So when the track opened up and Lucas and Emily raced each other to a distant tree, he settled beside Miss Parish’s slower mount.
“Does she ever move beyond a walking pace?” he asked, pointing to her horse with a wry grimace.
“Only when she nears home and the prospect of oats.”
“How dull that must be!”
“I do not mind. It is pleasure enough to be out on the hills.”
She still blushed whenever she spoke, but she was a great deal more articulate than usual.
“Did you ride a great deal at Branton?”
“Perhaps once or twice a week.”
“Where did you go to? Along the rivers, through the fields or up onto the hills? Are there hills around Branton?” he added, realising he had no idea how the town was situated.
She gave a little laugh. “There are! And that is where I mostly rode. I loved to look down on the town from above, to watch the carriages and wagons coming and going, the chimneys smoking and people scurrying about like little ants, busy on business of their own.”
They were above Birchall, looking down past Westwick Heights, where Emily and Lucas lived. Cathcart House was hidden in the trees, but most of the village was visible and in the distance to the north, the roof of Corland Castle could just be perceived.
“A little different from this view, I suppose, although we have our share of smoking chimneys, too.”
“Oh no,” she said seriously. “Branton has proper chimneys… big ones. Very tall, belching out clouds of smoke. Sometimes, when the wind was in the wrong direction, the whole town was hidden by the smoke, like a great, dark blanket covering everything.”
“Ah, steam-powered engines?” She nodded. “What are they used for? Pumping… or manufacturing?”
“Both.”
“How fascinating!” he cried. “I should love to see your town, Miss Parish.”
She turned astonished eyes on him. “Truly? But why? It is a very ordinary town.”
“Not to me, Miss Parish. Not to me. A town full of mills? And boasting beam engines and all manner of delights? Yes, I should love to see it, to examine all those beam engines and watch them in action, for I must tell you that I have read about them, and heard them described in the minutest detail, but I cannot picture it in my mind’s eye. I cannot understand how it all works — the pistons and valves and condensers and rods, the coal and water and steam. You see, I have all the terms at my fingertips, but I cannotseeit. I need to see all the moving parts to truly understand it.”
“Oh yes!” she said, smiling at him in a way that melted him inside in the most peculiar way. “To see one moving… yes, that is something indeed. But it is thenoisethat awes me most… the tremendous sound of such massive machinery, everything rising and falling, or turning, turning, great metal rods in constant motion and such sounds! The very ground shakes beneath one’s feet. And the smell of smoke and the hissing of steam and— oh, such engines are magnificent, Mr Atherton, and my father’s was the largest and most magnificent of all.”
“Your father… he had a beam engine? A mill?”
“He did, and if he had lived for the three years he estimated it would take to pay back the loans and begin to make a profit, we should have been rich, and I should not be living in my uncle’s house as the poor relation. But pray do not mention this to anyone, for Aunt Cathcart is ashamed of my father’s occupation.”
“But you are not?” he said gently.
“No! My father was a good man, an honest businessman. He may not have been a gentleman, but he was clever and hard-working, and he looked after his workers just as a gentleman looks after his servants and tenant farmers. He started as a manager in a small mill, and worked hard enough and invested shrewdly enough to become a mill owner himself, and I shall never be ashamed of him,never!”
7: Marriage In Mind
Oncetheshootingseasonstarted, Kent found himself inundated with invitations, or rather, his father received the invitations, and was minded to take Kent with him.
“Walter seems to spend all his time with Alfred Strong, learning about this Treasury position, and Eustace is never here,” the earl said. “All my dependence is on you, Kent.”
It would be a hard-hearted son indeed who would fail his own father, and besides, Kent enjoyed a day’s shooting as much as any man. So he went out with his guns, and he continued with Eustace’s little venture, and whenever he could, he rode with Miss Parish, the two talking endlessly about engines and mills and spinning jennies and all the little difficulties of operating a cotton mill, which he had never suspected. And more and more he wished he could go to Branton and see all these wonders for himself. Sometimes Miss Parish drew neat little diagrams for him, but it never made things clearer.
One such ride ended early when a rain shower caught them out. Emily, Lucas and their groom turned directly back to Westwick Heights, but Kent escorted Miss Parish to Cathcart House and lifted her down from her horse.
“I am sorry our ride was cut short,” he said, taking her hand to help her up the steps. “We will talk more of flying shuttles on our next outing, I hope.”
“You truly are interested in this, are you not?” she said.
