous. And I still can’t believe I’m saying this. I must research
Mesmerism. Is it possible to mesmerize a crowd?”

She knew nothing of Mesmerism, but Celeste started to shake
at her temerity. She feared her knees would give out from under her before they
reached the inn. “I had no idea . . .”

Erran caught her waist and practically carried her down the
street. “And you had probably best not have more ideas any time soon. I’ll
arrange to keep you out of mills for a while. If anyone learns who did this
today . . . It will not be pretty for you or your siblings. But
I still applaud what you did. And I want to emulate it but can think of no way
of doing so when all I do is intimidate.”

Hearing his anger and fear, she smiled weakly as they
entered the inn. “I think a form of madness took over me. I cannot imagine ever
doing such a thing again.” But as she climbed the stairs and recalled the
horrid conditions of that mill, she regained some confidence. “It had to be
done. I wish I could do it everywhere.”

“
That
is a
horrifying notion and one with which you’d better not tempt any of us again,”
he warned, opening the door to their room. “You saw the riots in town. England
would end up in bloody revolution like France.”

“England will end up there anyway,” she argued, “if wealthy
aristocrats do not stop stepping on the necks of free people. At some point,
workers have nothing left to lose and start fighting back in the only way they
know how—with fists and weapons. It’s up to the educated to offer reform and
help those who cannot help themselves. I fear the same will happen in my home
if the slaves are not freed. Blood will be shed and people will die, and I
cannot bear the thought.”

A tumult of shouts and running feet penetrated the thin
glass of the inn windows. Leaving her to seat herself, Erran crossed the
bedchamber to look out.

“Are they coming to burn us at the stake?” she asked
shakily.

He laughed. “No, the women are marching through town, waving
brooms at the men who are shouting at them. You’ve fed their anger. I suggest
we sneak away very early in the morning, before the magic wears off, and they
all wonder what hit them.”

He turned and his eyes smoldered in a way that left her weak
with need. “I’ll have our dinners sent up, shall I?”

“Tell them to take their time,” she murmured daringly.

***

Watching the woman in his bed sleeping in the moonlight,
Erran struggled with possessiveness, pride, and a horror of losing her to the
impossibility of revolution. She had handled the mill today with amazing
aplomb, keeping the situation under control with the serenity of her commands.