Arthur spent the rest of the day in his study. He felt too guilty and too unwell to see Alice again. How could he face her, knowing what he was condemning her to? He ate a light lunch at his desk and spent a pleasant hour with Eli, going through the mill accounts. The boy was bright and Arthur was confident that before too long, Eli would prove to be an asset to the business. They didn’t talk about Alice, although the unspoken words hung in the air between them and made them squirm uneasily in their chairs.
As the day came to a close, Arthur felt a great weariness descend upon him. He drained his glass of brandy and took up a candle to light his way to bed. William had turned his sheets down and laid his nightgown out. There was a small fire burning in the grate, warm water on his washstand and a fresh glass of brandy beside the bed. It was good to be home. It would be better still if Temperance was lying in the bed waiting for him, her auburn hair spread across the pillows like a carpet of autumn leaves. Maybe when all the trouble with Alice was resolved, Temperance would be more generous with her affections. Arthur could only hope.
He climbed into bed and settled himself against the feather pillows. As he reached for his glass of brandy – a final tot before sleep – he felt a weight press upon his chest. A weight so heavy, he thought, it could have been the great roller at the mill and he could have been a solitary grain of wheat being crushed and ground into flour. The glass of brandy dropped from his hand and smashed onto the floor. It was the first thing that William saw when he went to try and wake Arthur Angel the following morning.