The Reluctant Bride

Hester nodded sagely. “He was thinking of the Luddites. You would do well to heed him.”

“Luddites? Who are they?”

“He did not tell you?”

“He said something about disaffected labourers. I’ll admit I felt some sympathy for their cause…”

“So did I until Father told us of their violence and now, he says, it is gone beyond attempts to destroy the machines and the factories. They are firing barns and hayricks and terrorising the countryside.”

“Could he not speak to them? Uncle James is a reasonable man. If he promised to address their grievances…?”

“What could he do for them? He cannot give them bread or work. Besides, no one knows who they are. They wear masks or blacken their faces, and visit savage retribution on those who inform against them.”

“Can nothing be done?”

“The Government is sending troops. They fear that we may follow France into revolution if these uprisings spread.”

“The Terror? In England? Surely not.”

“It happened in France just twenty years ago, and this movement is growing fast. It is well organised, with secret signs and passwords, and men are ‘twisted in’, or recruited, with special oaths.”

“That does not sound like the work of the ordinary labourer.”

“You are right. So many of them can neither read nor write, but letters have been sent to their employers and even to the Prime Minister, signed ‘General Ludd’. It seems that nothing will stop them, though the penalty for frame-breaking is already transportation and may become a capital offence.”

India shuddered. “Thank heavens that Mama and Letty know nothing of this as yet. They are gone to the Vicarage this morning to spread the joyous news.”

It was difficult to hide her bitterness. “I suppose I must tell them?” she asked.

“India, they are sure to hear of it from one source or another.” Hester looked thoughtful. “You are right about the working men, I feel sure. There is something behind all this—some controlling intelligence which is playing upon their baser instincts.”

“But they must be desperate,” India protested.

“True! They are being forced to starve, but this is more than a plea to right their grievances. Men fighting for a just cause are often joined by those who have private scores to settle. Father is sure of it.” Hester rose to her feet. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“I doubt if anyone has a score to settle with this family,” India told her with a rueful smile. “I can’t recall that we have injured anyone.”

“Of course not, dearest.” Hester embraced her fondly.

“And shall you attend my wedding? I should like that above anything.”

“You shall have my support, my love, and you take with you my good wishes for a long and happy life.”

India was tempted to tease a little.

“You shall not care to follow my example?” she asked wickedly.

“Great heavens, no! My dream is to have a small house of my own. If my portion remains in my own hands I should write, surrounded by my books.”

“Then that is what I shall wish for you. It sounds idyllic.”

“It is unlikely to happen. Mother insists that I try another Season in the hope that I shall ‘take’ this time. She is such an optimist. My last attempt was a disaster.”

“It was no worse than mine, I think…”

“Oh yes it was! I am too outspoken and the gentlemen fled in droves…” Hester laughed out loud. “I did make one conquest, you’ll be pleased to hear. Can you believe it? I was attacked in the Duchess of Sutherland’s library by some ancient lecher who could hardly stand without the aid of a stick. I won’t name names, but my admirer was stone-deaf, which must account for it. Hugo had to rescue me. You should have seen his face…”

Her amusement was infectious and both girls dissolved into peals of glee.

Chapter Four

Her cousin’s visit had cheered India beyond measure. She respected Hester’s judgement and her good sense. It had been pleasant to find that her forthright relative had not reproached her for her decision to wed Lord Isham. She had even expressed her admiration for his lordship’s character.

It was strange indeed to find that others thought so highly of him. India wished that she could do the same, but always, at the back of her mind, lay the notion that, however indirectly, he had been the cause of her father’s death. That she could not forgive.