Master Of None

Chapter 1

Millcastle, England, 1832

Well, I never!

Emily Marsham walked into the drawing room and stared inquiringly at her mother, who was reading the newspaper.

What is it? She handed her mother her sewing basket, and resumed her seat beside the fire. Has somebody died?

Her mother, Doris, loved to peruse the Millcastle society columns, such as they were, searching for scandal and fresh gossip. In truth, being a somewhat timid woman, she preferred reading about things rather than actively entering society and participating in them.

Mrs. Harding!

"The bookkeeper who works at the dressmaker’s has died?" Emily asked.

No! It’s far worse than that.

In what way?

"I’m beginning to believe bookkeeping was not the only service she was providing for that man. Her mother lowered the paper to stare at Emily. She’s marrying Captain Grafton."

"My Captain Grafton?" Emily sat up straight.

Your father isn’t going to be pleased about this at all, her mother murmured.

"He actually approved of Captain Grafton as a potential husband for you, and now he will blame me."

It’s hardly your fault, Mother, Emily objected even though she knew her opinion would make no difference to her father when he was angry. "I can quite see why Captain Grafton decided to marry Mrs. Harding. She is nearer his age, is a lady despite her occupation, and she is very handsome."

Her mother sighed and returned to her reading, only to squawk again.

"Emily, Captain Grafton is Viscount Wesley!"

Emily put aside her embroidery. He never mentioned he had a title.

He never mentioned it to anyone, apparently, seeing as he was out of favor with his family. Her mother sighed. "This will just make things worse with your father. You could’ve been a Viscountess, Emily, and your children would have been landed gentry."

For a woman like her mother, who had started life as the daughter of a clerk in a shipping company, such lofty heights were almost unimaginable. It was only due to her father’s rapid rise as a mill owner that Emily and her brother had grown up in such relatively wealthy surroundings.

Perhaps Father won’t find out about it, Emily said.

He’ll know. They’ll all be talking about it at their silly meetings at the Piece Hall, I can guarantee that. Her mother shivered, drawing her silk shawl more closely around herself. I can only pray that your father doesn’t come back in a bad mood tonight.

Despite her father’s veneer of respectability, he still tended to settle arguments and grievances with his fists, and would think nothing of taking out his anger on his wife or his children.

You can share my bed tonight if you wish, Mother. It wouldn’t be the first time she had sheltered her mother or attempted to get in between her parents when her father was in a rage.

Thank you, my love. I’ll see how he is when he arrives home.

After her mother retired with a headache for an afternoon nap, Emily picked up the newspaper and read through the wedding announcement. She marveled at the change in Mrs. Harding’s fortunes—from working for a living to becoming a Viscountess with a substantial country home not far from Millcastle. Mrs. Harding and her mother had been very kind to Emily, and she would write the bride-to-be a congratulatory note.

If she were being honest, she was slightly disappointed that Captain Grafton hadn’t furthered his acquaintance with her, but she couldn’t deny the allure of the intelligent, hardworking Mrs. Harding. There were very few men in Millcastle who interested Emily. Captain Grafton had lived in India and had business interests all over the country. Despite his somewhat dry wit and fearsome reputation, he had encouraged her questions without making her feel presumptuous for asking them.

Emily went to the desk and wrote the note to Mrs. Harding. The family had recently moved out of their lodgings above the dressmaker’s, but she didn’t have a new address for them. She decided she would drop the letter into Captain Grafton’s office, which was above the shop, the next time she visited the dressmaker’s with her mother.

Afternoon, sis.

She looked up to see her brother Matthew smiling at her from the doorway.

Aren’t you supposed to be at the mill? Emily asked.

Of course I am. He sauntered toward her. I can’t stand it in there. The noise, all those stinking paupers… He wrinkled his nose. They don’t like me, anyway.

That’s because you have made no effort to learn about the business. Emily met his gaze head-on. "If you tried—"

He held up his hand. Be quiet, Emily. Just because you think you could run the entire world, doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do at my own bloody mill.

It’s not your mill. It’s Father’s, Emily retorted. "They are all his."

And one day, they’ll all be mine. He walked over to the sideboard and helped himself to a substantial glass of brandy. If Father asks where I am, tell him you haven’t seen me.

As if I would give him news that would anger him. Emily shuddered. I have no desire to take your punishment for you.

I’m too big for him to hit now. Matthew drank half the brandy and stared at her over the rim of the glass. I hit him back last time, and he stopped.

"Which means he now turns his fists on me and Mother whenever you transgress."

Her brother at least had the grace to look embarrassed. There’s trouble brewing in the sheds over that bloody reform bill again.

There always is. Emily sighed. Although I can’t say I blame them.

You dare to side with the workers whose labor provides you with the clothes on your back, the carriages you ride in, and that fancy horse of yours? Matthew’s smile wasn’t pleasant. Let me tell you, little sister, that if that mob ever gets the vote, they’d strip you of your finery and make you work down the mines in your petticoats.

Emily shivered. She feared that Matthew was right, but it didn’t stop her attempting to remonstrate with her father to provide adequate wages and rudimentary schooling for those he employed. If she had the ability, she would do so much more…

Did you hear that your beau is marrying his mistress? Matthew asked.

Are you speaking of Captain Grafton? Emily raised an eyebrow. He was hardly my beau.

I saw you fluttering your eyelashes at him at the Yule ball, but you never stood a chance, did you? Men like Captain Grafton prefer a more seasoned and mature bed-partner than a simpering twenty-two-year-old miss.

I’m twenty-three.

And well past the age when you should be married and nagging some poor bastard other than me. Matthew finished his brandy. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up on the shelf, my dear.

You aren’t married, and you are five years older than me, Emily pointed out.

I’m betrothed, don’t forget that. An expression of distaste crossed his face. Although why Father had to honor his promise to take care of his wastrel second cousin’s progeny and shackle me to that woman, I will never know.

Margaret is—

A plain, managing woman who will no doubt make me a dutiful wife one day when I am forced to settle down and procreate. Matthew yawned. And now I’m going to bed. I’ll see you at dinner.

Emily sealed her letter and decided to consult with Cook to ensure that when her father did return from the mill, he would be offered all his favorite dishes. Perhaps that might mollify one of his appetites and prevent him from starting an argument with Matthew or berating her or her mother about Captain Grafton’s matrimonial plans. It was a forlorn hope, but it was the best that she could do.

And where were you today? John Marsham scowled at his only son, who was seated to his right at the dining table. Mr. Coster said you didn’t show up at Ravenhead.

"Ravenhead? Matthew leaned back in his chair and regarded his father. That’s because I was at your other mill."

Liar. Mr. Marsham chewed vigorously on his roast beef as he scowled at his son. I was at Marshams myself, and there was no sign of you.

You must have just missed me. Matthew smiled.

Emily tensed as her father dropped his cutlery onto his plate with a clatter.

You will present yourself at Ravenhead tomorrow at six o’clock sharp, or I will cut off your allowance for a month! Mr. Marsham barked. I will not have you defying me like this.

Matthew sighed extravagantly. As you wish. Although the place seems to manage itself perfectly well without my interference.

That’s where you’re wrong, lad. If the owner isn’t involved, that’s when trouble starts. Look at what happened to my second cousin, Richard, when he thought he was too good to run Ravenhead. His employees ran it into the ground.

"And he ended up in the ground after he shot himself to avoid his debtors, Matthew said. The reason I don’t need to worry about Ravenhead now is because Richard’s rather ambitious son—whom you chose to employ when he came of age—is terrifyingly competent and despises me."

He is a good man, Mr. Marsham acknowledged grudgingly. And far more useful to me that you will ever be.

Matthew rolled his eyes in Emily’s direction, but despite her lack of appetite she kept her gaze determinedly on her plate. When her father was in a belligerent mood she didn’t want to draw his attention to her.

"And what is this I hear about Captain Grafton, Viscount Wesley marrying that Mrs. Harding, eh, girl?" Mr. Marsham asked.

Despite knowing there was no escape, Emily sank lower into her seat.

Why didn’t you catch him when you had the opportunity, miss? Her father jabbed his fork in Emily’s direction. You’ll never find a husband if you don’t smile a bit more and give a man a proper hint that you are interested.

In a vain effort to help, her mother attempted to stand up for Emily and divert attention to herself. Emily was very charming to Captain Grafton, John, and—

Be quiet, woman, he snapped. It’s your fault my daughter is overeducated, and thinks herself too high and mighty for the men around here.

Her mother winced at the loudness of her husband’s tone, her hand shaking so much that she spilled her wine.

That’s hardly fair, Father, Emily spoke up. Captain Grafton is much older than me, and he’d obviously made his decision to marry Mrs. Harding long before we became acquainted.

By making her his bookkeeper? Mr. Marsham’s laugh was unkind. Aye, we all guessed what was going on there, but the man didn’t have to marry her if he was already getting it for free, did he?

Emily winced at his coarseness, and his expression changed.

See? That’s exactly why you’ll never marry. You think you’re too good for everyone.

I would love to get married and have my own family, Emily said steadily. Perhaps if you allowed Mother and I to visit one of the bigger towns, or even London, then I might meet someone you would approve of?

You’re not going anywhere until you’re well and truly married, girl. I don’t want you gallivanting around London attracting all the worst sort of men who want my money. He used his napkin and then tossed it onto his plate. You’ll marry a local man and keep our business interests close to home. If you don’t make up your mind in the next few months, I’ll do it for you.

You wouldn’t… pick a husband for me? Emily asked.

Mr. Marsham stood and towered over her, his hands clenched into fists. I already have someone in mind, so you’d best be quick about finding your own man then, hadn’t you girl?

* * * * *

Emily, your father wants us to meet him at Ravenhead Mill at four o’clock, so you’d better go and put on your bonnet.

At the mill? Emily put her book aside and stared at her mother, who appeared to have avoided any fresh encounter with her husband’s fury. Matthew had not appeared at breakfast that morning, having apparently decided to follow his father’s orders. "Why on earth does he want to see us there?"

I have no idea, Emily. Her mother looked quite flustered. Please go and get ready. I don’t want to be late and make him angry.

Her mother refused to speak as the carriage made its way into Millcastle and turned toward the older of the two mills Emily’s father owned.

As they approached, Emily lowered the carriage window and craned her neck to see why they had almost stopped moving. There appeared to be a crowd of people around the main gate of Ravenhead Mill, and the air was filled with shouts and a swirling menace.

I wonder if we should turn back? Emily asked her mother. The road is blocked.

We cannot do that. Your father would be angry. If we can’t drive up there, we shall walk. It isn’t far.

Mother, I don’t think—

Before Emily could finish her sentence, her mother had opened the door on the other side of the carriage, and stepped down onto the street. Emily hastened to join her after telling the coachman to stay where he was and guard the horses.

This is not a good idea. She grabbed hold of her mother’s elbow, and stopped her progress. We could get caught up in this, and Father would not be able to save us.

In truth, he’d probably be furious with them for causing a fuss and not lift a finger to help them at all.

Her mother looked at Emily and then at the angry crowd of people blocking the gate. There was no reason anyone should be out in the street at this time of day, as the shift didn’t finish until six.

Go back to the carriage, Mother, and I’ll go and find out what is happening, Emily urged her mother. Please.

After one last uncertain glance, her mother retreated to the carriage, leaving Emily alone. She straightened her spine, and approached the mill entrance from the side where the crowd was less dense, and hopefully, no one would notice her.

Send him out here! someone yelled, and the crowd took up the refrain. Send that murderer out to face justice!

Emily spied her father and brother looking down on the scene from the top of the slope leading down to the gates. There was no sign of the local constabulary or militia coming to the aid of the owners, and the mill workers didn’t seem inclined to disperse without them. Even as Emily watched, her brother sauntered down toward the angry mob. She could tell from his unsteady gait that he was drunk.

A satisfied, guttural roar went up as he approached, which sent a shiver of pure fear straight through Emily’s body. Matthew held up his hands and shouted over the waiting crowd.

Go home! All of you! Or get back to work! We’re about to lock the gates, and anyone outside will be let go.

Murderer! someone shouted.

Matthew gave an exaggerated bow. A second later, he was knocked off his feet by a lone figure who hurtled from the ranks of the opposition.

No! Emily screamed, and, without thought for her safety, battled toward where she had last seen her brother. Even as she went forward, most of the people were running away or disappearing as fast as they could manage it.

There was someone crouched over Matthew, his right arm moving rhythmically up and down. Emily grabbed the back of his thin coat and attempted to pull him off.

Stop it! Let him go! she screamed, and pummeled uselessly at his back until he turned on her, shoved her to the ground, and ran off, leaving the knife he’d used on her brother sticking obscenely out of Matthew’s chest in the center of a growing circle of red.

Matthew! She tried frantically to stop the bleeding, cradling her brother’s head in her lap. All around her, people melted away, leaving her alone on the cobbled surface. Somebody help me!

She looked frantically back up at the mill, and saw her father and an unknown man rushing toward her. Her red-faced father reached them, clutched at his heart, and collapsed right next to his son.

Father! Emily screamed.

It’s all right, Miss Marsham. You can let go now. I’ve got him.

Emily allowed the man to ease her to her feet as others crowded around her brother’s body, lifted him, and took him back up to the old mill house, which had once housed Emily’s parents.

Another group focused on her father, who was gasping like a stranded fish.

I’ve sent a lad for the doctor, sir.

Thank you. Let’s take him up to the house.

Emily blinked as everyone started to move up to the mill. She looked back into the empty street, and discovered her mother’s carriage had gone. The coachman had obviously decided it would be safer to take his passenger home. Emily could only hope her mother remained in blissful ignorance of what had just happened—although she would have to be told soon enough.

Picking up her skirts, her hands shaking, she turned to the mill and began climbing the slope. She had to know what was happening with her father and brother, and, as she seemed to be invisible, she would just keep going until she discovered the truth.

What a bloody mess, Adam Blackthorn, the manager of Ravenhead Mill muttered to his friend Dr. Simon Prentice. They stared down at the corpse in the spare bedroom of the mill house. "The absolute fool! Why did he have to go down there and damn well taunt them?"

What did you expect from a drunken sot? I can’t even say I feel sorry for him, can you?

No, but the repercussions of this will make life here very unpleasant for everyone. Adam grimaced. How’s the old man doing?

Not too well. He had a heart attack. Dr. Prentice met Adam’s gaze. He might not survive the night. I’ve sent for Mrs. Marsham.

I’ll go and speak to him. Adam nodded. Margaret put him in my bedroom.

He went out into the narrow hallway and knocked before bracing himself to enter the biggest of the three bedrooms in the house. Mr. Marsham was propped up against the pillows in an upright condition. His face was grey, and his breath was a mere whispering wheeze of panic.

Adam went over and leaned in close. Mr. Marsham. Your wife will be here shortly, is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?

My solicitor.

I’ll see to it immediately, sir.

His employer scrabbled for his hand. My… son?

I’m afraid he’s dead, Mr. Marsham.

The fool. Mr. Marsham briefly closed his eyes. Then you must do as I proposed.

I hardly think this is the time to be discussing that, sir, Adam suggested gently. We can wait until you are fully recovered, and—

No, it must happen now. Where’s the girl?

Adam blinked at the old man. Damnation, where had she gone? I don’t know.

Find her, and bring her to me. Mr. Marsham coughed and barely managed to speak again. She’s my heir now.

Adam left the room, sent a boy to fetch the Marsham solicitor, and walked out into the barren front yard overlooking the chimneys of the mill below. There was no sign of the earlier discontent or the tragedy that had played out before his appalled eyes. There was no sign of Emily Marsham either. Had she run away, or had the Marsham carriage taken her back home with her mother?

She was the heir to everything…

Adam stared unseeingly out into the encroaching darkness, aware of a leap of excitement within him that was totally at odds with the current appalling situation. Should he take advantage of this opportunity to reclaim what his father had so carelessly thrown away?

Adam?

He turned to find his oldest sister Margaret behind him. She’d been crying, which was quite unlike her. It belatedly occurred to him that Matthew Marsham had been her intended husband.

I’m sorry for your loss, sister. Adam awkwardly patted her shoulder.

I cannot speak of it yet. Margaret drew herself up. "I’ll let Lottie