Francis dressed warmly and checked the time on his pocket watch. He reckoned that the meeting would be well underway by this point, and that the audience would be focused on the speakers. As soon as the factory shift had let out, some workers had ignored the order not to attend the meeting and headed for the hall early to get a good seat. Francis knew that every business owner worth his salt would have an informer in there writing down or remembering the names of those men.
In a similar situation he suspected he would’ve been up on that platform inciting a rebellion himself. He’d never learned to be cautious. Where was the fun in that?
The black edged letter his mother had sent him that morning informing him Mrs. Musgrove had died caught his attention. She’d outlined the funeral arrangements, and he was still considering whether to attend. After his confrontation with Mrs. Harding, the urge to run away to London had hit him hard. He never ran away from anything, and the fact that he wanted to was causing him deep unease.
Had he wronged her?
Francis stared out in the darkness of the coaching yard. And why did it matter if he had? He’d done the decent thing and let her keep her job and lodgings. If anyone else had betrayed him like that, he would’ve annihilated them.
Why hadn’t he done that?
He folded up the letter and put it in the drawer of his desk. Because despite everything Mrs. Harding was an excellent and honest bookkeeper? He snorted at his own pathetic attempt to ignore the obvious. He’d made an amateurish mistake and mistaken her gratitude for something more profound. He’d trusted her with his most painful memories, and in return she’d run to another man…
As he’d left, he’d heard her sobbing through the kitchen door and fought an unheard of desire to go to her and make everything right. Would she throw his job offer in his face and leave her lodgings? He didn’t have the nerve to cross the square and find out.
He slammed the drawer shut, and put on his hat. And that was why it was safer not to care about anyone. It made you weak and distracted you from the matter in hand. Stuffing his gloves in his pocket, he left the room and went down the stairs. The inn was unusually quiet, as if the whole building was holding its breath.
Avoiding the kitchen and Nancy’s sharp gaze, Francis went through the front door into the cold wintery darkness. The meeting hall was ablaze with lights, and the considerable crowd had spilled out onto the square, which was ringed by a formidable array of the local militia and law enforcement. Francis could almost taste the recipe for disaster on his tongue.
He walked across the square; his head down to avoid the sleeting rain and pushed his way through the crowd until he had reached the open door. Inside there was a raised platform where an unknown man stood at the lectern shouting about universal suffrage and rights for all, which drew roars of support from the packed rows of people.
Francis made his way further into the hall as the speaker sat down to rapturous applause and Mr. Ford took his place.
“I’d like to thank our speaker, Mr. Mulligan.”
There was more applause and Mr. Ford nodded and smiled.
“Now onto more local matters.” His expression sobered. “There are men amongst us who do not espouse our cause and will report those here present to their employers. If any man is let go because of this, please come and see the workers committee who have established a hardship fund to help our fellow members.”
There was some muttering amongst the crowd, and a few of the men surrounding Francis stared at him curiously.
“Also, there are those who would like this meeting to descend into violence.” Mr. Ford paused to wait for the audience to quieten down. “We will not allow ourselves to be provoked. We are not animals.” He looked around the hall. “Now is there any other business?”
A man stood up and doffed his cap to the men on the platform. “What’s this about Captain Grafton selling off Three Coins to the locomotive company?”
Francis winced as a low murmur rose and spread amongst the crowd. He’d been hoping for an opportunity to speak for himself before the matter came out.
Mr. Ford looked at his fellow committee members and then answered. “There is a rumor to that effect, yes, although there are no confirmed documents of sale.”
Another man stood up. “Where are we supposed to go if this is true?”
Several voices rose to agree with him. The man standing right beside Francis waved an arm in the air.
“Why don’t we ask him?” He pointed at Francis. “He’s right here.”
Mr. Ford stared right at Francis as if unable to believe his eyes. “Captain Grafton?”
Francis inclined his head an inch. “Indeed.” He cleared his throat aware that everyone was now staring at him. “I wished to discuss the matter of the sale of Three Coins.”
“So, it’s true then?” Someone yelled.
“Yes, but—”
That was all Francis was able to get out before someone charged him and knocked him to the ground. Within seconds, he was at the bottom of a pile of bodies and beginning to wonder what had possessed him to walk into such a deadly trap.
“Get off him!” Mr. Ford’s voice penetrated through the fog. “No violence! I told you! Don’t give them an excuse to break up this meeting!”
The large man on top of Francis gave him one last contemptuous punch in the face before he climbed off his chest. Mr. Ford hauled Francis to his feet.
“You fool. This isn’t the place for this!”
Francis blinked at him through the blood running down his face. “Take your hands off me.”
Mr. Ford ignored him and held onto Francis as someone else closed the meeting with a moment of prayer.
“Come on.”
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Francis wheezed through the pain.
“I’m saving your bloody life, you blithering idiot.” Mr. Ford half dragged him out of the side door of the meeting hall. “Not that you deserve it.”
Francis tried to shake his arm free. “Then leave me here and go to the devil. I don’t want your help.”
“Mrs. Harding would never forgive me if you died.”
“You are mistaken, my friend. She has nothing, but contempt for me.”
“Don’t be so bloody conceited.” Mr. Ford shoved Francis up against the wall. “She needs a job that you provide so you need to survive. That’s all I care about. Now bide here while I fetch some help.”
Francis waited until his tormentor left and considered his options. The square was full of a volatile mixture of those who currently wanted his blood and a jumpy militia who would love to dispose of a few potential revolutionaries. All he had to do was slip down the back lanes, enter the George through the stables and climb the stairs to his bedchamber.
He took one faltering step forward as blackness closed over him, and he knew no more.
“Caroline! Come quickly!”
Caroline looked up from her darning as Ruby ran into the kitchen. Her dress was splattered with mud and her hair hung down her back.
“What on earth is it?”
“Captain Grafton! He’s at the bottom of the staircase. I couldn’t get him any further.”
Before she even considered her choices, Caroline was out of her seat and running after Ruby, Ivy in close pursuit. She descended the stairs and saw Captain Grafton lying half across the open door of the threshold.
“What has the stupid fool been doing now?” Caroline muttered as she knelt beside his unconscious form.
“He went to the meeting and the crowd turned on him,” Ruby reported breathlessly. “Jon managed to get him out, and I offered to bring him here because the George is surrounded by people clamoring for his blood.”
“Oh, Good Lord!” Caroline shook his arm. “Captain Grafton? Captain Grafton, you must rouse yourself and climb these stairs before you are discovered by the mob.”
He groaned and opened his eyes, his fierce golden gaze reminded her of a trapped fox.
“Go to hell.”
“Captain, you will help me and my sisters get you up the stairs, or I will knock you out and drag you by your hair.”
“All right!” he growled at her. “Stop nagging, and I’ll do anything you say.”
She eased back and helped him lurch unsteadily to his feet. It took all of their combined strength and efforts to maneuver him up the steep staircase and into Caroline’s bedroom where she helped him fall onto the mattress. His gasp of pain was loud enough to make her wince.
After pulling the sheets back she beckoned for Ivy and Ruby to join her in the hallway.
“Boil some water, find my basket of medicines and rip up that old sheet into strips for bandages.” She pushed her disheveled hair away from her face. “Thank goodness Mother decided to take shelter at the vicarage this evening.”
“Why should we help him? Ruby demanded. “He’s going to demolish Three Coins and sell it to the locomotive company.”
“We will help him because it is the right thing to do.” Caroline met Ruby’s defiant stare. “Jon asked you to help, didn’t he? And remember, Captain Grafton saved my life when I was lost in the snow.”
Ivy patted Caroline’s sleeve. “I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry.” She took Ruby’s hand. “Come on, sister. You look as if you need something to eat.”
Caroline returned to her bedroom and studied Captain Grafton from the relative safety of the door. His face was bloodied, and she could see the beginnings of a black eye. She moved closer, and he didn’t stir. The effort of climbing the stairs must have drained what little reserve of strength he had left. Whatever had possessed him to walk into that meeting? What had he hoped to achieve?
If she was still on good terms with him, she could’ve demanded answers to her questions…
But she was not. She would repay his care of her when she’d been ill and send him on his way—preferably as far away as possible. There was a tap on the door, and Ivy appeared with a bowl of water and the other items Caroline had requested.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of Ruby and Mother when she comes home.”
“Thank you.” Caroline kissed her cheek. “I appreciate it.”
Ivy glanced over at Captain Grafton. “It’s strange to see him so still. He is normally a swirl of terrifying motion.”
“That’s true.”
Caroline brought the basin of water over to the bed and started on the task of undressing her insensible patient. His boots were caked with dirt, and his finely tailored clothing were ripped and muddy. She could clearly see marks on his throat where someone had tried to strangle him.
His breath hissed out as she attempted to pull his shirt over his head, and she winced when she saw the black and blue bruises on his ribs. It was highly likely that he had a broken or bruised rib, but she didn’t think a doctor would come out on a night like this. She also didn’t want to alert anyone as to why she might need a doctor in the first place.
When she had him naked, she carefully washed his body and dabbed witch-hazel on the swelling around his eye and along the high angle of his cheekbone. He didn’t stir again so she drew the sheet up to his chin and settled in the chair beside the fire.
At some point she must have dozed off because she heard her mother’s complaining voice and jerked awake, her heart thumping. After a quick look at her still unconscious patient, she slipped out of the room and down the corridor to the kitchen where her mother was holding court.
“I am so glad they sent a servant to escort me home!” Marie pressed a hand to her bosom. “It is quite frightening out there!”
“What exactly is happening?” Caroline asked.
“The militia are still in the square, and a group of reprobates are refusing to disperse from around the George and Dragon. I spoke to one of the officers, and apparently, windows have been broken, and some arrests have been made.” She shuddered. “It seems that Captain Grafton has riled up the entire population of Millcastle.”
“Indeed?” Caroline raised her eyebrows. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least, but I thought the meeting was about votes for all men, and the repeal of the Corn Laws?”
“So did I,” Ruby added her voice to the discussion. “I can’t wait to find out how Captain Grafton came to be in the middle of it.”
“I’m going to take my special cordial for my nerves, Caroline, and try and sleep.” Marie rose from her seat. “Luckily my room faces away from the square.”
“I hope you sleep well, Mother and I’m sure everything will be back to normal in the morning.”
Caroline found the bottle of laudanum-laced blackcurrant syrup her mother preferred and poured her a generous dose. Marie usually slept through anything after that, which would allow Captain Grafton to remain undetected at least until morning when hopefully he would be well enough to leave.
Francis woke with the headache from hell and some difficulty breathing without feeling as if he was being stabbed repeatedly in the chest. Was he officially in hell with the devil’s minions jabbing him with their pitchforks? He half-opened his eyes and realized he was in a bed, which, while not his own, was still familiar. Maybe there was something worse than hell…
He turned his head a fraction on the pillow and saw Caroline Harding asleep in the chair beside the fire, one hand tucked under her chin and her legs curled up on the seat. She looked both delightful and desirable, and he just allowed himself to appreciate her languorous beauty for a moment before he had to decide what in God’s name to do next.
Not that he was fit to do anything except groan. He slid a hand under the sheet and cautiously ran his fingers over his ribs emitting a soft involuntary curse when he touched something painful.
Mrs. Harding’s eyes flew open, and she almost fell out of her chair.
“Captain Grafton! You are awake.” She scrambled to rearrange her limbs under her skirts and stood. “How are you feeling?”
He stared up at her. “Why am I in your bed?”
“It’s… complicated.” She pushed a loose curl behind her ear. “I neither expected or wanted to see you here ever again.”
“Prickly as ever, I see,” he murmured. “Now you’ve said your piece, can you tell me the truth?”
“Ruby found you unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, and we brought you up here.”
“Why was I there?” He frowned. “The last thing I remember is being set upon in the meeting.”
“The meeting where you went to tell everyone that Three Coins was going to be decimated?” She snorted. “What an excellent idea. Why on earth did you decide to do that?”
“I’m not a coward. I believe in facing my enemies.”
“All three hundred of them at once?” She shook her head. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.”
“I was expecting them to listen to me.” Francis said. “I assumed they might be interested in hearing my plans.”
She walked away from the bed shaking her head and came back with a cup of something that smelled strongly of blackcurrants.
“Would you like something to drink?”
He eyed the cup warily. “Is it brandy?”
“No, it’s blackcurrant cordial and brandy.”
He touched his bruised mouth and attempted to sit up only accomplishing the task when Mrs. Harding helped him. “Thank you. I think two of my ribs might be broken.”
“They are certainly bruised,” she agreed as she handed him the cup. He was thirsty enough to drink whatever she offered him. “If you are in pain I have some laudanum.”
“Disgusting stuff.” He wrinkled his nose and drank the cordial, which had a heavy flavor, and a distinct aftertaste. “I avoid it if I can. I just need something to bind up my ribs, and I can be on my way.”
“It is three o’clock in the morning,” Mrs. Harding objected.
“Then it will be quiet outside.” He held her gaze. “Neither of us wants me to be here, so removing myself is the easiest thing to do.”
“Captain Grafton, as of two hours ago, the square was still full of soldiers and the George and Dragon was under siege by your tenants.” Mrs. Harding crossed her arms over her chest. “You would be better to stay here until the morning and then make your way back.”
“And if I don’t choose to follow your advice?”
She shrugged. “Then I can’t stop you, although I would’ve imagined that bringing down the wrath of Millcastle onto Nancy and Ned Bridgewater and destroying their business might not sit well with you.”
He glared at her and sank back onto his pillows. “Perhaps you might help me bind up my ribs.”
“It would be my pleasure.” She produced a set of neatly rolled bandages. “If you can manage to sit forward and direct me as to where the pain is at its greatest then I am certain we can accomplish it.”
He liked the feel of her hands on him far more than he had expected.
“You should have left me at the bottom of the stairs for the mob to find,” he murmured against her throat.
“I did think about it.” She leaned into his shoulder, her arms around him as she encircled his chest with the bandage. He slowly inhaled the scent of her lavender soap as a wave of dizziness roared through him. “But I owe you this.”
“Owe me?” He looked up into her eyes. “You owe me nothing.”
She regarded him for a long moment, her hands keeping the bandage in place around his ribs. “You saved my life. I am merely returning the favor.”
“Ah, I see.” Another wave of heat rolled over him. “What the devil was in that potion you gave me?”
She smiled. “Enough laudanum to help you sleep and keep you here until the morning.”
“You deliberately drugged me?”
“It was that, or tie you to the bed, and I fear I would’ve enjoyed that far too much and perhaps forgotten to ever release you.”
He slid a hand around her neck holding her still. “Mrs. Harding, despite everything that has happened between us, you continue to amuse and impress me.”
“And, despite everything, I am glad that you still retain your sense of humor, Captain Grafton. Now please go to sleep and we will speak again in the morning.”
Her faint smile was the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him.
“Caroline?”
Francis jerked awake as Ruby rushed into the room and stared wildly around.
“Where is she?”
“Well, she isn’t hiding under the bed, so I assume she isn’t here.” Francis replied as he blinked sleep from his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“As if I would tell you. This is all your fault!”
“What is?” Francis sat up with some care and faced Ruby. “If you don’t tell me, how can I help you?”
She wiped at something on her face, and he realized she was struggling not to cry. “It’s Mr. Ford. He’s been arrested.”
“Whatever for?” Francis asked.
“For assaulting you!” She glared at him reminding him forcibly of her sister. “Sir Ian is holding an emergency session of court in order to prosecute those who were taken last night as quickly as possible and send them to the county assizes.”
“Where is this court taking place?”
“In the gaol.”
He pointed at his clothing that was piled up on the chair. “Give me my clothes. Quickly!”
His body was not willing to conform to his clothing, or his desire to move from the bed, but he forced its compliance, cursing bitterly as he put on the clean shirt Caroline must have found for him, and his well-brushed clothing. She’d even cleaned his dammed boots…
He set his teeth and lurched toward the door with Ruby at his side. The stairs looked as daunting as a mountain, but he was determined to descend them even if he had to do it on his arse.
“Where are you going? Ruby, what is it?” He tensed as Caroline’s voice came from the open door of the kitchen.
“Your sister is taking me home. Thank you for your assistance last night. It was much appreciated.”
Francis kept moving. The last thing he needed right now was a confrontation with Caroline Harding.
“But—”
He made it down the stairs, his ribs aching and the rest of his body complaining in equal measure, and set his gaze on the opposite corner of the square. The gaol wasn’t that far away, and he would be able to walk there if Ruby remained by his side.
“Come on.” He looked down at her anxious face. “Let’s see what we can do.”
The street outside the gaol was packed with anxious looking family members and sullen faced workers who were being refused entry into the gaol proper. Francis pushed his way through, and after a quick word with one of the guards, was admitted along with Ruby.
The largest room in the gaol that acted as the courtroom was at the back of the building above the cells and beside the offices. At the door, Francis found the court clerk and beckoned him over.
“Good morning. Can you tell me whether Mr. Jonathan Ford has been sentenced yet?”
“Not yet, sir. As one of the ringleaders, he’s being kept until last.”
“Ah, then I will have a chance to speak when he is brought before Sir Ian.”
“If that is your wish, sir. What name shall I put in the record?’
“Captain Francis Grafton.” He paused. “In fact, make that Viscount Wesley.”
“Oh! Indeed, Captain, I mean, my lord viscount, sir.” The clerk bowed. “It is good of you to attend to the matter in person.”
“One more thing before you go,” Francis said. “Where is the officer who collects payment for the fines?”
“That will be Mr. Woodbine, my lord. He’s sitting in the chamber next door.”
“Thank you.” Francis smiled at the man. “Please let me know when it is my turn to speak.”
He made sure that Ruby was sitting comfortably, and then limped into the other room ignoring the scowls and muttered comments from the men lined up for sentencing.
“Mr. Woodbine?” The elderly man looked up. “May I have a moment of your time?”
When he’d concluded his business with Mr. Woodbine, Francis returned to the courtroom and sat beside Ruby, rising when Sir Ian came in to continue his sentencing. It was remarkably hard to sit there and listen to the hectoring tone of the magistrate and his unnecessarily harsh sentences for men who would never be able to pay their debts when they also lost their jobs. If he ever took his position in local society seriously, he could probably become a magistrate and perhaps deal more humanely with the people who came before him.
Beside him Ruby tensed as Mr. Ford’s name was called out and he was led in. He looked remarkably unscathed from his night in gaol and wore his habitually calm expression.
Sir Ian scowled at the man in front of him. “You are accused of wantonly attacking an innocent man and deliberately inciting a riot. What do you plead?”
“Not guilty.”
Sir Ian held up a piece of paper. “I have signed statements from three witnesses who saw you attack Captain Grafton and encourage everyone around you to go out and defeat the oppressors.”
“We all know those witnesses are bought and paid for, Sir Ian.”
“You are insolent, Mr. Ford!” Sir Ian glanced around the courtroom as the clerk handed him a note. “I understand that Captain Grafton is here himself as a witness. Are you here, Captain?”
“Yes, I am.” Francis made his way to the front of the room and stood before Sir Ian.
“Do you, Captain Francis Grafton, Viscount Wesley promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Francis placed his hand on the proffered bible. “I do, Sir Ian.”
“Then tell us what this blaggard did to you.” Sir Ian sat back and waved for Francis to proceed.
“Quite simply put, Sir Ian, Mr. Ford saved my life.”
The whole courtroom gasped, and Sir Ian sat bolt upright.
“What?”
“I was set upon by two men I didn’t recognize, and it was only because of Mr. Ford’s quick intervention that I am still alive today. He managed to get the men off me and escorted me back to my office about Madame Louise’s dress shop.”
Francis turned to Mr. Ford and bowed. “Thank you for everything, I will never forget your courage.”
“Then what of the charge that Mr. Ford encouraged those around him to riot?” Sir Ian demanded.
Francis smiled sweetly at the enraged man. “How could he do that when he was no longer in the hall, but helping me get home? Do you doubt the word of a peer of the realm?”
Sir Ian stared at Francis for a long moment, and then banged his gavel. “Despite my concerns, I dismiss the case against Mr. Ford.”
“Thank you, Sir Ian.”
Francis turned toward the exit and beckoned for Ruby to join him. Within moments, Mr. Ford was released and striding to meet them in the crowded hall. Ruby ran and wrapped her arms around him crying inconsolably while Mr. Ford kissed the top of her head and murmured soothingly to her.
Eventually he looked up at Francis who had resorted to leaning against the wall in a last ditch effort to maintain his upright position.
“Viscount Wesley eh?”
“At your service.”
Mr. Ford came over to him and met his gaze. “Why?”
Francis shrugged, which hurt far more than he had anticipated. “Because I might not like you, but you neither tried to kill me, nor started a riot.”
“I hear that you are also paying the fines for anyone who was convicted this morning,” Mr. Ford said.
“If anyone was responsible for starting that riot last night, surely it was I?”
Mr. Ford studied him carefully. “Aye, it was. Can I escort you back to the George? You look about ready to collapse.”
“That would be appreciated.” Francis hesitated. “There is one other matter.”
“What would that be?”
“Can you not tell Mrs. Harding what transpired here today?”
“What’s the matter?” Mr. Ford asked. “Don’t you want her to think well of you?”
“No, I don’t.” He met Mr. Ford’s skeptical gaze full on. “She is done with me, and perhaps it is better if it remains that way. She deserves better.”
“Agreed. To all of it.” Mr. Ford nodded. “Now come on, and I’ll make sure you get to your bed without someone trying to kill you again.”