From Chapter Eight

Rebecca began to climb the third flight of stairs, but barely had she reached the top when she caught the smell of smoke

It is probably a smell from one of the processes used in spinning the cotton, she told herself, but even as her mind gave her a reasonable explanation for the smell her instincts drove her actions, and picking up the hem of her skirt she began to run up the last flight of stairs.

As she did so she heard a distant thumping noise coming from above.

Her heart began to beat more quickly and she ran fleetly up the last few stairs. As she reached the top the thumping stopped but she could still smell the smoke, more strongly now. She hurried along the corridor, towards the office. She must find Joshua! She opened the office door but by the light of the moon she could see it was empty. She backed out, turning and wondering what she should do next, and then, to her horror, she caught sight of smoke curling from under the door at the very end of the corridor. A moment later she heard renewed thumping coming from the other side of it and her heart lurched. Someone was shut in!

Running towards the door she grasped the large brass knob and turned it. But to no avail. The door was locked.

Her eyes went to the keyhole.

No key.

'Are you all right?' she called. The thumping had stopped and she wanted to know if whoever was inside was still conscious.

'Rebecca?' came a man's surprised voice.

'Josh!' Rebecca was horrified. 'Are you all right? What's happened?'

'No . . . ' He broke off coughing . . . 'no time for that now. I'm locked in and I can't put out the fire. There's a spare set of . . . ' He coughed again . . . 'keys in the office, in the desk. The top drawer on the left hand side.'

'I'll get them.'

Rebecca flew down the corridor, going into the office and searching for the keys by the light of the moon. The top drawer . . . yes! Clutching the keys she ran back to the locked room and began trying them one by one. Her fingers were clumsy with haste and she dropped them with a clatter.

'Which key?' she asked as she picked them up, fumbling with the large bunch.

'The . . . second . . . largest,' called Josh, between coughing. Rebecca found the right key by the dim light and put it in the lock. It turned. She twisted the door knob, and Joshua came stumbling out. He was coughing and choking despite the handkerchief he had held to his face and he stopped for a moment, doubled over, gasping in the cleaner air.

Rebecca put her arms protectively round him. She stroked his dark blond hair. It was pure instinct, and as she felt him relax against her she knew that his response was pure instinct, too. There was a deep, intuitive bond between them, that no amount of disagreements could destroy.

But she could not allow herself to prolong the moment, no matter how precious it was. Smoke was billowing out of the doorway and there was no telling how much Joshua had inhaled.

'Come,' she said, closing the door to prevent the fire and smoke spreading. 'We have to get away from here. There's too much smoke.'

The smoke was rapidly filling the corridor. She thought quickly, wondering where it would be best for them to go. Not down the stairs - the smoke was already in the stairwell, and Joshua needed clean air to breath. The office. Its heavy door would have kept out most of the smoke, and there was a window they could open if needed. She guided Joshua, still bent double, into the office, and shut the door behind them. She gave a deep sigh. The air in here was untainted. It would provide them with a brief haven until Joshua caught his breath.

Joshua responded to the clean air. He breathed in deeply, taking the handkerchief away from his face, and was soon able to straighten up.

'I should ask you what the devil you're doing here,' he said, once he had recovered. He took her hands, and there was an unfathomable expression on his face as he looked down into her eyes. 'But there's no time. We have to put out the fire.' He went over to the far corner of the room, still coughing occasionally, and Rebecca saw that he was lifting a large bucket of water which had been standing there. 'I ordered these put here in case of Luddite attacks,' he said in answer to her questioning glance. 'There's one in every room.'

'Then why -?' asked Rebecca, wondering why he had not used the one in the study to put out the fire.

'It had been removed.'

Premeditated, then, thought Rebecca. Up until that moment she had thought the fire had started naturally.

Joshua wet his handkerchief and put it to his face before opening the door. He strode out into the corridor with the bucket of water. Rebecca, gathering her wits, quickly wet her own handkerchief, then holding it to her face she followed him into the corridor. What could she do? The buckets. Going in and out of the rooms along the corridor she fetched the buckets of water that had been placed there. Joshua stood in the doorway of the study, taking the buckets from her and throwing the water on the flames. Slowly and surely the water began to douse the fire.

The buckets were soon empty and the fire still burned, but the flames were at long last small enough to be beaten out. Joshua pulled down the curtains and used them to smother the remaining flames, and by the time ten minutes had passed the fire was at last extinguished. Rebecca sank back against the desk, exhausted. But Joshua seized her by the hand.

'No,' he said. 'You can't rest here. There's still too much smoke.'

He took her hand and led her out of the fire-blackened room and back into the office. They had kept the door closed and the atmosphere was not too unpleasant. He pushed her gently in front of him and then closed the door behind them, leaning back against it in relief.

Rebecca, feeling his strong, firm hand still holding her own, turned . . . and everything changed. She could barely see Joshua in the moonlight, and yet his silhouette, dark and powerful against the black bulk of the door, was redolent of such strength and such virile masculinity that she caught her breath.

How was it that Joshua could make her feel this way? How could his mere presence make her heart race and her mouth go dry? How could he make her feel this sense of breathless anticipation, this time-stopping moment when she longed to be his arms? She wanted to go to him, to feel his arms close about her, to have her mouth possessed by his own. But she knew she must not do it. She fought against it with all her will, standing there, frozen in the moonlight, whilst every part of her being cried out for him.

And then he pulled her roughly towards him. Catching her round the waist he dragged her close, so close she could feel the firm hardness of his muscular body beneath his clothes.

He took her face in his hands and looked down at her with burning eyes. 'Thank God you're safe.'

She shivered as he pushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and she felt a wave of emotion go through her. She was lost in the moment, caring for nothing but Joshua. His hair may be blackened by the smoke and his face may be begrimed but nothing could dim the intensity of his eyes. They looked deep inside her and she began to tremble from head to foot. This was what she had dreamt of; this moment when she swayed against Joshua and felt his arms tighten around her. Her eyes closed and she felt the soft, sweet touch of his mouth as his lips brushed gossamer-light kisses over her face, dropping them with agonizing sweetness first on her forehead, then on her cheek, then on the tip of her nose, her eyelids and her mouth. She felt his hands cradling her face, holding it tenderly yet firmly so that he could kiss her even more deeply, and her arms lifted, her fingers tangling themselves in his mane of blond hair. And then she was drowning, going under, lost to all else. She surrendered herself to his caresses, and -

She was thrown backwards with a terrible jolt.

Her eyes flew open. And then she realized what was happening.

Someone was opening the door.

It was the rudest of awakenings. One moment she had been in a state of bliss, the next, pushed backwards by the action of the door opening, she was weak and flustered and desperately trying to re-settle her bonnet and smooth her pelisse whilst fighting against her rapid pulse and trying to gather her scattered wits.

'Thank goodness!' exclaimed Mr Hill, the mill manager, as he burst into the room. 'I thought you had been hurt.' He spoke to Joshua, not, for the moment, noticing Rebecca. 'When I saw the smoke I feared the worst. What happened?'

'I think we could do with a little light,' remarked Joshua. Rebecca marvelled at his voice. He was once more in command of himself, only a slight rapidity of words betraying the fact that he had so recently been in the grip of a strong emotion. No one hearing him now would know that just a moment ago he had been holding her face passionately between his strong hands and kissing her so deeply her whole being had shuddered with the ecstasy of it.

'Of course.' Mr Hill felt his way over to the gas jets that were set into the walls.

Rebecca made the most of the last few seconds of darkness to pull her bonnet firmly back onto her head. She took a deep breath to settle her breathing, because despite her best efforts to calm it, it was ragged and shallow. But by the time the gas was turned up she had regained sufficient composure to meet Mr Hill's surprised gaze with equanimity.

'Miss Fossington!' he exclaimed. 'What are you doing here? That is,' he said hastily, as if realizing that it was not his place to question one of the owners of the mill, 'I was not expecting to see you.'

He looked from Rebecca to Joshua in confusion.

'I lost my reticule,' explained Rebecca. 'When I got home I found it was missing and a search of the house and carriage proved in vain. Thinking I must have dropped it whilst looking round the mill this afternoon I returned, only to find smoke filling the corridor and -'

'And to find that she had to help me quench the flames,' interrupted Joshua smoothly.

Rebecca looked at him in surprise. It was not like Joshua to interrupt her so rudely. But one glance at his bland expression told her that he did not want the full details of the incident to leak out.

Because they could not afford to give anything away, she realized.

Not until they discovered who had started the fire.

* * * * * *

From Chapter Ten

Two new footmen soon found their way into Rebecca and Louisa's house. Fortunately Louisa accepted their appearance at face value, and was too polite to enquire into the origins of the broken nose of one and the cauliflower ear of the other. She was pleased that dear Joshua had sent the men along to add to her consequence and convenience, and expressed herself delighted with their presence

Rebecca was genuinely glad to have them there. So far she had not been threatened in any way, but if the unexplained attacks on Joshua were indeed connected with the mill there may come a time when she herself was in danger, and it was reassuring to have two large ex-Bow Street Runners, disguised as footmen, standing in the hall.

Rebecca was reading in the drawing-room on the afternoon of the ball when Louisa came in looking flustered

'Oh, my dear, it is too vexing,' she said. 'I have broken my fan. I don't know how it happened. I simply opened it to see if it would go with my new gown, and it snapped in my hand.'

'Never mind,' said Rebecca. 'It's still early. We can go and choose another one. Something that will go with your gown.' She closed her book and set it down.

'It is a nice idea, but my legs are feeling a little stiff, and I fear if I go out this afternoon I may not be able to dance this evening.'

Rebecca understood at once why Louisa was so concerned: Edward had claimed Louisa's hand for the first dance, and that dear lady had spent all week looking forward to it.

'Then I can go on my own,' Rebecca said.

'Oh, no, my dear, you mustn't think of it. You will be wanting to get ready yourself soon.'

'Not for another couple of hours at least,' said Rebecca. 'What kind of fan would you like? A lace one would go well with your dress, I think. Or would you like a painted fan? Or maybe one made out of ostrich feathers?'

'Oh, no! Ostrich feathers would be far too flamboyant! A lace fan would be perfect - it would match the lace trim on my sleeves,' said Louisa. 'But of course it is not important. I can do very well without.'

'I would like a breath of fresh air,' said Rebecca, standing up and stretching. 'I have not been out all day. An hour's shopping will help blow the cobwebs away. Don't worry, I can still be back in plenty of time to dress.'

She had soon donned her pelisse and bonnet, then she summoned the carriage and was on her way. Accompanied by one of the new footmen she set out for Deansgate, where she hoped to purchase the perfect fan to go with Louisa's new gown. There were several shops that sold fashionable items, and she spent a pleasant half-hour browsing in them before selecting a delicate lace fan with ivory sticks. Feeling pleased with her purchase she returned to the carriage and made herself comfortable for the short journey home. Or at least, it should have been a short journey, but the streets were busy, and to make matters worse a cart had overturned ahead of her, shedding its load of vegetables all over the road. Urchins, drawn by the calamity, were stuffing their pockets with potatoes and carrots, whilst the carter was trying to alternately pick up the produce and shoo them away.

Rebecca watched the scene for a few minutes and then her attention began to wander. It would take some time for the street to be clear enough for her carriage to proceed, and as her eyes drifted away from the main thoroughfare and down the narrow streets that led away from it she found herself wondering again about the poor housing that lay behind the fashionable areas. She was determined to help Joshua provide suitable housing for the workers at Marsden mill, and wondered whether any of the run-down buildings she could just glimpse might be suitable for renovation. As her eyes began to adjust to the gloomier conditions that prevailed beyond the main street she began to make out more detail: houses, pavements - and then something caught her attention and she sat up straight. There! Loping down the dingy back street was the man who had daubed the Luddite slogan on the wall of the mill!

There could be no mistake. Although she had not been close enough to see him clearly on the day she had all but interrupted him at his work, and although it was too dark for her to see clearly now, still it was light enough for her to recognize his distinctive movement. There was something furtive about it, and at the same time something bold. It was such an unusual gait she knew she could not be mistaken. What to do? If she left the carriage she could easily lose herself amongst the maze of streets, but she would never forgive herself if she did not make an effort to follow him. Deciding quickly on a course of action she opened the carriage door and jumped out without waiting to use the step, calling to the footman as she did so, 'Follow me!'

Once free of the carriage she hurried down the narrow street, reassuring herself by a glance over her shoulder that the burly footman was indeed following her. Then she turned her attention back to the man with the loping gait. He turned down a cross street and Rebecca followed, pulling her cloak more tightly around her as she hurried along. The street was narrow, and when he turned again it was into an even narrower one. The houses crowded in on her but Rebecca did not intend to give up now. If she could apprehend the man she could discover why he had painted the slogan on the wall. And if he had been paid to do it, she could discover who had paid him.

She saw him hesitate outside a mean house, and then, with a furtive glance in either direction, he went in.

Rebecca had managed to shrink back out of sight when he had turned, but now she went forward again. She reached the house and turned round to signal to the footman - only to find he was not there.

He had been following her, she knew, when she had left the carriage, because she had looked over her shoulder to make sure. But now he was nowhere in sight. Had he lost her after one of the many turns? It must be so. She stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. If she waited for the footman she may lose the man with the loping gait: he could easily slip out of the back door of the house and be on his way again without her being any the wiser. But if she went in alone, she would be putting herself in danger. She felt herself torn in two directions. What should she do?

She crept closer to the house, pressing herself against the wall next to the window. Perhaps she would be able to hear something that would help her decide.

But she could hear nothing.

She thought for a moment, and then decided that she must take the risk of following him into the house. But suddenly the door opened again and he came out.

There was nowhere for her to hide this time, no shadows to shrink back into, no corner to turn.

She was caught.

Extracts from Rebecca's Refusal by Amanda Grange, published by Chivers/Thorndike