The men gathered around him guffawed. “You seen Mr. Palling kissin’ a ghost? Thunder and turf, Toddy, how much did ya drink that night?” The men slapped the old man’s back and drifted away again while the mill owner just shook his head.
Anne was relieved Mr. Palling chose to ignore the drunken accusation and let the slight to his honor go unchallenged.
This was a party—his party—after all.
As the music continued, a group of men danced in traditional Morris style while other men and their wives ate and drank and watched. Anne noticed two young sweethearts steal a kiss, which filled her with a strange wistfulness.
Then one of the musicians announced, “Come one and all and join this circle dance.”
Around the barn, women set down glasses and men guzzled the last of their ale before joining hands in a large circle.
Dr. Finch turned to her. “Shall we give it a go, Miss Loveday?”
“I’m game, if you are, though I haven’t a clue what to do.”
“Me either.”
They clasped hands and joined the circle, their free hands quickly claimed by people on either side. While the other musicians played, one acted as caller, directing the dance, “Circle right for eight. Now left. All raise hands and move center. And back again....”
Anne followed along as best she could, laughing and dancing and thoroughly enjoying herself. She often felt Dr. Finch’s smiling gaze on her as they muddled through the steps together, and enjoyed the feeling of her hand in his.
The dancing, eating, and drinking continued for another hour.
Finally, the musicians paused for a well-deserved rest.
Mr. Palling stepped forward and gestured with lowered palms for his guests to quiet down. When most of the crowd had begrudgingly done so, he began, “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves tonight. And had enough to eat, and perhaps a little too much to drink, which will hopefully take a bit of the sting out of what I have to say. Truth is, I have to sell the mills. I’m facing bankruptcy, as others have before me. I’ve recently gone through the books with my banker, and I can’t deny the truth of the situation any longer. That’s why there’s room in a wool barn for this party. I’ve sold the stock on hand, the wool, the broadcloth, and scarlet army cloth, and will likely have to sell the machinery too.”
Silence fell, eerie and complete.
“Perhaps this will become a pin mill, if not another cloth mill. I sincerely hope many of you will find positions with the new owner, whoever that might be. It gives me no pleasure to say all this. In truth, I am ashamed.”
Incredulous exclamations and murmured curses punctuated the previous silence. Anne and Dr. Finch shared uneasy looks. She heard someone grumble about Mr. Dalby’s poor management and looked around, not seeing him.
Joe Webb called out, “What will you do then, sir?”
Mr. Palling shrugged. “Begin packing up the house, which must be sold as well. Speaking of which, I could use a few men with strong backs to help me, say, in week or two. For pay, of course. If you are interested, leave your name with Simon and we’ll draw three from a hat to make it fair. I can’t afford to employ everyone.”
“Used to be,” someone mumbled.
“Well do I know it. I realize you are angry, and I don’t blame you. I am upset too. I know some of you may be tempted to take out your anger on me or the mill...”
Anne noticed he left Mr. Dalby’s name out of it.
“But if reason prevails, I will reward you. I will share what is left of my personal savings with everyone I employ, if there is no damage to the mills. At week’s end, if all is well, each person may come to my home and receive a final pay packet, including three pounds of my own money, in the hope it will help you provide for your families for a time until you find work elsewhere. However, if damage is done, that will lower the property valuation, and I will be unable to do so.”
One man swore and started to protest, but another quickly shushed him. “Maybe you can do without three pounds, but I cannot. I have a family to feed....” Others joined their voices in support.
Dr. Finch and Anne shared another look. Albert Palling was smart.
As she turned back, Anne noticed two female figures hovering at the barn doors—Rosa and Miss Fitzjohn, the latter wearing a blue hooded cloak. Anne wondered how long they had been standing there.
“That’s all I have to say,” Mr. Palling concluded. “I know this puts a damper on the festivities. But I did want to thank you for your hard work over the years. I wish the outcome had been different.” He looked toward the refreshment table. “I fear the drink is all but gone, but help yourselves to the remaining food, especially those of you with families. And now, I shall bid you good-night.”
He walked toward the door, drawing up short to find Miss Fitzjohn standing there, his expression more defeated than before.
“Oh, miss. I am sorry you had to witness that. I did not think you were coming.”
“No, I ... only strolled out this way, as it was a lovely night. I am truly sorry to hear this, Mr. Palling.”
