Page 20 of The Time for Love
Unsurprisingly, while sipping her tea, Julia engaged them in the usual discussion of their plans for the next day. Soon after, with the tea consumed, Martin rose and took his leave.
Sophy accompanied him to the door. They were both pensive when they parted.
He paused on the porch and threw her a glance. “I’ll be around tomorrow.”
She nodded absentmindedly, and he set his hat on his head and turned away. Smiling to himself, he set off along the pavement and, behind him, heard the door close.
He’d rarely met a female who was oblivious to him, who could become so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she treated him as…well, not as a gentleman of his ilk should be treated. It was a novel experience and just a tad amusing.
And heartening, too.
Courtesy of the situation at the works, drawing closer to Sophy was proving remarkably easy. Seeing her drop all resistance where he was concerned was definitely encouraging.
Not so encouraging was the possible involvement of Oliver Coulter.
As he strolled toward the town’s center and into areas more populated by gentlemen like him—walking the streets, passing between houses, or returning to the major hotels—Martin scanned the pavements. If Oliver Coulter was behind the accidents—or even if he wasn’t—if he saw Martin in town, Oliver was certain to turn up in short order at the steelworks to press his offer.
If the accidents were part of a scheme to pressure Sophy to sell, then Oliver would be somewhere near. Possibly not actually in town, as Martin’s men had discovered no sign of him.
Martin paused outside the Kings Head and looked around one last time. Then he turned and went inside.
If Oliver was behind the accidents, Martin truly hoped he turned up soon.
CHAPTER4
Martin walked into the steelworks’ office at nine o’clock the next morning and found that the locksmith had just arrived with the ordered locks and his tools.
Debating his options, Martin paused in the doorway of Sophy’s office. She was ensconced behind her desk and, with Mildred the bookkeeper, was apparently engrossed in reconciling orders and invoices.
Smiling at the sight, he rapped on the door frame. When Sophy looked up, he tipped his head toward the yard door. “The locksmith’s here. If you like, I’ll go with him and Hector while they install the new locks.”
Sophy blinked at him, then waved him away. “Please. By all means.”
Interpreting that—he was sure correctly—as meaning “just don’t interrupt me,” Martin grinned and followed the locksmith and Hector, who was helping the man get his barrow, piled with equipment and locks, through the door into the yard.
The locksmith eyed the shed’s massive doors and elected to start with the westernmost one. “These’ll take the longest.”
With Hector, Martin stood back and watched. When the locksmith finished replacing the lock on the first door and moved to work on the second, Martin and Hector inspected the newly installed lock.
Hector grunted in approval. “Good quality. Nice and heavy.”
Satisfied with what he saw, Martin nodded. “No one’s going to be able to easily pick or force their way through that.”
After the locksmith installed the lock on the second door, they circled the yard, replacing the locks on all the doors inside the works, including the door to the laboratory, then the locksmith progressed to the Rockingham Street gate. Once that was done, as a trio, they walked around the southern end of the site, putting new locks on the external doors to the receiving office, the main office, and finally, the main gates.
Martin knew enough about locks to verify that the locksmith knew his trade. Not only were the locks he’d supplied high quality, but he also set them into the doors and gates in such a way as to make it difficult for anyone to pry them loose. It would be easier to break down the doors or the gates than to force those locks.
When the man rose from tightening the last bolt on the lock on the main gates and started putting away his tools, Martin commended his work and tipped him generously.
The locksmith looked startled, but grateful. “Thank ye, sir.” He pocketed the money and touched the brim of his cap. “If you ever want any locks done yourself, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
Martin smiled. “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
“Aye, well, I’d better remember these an’ all.” The locksmith reached into his barrow and pulled out a leather pouch. He opened it, thrust in a hand, and drew it out, displaying a bunch of keys on rings with tags attached. “I’ve put labels on so the lady will know which key goes with which lock.”
He tipped the keys back into the bag, closed it, and held it out to Martin.
He kept his hands in his overcoat pockets. “I’m just a visitor.” He glanced at Hector. “Best give the keys to Hector to deliver to Miss Carmichael.”
