Winter Is Past. Ruth Morren Axtell

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      After taking a spoonful, Rebecca reminded her father, “Tell us about your trip.”

      He buttered a slice of bread before proceeding. “I went to some mills to see what I could discover about the people working there.”

      “What do they make in the mills?”

      “Cloth.” He fingered his napkin. “Something like this, although not quite. This is linen, but what comes out of the mills is mainly cotton. It comes from a plant. It has to be spun to make thread and the thread is then woven into pieces of cloth. People used to do this in their homes, but now they can do it much faster and make more in these large mills.”

      Althea made a silent motion to Rebecca to take another spoonful of stew. Instead the girl imitated her father and buttered some bread.

      “Why can they make more in the mills?” she asked.

      “Because they figured out how to use a thing called steam to make the weaving go much faster.”

      “But, Abba, why did you have to go to the mills, if the prince is here in London?”

      Simon swallowed a spoonful of stew. “Because some people who were not very happy working in these mills tried to kill Prince George.”

      “Because he made them work in the mills?”

      He considered her question seriously. “No. They worked in the mills in order to earn money to feed their families. But they have to work a long time and they receive only a little money afterwards. Sometimes it is not enough to feed their families. That’s where we, the lawmakers, come in. Some of these workers expect the laws to be changed quickly so they can earn more money and be treated better at the mills.” He fingered his napkin, trying to put things in the simplest terms. “Sometimes the laws don’t change quickly enough to suit them, and some of the men become angry, but they don’t know exactly who is to blame. They look to the Prince Regent as the head of their country. They don’t understand why he can live in big palaces while their own children suffer cold and hunger.”

      “Will they do what they did to the king of France?” she asked in a whisper.

      “No, no, it won’t come to that here.” His gaze strayed to Althea, noticing her attentiveness to the conversation. “England is a civilized nation.” He turned back to his daughter. “And your father is working to change the laws, so the people won’t become as angry as they did in France.”

      The next day, Althea entered the morning room promptly at half-past seven. Simon had requested her presence at breakfast. She had not yet entered this room since arriving, having taken her breakfast in the servants’ dining room early each morning before Rebecca was up. A pale February sunshine filtered through the long windows at one side of the room.

      “Good morning, Miss Breton.”

      Her employer was already seated at the breakfast table, The Times in front of him.

      “Good morning, Mr. Aguilar.” He stood as she entered the room. “Please don’t disturb yourself. I didn’t expect to see you here so early.”

      “You’ll usually find me here at this hour.” He motioned to the footman. “What would you like—toast, eggs, tea, coffee? Harry will see to it.”

      “That’s quite all right. I—I’ve been waiting on myself.” She moved to the sideboard, asking the footman for the porridge. He indicated the silver dish, removing its cover. “Thank you, Harry,” she said with a smile, comparing his prompt actions to how he had ignored her below stairs.

      When she sat down, she bowed her head and said a silent blessing. Then she reached for the creamer. She noticed Simon watching her. He went back to his paper with no comment. She took a spoonful of the tepid porridge.

      “Rebecca has given you her stamp of approval, by the way,” Simon told her from behind his paper.

      She smiled, remembering the little girl’s mature way of talking. “I’m glad.”

      “You’re not offended?”

      She looked at him in surprise as he laid the paper aside to take a sip of coffee. “Why should I be?”

      “That a little child should have the yea or nay of your employment?”

      “It must be trying to have a stranger come in to make one ‘more comfortable.’”

      “What do you think of my daughter?”

      Althea smiled. “Rebecca is a beautiful child.”

      “What do you think of her condition?”

      Althea looked down at her bowl. “She is weak, as you said. She seems very thin and has little appetite.”

      He nodded. “She has lost weight in the past two months. Has her condition remained the same during my absence?”

      “Yes. She wakes up frequently in the night, but then goes back to sleep. She sometimes complains of pain. It doesn’t seem to be in one particular area, but throughout her body. I have given her the laudanum you left with me. She usually naps in the afternoons, and I try to keep her entertained in the intervening hours. I think it’s good that she keep her mind on other things.”

      “I agree.”

      “She is very imaginative. I find her precocious for her age, and I think she needs to keep her mind busy with wholesome thoughts.” Althea swallowed before venturing, “She enjoyed your explanation last night. I think it gave her lots to ponder.”

      “You didn’t find it too frightening for a child?”

      “It’s difficult to say. She seems so old for her years, sometimes. But I think it helps her bear your absences better if she understands they are for the good of the country.”

      “I don’t know how much good they will do. People seem more polarized than ever at this point. I have seen more riots and acts of arson in the past year than you’d care to imagine. With each one, Parliament merely takes away individual liberties and orders more executions and deportations. Hundreds are languishing in prison while the gentry is terrified of a revolution.”

      Althea understood what he was talking about since she herself had lived among the laboring class and was witness to their growing discontent and misery. Many of the people they received at the mission exhibited the effects of the drudgery and dangers of factory life: drunkenness, thievery, maimed and orphaned children.

      Simon soon returned to his paper. Althea took the time to study him as she hadn’t had the leisure to do since that first interview with him. How her outlook had altered since that day. Gone was the fear and revulsion, replaced almost with awe as she observed one of God’s chosen.

      At that moment he looked up at her. She flushed, once again subject to that ironic gaze.

      “Yes? Was there something you wished to ask me?” he said.

      She took a deep breath, knowing that since she’d entered his employ there was indeed something she must ask him. “Yes.” She cleared her throat, realizing it wouldn’t be easy. “I СКАЧАТЬ