Chapter Text
" And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountain green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark satanic mills?" - William Blake
Mr. Lawson Tooker offered his pretty young ward an apologetic smile. "I am afraid, my dear Rey, you will find Killerton quite a change of pace after Sunston's sedate ways."
Their long train journey was almost at an end and the different way of living, which they had only spoken of in cautious tones, would soon become reality. It wasn't that Mr. Tooker regretted his choice but he found it inspired anticipation and apprehension in equal measure. It was no small matter to be removing themselves from a modest country vicarage, resplendent in nature's bounty, to the starker and more economical surroundings of an industrial town.
Rey took her adopted father’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze in a gesture of reassurance. "I should imagine I will soon get used to it.” She knew Mr. Tooker had been uneasy, not only at the prospect of taking her far away from the place she'd come to know and love as her home, but also about their reduced circumstances. However, Rey had been acquainted with hardship before, and of a much worse kind. "Have you forgotten where you found me?" she inquired, knowing well that he had not and nor was he ever likely to forget.
It was the compassion of Mr. Tooker, then a clergyman of a small parish, that had saved Rey from a harsh life of scavenging for a cruel master along the mud banks of the River Thames. She had been abandoned to the London streets as a young child. Uriah Plutt, an opportunistic collector of waifs and strays, found her begging for scraps and set her to work for him scratching a living as a mudlark. Plutt was a man happy to reap the rewards brought in by the youngsters he sent to toil in the dirt, but he did nothing to prevent them from going to an early grave. Indeed, he and the thugs he kept company with had helped more than a few poor unfortunate souls to a watery end — If the rumours were to be believed.
The then Reverend Tooker had been grateful for an all too rare opportunity to practice what he preached. Youthful ideals had carried him from the academia of Oxford to minister in the Church of England. However, in time, he began to find the rigidity of the church hierarchy and the strict doctrines governing the clergy to be stifling. Whether it had been good fortune or divine Intervention that led him to be assigned to the small parish of Sunston, Mr. Tooker was forced to own it went a long way towards mitigating his doubts over his chosen path in life. As did his happy marriage to a local beauty. Only when he ventured outside his country paradise was he forced to confront the lack of Christian charity to those most in need of it.
The meeting which led to Rey's salvation had occurred under unexpected circumstances. Reverend Tooker often found time between sermons to take a walk along the banks of the river Thames. It was also an opportunity for him to pay a social call on an old friend, Admiral Ackbar, a retired naval commander. As Reverend Tooker made his way to the outskirts of the city, the mudlarks would be out on the riverbank from dawn till dusk sifting through the sludge come rain or shine. Reverend Tooker could not turn a blind eye to them as many of his class and even of his profession did. He regarded the poor wretches with pity and wished he could do more than gift them with the odd sixpence.
On the fateful day in question, after taking tea with his old friend, Reverend Tooker had proceeded to the pier by the docks where he usually hired a carriage to take him home. He found, upon going to check the time, his pocket watch no longer hung from its chain. He was sure he had been in possession of it when seated in his friend's parlour and when he had left Admiral Ackbar's house. The only conclusion Reverend Tooker could come to was that the watch must have somehow become detached from its chain as he'd made his way towards the dock. At which point during his walk alongside the Thames it had gone astray, he could not hazard a guess. All thoughts of retracing his steps were soon abandoned when it began to rain.
A few days passed before Reverend Tooker could make a return to the docks. The innkeeper of a nearby tavern pointed out Uriah Plutt as the person to see about his missing pocket watch. The man's reputation as a brute and a swindler preceded him and Reverend Tooker was on his guard. Plutt summoned his band of mudlarks for inspection. As a man well-practised in spotting guilty expressions on the faces of his parishioners, the Reverend soon noted the evasiveness of one of the plump master's ragamuffins when she was ordered to present her hoard. The child, a girl of around ten or more years of age, was as thin as a rail and had long, dirty brown hair, which was tied back in three messy buns.
Reverend Tooker decided not to press the matter and walked away empty handed. If the girl had found his watch and had chosen not to declare it, he assumed she must have been driven to it by desperation. Her need was greater than his, he reasoned. Reverend Tooker hoped God would forgive her for her sins and he resolved to pray for her soul. However, the Reverend had not gone far when he heard light footsteps chasing after him. He turned around to find the girl with her grimy hand outstretched and his silver pocket watch resting on her palm.
"Here you are, mister," she'd said, smiling up at him. "Plutt would have made you pay through the nose to get your own property back and it wouldn't be right."
Reverend Tooker had been greatly touched, especially when she asked for nothing in return. He could think of little else that day. After talking the matter over with Honoria, his dear wife, they agreed to offer the girl a place in their home. The good Lord, in his wisdom, had not blessed them with children. And, although they had long passed the age of hoping for such blessings, the empty space in their hearts had never quite been filled.
When he returned to the river bank early the next morning, Reverend Tooker found the girl battered, bruised, and half-starved. It transpired Uriah Plutt had been spying from a distance when she had returned the pocket watch to its rightful owner. Her punishment had been a beating and the withholding of her meagre daily food rations which had left her pale and weak. Reverend Tooker soon remedied her hunger by furnishing her with a hearty meal at the nearby inn. Uriah Plutt was absent and the Reverend could do little but recommend him for the harshest of God’s punishments when his time came.
Reverend Tooker asked the girl her name and promised her a place in his home for as long as she should need it. She couldn’t remember ever being called anything except Rey. It occurred to her it might have been a pet name and not the one she was christened with but she could recall no other. Her memories of early childhood had been lost to the mists of time. All that remained to her were fragments which could not be pieced together into any recognisable order. On occasion, Rey would hear a man's voice calling to her in her dreams. He called her his little ray of sunshine. She liked to imagine the voice belonged to her father. He promised he would come back for her one day. But nothing ever came of it and Rey feared it was all just fancy in the end.
The Tookers were convinced the child had too noble a bearing to have sprung from the slums. It was possible her parents or guardians had fallen on hard times and might, one day, wish to reclaim her if their circumstances changed. Notices were put out to other parishes, appealing for any known relations to come forward. However, as the years rolled by, none ever did. If Rey had ever been known by another name in another place, the Tookers never discovered it. Reverend Tooker eventually entered her into the parish records under his name. He baptised her and officially made her his ward. The Tookers became as dear to her as any birth parents could have been and she to them.
Rey broke from her reverie and glanced out of the train window to see ominous grey clouds gathering in the skies above. She remained determined to embrace the change in her circumstances. But, for a brief moment, Rey couldn't prevent an air of wistfulness for the blue skies they had left behind from overtaking her. The fresh blooms of summer had already given way to autumn's golden decline in Sunston, even though the days were still warm and mellow. The train carriage rocked steadily along the track taking them closer to their new home. On first impressions, Rey couldn’t deny Darkshire's moorlands had rugged beauty and mystery, even if the weather was set on being less than welcoming. Raindrops started to pitter-patter against the window as the smoking stacks of Killerton came into view.
Mr. Tooker noted his ward's melancholy expression with concern. "You do understand why we had to leave the south don't you, my dear?"
Rey forced a smile, sorry to have added to his worries. "Yes, father, and all will be well, I'm sure."
Mr. Tooker nodded, resolute. "Things will never be as they were before but I hope we may find contentment in our new home."
Mr. Tooker had broken with the church but not with all of its teachings. He still prayed for guidance. After the recent death of Honoria, his wife of over thirty years, he had faced an ultimately insurmountable crisis in his faith. The doubts, which had quietly plagued him for years, could no longer be set aside. Mr. Tooker felt he could not, in all good conscience, continue in his living as a village parson.
A former student, from his brief time spent lecturing philosophy at Oxford University who had since become an old friend, wrote to him suggesting a change of scene could be just the thing. Uprooting at his time of life didn't seem sensible at first. However, upon reflection, Mr. Tooker thought it might do him good. It could give him the purpose he had been lacking. His friend, Mr. Skywalker had promised to put the word about in regards to his intention to offer private tutoring to paying students. Money wasn't a pressing concern but his annual allowance would go further in a northern town than in London.
Mr. Tooker also had to consider the possible advantages to his young ward. As things stood, Rey would have no one to care for her after his passing. He estimated her age to be around nineteen or twenty years and, to his mind, making a good marriage would be an ideal solution to the problem. Sunston had nothing much to offer in the way of eligible bachelors. But Killerton, with its enterprising young men, had to be a fair prospect for any pretty girl of age to find a suitable husband. It might not have been her design in moving there, but Mr. Tooker hoped to see Rey well settled before he succumbed to old age and infirmity.
The train chugged slowly into the station at sunset. Blazing gas lamps lit their way and a porter was engaged to unload their baggage.
"My friend, Mr. Skywalker, promised to send a carriage for us," Mr. Tooker said as he glanced around the bustling platform.
A man of around thirty with a cloth cap pulled snugly over wavy dark brown hair jostled his way through the crowd. "Might you be Mr. Tooker?" he inquired, his lips curved in a good-natured smile. "And this must be Miss Tooker," the man added with a twinkle in his eye.
After a brief but jovial introduction, Mr. Dameron invited them to simply call him Poe as everyone else did. The young man then led them to the waiting carriage. Their belongings were soon loaded on board and they were ready to proceed to their lodgings. Rooms had been found for them on Mr. Skywalker's recommendation with an aged widow by the name of Mrs. Kanata.
Rey blushed as Poe handed her into the carriage with a flirtatious wink. She wasn't accustomed to the attentions of handsome young men. The males they had left behind in Sunston were either barely out of the cradle or almost in the grave. None who could earn a better living in the city stayed past the age of schooling. There had been a few farmhands in their teens and twenties but their paths seldom crossed with Rey's. Despite being newly arrived in Killerton, she had already spied a dozen or so young men going about their business.
As the carriage made its progress through the town, it seemed everyone was in a rush to get somewhere. The barrows in the market square had been emptied for the night and their wares packed away. A few unscrupulous traders remained to sell off spoiled goods to those who could afford no better. Rey tried to take in as many of the local landmarks as she could as they proceeded down the main thoroughfare. But with the daylight almost faded, she decided a proper exploration of the place would have to wait until the next morning.
Mr. Tooker stifled a yawn, it had been a long day of travelling. He yearned for a hot meal and a comfortable bed. The carriage wheels seemed to hit every cobblestone on the road and his bones ached. "I do hope we will soon arrive at our new home," he sighed as his young ward fretted over his crumpled and fatigued appearance.
After rattling down a procession of narrow streets, the driver turned the horses towards the river. Across the stone bridge lay a less densely populated area with a park and tree dotted hill. At the end of the road, there stood a singular sort of house. It differed in construction from the many grey-bricked buildings they'd driven past in that it looked more like a small castle complete with two pointed turrets. Poe tapped on the window of the carriage to signal they had arrived at their destination.
Beyond the trees, and perched ominously on top of the hill, Rey could see the many-windowed buildings of one of Killerton's cotton mills. The town had four of them in total, or so Mr. Skywalker had informed her father in one of his letters. The Skywalker family owned one of them and had done so for two generations. The other three were owned by Lord Snoke, a man of dark reputation. He also owned similar businesses and properties in neighbouring towns and villages.
"That there is Killerton North," Poe said, making Rey start as she didn't realise he'd been standing behind her. "It's the grandest of Lord Snoke's cotton mills. You should also be able to see the smokestacks of Killerton East and West when the sun rises. Hope Mills, where I'm employed, is five miles to the south of the river. Mr. Skywalker and his sister would like to invite you both to take dinner with them tomorrow evening, if you're up to it. I'll come with the carriage after six if you've no objections."
Mr. Tooker gave his assent, eager to get inside his new lodgings.
A woman of diminutive height came out of the odd-looking house ready to greet them. She wore thick round glasses and her clothing of a shirt and breeches wasn't the usual style of a lady. On her head, she wore a colourful scarf which didn't appear to be hiding much in the way of hair. Obviously, Mrs. Kanata was every bit as unconventional as her home. She greeted her new paying guests with friendly gusto ushering them inside to escape the cold evening air. As Poe and the carriage driver unloaded the Tooker's belongings, Mrs. Kanata showed them into the sitting room.
"First things first," she said gesturing that they should make themselves comfortable, "let's have a nice cup of tea." A large pot had already been brewed and she set about pouring it. "I've got plenty of lamb stew and freshly baked bread when you're ready to take dinner."
Mrs. Kanata might have been as old as the hills but she had a youthful energy about her. She succeeded in putting her new guests at immediate ease with her warm hospitality. Mr. Tooker rallied himself as best as he could to keep up with his host's mostly one-sided conversation. The tea had revived him a little, but his frequent yawns betrayed a longing for his bed. Rey kept the chat going when he wilted and helped Mrs. Kanata to serve up the stew. Poe declined to join them, sorely as he was tempted. It was his duty to see the carriage safely returned to Hope Mills and the stable boy would be waiting to attend to the horses. He bid the Tookers farewell and reminded them he would call at six the next evening to convey them all to the Skywalker residence. Mrs. Kanata had been included in the party as an old friend of the family.
Rey found the old widow to be a compassionate and good-natured soul, if startlingly direct. She seemed to be well acquainted with the intimate business of her neighbours but there was no malice in her gossip. Mrs. Kanata did make Rey blush with her questions regarding the beaus she might have left behind in Sunston. There had been no time or opportunity for such dalliances, even if she had been of a mind to seek them out. Her adopted mother's ailing health had occupied her for most of the previous year and Rey continued her devoted care until Mrs Tooker's recent passing. In between her nursing duties, her remaining energies had been spent helping out at the parsonage and doing charitable works in the parish.
"I am sorry, child," Mrs. Kanata said, taking note of her discomfort. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. But I’m sure a pretty girl like you won't be short of suitors for long. There are some well set up gentlemen in Killerton, to be sure, and quite a few of them have reached a ripe age for matrimony." She pressed her lips together before letting out a contemplative hum. "Did you know, Mr. Skywalker's own nephew lives but a short walk up the hill? He must be almost thirty by now and still unwed."
Mr. Tooker had been dozing by the fire and was about to take his leave for the night. However, at the mention of Mr. Skywalker's nephew, his ears pricked up and he shifted uneasily in his armchair. "As I understand it, the gentleman severed all ties with his family six years ago and is now living under the auspices of Lord Snoke," he frowned, continuing before Mrs. Kanata could interrupt him. "I visited Killerton the year before Queen Victoria's coronation and I met the boy once or twice. Mr. Skywalker had taken it upon himself to tutor young Solo in the ways of business and the world. It was apparent the boy did not care for his uncle's teachings. He was too much like his late father in that regard. Anyway, I have no reason to call on Mr. Solo. I dare say he wouldn't remember me even if I did. I certainly have no wish to renew the acquaintance and I'm sure he shall pay us no mind."
Rey was surprised by her father’s harsh dismissal of their new neighbour. She knew Mr. Tooker wasn't one to speak ill of anybody without good reason. However, she hadn't heard a word about Mr. Skywalker's nephew before that night from her father or anyone else. He clearly wanted them to have nothing to do with this supposed black sheep and Rey trusted his judgement. But forbidden fruit always held the strongest temptation, and she couldn't deny the mystery around the man intrigued her.
Mrs. Kanata gave Rey a knowing glance as if she could read her mind. "You will have to take care where you wander, child," she said less to warn her as to inform her. "Mr. Solo walks through the park every day on his way to call on Lord Snoke at Dreadston Hall, which is but a mile from here."
Rey nodded as if taking the caution so Mr. Tooker could retire peacefully to his bed. It wasn't as if her father would expect her to refrain from walking in the park when she had been so accustomed to countryside life. If she happened to catch a glimpse of Mr. Solo from afar while taking the air, she reasoned it wouldn't be the same as wilfully going against her father's wishes. It would merely serve to sate her curiosity and she and Mr. Solo need never meet face to face. Rey plotted with abandon, failing to see what harm could come of it.