Read Online A Curse Dark as Gold by Elizabeth C. Bunce - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth C. Bunce
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there on the mossy stone of the millrace, dimly aware that somewhere Mr. Woodstone was still speaking. I fanned the mortgage papers and beat them before my face. I had never fainted, but this would be the moment for it. It was here, then: the End I had felt looming at the funeral -- here in the form of a kind-faced young banker from Harrowgate. The water trickled by below us, a faint whisper and splash in the afternoon sun; but I heard it as the blood of Stirwaters draining away.
"But you can't," I said suddenly, before I was aware that I was planning to say anything. "Don't you understand -- Stirwaters is the heart of this village. Twenty-two people work at this mill, and we supply income to dozens of farmers in the Valley and beyond. How can you foreclose?"
Mr. Woodstone regarded me with eyes the color of the Stowe. "Miss Miller, I know it sounds heartless -- but that isn't the bank's concern."
"Then make it your concern," I said desperately. "Please -- come inside. Meet Eben Fuller, and Mr. Mordant, and Harte -- and my sister. See some of the people who will be affected if you force Stirwaters to close. Does your bank find it profitable to send an entire village into ruin?"
"Miss Miller --" I do not know what Mr. Woodstone might have said next, for at that moment the church bell rang the evening hour, and the old mill doors creaked open, spilling the millhands into the yard. I rose hastily, suddenly fearful that I might be seen with this banker and -- and what? Be thought party to some illicit assignation?
Mr. Woodstone, all etiquette, rose with me. He watched the millhands pass us by, frowning slightly.
I saw my advantage and went for it. "Mr. Woodstone, please. Isn't there any way to convince the bank to -- to let us have more time? My father only passed away a month ago; there must be some provision for such an event. It's the height of the wool season, and Stirwaters's stock goes to market soon. Surely we can make some kind of arrangement."
As we stood there by the water, my Stirwaters family strayed past: plump red-faced Janet Lamb, cheerfully berating her son Ian; old Tory Weaver, who had evidently given up waiting for me, shuffling his stooped way across the shale yard; Jack Townley -- always met at the gates by pretty Mrs. Townley and a handful of small, perpetually dusty boys. Ruth saw me, and gave a wave.
"Very well, Miss Miller," he finally said. "I could at least spare the time to let you make your case. I was instructed to take an inventory of your assets; but I see that we're losing the daylight, and perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to have a look at the mill?"
"Thank you, Mr. Woodstone," I said, and did not quite let out all my breath until that sleek cassimere coat was halfway to Drover's inn.
***
Back inside Stirwaters, I found Rosie midway up a ladder, fitting a gear with Harte. I caught her eye and beckoned angrily. She slid down and met me in the office. "What happened to you? Mr. Weaver said you disappeared an hour ago --"
"Did you know Father took out a mortgage on the mill?"
"He what? But --" Her eyes widened. "No, of course I didn't know. Why would I?"
I slammed the papers down on the desk. "You two were always so close; he talked to you about everything."
Rosie's expression softened. "What happened?"
Wearily, I sank down on the desk and related all the banker had told me. When Rosie was suitably pale from the news, she shook her head sadly. "Father never said anything -- never would have said anything about it to me. You were the one he talked to about money."
I made a sound that was meant to be a laugh, but came out somewhere between a cough and a sob. "He never talked to me about money," I said. "I spoke to him about it, but it was always a wave of his hand and, 'Don't fret so. Things will take care of themselves.' Oh, aye, and look where that's brought us, then."
I tapped my fingers on the binding of the ledger, wherein the debt was not recorded,
"But you can't," I said suddenly, before I was aware that I was planning to say anything. "Don't you understand -- Stirwaters is the heart of this village. Twenty-two people work at this mill, and we supply income to dozens of farmers in the Valley and beyond. How can you foreclose?"
Mr. Woodstone regarded me with eyes the color of the Stowe. "Miss Miller, I know it sounds heartless -- but that isn't the bank's concern."
"Then make it your concern," I said desperately. "Please -- come inside. Meet Eben Fuller, and Mr. Mordant, and Harte -- and my sister. See some of the people who will be affected if you force Stirwaters to close. Does your bank find it profitable to send an entire village into ruin?"
"Miss Miller --" I do not know what Mr. Woodstone might have said next, for at that moment the church bell rang the evening hour, and the old mill doors creaked open, spilling the millhands into the yard. I rose hastily, suddenly fearful that I might be seen with this banker and -- and what? Be thought party to some illicit assignation?
Mr. Woodstone, all etiquette, rose with me. He watched the millhands pass us by, frowning slightly.
I saw my advantage and went for it. "Mr. Woodstone, please. Isn't there any way to convince the bank to -- to let us have more time? My father only passed away a month ago; there must be some provision for such an event. It's the height of the wool season, and Stirwaters's stock goes to market soon. Surely we can make some kind of arrangement."
As we stood there by the water, my Stirwaters family strayed past: plump red-faced Janet Lamb, cheerfully berating her son Ian; old Tory Weaver, who had evidently given up waiting for me, shuffling his stooped way across the shale yard; Jack Townley -- always met at the gates by pretty Mrs. Townley and a handful of small, perpetually dusty boys. Ruth saw me, and gave a wave.
"Very well, Miss Miller," he finally said. "I could at least spare the time to let you make your case. I was instructed to take an inventory of your assets; but I see that we're losing the daylight, and perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to have a look at the mill?"
"Thank you, Mr. Woodstone," I said, and did not quite let out all my breath until that sleek cassimere coat was halfway to Drover's inn.
***
Back inside Stirwaters, I found Rosie midway up a ladder, fitting a gear with Harte. I caught her eye and beckoned angrily. She slid down and met me in the office. "What happened to you? Mr. Weaver said you disappeared an hour ago --"
"Did you know Father took out a mortgage on the mill?"
"He what? But --" Her eyes widened. "No, of course I didn't know. Why would I?"
I slammed the papers down on the desk. "You two were always so close; he talked to you about everything."
Rosie's expression softened. "What happened?"
Wearily, I sank down on the desk and related all the banker had told me. When Rosie was suitably pale from the news, she shook her head sadly. "Father never said anything -- never would have said anything about it to me. You were the one he talked to about money."
I made a sound that was meant to be a laugh, but came out somewhere between a cough and a sob. "He never talked to me about money," I said. "I spoke to him about it, but it was always a wave of his hand and, 'Don't fret so. Things will take care of themselves.' Oh, aye, and look where that's brought us, then."
I tapped my fingers on the binding of the ledger, wherein the debt was not recorded,
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