Page 16 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

T he dimly lit backroom of The Copper Kettle was quiet, save for the soft clink of teacups against saucers.

Meredith sat at the head of the table with her hands folded in front of her, Agnes on one side of her, Elowen, her new secretary on the other.

Meredith focused on the small notepad open before her.

Marigold Tremayne, Agnes’s mother, of Marigold’s Haberdashery, Edith Kevern who worked for her husband at the Crooked Anchor, and Mrs. Wren the woodworker’s wife, sat around the table, each appearing anxious, yet determined.

Derwa Cardy was also in attendance, but almost three years after losing her husband, the young widow was still too despondent for Meredith’s liking, and her heart went out to her. When Derwa spoke at all, the words were rarely above a whisper.

The Widow Elspeth, Mrs. Trelawney, moved in and out of the room, her footsteps a mere whisper on the wood planks while her eyes remained vigilant for signs of unwelcome visitors in the main tearoom.

She kept the door to the back room slightly ajar, of which Meredith was grateful as it gave the two of them the opportunity to react in the event of anything untoward happening.

Sadly, the village men had not been convinced—were, in fact, suspicious—of the practices Meredith chose to share with her small audience. Practices she, Geneva, Hannah, and Abra had come up when they’d created their pamphlet Women and the Need for Economic Equality: A Plan for England’s Future .

With a slight nod to the women, Meredith said, “We’ll begin with today’s lesson on managing the price for your goods.

” She glanced at Mrs. Wren whose brows furrowed.

Meredith went on to clarify her meaning.

“This includes charging for different services,” she said facing Mrs. Wren, “Mr. Wren’s woodworking services.

Take, for example, refinishing a piece of furniture versus building a new piece.

” She turned to Marigold. “Your haberdashery is doing well, but at our last meeting you mentioned a worry of underpricing your fabrics.”

Lastly, Meredith faced the much too quiet Derwa. Her eyes were lowered, as if she found the contents of her empty teacup more worthy of her attention. “Derwa?”

The young woman started, and her gaze flew to Meredith’s. “You offer sewing services. I suspect you are not paid nearly what you are worth.”

Her eyes lowered again, and she didn’t speak.

Marigold fidgeted in her seat. “Aye, my lady. Mr. Tremayne constantly berates me for my low prices, but I fear losing customers.”

“A perfectly normal reaction, my dear.” Meredith smiled. “Try to think of it like this: People value what they pay for. If you raise your prices, even slightly, others may deem your goods more valuable than you expect.”

Comprehension lit her eyes. “Oh.” She drew the word out.

Satisfaction rippled through Meredith. “Let us start with the importance of maintaining proper records. Numbers will not lie to you. In this lesson I’ll show you how to track the overall health of your business.”

Mrs. Kevern, who had been quietly sipping her tea until now, spoke up. “It’s not the market I worry about, my lady.” Bitterness edged her tone. “It’s the contract my husband signed.”

“Contract?” Meredith’s brows raised. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“The one with Thornfield for ’is work in the mines. I didn’t understand what it all meant—Mr. Thornfield read it to us ’imself, but I can’t ’elp feelin’ as if we’ve been ’oodwinked.”

The temperature of Meredith’s blood spiked.

“You are an extremely wise woman, Mrs. Kevern. Contracts like those are often written for the express purpose to confuse. I can certainly read through it and answer any questions you may have. I suspect Mr. Ashcroft would also be able and willing to assist.”

For the next two hours, she pointed out the importance of using a ledger for income and expenses, saving receipts for purchases.

She threw out questions on managing inventory, filing important paperwork, and budgeting.

A sense of fulfillment crept through her with their questions, their engagement. Even Derwa’s.

Meredith took a breath in a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of a fire crackling in the hearth at the other end of the room. The women looked at one another, a mix of fear yet determination on their faces.

Meredith glanced at the notes Elowen had been taking and nodded at her then gathered up her own notes.

“Shall we meet again tomorrow? Bring whatever questions and notes you have.” Meredith continued, “Any documents your husbands have signed you wish for me to look through, any terms you think your husbands might not fully understand. I’m happy to read through them for you. ”

Marigold shifted in her seat. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “But what if someone catches wind of our doings?”

“We’ll be cautious,” Meredith assured her. “If need be, we shall change our meeting time. But we won’t stop.”

Derwa shot a nervous look toward the door. “And Thornfield?” she whispered. “He’s got his claws in ’alf the men in this village already.”

Meredith’s jaw clenched. “I’ll deal with him when the time comes. He gave the Trenwiths the time they needed to grieve for their son, didn’t he?” she said, thankful she had that triumph on her side to assure them with.

Each nodded slowly and Meredith let out a small, relieved breath.

Elspeth stole into the room holding a fresh pot of tea.

She set it on the table with a knowing look.

“’Twas a brave thing you did, Lady Pender, facing that man.

Not a soul in Penhalwick has stopped talking about it.

” She faced the women. “We’ve got to be careful, aye, but we can’t let fear stop us from learning what we need to protect ourselves. ”

Meredith barely restrained herself from jumping up and hugging the elderly widow, instead inclining her head, agreeing.

“This is the reason we’ve agreed to meet in secret,” she said quietly, but firmly.

“The knowledge I’m here to impart isn’t just to help your businesses.

It’s to help assure you understand that the decisions you make assure you and your families are not taken advantage of by the likes of Thornfield. ”

The door creaked slightly. Elspeth poked her head in and spoke, her voice low. “Thornfield’s in the village, my lady. You should all depart before he notices too many women coming and going.”

Meredith quickly gathered the stack of ledgers and papers she’d brought and tucked them into her satchel.

The women stood, each glancing at the door, their confidence reduced to apprehension.

They exchanged hurried thanks before slipping out the back, one by one, into the growing dusk.

Heavens. She hadn’t realized just how late it had grown.

As Derwa turned to leave, she hesitated, looking back at Meredith. “Do you think… do you think I can really raise the rates on my sewing, Lady Pender?”

Meredith’s eyes softened. “Absolutely, Derwa. With your husband gone—” Derwa flinched, but Meredith pressed on.

“You’ve a child to raise. It’s imperative you are able to feed your daughter.

And keep her safe. Women have had little enough choices as it is, but with work and with one step at a time, things will change. ”

With a nod and a tiny smile, Derwa disappeared into the misty twilight.

Meredith and Agnes remained behind a moment longer.

“Milady?” Agnes’s voice broke through Meredith’s quiet satisfaction.

“Yes, Agnes?”

“He—Thornfield—he won’t hurt my mum, will he?”

“No. Absolutely not,” Meredith assured her.

She knew Thornfield would eventually catch onto her interference—no, not interference—her help.

She was helping these women help themselves—and when the time came and Thornfield learned of her involvement, there would be consequences.

But she would be ready, she vowed. Tonight’s meeting only reinforced her beliefs of the importance of women being informed.

She was also surprised to find her thoughts turning to Pender.

“Not only will I not allow it, but I don’t believe my husband will either. ” At least she hoped that was the case.

For now, the lessons would continue. They had to if the villagers had any hopes at all.

Once she’d ascertained the women had made it safely out the back, Meredith took her haversack and went into the main tearoom.

She quickly indicated Agnes take a chair at an empty table and then with as much nonchalance as she could muster strolled up to the counter.

She flashed a quick glance at Elspeth just as the door jangled.

The hair on her nape lifted even as apprehension prickled her skin.

She didn’t have to turn to know pure evil stood behind her.

It filled the air like a poisoned fog. “I require four of your delectable lemon tarts, Mrs. Trelawney.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll be just a moment.”

“Lady Pender.” Mr. Thornfield growled like a troll beneath a bridge. “’Tis a bit late for a woman out alone, I daresay.”

Slowly, she turned, facing him. “Ah, but I’m not alone.

Not only is my maid with me, my carriage remains at the ready.

” She tilted her head toward the windows where Bartlett sat atop said conveyance.

She lifted her bag. “I’ve been assisting Mrs. Trelawney with some small bookkeeping matters. ” Not that it was any of his concern.

Mrs. Trelawney reappeared with a small box. “Here you are, my lady. Mind you get right on home. I vow the skies are about to wring out their wrath.”

Meredith took the box. “Certainly. Thank you, madam.” It was with great relief when she and Agnes exited the teashop.

Bartlett took her haversack and the box of tarts and assisted them into the carriage, then set the box on the floor inside. “We best hurry, my lady. Appears we’re in for a brutal bout.”