Page 37 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“Miss Byrne.” Adam stepped forward before she could. “Perhaps we should wait outside whilst they conduct their business.”
Orla waited for the baron to nod at her. He was still avoiding looking her in the eye.
“Aye, very well.” She left, following Adam back out of the factory.
In the open air, as they stood beside the carriage, she was shocked at the difference in the way she breathed. Each breath was deeper and fuller. It did not feel so heavy on the lungs, and those small white flecks that had hovered in the air were now gone.
“Miss Byrne.” Adam stepped toward her, clearing his throat and lowering his voice. It was plain he wished to talk to her in private as he looked around at others in the street, even the driver and footman of the carriage, ensuring they weren’t going to be seen.
She was so certain he was going to mention the way she and Baron De Rees had held hands that she braced herself for it.
“I pray you will not think ill of him for what you saw in there.”
“I beg your pardon?” She stammered fast.
“It didn’t use to be quite that bad.” He grimaced and took his top hat off his head, rubbing a hand through his hair in clear frustration. “Since his illness, these places have grown worse.”
“If you know as much, then why not say anything?”
“It is not my place.” He shook his head. “Hierarchies exist in our society no matter where you look, don’t they, Miss Byrne?”
“Aye,” she murmured, miserably.
“These are not my businesses to question.” He sighed and leaned against the carriage. She examined him, noting how similar he and the baron were in many ways, though there was something missing in his eyes.
To her mind, Baron De Rees could look at one with intensity, something that said he was interested in hearing what you had to say, whereas Adam was constantly looking away, moving onto the next conversation and the next thing to be discussed. “Please, just do not think ill of him for it,” he begged again.
Yet Orla could not answer him, for she could not commit to such a promise. How could the man she desired so much, the man she thought about late into the night, the same one who looked at her with such flirtatious looks, be the orchestrator of a place like this?
I’m sickened.
She turned away, also leaning on the carriage, her body feeling strangely weak.
I admired him.
She realized with a start that it wasn’t just the attraction she felt that made this revelation of the conditions in the factory all the worse. She knew she admired his forbearance when it came to his sickness, the way he had tried to rally himself. But was that admiration truly deserved?
Must I take control of my heart and body before I desire him any longer? Can I even put a stop to these feelings?
A whistle blew somewhere deep within the factory. She looked around, watching as a set of double doors were thrown open. Slowly, people ambled out.
Some children were the first to escape. They did not run, eager to be home for dinner, neither did they play with the fellow children at their side. Most stayed silent, simply bumping shoulders with their friends. One child rubbed cotton wisps off her eyelashes as another boy tugged some clumps off his hair. A girl followed behind them, her face caked in what appeared to be machinery oil. As hard as she tried to rub the oil from hercheeks, she could not get it off. It ended up being smeared across her palms and fingers, too.
Behind the children, the adults followed. It was time for a change of shift, though those waiting to get inside hardly seemed in a hurry to do so. They waited their turn, standing at the side of the road as the others exited.
That’s when she saw him. The face that was often like her own in certain lights. Though still a boy himself, not yet having seen his sixteenth year, he was almost as tall as some of the men and walked alongside them. He was thin and weedy, the same dark hair visible just beneath his cap. Yet his hair was also matted with the cotton wisps. He took his flat cap off, shaking out the material as he ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to get rid of that cotton.
“Thomas?” she called out to him, stepping away from the carriage.
He looked around, halting in the crowd and causing a small commotion as men tried eagerly to move past him. When he saw her, he smiled. It was the first smile she had seen in that crowd. He hurried toward her, as she did him.
“Orla? Aye, a sight you make.” He laughed and pushed himself free of the crowd, reaching out toward her.
“Me? Look at you!” She wrapped her arms around him as soon as she could, holding her little brother as tightly as she possibly could. She wanted to keep him safe, to mollycoddle him, sweep him as far away from this place as was humanly possible.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, eventually managing to wriggle out of her hold. “I thought you were in the countryside, at that big manor house.”
“Well…” She gestured back at the carriage and his eyes widened. “Thomas, do not tell our parents, but the master, Baron De Rees, he is one of the owners of this place.”
