Chapter Twenty-nine

T hroughout the next day, Dermot struggled to wrap his mind around Evangeline’s previously unknown station in life. Mr. Farr was her grandfather. Though he was a man of business and not truly of the most exalted station in English society, he was wealthy as Midas and far above Dermot’s touch.

And she is his granddaughter. The time he’d spent thinking on how alike they were, how much they understood one another’s struggles and circumstances, seemed rather ridiculous now. They were no more alike than the sun and moon. She was English upper crust, while he was the Irish crumbs.

What bothered him the most, though, was that she hadn’t told him. After all the things they’d shared, she hadn’t told him, though there’d been ample opportunity. As they’d spoken of the dinner party, she might have mentioned it. As he’d held her near, she could have told him. She might have even said something in passing as she’d walked down Greenamble on her way to the evening’s engagement.

But she hadn’t.

Did she not trust him? Did she not feel the same closeness he did?

When a visitor knocked at the door, he hesitated. It might well be her, though he wasn’t at all certain he was ready to see her, not when he had so many questions. Still, he was no coward.

’Twasn’t Evangeline who stood on the other side of the door, but Mr. Trewe, the vicar.

“Good afternoon to you,” Dermot greeted. “Have you come to complain about m’ church attendance?” He let the jest show in his words and received a light laugh in reply.

“Not at all,” Mr. Trewe said. “I’ve come with a young boy who wishes to ask a favor but finds himself a bit nervous.”

That was certainly unexpected. “What lad? And what favor?”

Mr. Trewe tugged Hugo Palmer into the doorway.

“This is Hugo,” Mr. Trewe said. “His family has fallen on difficult times, and he is supposed to begin at the factory tomorrow. He—”

“Hold that thought a moment,” Dermot said. He turned to Hugo. “I suspect I know what it is you’re wanting to ask, lad, but I’ll need to hear it from you.”

“McCormick,” Mr. Trewe objected immediately.

Dermot was unmoved. If young Hugo had indeed come to ask for a job, the boy had best demonstrate a bit of backbone. “I’m not trying to be unkind, I’m simply needing to know that he can speak for himself and stand firm on his own behalf. That’s crucial if he’s to survive on any kind of work crew.”

Mr. Trewe nudged the boy forward. Hugo looked up at Dermot. Though there was nervousness in his eyes, he’d also a fair bit of fire as well.

“Us family is in need of brass,” the lad said. “Father can’t keep working at t’ mill, so I’m to go instead.

“Your father’s stopped working at the mill?” Dermot hadn’t heard that bit of news.

“It’s too great a misery for him,” Hugo said.

“’Tis too great a misery for your da, so you’re to go in his place?” Dermot frowned.

“I need to work so us family’ll have money.” Hugo had clearly accepted the necessity despite the unfairness of it. Poverty taught children cruel lessons. “I’d rather be outside, making things. I’d like to learn to lay bricks.”

“You’re young yet,” Dermot said. “You ought to be in school.”

Hugo scuffed the toe of his left shoe against the flagstone step. “Us can’t bide it. Money’s too short.”

An all too common problem. “Tell me truthfully, now. Are you wanting to learn the bricklaying trade because you’re fair dying to follow that path, or are you simply wanting a way out of the factory?”

The boy held himself proudly, a reassuring sign. “It’d not be my first choice. But my father were a bricklayer.”

“I know it,” Dermot said. “He worked for me.”

“I know it,” Hugo said.

“Why’d your da not come asking after work, then?”

The smallest touch of embarrassed color spread over Hugo’s face, though he didn’t flinch or slump or hang his head. “He did, sir. But tha’ve not taken him back. He says tha can’t be blamed, as he weren’t a good worker.”

“Are you a good worker, Hugo?”

Mr. Trewe stepped into the conversation. “Let us not punish the children for the sins of their fathers.”

“Are you preachin’ at me, now?” Dermot found he could almost smile at the idea. “You’ve given up getting me to attend your sermons, so you mean to bring them to m’ door instead?”

“I’ll have my message heard one way or another.” Mr. Trewe chuckled.

Dermot would not have thought it possible, truth be told. The vicar had always seemed a rather sour man.

Dermot returned his gaze to Hugo. The lad had come, brave and uncertain, asking to be apprenticed, which Dermot generally objected to for boys of such a young age, especially in a town where Hugo had every opportunity for an education. Yet, if his family needed him working, the boy’s only other option seemed to be the mill, which took a toll. Were that not enough of a quandary, the lad was Gaz Palmer’s, and Palmer had been something of a disastrous worker.

Evangeline would know more of the boy, having had him in class all these months, and would have some idea how likely he was to cause difficulty.

“Let’s gab a piece with Miss Blake, then. She can tell me a bit more about you.”

Hugo swallowed audibly, his brow creasing, but he offered no objection. Dermot leaned back inside and called to Ronan to fetch both their coats. When he received a look of rebellion in response, he explained, “We’re for Miss Blake’s house. You’ll get to visit with her,” which put an end to any objections.

How quickly she’d become an easy and welcome part of their lives, yet how little they seemed to know of her.

The four of them crossed the street and made their way to the hedge-covered archway that led to the schoolyard. Mr. Trewe, however, did not follow them through it. “I believe Hugo is equal to the remainder of this task, so I will leave him to sort it out. Do, however, let me know what is decided. I’d like to know the family’s situation.”

Dermot had misjudged the vicar, having accused him not many weeks earlier of caring little for his congregants. The man might not have been what Dermot hoped for in a preacher, but he was a good man.

Hugo dragged his feet, though he didn’t slow their progress toward the school. What report was he expecting? Perhaps he wasn’t confident that his teacher would say good things of him. That didn’t bode well.

The outer door was unlocked, and when they stepped into the entryway, they were greeted immediately by the aroma of potato and leek soup. How was it this very English home could smell so much like Ireland?

A man’s coat and hat hung beside the closed door to Evangeline’s living quarters. In that moment, Dermot knew a surge of pure jealousy, one he clamped down immediately. She had found a place in his heart, that much he couldn’t deny, but he’d not lose his mind over her.

Ronan reached for the handle, but Dermot stopped him. “You remember the rule, lad?”

He let his arm fall to his side. “If it’s not m’door, I have to knock.”

“Do it, then.”

Ronan rapped firmly against the wood.

Dermot felt Hugo’s eyes on him and looked down at him. “Have you a question?”

Hugo shook his head. “He sounds like thee.”

“You mean Irish?”

“Aye.”

Dermot watched him more closely. “Have you a problem with Irish?”

“No, sir. I’ve just never heard him talk before.”

That was surprising, though not overly so. “Does he not talk at school?”

“No, sir.”

The weight on Dermot’s mind increased. He worried for Ronan. What kind of future did he have? If something were to happen to him, would Ronan be entirely alone?

The door opened before more questions could form in Dermot’s overburdened mind. All the doubts he’d harbored seemed to melt away at the sight of Evangeline. He needed to sort all of this out, for his own piece of mind and tranquility of heart.

“Good afternoon.” Her greeting encompassed all of them at once. Her gaze, however, focused on Hugo. “Have you been visiting with the McCormicks?”

“No, Miss Blake. Er ... Yes.” The lad shrugged and let both answers stand.

Evangeline met Dermot’s eyes, her unspoken question crystal clear.

“We’ve come with a question for you, if you’ve a minute or two to spare,” he said.

“Of course.” She stepped back and motioned them inside. “It seems I am quite popular today.”

As Dermot entered the room, he saw Mr. Farr at Evangeline’s table, bent over a bowl of soup. Mr. Farr. Her grandfather. Would she admit to the connection now?

Ronan didn’t hesitate or even seem to notice the exalted visitor, but crossed directly to his rocking chair and sat. Dermot would have to explain the rule about finishing up greetings and waiting to be invited before making oneself at home.

“What can I help you with?” Evangeline clearly didn’t know to whom she ought to address the question.

“Might we talk a bit more privately, you and I?” Dermot asked.

Evangeline eyed him sidelong. She addressed Hugo next. “Are you hungry?”

An almost desperate plea entered the boy’s expression. “Aye.”

“I have soup in the pot at the fire. There is a clean bowl and spoon on the sideboard. Ladle yourself a helping, then sit at the table while Mr. McCormick and I talk.”

“I thank thee, miss.” The boy was off like an arrow.

Evangeline watched him with obvious concern. “He has been devouring our small teatime refreshments these past few days. Ifear his family may be struggling to keep food on the table.”

“I’m certain you’re right.”

She sighed, though the sound was quiet. “I worry for so many of them.”

“I’m afraid I’ve not come with any news that’ll settle your mind on that score.” Dermot set his hand lightly on her elbow and led her to the far side of the room. “Tell me a little of Hugo. What kind of student is he?”

Evangeline glanced in the boy’s direction then, lowering her voice, answered, “He is quite possibly the brightest student I have, along with Susannah Crossley. He is exceptionally smart.”

That both argued in favor of hiring the boy and counted as a tragedy if he were pulled from school.

“Is he difficult?”

“He is stubborn, but he is also determined. When he puts his mind to accomplishing a task, he does it.”

Reminders of Gaz Palmer tugged at Dermot’s mind. “Is he lazy? ’Tis crucial that you be honest with me on this. Does he require a lot of pushing and reminding to do the work asked of him?”

She paused, her lips pressed together and her brow drawn in thought. “No, even early on, when he was unconvinced of the value of what we were doing, he didn’t require hounding. He always wanted to know the why of everything. Why we had school. Why letters were called what they were. Why they made the sounds they made. Always ‘why’? And, while that was a little frustrating for a teacher attempting to direct the efforts of dozens of children, I do not think it was indicative of him not wishing to work. To be truthful, I think he was afraid.”

He’d not been expecting that. “Afraid of what?”

“Of not being good enough. School was new and different and challenging. If he could undermine its legitimacy, then failing at it would not be a bad reflection upon him.”

“Do you think he’d approach any new task that way?” Bricklaying, for example.

Evangeline’s focus shifted to Hugo. She motioned toward him. “He doesn’t seem particularly intimidated just now.”

Hugo Palmer, whose station in life was nearly as humble as it could possibly be, had struck up a conversation with King Midas himself.

“Why don’t you want to work at the mill?” Mr. Farr asked him.

“The mill?” Evangeline whispered to Dermot.

“I’ll explain in a bit.” He wanted to hear if Hugo had the courage to be truthful with a man so much connected to the factory.

“I’ve heard too much about it,” Hugo said. “I’d guess no one wants to work there—not really.”

Mr. Farr pushed aside his bowl and gave the lad his full attention. “What have you heard?”

“Those what’ve been working there from t’ first are starting to have troubles with their breathing. They say t’ air inside is thick like it is in t’ cotton mills in Manchester.”

Mr. Farr’s eyes narrowed. “The mill manager is supposed to employ scavengers to gather up stray bits of wool and fluff.”

“T’ scavengers are children.” A fire entered Hugo’s words and posture. This desperate, hungry, poor little boy suddenly had the bearing of a warrior. “They’re charged with lying flat and crawling beneath great moving machines, picking up bits of fluff. Mark my words, one of them will pay with a finger or a hand, and t’ air’ll be no cleaner for it, not when t’ overseer won’t allow a single window to be opened to let in fresh air. Tha’ve set them to an impossible task, and they’re punished for not managing it.”

“You feel the overseer is unreasonable?”

“T’ air is thick and hot as can be. T’ workers are covered in sweat and struggle to keep moving. Mrs. Crossley grew overly hot yesterday and fainted. He didn’t see it as proof that change was needed; he just took her job away from her.”

Dermot hadn’t heard that. The Crossleys would be in dire straits without her income. Evangeline pressed her hand to her heart, listening raptly but in obvious dismay.

“Us father worked there until a few days past,” Hugo continued. “Came home every day smelling of oil from t’ machines and of wool, a stench so strong no amount of washing rid him of it. T’ smell inside t’ mill must be unbearable for him to reek so strongly of it afterward.”

To Mr. Farr’s credit, he sat and silently listened, not interrupting or arguing.

“He’d sit by t’ fire, rocking back and forth, muttering about noise—that he couldn’t bide it. I’ve heard others talk about it. T’deafening noise of t’ place.”

Evangeline took hold of Dermot’s hand. He felt the clutch clear to his heart. How was it that this woman, who had been less than honest with him from the moment they’d met, still had such claim on his affections?

Hugo wasn’t finished with his evaluation of the factory. “I’ve a friend there. He used to bahn to school but had to start working in thy mill. He’s different now, tired and worn down. He looks”—Hugo mulled over the word before settling on—“broken. My family needs money, but I’ll not earn it that way. Not if I’ve another choice.”

“And so you want to work for Mr. McCormick instead of for me?” Mr. Farr asked, not unkindly.

Hugo nodded. “T’ men what work for him say he works ’em hard, but he’s fair.”

Mr. Farr leaned closer, his elbows and forearms resting on the table. “And the mill workers don’t say that?”

“No, sir.”

Mr. Farr turned toward Dermot. “Have you heard the same thing?”

“I have.”

Evangeline received the same question.

“So have I, though never before in this much detail,” she answered. “Most in this town feel employment at the mill is an act of desperation. I’ve seen families actually grieve over the necessity of seeking a position there.”

Mr. Farr clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them. His thick, white brows inched closer together. “Do you get the impression that this misery is the result of the mill manager more than the mill overseer?”

Evangeline crossed to the table and sat beside him. “You are asking if I think Mr. Barton is to blame?”

“A difficult question, I know.”

“That I cannot tell you. The overseer is almost universally despised. But whether or not his behavior is the result of instructions he has been given by Mr. Barton, I do not know.”

Mr. Farr nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I think that is something I had best discover.”

“The houses Mr. McCormick is building will bring you more workers, something the factory, as I understand it, needs.” Evangeline spoke calmly but firmly. “But if your mill has a reputation for being a purgatory, you will always struggle for workers.”

Mr. Farr rose. “I need to sort this out before I return to Leeds.”

“Of course.” Evangeline stood as well. She saw Mr. Farr out, but upon returning, immediately addressed Hugo. “Will you really no longer be in school?”

“Can’t be. Us family need t’ money.”

She rubbed her temple. “But you have been doing so well, and there is so much more you could learn.”

“Can’t be helped, miss.”

Evangeline paced away from the table. “First John and now Hugo.” She spoke more to herself than to anyone else. “How many of my children will be forced to leave?”

She thought of them as her children. Evangeline Blake might have been kin to Mrs. Barton, but it didn’t seem they were cut from the same cloth at all. Dermot’s train of thought stopped short. Had learning about her family undermined his view of her so much that he had begun thinking of her in terms similar to how he thought of Mrs. Barton?

Evangeline stopped her circuit in front of him. “Ronan won’t have to stop coming to school, will he?”

“He’ll not.” An idea, firm and formed, entered his mind with such force that he spoke it out loud. “I’ve been in need of workers to clean tools and run supplies. If Hugo and John Crossley will agree to it, one of them can come to work in the mornings while the other is here at school, then they can switch in the afternoon. They’d be paid, which should keep them out of the factory, but they can still have some learning.”

Evangeline’s gaze softened. “You’d do that?”

He nodded. “This world requires children to work more often than it ought. But I know John, and I know he’ll work hard. And you’ve told me Hugo will as well.”

“I will, Mr. McCormick.” Hugo was on his feet, watching intently.

“They’ll help me, which’ll make their wages worthwhile. They’ll still get to learn, which’ll improve their lives going forward. That’s worth a great deal.”

Evangeline’s eyes bored into his. “Could it work, do you think? Would their families agree to it?”

“Us family would,” Hugo insisted. “I know it.”

“Hie home, lad,” he said. “Talk this over with your parents.”

“Yes, sir. I thank thee, sir.” Hugo rushed from the room, but popped back in an instant later. “I thank thee for t’ scran, Miss Blake.” He disappeared once more.

“I cannot tell you how many times I heard the children say ‘scran’ before I knew they meant ‘food,’” Evangeline said with a small smile. “Oh, I hope the Palmers and Crossleys will accept your offer. My heart aches to think of those two dear boys losing their chance to learn, their chance for a few hours of peace and calm.”

“I’ll talk with the families,” he said. “I feel certain Hugo and John’ll be back in school come Monday.”

She began clearing the bowls and spoons from her table, cleaning up after her visitors.

“Mr. Farr was here calling on you,” he said.

She looked up at him briefly, confusion in her expression. “You saw him here yourself.”

“I’ve never known him to pay personal calls while in Smeatley.” He left the observation there, leaving the opportunity open for her to tell him the nature of her connection to Mr. Farr. But would she?

She set the bowls on the sideboard. “He wished to talk about the school.”

“And only the school?” He hardly dared breathe while he waited for her answer. Did she intend to keep lying to him?

“We spoke of a few different things.” Truthful, but not thorough. “Perhaps he means to be more personable when he comes to Smeatley now.”

“Do you suppose that’s what it was? A sudden urge to be friendly?”

She stood rooted to the spot, her hands clasped in front of her, her posture one of deep discomfort. “It would not be a terrible thing for him to be a little less formidable.”

She clearly didn’t mean to tell him the truth. Disappointment swelled in his chest. “Ronan was on the steps when Mr. Farr left here yesterday. He overheard your conversation.”

She clearly didn’t realize the significance of that. Though he’d have preferred she tell him her own self, he was too weary of half-truths.

“He heard Mr. Farr acknowledge you as his granddaughter.”

Evangeline’s eyes opened wide. Her face paled. “And he told you?”

“He did, though I shouldn’t have had to hear it from him.”

She took a single step closer. “I was required to keep it a secret. It was part of the terms of my employment. Mrs. Barton—”

“Your aunt ,” Dermot pointed out.

She nodded; her eyes pled for him to understand. “She was very clear that I would be fired if our kinship was made known. I would have lost my job.”

“And you could find no reason to trust me with that bit of yourself?”

“I was not permitted to do so,” she said again. “If my aunt had discovered—”

“You thought me so unreliable?” He shook his head. “Did you not trust me to keep a confidence?”

“It isn’t that.”

“Then what is it? I told you a closely kept bit of information about my life and Ronan’s. I trusted you with that. But you didn’t dare tell me something important to you.”

“Dermot.”

He held up a hand. He wasn’t ready to hear her justification. Too much hurt weighed on his heart and mind. “I’d learned to trust you, Miss Blake. I thought we had a mutual trust, a mutual—” Disappointment cut his words short. “It seemed I was mistaken.”

He collected Ronan, offered a quick farewell to Evangeline, then left. Through it all, she stood still and quiet. But she never looked away from him.

He didn’t turn back, didn’t even glance. He couldn’t. His heart had given itself to her, and she’d not even told him the truth of who she was.