“Page three,” Jenkinson explained. “Luddites Charged.”
Susan’s hackles rose when she located the article. “They’ve arrested the leaders of the weavers’ march,” she exclaimed.
“On what charge?” her companion asked.
“Sedition, and one would thinkThe Timeswould know better than to refer to them as Luddites. They never intended to destroy machinery.”
Rebecca frowned. “I was under the impression they were starving weavers who planned to march to London to beg the Prince Regent for relief.”
Susan stared at the brief article in disbelief, grateful Rebecca Waterman also lived at the dower house, and not just for her decorating abilities. The current earl’s mother was intelligent and shared Susan’s interest in Lancashire politics. It was gratifying not to be the only female voice of outrage when things like this latest miscarriage of justice occurred. To date they’d devoted much of their energy to campaigning against the slave trade, but Susan now saw a dire need closer to home.
She passed the newspaper to Rebecca. “And, of course, the leaders of the march are all from the Earl of Pendlebury’s estate.”
“I’m not familiar with Pendlebury,” Rebecca admitted.
“South of here. Closer to Manchester. The earl himself lives in London and rarely comes north.”
“I think Gabriel has spoken of him.”
“Yes, your son and Pendlebury have met on the infrequent occasions the latter has taken his seat in the Lords. Apparently, he’s a womanizer and a wastrel known for neglecting his responsibilities.”
Rebecca handed the paper back to Jenkinson. “I seem to remember my son mentioning the earl owns a lot of horses.”
Susan salted her boiled egg, disappointed to see the yolk had hardened. “I suppose that’s what he spends his money on. The weavers who live on his estates are on the verge of starvation. They have no work since the factories have taken over. They hoped to appeal to the Prince Regent since the earl has failed to provide relief. Pendlebury probably doesn’t even know of their plight.”
Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “He must know now, if he readsThe Times.”
*
Griff was eatingbreakfast in the morning room of his London townhouse when Potts brought the post. “Anything important?” he asked, aware his butler thoroughly perused every envelope as soon as it was handed to him by the postman.
“A letter from your solicitors in Manchester, my lord.”
Griff clenched his jaw. He’d expected to hear from old Rowbotham after reading the article inThe Timestwo days prior about the arrest of his tenants. “I wonder what he wants?”
“Most likely something to do with the unrest, my lord,” Potts replied as if speaking to a dimwitted child. He left without waiting to be dismissed.
Slicing open the missive, Griff pondered again the possibility of letting Potts go. The man was insufferably rude, but it was improbable the fellow would find work at his age. He was a damned fine butler, and, admittedly, the closest thing Griff had to a father, though neither would ever admit to it.
As he read the letter, his appetite fled. “Potts,” he yelled, too angry to get up and pull the bell-rope.
The butler’s speedy arrival confirmed Griff’s suspicion he’d been lurking nearby. Potts had an uncanny knack of knowing when his presence was required. “Sir.”
“I’m summoned to appear at a special sitting of the Manchester Sessions in a week for the trial of my tenants. What a bother! I suppose I’ll have to stay at Clifton Heights.”
The prospect of returning to his ancestral home filled him with dread. However, there seemed to be no alternative. “Make the arrangements.”
“Already in hand,” the irritating fellow replied. “I assume you’ll be taking Frederick?”
Griff would have preferred to take Potts himself; the butler would quickly make sure everything at Clifton Heights was running smoothly. However, the prospect of enduring endless hours of travel with the supercilious blighter…
Frederick’s size and surly demeanor might be just what was required in a situation that might turn out to be hostile. “Yes. Tell my footman he’s to accompany me. And I’ll give you letters to post to Rowbotham and my estate manager instructing them to do what they can to get the charges lowered.”
*
Susan normally enjoyedthe daily afternoon walk from Thicketford Manor’s dower house to the principal mansion where she’d grown up and where the present Earl and Countess of Farnworth now lived with their children; the mile-long trek gave her and Rebecca a chance to indulge in intelligent conversation and enjoy the fresh air.
Anxious to discuss the appalling miscarriage of justice with Emma’s husband, she decided to ride instead of walking, not surprised when Rebecca declined to accompany her. Before moving to Lancashire, her friend had never ridden.