Page 15 of The Time for Love
“So that was Saturday a week back?”
“Hmm. The third incident was last Wednesday. That was the blocked steam pipe, which could not possibly have been an accident. Someone had disconnected the pipe, forced a lump of rubber into it, then connected it again.”
“And Young Patrick got scalded—a little.”
“Yes. And then came Saturday’s efforts.” She met his eyes. “The accidents are increasing in frequency.”
“Indeed. Whoever is behind it, they’re determined.” He held her gaze. “They’re not going to give up.”
He saw anxiety seep into her expression. When she looked away, he leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees, the movement refocusing her attention on him. “Tell me what you know of the details of each accident. Start with the first.”
She studied him for a moment, then complied.
He quickly realized that, other than for the two incidents on Saturday, she hadn’t been present at the time but had been summoned after the fact. Her description of the earlier accidents was therefore secondhand and, consequently, short on detail.
She concluded, “And you saw for yourself what happened on Saturday.”
He inclined his head. “Would it bother you if I spoke with the workers involved? For instance, Patrick with the blocked steam pipe?” When she frowned, trying to see what he was about, he added, “I wondered if talking to the men and getting the details firsthand might shed some light on who is behind this campaign.”
Her expression cleared, and she pushed back from the desk. “I’ll come with you.”
He rose as she did, entirely content to have her beside him.
They walked out of the office, across the yard, and into the shed. The combination of his newfound status at the works combined with Sophy’s presence made questioning the men that much easier; they were as eager as anyone to get to the bottom of the accidents and put a stop to them.
His years of working in America enabled him to set aside his birth and step past the barriers of class; he knew what to ask and how to ask it, and as he’d hoped, the men responded.
By the time they left Young Patrick and walked out into the sunshine now bathing the yard, one fact was crystal clear.
He halted and, when Sophy faced him, stated, “All the accidents occurred in the morning, the first time each machine was used. So someone had to have broken into the works during the previous night and tampered with the equipment.”
Lips setting, Sophy folded her arms and nodded. “There’s no other explanation.”
“Hinckley and the subforemen also made an excellent point in that the nature of the sabotage suggests the person or persons involved know how the equipment operates. In none of the five accidents to date were the tamperings evident before the machine was used.”
“I agree.”
The lunch whistle sounded, two sharp blasts. She glanced up at the steam whistle, mounted on the ridge of the shed’s roof, then lowered her arms. “The men break for a full hour, although most of them remain inside the fence.”
Martin waved toward the gate. “I’ll walk you home.”
With worry eating at her, she replied, “Hector will be waiting in the office.” She looked at Martin. With him, the shield she invariably maintained, fully deployed, against all males of marriageable age was well and truly down. She studied his expression for a second more, then explained, “I don’t normally go home for luncheon. I go to the Crofton Arms, farther down Rockingham Street.” She drew in a breath and said, “If you would accompany me, perhaps we could”—she gestured—“discuss things and see what we might do.”
Martin managed not to beam, but his smile was irrepressible. “An excellent notion.” He had absolutely no doubt of how honored he should feel to be invited to join her. “I assume we should collect Hector on the way?”
She nodded, and they walked to the office.
While she fetched her coat and bag, Martin waited with Hector and Harvey in the outer office. When Sophy joined them, her coat already on and her bag on her arm, Martin held the door for her, then followed her onto the street, with Hector several yards behind.
There were too many people walking the pavements to allow them to safely converse, and the Crofton Arms, Martin discovered, was only one and a half blocks away, on the other side of the intersection with Portobello Street.
He’d wondered if they would encounter any of the men from the works, but when they entered the low-ceilinged public house, he saw only a smattering of clerkish types hunched over tables as they ate.
Sophy raised a gloved hand to the barman. “Hello, Saul. I’ll just go through. This gentleman’s with me.”
“Of course, Miss Carmichael.” Saul smiled and moved to lift a flap in the long bar, allowing Sophy, with Martin at her heels, to pass and walk on, through a narrow doorway and down three steps, into a neat snug.
Sophy slid behind one of the two long tables inside the small room, set her bag beside her, and waved Martin to sit opposite. As he did, she summoned a smile and aimed it at Saul, who was hovering in the doorway. “What does Gemma have for us today?”
