‘Begging your pardon, miss,’ he said, appearing at the window. ‘I’ve found out what the lime was for. It was made into whitewash.’
The lime used to paint miners’ cottages seemed the least of her worries at the moment, but Tommy had scrubbed himself clean, put on his best clothes and seemed to have more to tell her, so she felt duty bound to listen.
‘Would you like to know where it was used?’
‘Miners’ cottages?’
Tommy shook his head, ‘No, on the walls of Stenna Pit.’
Grace frowned. It seemed a strange thing to do. ‘Why would they do that?’
Tommy had only shrugged. ‘I don’t know and the miners who were given the job probably don’t either. Only a foolish man questions their boss.’
Now, in the solitude of her bedroom, she wondered if Tommy had been trying to warn her in some way. She quickly pushed the thought to one side. He was a simple man who spoke plainly and would not hide the threat behind an indirect phrase. Tommy didn’t know how many miners were involved, but Grace had an idea. The same number who had not been paid for their extra shifts as those shifts had been kept secret and not recorded.
Grace sighed and rested her forehead on her knees again. She had no experience of the production of clay, perhaps painting the walls of a clay pit was part of the process? No, it couldn’t be or Tommy would have said. Which left only one reason — to convince the pottery representative that the clay was a higher quality than it was? Talek had said the quality is assessed by how white it looked.
Talek had spoken of being ruthless in business to survive the cut-throat deals of his competitors. He’d also stressed the need to keep their financial affairs confidential. Was he alluding that she might find some discrepancies? And what of Henry’s part in all this? Was he complicit or simply recording what Talek told him to? Grace’s head ached with it all and she longed to speakto her father. His calm words of wisdom would clear the fog in her head. Only she couldn’t go to him now. She had fled and not given him the chance to explain why he had lied to her all her life. The whole situation was a mess and Grace didn’t know who knew what. She would talk to Amelia in the morning and see if she could shed some light on the matter.
* * *
The night felt endless. Grace tossed and turned, debating with herself how best to broach the subject to Amelia. How do you question their business affairs without accusing her brother or the man she loved of deception? Finally, as the early morning sun sliced through the heavy cloud, Grace fell into a fitful sleep. It lasted no more than an hour, before she found herself awake again and staring at the same morning light dancing on the ceiling above. The day had arrived, but despite looking forward to it, Grace felt sick with anxiety.
Amelia had already breakfasted by the time Grace entered the drawing room. She was surprised Grace was seeking her company and said as much.
‘I thought you would be shut away immersed in your books,’ she said, pausing in her letter writing to look up at her.
Unsure how to reply, Grace simply offered her a smile.
‘You did not join us for breakfast.’
‘I had no appetite. Please forgive me.’
‘I hope you are not ailing for something.’
‘I’m well. There is nothing to be concerned about,’ said Grace, knowing it was far from the truth.
Amelia returned to her writing. Dear Amelia, thought Grace. Over the past few months, Amelia had taken every effort to make her feel at home. Today, however, Grace found herself questioning whether she really knew this family at all. Who was she to the people in this household? Employed companion?Friend? Auditor? Meddler? Familiar confusion as to what her position in life was, resurfaced with a vengeance.
Amelia looked up, surprised, as Grace had yet to move. ‘Am I to have your company today?’ Amelia asked, smiling.
Grace nodded stiffly. ‘I thought I would have a break from the accounts today. Do you mind if I join you?’
Amelia patted the chair next to her. ‘Don’t look so worried, Grace. Of course it is what I want.’ She dipped her pen in the ink bottle and returned to her letter. ‘I’m writing to Henry. He is finding his forced rest a little tedious.’
‘You have been in touch?’
‘Yes. He has been writing to me.’ Amelia indicated a neat bundle of letters on her desk, lovingly tied together with a length of red ribbon.
‘I didn’t know . . .’
Amelia paused and looked up. Her cheeks blossomed with a rosy glow and her eyes sparkled with excitement, but she said nothing.
‘Amelia? You look like you have a secret.’
‘He wants to marry me!’ blurted Amelia. ‘There! I’ve told someone. What a fine wife I will make when I have already broken my promise to him. He asked me not to tell anyone, and here I am telling you.’ She beckoned for Grace to come closer and grasped her hands. ‘He hinted at it before his accident, but last week he confirmed it.’
Grace didn’t know what to say or how she should feel. ‘Does Talek know?’ she asked, lamely.
