Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [87]
“You are not going to be hanged.” Daphne trusted she spoke the truth, but no one knew if she did. There had been some hangings in the past when workers’ actions went awry.
After two hours of vigil at the window, the stream of people on the road had thinned. Castleford had gone out to the road then and spoken with some of those still trudging by. He had learned just how bad the violence in Manchester had been.
“They are bound to blame us,” Jane Woodman said. “We had no weapons and were peaceable, but it will be our fault, you wait and see.” She shook her head. “They cut down Mrs. Fildes no more than twenty feet from me. Was a horrible thing to see.”
The attack on Mrs. Fildes had shaken these women to their souls’ depths. A horrible energy poured off them all now, and Daphne knew they would not feel safe for many days. Perhaps they never would again.
Margaret appeared shaken too. This cottage had been used for the meetings of this friendly society, it had been explained. Margaret might not be one of the workers, but she had thrown in with these women and knew she was vulnerable now too.
“There has been no indication of violence as people returned home,” Daphne said. “No word of damage in the village, for example. That is something. It is not turning into a conflagration that engulfs the whole county, the way it was predicted.”
“They’ve no reason to harm their own,” Margaret said. “I am sure that all the villages are free of both violence and destruction, Daphne. The only people who have been hurt were those poor souls who fell to the soldiers’ swords.”
Hopefully that was true. Daphne was not convinced of it, however. She had stood at that window beside Castleford for a reason, and he had been forced to point his pistol several times to ward off intruders with no good on their minds.
“I want to be sure,” she said to Margaret. “As soon as it is quiet, we must find out about the Foresters and other friends.”
Margaret grasped her hand. “Do not worry so, Daphne. This is not a fight to be made in these villages or in the countryside.”
“What is to become of us?” one of the women asked, dabbing her eyes of the tears leaking from them. “What if they hear we met here and come to the door and ask—”
“A duke protects you. The prince regent would be better, but Castleford will have to do,” Daphne said.
They all laughed at that, but the mirth quickly gave way to the somber mood of the evening again.
Daphne left them to go and negotiate with that duke. She found him sprawled on an upholstered chair that he had moved close to the window. The casement was open so that he could hear any sounds outside. He had moved his horse to the back of the house over an hour ago so as not to tempt the reckless.
He gazed at the garden, but she doubted he saw the long shadows now streaking the ground or much of anything from the hooded gaze he held. She made out a few heads still passing down on the road, but it appeared the worst was over.
She debated how to broach the subject she needed to raise. He might just indulge her without further ado, of course. Or he might quiz her relentlessly, if she piqued his curiosity too much.
That it was well piqued already went without question. We have many things that we must talk about. She could only hope that many things did not include all things. She did not think so. She doubted he would still be here if he knew everything.
She went over to him. His attention moved to her from wherever it had been. Then he looked at her in a way that suggested it had not been far from her at all.
He did not perform the courtesy of standing on her appearance. Instead he reached out and grasped her arm. She twirled and fell onto his lap.
He kissed her, first sweetly, then seductively. “Let us lock the dining room door,” he muttered. “They will be imprisoned there, while I have my way with you here.”
“This is hardly the place for