Chapter Six

A unt Barton’s butler ushered Evangeline inside Hillside House. He silently led her through an ornate vestibule that boasted a colorful mosaic floor and stained-glass windows. Stepping into the entrance hall, Evangeline was met with a grand staircase flanked by gold-leafed statues and the newest in gas--fueled lamps. More stained-glass windows high above the foyer filled the space with a rainbow of color. Every surface shone, free of smudges, free of dust. This was a far sight grander than the schoolhouse. The opulence nearly put even her beloved Blakely Manor to shame, except this luxury felt suffocating, burdensome. There was no sense of comfort and ease.

The butler led her up the wide staircase, his chin held at an angle even a duchess would be hard-pressed to replicate. Aunt Barton had insisted that keeping their relationship secret would require Evangeline to prove herself without the aid of her influential family. Here was evidence that her aunt had been correct. Evangeline was nothing more than a visitor come to beg a moment of the mistress’s time.

The butler guided her to an open doorway, gave her a brief nod, and then returned downstairs.

Evangeline paused at the threshold. It was a library, small when compared with her father’s but far more ostentatious. Seeing this, no one could doubt that the Bartons were quite wealthy. That, Evangeline suspected, was intentional.

Beneath one of the tall, leaded windows, Ronan McCormick occupied an armchair far too big for him. His gaze rested on a carved figurine in his hand. He didn’t look up at her, though Evangeline felt certain he’d seen her. She took the same approach with him that her family had always used with James: greeting him as unobtrusively as possible and allowing him to decide what level of interaction he was comfortable with. She kept her gaze averted from Ronan but allowed the smallest of smiles to curve her lips, just enough of a happy expression that, should he choose to glance her way, he would know she was glad to see him but didn’t mean to impose.

It was with that vague expression on her face that she met the eyes of Ronan’s father. He sat in an armchair pulled up to a wide, cherrywood desk behind which sat a man Evangeline hadn’t seen in years: her uncle Barton.

He was angular, all corners and long lines, with a thick and bushy mustache. The only thing about him that had changed since Evangeline had last seen him was the generous sprinkling of gray in his dark hair and the fine cut and cloth of his suit. Uncle Barton was older, but he was also more prosperous.

“Do continue your business,” Aunt Barton said to the men. “I will see to this interruption.”

Mr. McCormick didn’t wait even the length of a breath. “As I was sayin’, Mr. Barton, you’ll never be filling your positions to capacity if this town can’t hold the workers you’re needing.”

“And this proposal of yours would provide the hands?” Uncle Barton sounded intrigued.

“All who live near enough to the mill now are working there. All who live too far for coming in and out of town each day won’t ever be working there. Their homes are too far afield. I’m proposing you build workers’ housing, just as has been done elsewhere.” Mr. McCormick pulled out a thick roll of papers. “I’ve not made this proposal lightly, Mr. Barton. I’ll show you how it’ll make you money in the end.”

Aunt Barton had crossed nearly all the way to the door. In a harsh whisper, she snapped out Evangeline’s name, then motioned her to step further into the room.

“What has brought you here? Do you not have a schoolroom and living quarters to set in order?”

Evangeline ignored the scornful tone. “I have come for Lucy.”

“Lucy is not here.”

“Where is she?” She need only have Aunt Barton point her in the direction of Lucy’s room, and they could be on their way.

“She is in Leeds.” Aunt Barton spoke those four words as if they were no more exceptional than a comment on the weather or a listing of foods on the menu.

Leeds? Shock rendered Evangeline silent for a long, heart--pounding moment. Lucy—who was only twelve years old, and who had, until yesterday, never been apart from her family—was in Leeds.

“Why is she in Leeds? Who is with her? She is too young to be on her own.”

Aunt Barton pressed her lips together even as she arched one of her thin eyebrows. “She is with her guardian. That hardly constitutes being alone.”

Grandfather was Lucy’s guardian as well as the trustee of both of their inheritances. But Aunt Barton had previously indicated that he didn’t wish for them to reside with him. “She is visiting him?”

Aunt Barton nodded. “Only until arrangements are made for her to leave for school.”

“Leave for—? He is sending her away to school?”

Aunt Barton stood with her hands folded in front of her, the picture of calm serenity. “He feels it best.”

Best? It was not remotely best .

“She belongs with me.” Evangeline pressed her hand to her heart. “She needs me.”

“And what of her education?” Far from empathetic, Aunt Barton’s tone was accusatory.

“I live at a schoolhouse, for heaven’s sake.” Panic and anger mingled at a furious pace. Evangeline forced herself to regain a sense of calm. A lady did not grow forceful. In more serene tones, she spoke again. “I will be working as a teacher. I can see to her education.”

“Do you honestly mean to suggest that the education you would provide her would be preferable to what she would receive at a fine school chosen by her trustee? Are you truly so selfish?”

Again that particular accusation was lobbed at her. “It is not a matter of being selfish—”

Aunt Barton’s brows dropped in dry disbelief. She turned to Uncle Barton. “Are you hearing this, Robert?”

To Evangeline’s dismay, both her uncle and Mr. McCormick looked up.

“It seems,” Aunt Barton continued, “that Miss Blake has placed her judgment above that of Mr. Farr.”

Uncle Barton made a noise of disapproval, but did not otherwise answer. Mr. McCormick’s sharp gaze jumped between Evangeline and her uncle, impatience filling the lines of his face. No doubt the interruption bothered him. He had come on his own business, and her efforts were interfering with his.

That was hardly her fault. And this matter was too crucial to leave unresolved. Yet his attention made her unaccountably nervous.

“I had no intention of asserting that my judgment was superior,” she told her aunt and uncle. “I am simply explaining that Lucy and I have never been apart, and we ought not to be separated at such a difficult time.”

“You’ve not been here twenty-four hours and are already demanding that we bend to your whim?” Aunt Barton tsked. “You will be an utter failure with such an unladylike attitude of entitlement.”

Uncle Barton wore such a look of contemplation that there was no doubt in her mind he was evaluating her. This moment, she sensed, would set the tone for their future interactions. Uncle Barton, who had seldom visited her family, had always seemed to be a man who valued logic above sentimentality, but he also possessed an unmistakable air of self-possession. He would not respond any better to an appeal to his tender nature than he would to an attitude of superiority. She must remain thoughtful and calm, and not put herself forward overmuch.

“I did not mean to interrupt.” She faced her uncle fully. “Indeed, I would have happily waited until your business was complete. I came because Mrs. Barton instructed me to do so yesterday. I came because I wish for Lucy to be with me again.”

The plea did not appear to appease him. If anything, his expression hardened. “I have not completed my business with Mr. McCormick. You may wait near the door until I have time to discuss this.” He motioned her toward the threshold, watching her with stern expectation.

Confusion coupled with frustration and worry in her overburdened mind. Why was she being treated with such disdain? She had explained that she hadn’t meant to disrupt, that she had come because she had been told to. She was behaving civilly, appropriately. Yet she was being scolded, reprimanded, and denied the one thing she had asked for.

She made her way back across the room. A chair sat a few paces from the doorway. She lowered herself into it and folded her hands on her lap, prepared to wait with patience and composure and not let any of her frustration and exhaustion show.

Lucy is in Leeds. If Evangeline had access to her accounts, she could join her there or bring her back to Smeatley. Somehow she would keep her promise to her sister.

Emotion burned at the back of her eyes. She could not allow herself to give in to her growing despondency.

She dropped her gaze to her hands and breathed deeply, clearing her thoughts and tucking her grief away. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Ronan, who sat with a carved horse in his hand and looked nearly at her. How she wished she knew him well enough to move to his side, to ask him about his figurine or his day. He reminded her so much of James. To have been granted even a moment of his company would have been a much-needed salve.

Mr. McCormick resumed speaking to Evangeline’s uncle. Her encounters with Mr. McCormick had shown him to be gruff and unpersonable, yet the lilting timbre of his Irish voice proved soothing. “Your factory’s not fully staffed because you haven’t enough workers nearby to fill the positions. If you’re to compete at all, you’ll be needing workers, and they’ll be needing a place to live.”

“You make a compelling argument, McCormick,” Uncle Barton conceded. “I can see the value in the houses, but why should I place you in charge of building them? Why not someone else?”

“I saved your mill,” Mr. McCormick replied without the least doubt in his voice. “The work was in disarray and so far behind schedule there was doubt it’d ever be finished. I brought the work quality up and cleared your crews of those who ought not to’ve been employed—something your local foreman wasn’t willing to do. Why would you place anyone else in charge of this new project?”

Uncle Barton nodded both his acknowledgment and his approval. Approval. Mr. McCormick, despite being difficult and Irish, which was a liability of almost unspeakable proportions in England, had earned her uncle’s approval.

She listened closely, attempting to sort out the mystery of how he had done it. If there was a way to impress her family despite a poor beginning, she needed to know what it was.

“Putting local men off the crews didn’t earn you any friends,” Uncle Barton said.

Mr. McCormick didn’t look the least saddened by that fact. “How many people hereabout would’ve been my friend as it was? I know the history between our people. I know the unlikeliness of that being set aside. As much as I’d enjoy raising a pint in the pub with the local lads, I’ve too sensible a view of the world to mourn what I’d no right to expect in the first place.”

His declaration struck Evangeline with unexpected force. He chose not to mourn what was out of his reach, and that choice, it seemed, gave him a degree of peace. Perhaps there was wisdom in that approach. But how did one determine what was and was not a rational expectation when lost in a situation that was new and unfamiliar?

“I’m not needing an answer immediately,” Mr. McCormick continued. “You’re too careful a man of business to make such a decision without contemplating it. Keep the drawings and the ciphers. Think it over. If you’re not for building the homes, I’ll take on the position overseeing the rebuilding of the Lilycroft Mill in Bradford.”

“You have been offered that position?” Uncle Barton’s full attention rested on Mr. McCormick.

“I have.”

Worry filled her uncle’s expression. Perhaps he was not so hard-nosed as his wife.

“Grant me a few days to ponder before you make a decision regarding Bradford,” Uncle Barton requested.

“I can grant you a week,” Mr. McCormick said, “but not much beyond that. I need to be where I have work.”

“I understand.” Uncle Barton held out his hand to the Irish-man, and they shook firmly.

Mr. McCormick turned toward his son. “Come along, then, lad.”

Discomfort tiptoed over Evangeline as her neighbor moved nearer. The man made her uncomfortable but not in a fearful way. He simply made her feel even more out of place than she already did. The doubts that had niggled at the back of her mind for the few hours she’d been in Smeatley grew when he was nearby.

She kept her gaze away from him, maintaining the rigid posture her mother and governesses had taught her when she was young.

As the McCormicks passed, Ronan raised his hand not holding the carved horse and gave her a tiny wave. He spoke not a word. He did not actually look at her. But with that gesture, a brief instant of reaching out when she felt so alone, the dear little boy captured her heart.

“Now, Evangeline.” Her uncle’s sudden words pulled her attention to him. “Let us address your difficulties.”

She rose, anxious and uncertain. A lady does as she is bid. Alady does not draw undue attention. A lady does not make trouble. What, then, was a lady expected to do in a situation such as hers?

“You are upset that your sister is in Leeds,” Uncle Barton said.

“I am upset that she is not here as I was told she would be,” Evangeline corrected. Careful not to sound accusatory, she pressed on. “If you had lost nearly all your family, would you not be desperate to keep with you the one remaining member of that family? Lucy needs to be with me. She needs to come home.”

But the final word fell flat. Home was in Petersmarch. It always would be.

“Mr. Farr disagrees,” Aunt Barton said. She did not need to refer to Evangeline’s grandfather in such formal terms now that Mr. McCormick was gone, yet she did. The message was clear: no matter their circumstances, Aunt Barton would always think of her as something less than family.

“Perhaps if I spoke with him—” Evangeline’s request was cut short by her aunt’s derisive laugh.

“Speak with him? You do think your judgment is superior to his. What utter nonsense.”

“I do not believe that is what she was implying,” Uncle Barton said.

Relief began bubbling inside Evangeline. Despite her earlier dismissal, she had been heard.

Aunt Barton took hold of the conversation. “Dearest,” she said to her husband through tight lips, “are you suggesting that she ‘speak with’ Mr. Farr? You know his stubbornness as well as I do. You know perfectly well how he will respond when told he is wrong. He will not change course without ample evidence that doing so is prudent.”

Evangeline saw an unexpected bit of hope in that declaration. “I need to show him that I am fit to be Lucy’s caregiver and oversee her education?”

Uncle Barton nodded. Aunt Barton simply glared.

Evangeline’s mind spun, attempting to sort it all out. Grand-father would not believe her capable of providing for Lucy’s education until he had seen her provide an education for others. She would not begin her work as a teacher for two days yet, and there would be no indication of her abilities until she’d been at her new line of work for weeks.

Weeks. She could not leave Lucy in Leeds for weeks.

“Perhaps he could be convinced to postpone her education until my abilities as a teacher have been determined. Surely he cannot argue against my fitness to look after her in general.”

“You have put your house in order?” Aunt Barton spoke with palpable doubt.

Uncle Barton watched too closely for Evangeline to be anything but honest.

“Not entirely. The house needs a few things, and I’m unable to obtain them on my own. As you know, my accounts are under the control of my trustee, and I cannot access my funds to obtain the things I need without your permission.”

Grandfather had given Uncle Barton the ability to access her funds should he feel her reason for doing so was warranted.

“You mean to withdraw from your accounts so soon?” Aunt Barton asked. “That is worryingly irresponsible.”

Why was her aunt so determined to think and speak ill of her?

“I will not withdraw an exorbitant amount.” She hoped her nervousness didn’t show. Mr. McCormick had not appeared distressed while making his business proposal. She hadn’t a doubt that his confidence had done much to improve Uncle Barton’s view of his position.

And, yet, he was a man. Men were permitted shows of confidence and ambition. The same in a woman was viewed as arrogant and brazen. Explaining without being assertive was her best approach. A lady, after all, would not do otherwise.

“I do not intend to purchase furnishings or fine decorations or anything that might be considered frivolous. I need only the most basic of things: linens, blankets, dishes, a bit of fuel for warmth, and enough food to see me until I receive my first pay. Idon’t even have a broom.”

“The school board ought to have provided such things for a new teacher.” Uncle Barton no longer addressed Evangeline but spoke directly to his wife. “This was an oversight, one we are duty--bound to address.”

Her aunt still seemed set against it. They watched each other with a tension that boded ill. How had a simple question of linens and supplies led to an argument between them?

Aunt Barton’s posture grew more rigid. “I would expect you, of all people, to be quite careful with her inheritance, Robert.”

Why “him, of all people”? What had Uncle Barton to do with her legacy from her parents?

“I do choose to be prudent, yes,” Uncle Barton responded. “But in this instance—”

Aunt Barton’s expression hardened. “In this instance what ?”

His shoulders drooped almost imperceptibly. “I only meant that this is a matter for the school board, of which I am the acting head. The teacher ought to be provided with the basic necessities.”

“Then she shall be provided with them,” Aunt Barton declared. “You need only make the vicar aware of her needs, and the church will provide a basket.”

“A charity basket?” Evangeline asked in shock.

Aunt Barton turned disapproving eyes on her. “You are living a more humble life now than that to which you were accustomed. Turning your nose up at charity will not serve you well. And it will certainly not secure your grand—Mr. Farr’s approval.”

“I wasn’t turning my nose—”

“We are seeing to the concern you raised.” Aunt Barton intertwined her fingers and assumed her lecturing expression. “Complaining about the way in which we accomplish it only gives you an air of unladylike ingratitude.”

Evangeline bristled at the accusation. She’d objected because using charitable funds to meet her needs felt wasteful when she had, tucked away in an account, the means of meeting those needs on her own. She suspected her aunt would not believe her if she tried to explain. Indeed, Aunt Barton likely wouldn’t allow the explanation in the first place.

“Robert, I do believe this is the best approach.” Aunt Barton closed some of the distance between herself and her husband. “We will procure the things she needs, and her account need not be touched.”

Uncle Barton did not respond immediately. His brow pulled low as his gaze wandered away, unfocused. He tapped a finger on the desktop.

“Dearest?” Aunt Barton offered the endearment in tones of impatience.

“A basket, yes,” Uncle Barton said, “but not through the vicarage. This matter should be seen to by the school board. I will not burden the church with it.”

Aunt Barton raised her chin to a painfully dignified angle. “Very well. I assume you will tell me if I am needed at all.”

On that declaration, she strode from the room, head held high. She did not so much as glance at Evangeline as she passed.

Her uncle watched his wife leave, a look of frustration on his face. He returned his gaze to the papers on his desk. “I need to see to my work.”

“Yes, of course. I will return to the schoolhouse and await the basket of supplies.”

He nodded, but didn’t look up at her. It was a dismissal, a discourteous one, but likely the sort she needed to grow accustomed to. A young lady born to a family of some means and living in one of the principal homes in a small and tight-knit neighborhood was, by default, treated with some tender kindness. A stranger relegated to the run-down schoolhouse would not be seen in the same light.

“Might I ask one question?”

“If you are quick.”

“How am I to show Mr. Farr”—in time she might grow accustomed to referring to her grandfather in such formal terms—“that I can be entrusted with Lucy’s care if he is never here to see the evidence for himself?”

“Mrs. Barton will report to him regularly.”

That was not reassuring. Aunt Barton had made her opinion of Evangeline quite clear. “Oh, dear.”

Her uncle glanced up at her, and for a moment, he appeared almost empathetic. “Mr. Farr visits Smeatley now and then. When he next comes, he will see the evidence for himself.”

“How often is he here?”

“Not often, though I expect he will come around in another month or two.”

Another month or two. She would be separated from Lucy for another month or two. How could she bear it?

“Send word if you find the schoolroom lacking in supplies.” Uncle Barton focused on his papers.

The interview had come to a close. She would be given no further opportunities to plead with him nor make a case for Lucy’s swift return. Her only chance of reclaiming her sister lay in convincing her grandfather, a man of legendary stubbornness, to change his mind.