Christmas Eve was generally Amanda’s favorite day of the year, with all the anticipation of Christmas and none of the tumult. But when she rose early, after a night trying to beat thoughts of Stephen from her head, she was too heartsore to even think of Yule logs and feasts and carols sung by roaring fires.
So with a footman accompanying her, she took her brother’s carriage over to Mrs. Chapel’s. Maybe giving joy to someone else would help drown out her despair. And considering the nature of her errand, no one would think it amiss this time if she drove right up to the cottage, especially since the sky threatened snow.
Before Amanda could even knock, Mrs. Chapel opened her door and stood beaming at her. “Miss Keane, what a welcome surprise! I couldn’t believe it when I saw your carriage coming up the road. After the many visits you’ve already paid us, I didn’t expect you on Christmas Eve.”
“I know.” She forced a smile to her lips. “But I have some happy news for you, and I just couldn’t wait to tell you.”
“How very kind of you to come all this way for that, miss.” Mrs. Chapel peered beyond her to where the footman stood with the horses. “Where’s your mother? And his lordship?”
“I’m afraid Mama has a bit of a cold. And his lordship—” The emotions were still too raw; she couldn’t even drum up an excuse. And to her horror, that made tears start in her eyes.
“Oh, my dear Miss Keane.” Mrs. Chapel drew her into the cottage and urged her to sit at the table. Then. handing little Mary a doll, the woman checked on the babe sleeping in the crib and then went to fetch the kettle off the hob. “You just tell me all about it while I make you a nice hot cup of tea.”
For some reason, that simple kindness started the tears flowing that Amanda had suppressed ever since yesterday’s encounter with Stephen. She couldn’t speak, much less lay out all the intricacies of her tangled relationship—such as it was—with Stephen. All she seemed able to do was cry.
Mrs. Chapel bore it all with sweet generosity. She urged tea on Amanda and offered her honey for it, a luxury that Amanda knew she could ill afford.
“No, no,” Amanda protested. “You keep the honey for your little ones. I won’t be the cause of you . . . of you . . .”
Tears burned her eyes again, and she swept them ruthlessly away.
Mrs. Chapel sat down to pat her hand awkwardly. “There, there. Can’t be as bad as all that. Surely his lordship weren’t so cruel as to break your heart.”
Amanda drew out her handkerchief to dab at her eyes and nose. “What makes you think . . . this has to do with his lordship?”
As Mary climbed into her mother’s lap, Mrs. Chapel shook her head. “Any fool can see that he’s sweet on you.”
“I wish you’d tell him that.” Amanda scowled. “I don’t think he knows.”
Mrs. Chapel laughed heartily. “Go on with you, of course he knows. But men ain’t good at saying such things proper. They like showing it better than saying it.”
That was certainly true of Stephen. Amanda stared down at her balled-up handkerchief. “He wants me to stay here and marry him, instead of returning to America.”
“Well, that ain’t fair. Who’s supposed to take care of them mills of yours?”
She blinked at the unexpected support from Mrs. Chapel. “That’s what I said!”
“But that’s how them lords is, you know. Even a nice one like Lord Stephen wants to be in charge. And if he goes off to America with you, he’ll have to give that up.” Mrs. Chapel bounced Mary on her knee. “He’ll have to find his place in your world. P’raps that don’t sit well with him.”
The words gave her pause. She’d been so eager to convince him to go with her that she’d ignored his manly pride, which dictated that he ought to have a purpose, too. Had she been too hasty in brushing off his concerns?
But she couldn’t give up her whole life for him. Why couldn’t he see that?
A knock came at the door, and they both started. Setting Mary down, Mrs. Chapel rose to peer out the window. “Well, well,” she murmured as she headed for the door. “Speak of the devil.”
Before Amanda could even react, Mrs. Chapel was opening the door.
“Good morning, Mrs. Chapel,” said a painfully familiar male voice. “I understand that Miss Keane is here?”
Oh, Lord. Had Stephen followed her?
“Why, indeed she is,” the woman answered.
As Amanda frantically wiped at her eyes and nose, Mrs. Chapel ushered him inside.
Determined to hide that she’d been crying, Amanda rose to face him. “What are you doing here?”
As he looked her over, he paled. “You weren’t at breakfast.”
“I figured I’d get my errand run early, before all the festivities began. Why do you care, anyway?”
“I was worried about you. No one seemed to know where you’d gone. I had to ask ten servants before I could find out.”
“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
“All the same, I’m happy to accompany you back to Walton Hall. It’s snowing now, so we should probably return.” He glanced from her to Mrs. Chapel. “Er . . . what errand are you on, anyway?”
“Miss Keane says she’s got good news for me,” Mrs. Chapel said. “We was just gettin’ to that.”
“I came to tell Mrs. Chapel that Lady Yvette wants to hire Tom as a footboy.” Amanda turned to Mrs. Chapel, whose mouth had fallen open. “That is, if you can spare him. Yvette says she could really use him at Walton Hall, and he’s just the right age to start, since he’s nearly eight.”
“A footboy?” Mrs. Chapel said. “Oh, miss. My boy in service at Walton Hall? I . . . I can’t believe it!”
It had taken Amanda a while to learn that being “in service” in England was the holy grail for those without education or birth. Aside from the fact that it paid better than most rural or factory positions, it had a certain cachet.
But Amanda cared less about that than about the fact that little Tom would no longer be risking life and limb as a mule scavenger. The one time she’d met the child, when they’d come here late in the evening to speak to Mr. Chapel himself, Tom had shown them the scars on his hand from where it had gotten caught in one of the machines. That had chilled her to the bone.
“Shall I tell her that you’re interested in having Tom take the post?” Amanda asked Mrs. Chapel.
“You bloody well shall!” Mrs. Chapel blushed. “Forgive my language, miss. I’m just so delighted!” Seizing Amanda’s hands, she squeezed them hard. “I know this was all your doing, and I’m ever so grateful, I am. My husband will be beside himself. Our Tom, a footboy! Oh, he shall be so grand!”
“He shall indeed,” Stephen said, clear emotion in his voice. “I’m very happy for you, Mrs. Chapel.”
When Amanda ventured a glance at him, he was watching her with a soft approval that turned her knees to jelly. She steeled herself against the warm emotions threatening to swamp her. She wouldn’t let him do this to her again. She wouldn’t!
Suddenly they heard a commotion outside. Then the door to the cottage swung open, and young Jimmy dashed inside. “Mother! Mother, you must come! The mill has caught fire! Father is hurt, and Tom . . . Tom’s inside.”
Mrs. Chapel screamed, and just that quick, they all plummeted from heaven to hell. Amanda knew better than anyone that fire could eat up a cotton mill faster than a glutton at a feast, and the thought of little Tom being trapped made her sick.
The soot-stained Jimmy caught sight of Stephen and grabbed his arm. “You got to help Tom, milord. You got to!”
“Of course.” Stephen swung the door open and strode out, with the rest of them hurrying after him. “If you don’t mind, Amanda, I’ll take the carriage in case we need it to ferry people. You can ride, can’t you?”
“I’m going with you,” she said stoutly.
“So am I,” Mrs. Chapel said, “me and the children. My husband’s hurt and my boy’s in there!”
Stephen gritted his teeth. “There’s no time to argue it.”
“Exactly, so we’re all going,” Amanda said. “We’ll walk if we have to.” She turned to the footman. “Take his lordship’s horse and ride back to Walton Hall. Tell them there’s a fire at the mill, and we could use any servants they can spare.”
While the footman rode away, Stephen helped Amanda, Mrs. Chapel, and the three children into the carriage. “The folks at Walton aren’t going to like that,” he said. “Their big Christmas celebration starts tonight, and they’ll need the staff.”
As they set off, Amanda glared at him. “Well, I don’t know about your family and friends, but mine will want to help however they can.”
“I hope you’re right. Because anyone they can send will give us some advantage.” Stephen turned to Jimmy. “Where in the mill is the fire?”
“In the picking room, sir. The master there had to go out, so he left a wee lad in charge. I think the boy fell asleep. Must have been a spark or something . . . Oh God, it’s spreadin’ fast!”
No doubt. The mill wasn’t far off, so they could already see the smoke.
“How badly is your father hurt?” Mrs. Chapel asked her son.
“He broke his leg jumping out the piecing room window, but they say he’ll be all right. Can’t walk on it, though.” Jimmy’s eyes filled with tears. “Tom was having breakfast in the cellar; nobody saw him come up with the others when the alarm bell was rung.”
She and Stephen had learned that half-past nine was generally breakfast for the apprentices, since they came to work at 5:30 A.M.
“I should have gone back inside to look for Tom,” Jimmy said, his eyes filling with tears. “But nobody would let me back in!”
“Where’s the entrance to the cellar?” Stephen asked.
“It’s just inside the front door, sir, to the right of the stairs. A pair of big double doors painted blue.”
Jimmy glanced worriedly out of the carriage as they approached and saw flames licking out the windows of the two top floors. Mrs. Chapel paled and Amanda’s heart dropped into her stomach.
Thank goodness Hanson and his overseers had brought in the mill fire engine, and men were already using the pumper to attempt to halt the flames. So far, the fire was still confined to the top two floors, but that made it hard for the pumper to reach high enough.
“The snow might help,” Stephen said, “as long as the temperature doesn’t drop too fast and impede the pumper.”
“I don’t see Tom.” Mrs. Chapel leaned out the still moving carriage to scan the crowd. “I see your father, but I don’t see my boy!”
As soon as the carriage shuddered to a halt on the outskirts of the crowd, Stephen leapt out. “You look after your husband and your other children,” he told Mrs. Chapel. “I’ll go search for Tom.”
As he started pushing through the crowd, Amanda jumped out and told Mrs. Chapel, “We’ll find him, I promise.” Then she set off after Stephen, hoping to God she could keep that promise.
When she caught up to him, he growled, “You should stay in the carriage.”
“I know the inner workings of mills better than you. And two of us can find him quicker than one.”
Stephen was already vaulting through the crowd so fast that his hat tumbled off. She had to hurry to keep up. She scanned every boy’s face she saw, but didn’t see Tom anywhere. As soon as they reached the entrance, she broke into a run ahead of Stephen.
“Damn it, Amanda!” Stephen called as he raced after her up the stairs and into the building.
She paused in the entryway to look around. There wasn’t much smoke down here yet, thank goodness. She instantly spotted the open blue doors and headed for them.
Stephen caught her by the arm. “You’re not going down there. I’ll look for him.”
“From what I remember the workers saying, it’s a large cellar. It will take us both to search it.” Wrenching her arm free, she darted through the doorway and down the stairs before he could stop her.
The cellar was only three quarters of the way in the ground, so a short stairway down and they were entering a cool, damp space that stretched the entire width and depth of the building.
At least the walls were stone—those weren’t going to burn, but the floor above . . .
She shuddered. As long as they found Tom before the fire engulfed the first floor, they ought to be fine. There wasn’t yet a whiff of smoke down here. But if the single fire engine couldn’t get it stopped, this would become a tomb, since the only windows were two tiny ones at either end, too small for even her to crawl through.
Fortunately, between the windows and the lantern Stephen had fetched off a hook by the landing on their way down, there was light to see by. Calling Tom’s name every few steps, they roamed the tables built to accommodate nearly a hundred apprentices.
At the back of the cellar the walls were lined with old pieces of equipment, thread cabinets, broken spindles. And on one end were stacked several cotton bales, which fell short of the ceiling by a couple of feet.
That would certainly be a place for a boy to hide, wouldn’t it? And as she recalled from their interviews, child apprentices were often punished for returning late from meals for work because they were sleeping.
So as Stephen moved swiftly along the tables, she searched the tops of the bales. She found Tom atop the third stack.
“Tom!” she cried, and he jerked awake.
“What’s happened? Where am I?” He leapt off the bale. “Cor, I’m late, ain’t I? The master will beat me!”
As Stephen came toward them, she snatched Tom up in her arms. “No one’s going to beat you ever again.” Tears stung her eyes. “No one!”
“We have to go,” Stephen urged.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
They headed back toward the entrance just as a sudden rumble sounded somewhere above.
“Damn!” was all Stephen had time to say before something crashed down at the top of the stairs.