Page 38 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“Oh.” His eyes widened further still, so far that they almost looked in danger of falling out of his head. “And he has brought you to see it? Why?” His countenance darkened.
“That does not matter. How are you?” she asked hurriedly, taking his hands. “Please, tell me everything. I have not seen you for weeks.”
“Aye, I’m well enough.” He nodded.
“This place.” She glanced at the mill behind him. “It isn’t healthy. That man, the one spluttering–”
“He is not the only one.” Thomas tried to shrug it off, but he was no longer looking her in the eye. A darkness had come over him. “It happens. People come and go. We can’t all put up with the cotton and the machinery.”
“Or the long hours,” she suggested.
“It’s more money for longer hours.”
“But less for each hour,” she countered.
“You always do have the spirit of the Irish in you,” Thomas said with a small laugh. “Nay afraid to say a thing, are you?”
“Never.” She shook her head. She embraced him again, with such suddenness that she nearly knocked him off his feet. Rather than laugh or dismiss her hug, he held her back.
“I’m well enough, Orla. Truly.”
She didn’t believe him. He was breathing fine. She could feel that with their hug, but she was thinking of the poor child wiping cotton from their eyelashes. This place wasn’t healthy for anyone inside it.
“We need to get you a new job,” she whispered in his ear.
“Manchester doesn’t have many jobs,” he said, urging her back a little. “There are many cotton mills. It’s the place for it. If I left here, I’d simply end up at another. You know that.”
She bit her lip, longing for a solution, any idea at all that would occur to her, but nothing came.
As the next lot of workers meandered into the factory, she looked between them all. There were some children so small, they didn’t even come up to her hips. Her eyes stung with tears again, but she held them back, determined not to show that emotion out here.
“Why are you here, Orla?” Thomas asked, calling her mind back to their conversation. “I don’t understand why.”
“That’s enough,” the Baron De Rees’ voice suddenly called from the building.
Orla whipped around, thinking for one awful moment that he was speaking to the two of them, but she saw that he was actually shouting back into the building. The floor manager hurried after him, trying to follow as the baron ran down the set of stooped steps toward the carriage.
“No more.” The baron held up his hands, stifling the prattling chatter from the floor manager.
He staggered on his feet as he reached the bottom of the steps.
“No!” Orla called out and ran to him. It didn’t seem to matter she had just been questioning his integrity. All she thought about was keeping him standing. Adam reached the baron before she did and set him back on his feet.
“Let’s get out of here,” the baron said urgently. “Fast.”
Adam nodded and steered him toward the carriage.
Just as the baron reached the door of the coach, his eyes flicked toward Orla.
“Orla?” he murmured, coming to a halt.
She didn’t move. She stood halfway between him and Thomas behind her, who she was aware was now staring agog at the baron. The baron whispered something to Adam. Whatever it was, it persuaded Adam to help him walk toward Orla.
“Is this your brother?” the baron asked as he neared her. She noticed his eyes weren’t focusing straight. They were darting from place to place, the pupils too dilated to be outside.
“We need to get you home. You need rest,” she said with desperation.
“Another minute more, Orla. I’m not in my grave yet.”
