Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [80]
“Thank you for the tea,” Margaret said. She put aside her brush and picked up her cup to sip.
Daphne had purchased the tea on the way here, not sure what she would find. Fortunately, it appeared that Margaret lived comfortably and might well afford her own tea.
The house was not nearly as big as The Rarest Blooms. It did not have as much land attached to it. Nor did Margaret have a business, from what Daphne could tell.
“I also thank you for giving me hope about the property,” Margaret said. “When Becksbridge died, I thought for sure that his son would inherit and, of course, put me out. In the least I expected the rent to increase and my allowance to end. That will probably still happen, no matter if this other relative has received the property instead and lets me stay.”
“I do not believe that Castleford will leave you destitute.” She had no right to reassure Margaret. She did not even know for certain that this land had been part of Castleford’s inheritance. Yet with Margaret’s recent admission that she lived here due to Becksbridge’s benevolence, it made sense. Becksbridge must have sensed that Castleford would be more sympathetic than Latham ever would be.
“Perhaps, as a duke, he is so rich that he will not even bother with me,” Margaret said. “He may just forget about such a small inheritance.”
“Maybe so.” Daphne doubted that. Eventually the Tuesday would come when Castleford turned his mind to it all. It might be best for her to talk to him about Margaret and the others on the two remaining spots of land. She would not have to explain anything, since he had indicated he already had drawn conclusions about the four of them.
Margaret rose and walked to a window. She opened the casements to the night air. The middle of August brought chill with it in the evening, and the breeze wafting in made Margaret pull the knitted shawl that she wore tighter.
“It is so quiet,” she muttered. “Too quiet. I should not have encouraged you to come now. It could have waited, I suppose.”
“I wanted to come. To see you. I needed to know if my long suspicions that we shared a common history were correct. I should have guessed that your kindness to me was not an accident, but I confess it took me years to even wonder.” She paused. “And I needed to see that you were safe and the neighbors I came to love were too. And the Foresters. I needed to visit them and reassure myself that their village would not be burned to the ground or something, if trouble started.”
“They are all sworn to be peaceable, Daphne. I know these people. They are not only my neighbors, but some are my relatives and some are my dearest friends. All should be well at the demonstration tomorrow.”
Yes, all should be well. Yet the anger was in the air, and in men’s bodies and faces. Women too would march to Manchester. Margaret had described how some women had become very active among the workers and formed their own societies to hold meetings. One woman would even speak to the crowd tomorrow.
Margaret pulled her shawl tighter yet and looked out to the night. “It is so quiet,” she muttered again.
Very quiet. Like the whole world waited for something, while holding its breath.
Castleford’s concern only grew as he rode toward Manchester the next morning. He passed people on the road, most on foot and others in wagons. Far too many used the road to be explained by any normal event or routine. They all headed north, toward the city, and their expressions spoke their serious purpose. They wore their best clothes, as if they were to attend a church service.
His instincts responded anyway. He found himself too alert, too observing, as if his soul sensed peril. His appearance attracted gazes that were not friendly, that was certain, but nothing was said or done to challenge him.
It was not these people that had him tense like an animal in a foreign forest. Rather a mood hung over the world and seeped into him that spoke of