Captain Justin Bracken surveyed his father' empire as he savored the smooth, aged whiskey, which slipped down his throat and left a pleasant warmness in its wake. A stark contrast to chill he experienced as he stood in the pristine, white manor house built by his father. Charles Bracken insisted the majority of windows faced the mills so he could admire his handiwork and spy on his workforce, in case anyone dared to shirk their duty or steal from him.
Justin cast a desultory eye around the palatial library where he sat; full of leather bound first editions, no one would ever read. Part of the pretence his father insisted upon, believing it made his money more acceptable to the landed gentry. Charles' wealth owed more to the blood and sweat of others, than birthright. Still maybe the similarities to old money were not so different, the chosen few, profited from the toil and poverty of the masses.
How typical of his father to prefer an industrial view rather than the exquisite greenery that surrounded them. The mills cut a swath through the valley. Tall multi- windowed, brick buildings and their interconnecting paths rose from the green hills and woods and ruined the little piece of heaven he so enjoyed as a boy. Justin didn't share his father's passion for commerce but Charles' apoplexy, which stiffened the left side of his well-built body and limited his mobility, made his overseeing the three mills untenable. As the only son and heir Justin resigned his commission in the army, his chosen career of more than fifteen years and returned to the Derbyshire countryside and the family business.
A perfectly proportioned female form drew Justin's silver- eyed gaze as she walked by the mill ponds, the source of power for the two cotton mills. The woman stopped and looked back as if she could feel the weight of his stare. Justin stepped back from the long sash window. She flicked a stray hair from her face and carried on her way. He couldn't discern her facial features but the vibrant mahogany red of her hair triggered a long ago memory of a young girl he secretly played hide and seek with, in the little wood behind the mills. It couldn't be little Lucy surely she would be long married and moved away by now.
He turned away but a shadow in the highest mill window far below, stopped him. He stared at the dusty window. A young woman stared back at him. He closed his eyes, shaking his head to dispel the disturbing image. No one worked on the mill's top floor, which served as a store for the raw cotton. The creaking protest of a door hinge disturbed him, when he looked back the woman was gone. The slam of the heavy oak door against the dark, pitted panelling drew his attention away from the window.
Charles half stumbled into the library dragging his near useless leg. His beady eyes spied his son. "Thought... I'd find you here... hiding Justin. Pour me a... whiskey boy before I expire. This damn leg will be the death of me."
"Good afternoon Father. Has someone upset you?" Justin kept his face expressionless, the doctor insisted his father needed to remain calm or risk another more devastating bout of apoplexy.
Charles Bracken snatched the crystal tumbler Justin offered him. He downed the amber liquid and wordlessly held out his glass for a refill. When Justine complied, Charles slumped awkwardly into the burgundy coloured leather chair adjacent to the blazing log fire. Justin refilled the glass and handed his father the whiskey, before refreshing his own drink. He stood against the stone fireplace and waited for the tirade to begin. His mind filled with images of the pretty woman by the millpond and the strange woman at the mill window.
Charles knocked back the second drink, his face a deep crimson as he voiced his outrage. "That red haired chit is making trouble again."
"Who is making trouble? How?" Justin sipped his own drink and rested his arm against the mantelpiece.
"Wants me to educate the children, for two hours a day, she must think I'm made of money." Droplets of amber liquid flew from Charles' mouth as his anger mounted. "What do they need to read and write for? Strength and obedience is all that's required to work in my mills.
YOU ARE READING
Past Shadows
RomanceJustin Bracken has no choice but to resign his commission and return home to the cotton mills, when his father falls ill. Unrest among the workers, fire, death and an opinionated woman all seek to make his new life every bit as dangerous as the mili...
