The Weavers: Rising Flames by Juliet Wilds

Author:Juliet Wilds [Wilds, Juliet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2024-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

6

A Slow Summer

Istrode to the following Thursday’s meeting with a different kind of nervousness. All week the kiss had played in my head and, even after logical thought had urged my caution, I still couldn’t manage to stop myself from thinking about Jack. The various combinations of potential truths staggered me. Who was he? The murderous heir who hired a doctor solely to patch up his victims, using Andrew’s life against my Family and I? Or considerate saviour, rescuing us from his corrupt family and demanding my presence just so he could kiss me in private?

The week had worn on busily. I had spent endless hours in contemplation at the loom, trying to add timber for the Carpenters to my new rota of steel and arctic tundra. Martha and Walter had been surprised and pleased that I had managed to negotiate our way out of providing more bolts to the Salts; I didn’t tell them the substance of the conversation, let alone any of its most inappropriate ending. No good would come of that disclosure. They didn’t mind that I couldn’t give a compelling reason for Jack’s decision to accept the present deal. The Salts’ pressure had begun to affect our bottom line already, cutting into our much-needed profit and squeezing what little spare we had. They were just desperate to hold onto the arrangement as it stood.

I crossed into the entrance hall. This entire last week I had found my hand going to my cheek, unconsciously tracing the placement of his lips, and noticed it again now. Forcing my hand to my side, I climbed the stairs. Would he kiss me again today? Would he regret what had happened?

Tillie, at her insistence, had received full details. She gasped and screamed appropriately as I told her what had happened, her hands covering her face almost the entire time. When I told her about the kiss on the cheek she slumped back against her loom in a faux faint, prompting Clara to come over and discipline us. As before, she lived in the fantasy where Jack was nothing other than a romantic interest, regardless of all the evidence to the contrary. With her I lived in the fantasy too, and over time I started to allow myself to possess a small amount of optimism. Perhaps he was telling the truth - perhaps it wasn’t all a trap.

The meeting room was empty; Martha and Walter hadn’t yet arrived for their pre-meeting harrying. I settled into my seat, arranged my notebook and inkwell. It was almost beginning to feel routine. The clock on the wall seemed less like a harbinger of doom than a herald of anticipation.

Andrew was doing better, and fielded trips from other friends who were better placed to support them. I wondered if one of these was his female friend, and whether she had received the bloodstained version of her dress that I had smuggled back to Andrew’s house. Tillie and I had reduced our trips into Whitebridge at Andrew’s insistence.

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