“Thank you, Mr. Keswick. I’ll tell Captain Grafton that you were extremely helpful.”
Caroline closed the ledger and put her pen back in the inkwell. She was sitting at the desk in the back parlor of the George and Dragon with a warm fire at her back, and a strong pot of tea at her elbow.
“The monthly accounts are now up to date and balanced.”
“No thanks to thee,” Mr. Keswick growled. “Interfering old biddy.”
“I’m merely doing what our employer asked me to.”
“We all know what you’re doing, Mrs. Harding.” Mr. Keswick leaned his palms flat down on the table and thrust his face close to Caroline’s. “Warming his lordship’s bed.”
“That isn’t true. Firstly, as you well know, I live with my mother and sisters, and secondly, Captain Grafton hasn’t been in Millcastle for almost a month.”
A situation that pleased her enormously. She didn’t like how he made her feel but was grateful he’d given her the chance to recover from her mother’s mistakes. The strange evening she’d spent with him when he’d offered her the job, kissed her, enraged her, and still sent her home with the remains of his dinner refused to leave her mind.
“Won’t be long though, will it?” Mr. Keswick jeered. “The captain’s already warned everyone else off.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, sir.” Tired of Mr. Keswick towering over her Caroline rose to her feet. “From what I understand of our employer, his tastes run to opera singers and married aristocratic women. I am far too poor and lowly to merit his attention.”
She hoped this was true—that his extraordinary interest in her would have dispelled when he appeared in Millcastle again. If it hadn’t… she would simply do her best to keep out of his way.
Mr. Keswick left slamming the door behind him. Caroline finished her tea and locked the accounts book in the desk. She had to assume that Captain Grafton would return soon to review her work. If she had proved her worth, she hoped he would relieve her of her duties, forgive her debt, or perhaps even pay her to continue.
An image of his cold eyes and infuriating smile flashed across her mind and she shivered. Since dealing with the bookwork at the tavern, she’d heard plenty of stories about how ‘the Captain’ as he was known, ran his businesses and none of them were pleasant. Despite being of obvious aristocratic blood, he was known as a hard man not averse to getting his hands dirty when necessary. He owned almost all the land around Three Coins.
Caroline took the teapot and cup back into the kitchen of the inn and washed them out in the sink.
“You off, then, dearie?”
“Yes, Mrs. Bridgewater. Thank you for the tea.” Caroline turned to smile at Nancy, the petite blond woman who ran the inn with her much larger and fiercer looking husband Ned. “I think everything is ready for Captain Grafton now.”
“I’m sure his lordship will be back to count his ill-gotten gains soon.” Nancy handed Caroline a basket. “Got some sausages and a few slices of lamb in there. Should make a nice dinner for you.”
“Thank you,” Caroline smiled. “My sister Ivy loves sausages.”
Nancy poked Caroline in the ribs. “Mind you eat some yourself. The Captain likes a bit of meat on his women.”
“I’m not his woman. I mean, he hasn’t…” Caroline stuttered to explain.
“But he will, love. Mark my words. I saw the way he looked at you.”
“But, why?” Caroline risked the question. “I have nothing to offer him, and I don’t want his attentions.”
Nancy cackled. “Which is probably why he likes you. He’s a cussed old git, a right contrary Mary as my mother would’ve said.” She lowered her voice. “And if he does get you into bed, you come to me if you want to know how to avoid giving him a bastard he won’t want.”
Caroline clutched the handle of the basket hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“A bit of sponge soaked in tansy oil slipped up high inside you, and you won’t quicken.”
“I—” Caroline stared helplessly at Nancy who sighed.
“You’re like a babe in the woods, aren’t you, dearie?” Nancy patted her arm. “Just remember, when you are in need, come and see Nancy, and I’ll set you to rights.”
“Thank you.” Caroline nodded and headed for the door. “Especially for the food.”
The landlady rolled her eyes. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about what else could fill your belly but get along with you now. It’s getting dark out there.”
Caroline escaped into the frigid air and drew her shawl over her head. It was bitterly cold, and the millworkers were streaming out of the gates heads bowed, clogs clattering on the cobblestones as they made their way home. Most of them lived in Three Coins, so Caroline only had to follow along.
“Mrs. Harding. Good evening!”
Caroline looked up to find Jon Ford in her path. He held out his hand for her basket.
“May I carry that for you?”
“Good evening, Mr. Ford.”
She relinquished the basket and fell into step beside him. He was a large man with a quiet smile who lived with his mother in one of the better dwellings toward the front of Three Coins. He’d taught himself to read and write and enjoyed nothing more than sitting down with Caroline and her family and discussing current affairs and literature. He said there were very few others who cared about such matters in Millcastle, and Caroline had to agree with him.
His interest in her was also obvious, and that made Caroline wary. Her sister Ruby adored Mr. Ford and insisted that if Caroline would just stop being a snob he would suit her perfectly. But it wasn’t that. Since her brief marriage, she was wary of all men and their deceitful ways. Her deceased husband had appeared perfectly amiable until she married to him, and then he’d insisted she obey his every command.
At least she knew Captain Francis Grafton was up to no good...
“How goes your new job, Mrs. Harding?”
“It’s hardly a job.” Ruby had already blabbed all the minimal details Caroline had shared with her sisters to their neighbor. “I’ve finished going through this month’s books, and everything is now in order.” Caroline sighed as Jon guided her across the cobbled street. “Mr. Keswick was stealing money hand over fist. I dread to think what Captain Grafton will do to him.”
“The Captain is a hard man.” Jon’s usual smile was absent. “I doubt Mr. Keswick will have a job for much longer—not that he deserves any sympathy, mind.”
“I have no sympathy for him.” Caroline shuddered as she remembered Mr. Keswick’s meaty paws fumbling with her bodice. “I must confess that I am worried he will take out his anger on me rather than on his employer.”
“He’s a weak man, but you might be right.”
Caroline glanced up at the big man as they turned into her street. He smelled like the mill—a mixture of oily machinery, sweat, and cotton. “That’s not very reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” His smile was fleeting. “You forget that these hovels and the people who inhabit them are dangerous.”
“How could I forget that?” Caroline protested. “I live here.”
“But you weren’t born into this.” He stopped walking and stared down at her. “Although, I doubt you have to worry about Billy Keswick when Captain Grafton has made it clear that you are under his protection.”
Caroline raised her chin. “What are you implying?”
“I think you know, lass.” His brown gaze was steady and unavoidable. “He doesn’t do things out of the goodness of his heart. He’s put his mark on you.”
“Oh for goodness sake, Jon, don’t you start.” Caroline almost stamped her foot. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I am.” He gently cupped her elbow. “You should know what’s being said about you.”
“And you should know it isn’t true!” She pulled out of his grasp. “I haven’t even seen the man since he offered me the job.”
“You don’t understand, do you? If he’s spread the word around that you aren’t to be interfered with, do you think he needs to be here to make sure his commands are obeyed?” Jon snorted. “He rules with fear and violence. No one will bother you.”
“Then what about you?” Caroline demanded. “Won’t you get into trouble for talking to me?”
“Probably.” His smile was sweet. “But I think you’re worth the risk.” He glanced down at the basket. “How about you take this home to your family before it gets cold? I’m sure they’ll be right glad to have something nice to eat.”
“Would you care to join us?” Caroline asked impulsively, aware that he was still her friend and was only trying to help. “There’s plenty to go around.”
“That’s very kind of you.” He hesitated, his gaze turning back toward the town square. “I’ll need to let my mother know where I am, but I’d be delighted to accept.”
He stopped one of the boys in the street and gave him a farthing to deliver the message to his mother. As one of the more respected figures who worked in the mill, he was always treated well by the locals. Caroline admired his efforts to teach the mill children to read and write and improve their working conditions. He was also involved with his church.
An admirable man. A man you could depend on.
Even before Caroline could take out her key, the door flew open to reveal Ruby who smiled at their guest.
“Oh good! Mr. Ford is here for tea.” She sniffed the air. “Is that sausages in there?”
“Yes indeed.” Caroline set the basket on the table, which had already been set for dinner and took off her shawl. “Where’s Mother?”
“She had to stay late at the shop,” Ivy spoke up for the first time as she pulled out the chair nearest to the meager fire and offered it to their guest. “There was a rush on an order for a ball gown, and she is the only one with the necessary skills to fix the problem.”
Caroline spoke quietly to Ivy as Ruby chattered away to Jon. “Are you quite certain she was at the shop?”
“Yes. I peeped into the showroom, and saw her there, on her knees embroidering something directly onto the hem of a dress.” Ivy sighed. “The lady being fitted was complaining about everything, and no one told her off. It seemed quite unfair seeing as she was the one who had demanded all the changes in the first place.”
Her mother Marie, also excelled at lace making, but that could not be hurried. There were rumors of machines that could make lace much faster. None had been installed in Millcastle—yet—but with the pace of progress, Caroline didn’t doubt they would arrive at some point. The world was changing, and she could see no reason to rejoice.
“After we’ve eaten, I’ll walk down to the shop, and see if she is still there,” Ivy offered.
“No, I’ll go,” Caroline smiled at her younger sister. “I need to speak to Madame Louise anyway.”
“She’s less French than we are,” Ruby caught the end of the conversation. “Her accent is definitely not real.”
“So Mother says, and she should know as she was born in Toulouse.” Caroline placed the covered dishes on the table alongside the bread and butter Ivy had already placed there. She paused for a moment and closed her eyes. “Let us give thanks for this meal, and to Mrs. Bridgewater who provided most of it.”
“Amen.” Jon’s deep voice was added to theirs.
Caroline wondered if he’d noticed she hadn’t directly thanked God for his bounty. Her devotion to the church had suffered an irredeemable blow after the way her late husband’s family had treated her. Living in the poverty of Three Coins had only hardened her feelings. She’d learned her lessons well. If one could not care for oneself, there was little chance of being saved.
Caroline made sure to make up a plate for her mother, and then divided the food among the rest of them. It was the first time in a week they’d had meat to eat. Jon took one of the slices of lamb and put it back on her plate.
“Eat up, lass. I’m sure my mother will have kept me a bit of dinner despite me saying I won’t be home.”
Jon’s mother Martha was a formidable woman in her own right. She kept her house spotless and her son well turned out. Knowing how hard it was to even keep herself clean with limited water and a lack of soap, Caroline respected her immensely. Martha had no time for malingerers or those who would not help themselves and had initially been wary of Caroline and her family. Caroline still wasn’t sure if Martha really liked her or just grudgingly accepted her because her son insisted on it
She ate the lamb and one of the sausages as slowly as she could and enjoyed every bite. Ivy looked as if she was in heaven, and even Ruby was eating well.
“Caroline, Mr. Ford was just telling me that they need teachers at the chapel school every Sunday,” Ruby said. “May I go and help?”
“Teaching what?” Caroline asked.
Jon chuckled. “Nothing more dangerous than the alphabet and the Bible, Caroline, and maybe how to add up.”
“All very useful skills in a mill.” After her day staring at the intricate finances of Captain Grafton, Caroline was too tired to be polite.
“Skills that will help get them out of the mill,” Jon said gently. “When you can read and reckon, your opportunities widen immeasurably.”
“You’re right.” Caroline pressed a hand to her aching skull. “I’m sorry. Of course Ruby can help.”
“Do you have a headache, lass?” He reached over and touched her cheek. “You’re very warm. Perhaps I should go.”
“I’ll be fine. I do apologize for my lack of spirits. Please finish your dinner.” Caroline found a smile from somewhere as she pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’ll walk down to the town square and see if my mother has finished work. Some fresh air will do me good.”
“I don’ like you going out by yourself when it’s getting dark.” He looked up at her, the concern on his face evident.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Caroline pushed in her chair. “Mayhap you could stay here with the girls and keep them company while I’m gone?”
“If that is your wish.” He patted his stomach. “I’d better let this food settle before my mother hands me another plate the moment I step over the threshold.”
“If you would stay, I’d appreciate it,” Caroline said. “I shouldn’t be long.”
She let herself out into the now quiet street. Some of the houses were lit up, others were dark either because the occupants had already gone to sleep or they were too poor to afford even a tallow candle. Caroline turned her face against the brisk breeze barreling down the road and headed for the town square where Madame Louise’s shop occupied one of the prime positions on the corner.
The front of the shop was in darkness, but there were still lights at the back. Caroline let herself in at the rear and almost immediately collided with the bulk of Mr. Keswick. She had to grab hold of his arm to steady herself.
“Mr. Keswick, whatever are you doing here?” Caroline gasped as he grinned down at her.
“Collecting something for the boss.” He didn’t move out of her way. “Were you looking for me?”
“No, I work here, remember?” She pressed her back to the wall and tried to maneuver around him. “I just came to collect my wages and find my mother.”
His hand shot out and slammed her back against the wall.
“No need to pretend you get paid for real work when we all know how you earn your keep.” He shoved his face right into hers, and she almost gagged at the smell of rotting teeth and ale. “When he’s done with you—and you won’t last long, they never do—you’ll come crawling back to me on your knees, and I’ll take great pleasure in keeping you down there where you belong.”
“Let me go.” Caroline choked out the words.
“Oh, lass, I’ll let you be for now, but don’t forget I’ll be collecting what I owe from you one day.” He paused and took a step back. “Or mebbe, seeing as you’re getting a bit long in the tooth, I’ll settle for one of your sisters.”
Without conscious thought, Caroline brought her right hand up and slapped him hard across the face. Blood spurted from his lip, and his expression turned feral.
“You little bitch, I’ll—”
Too desperate to care anymore, Caroline lowered her head, and rammed him in the chest before running deeper into the shop, slamming and locking the door behind her. She leaned against the door, her heart thumping and her hand stinging from the impact on his cheekbone.
She could hear him cursing and thumping around, but he didn’t come after her. After a long while, she heard the backdoor slam shut, and then all went quiet. She’d somehow lost her shawl and basket in the scuffle, but at least she was whole and undamaged.
“Are you all right, Caroline?” Marie asked from the safety of her worktable where she was stitching at a piece of velvet.
“Mr. Keswick…” Caroline pressed her bruised fist to her chest. “He…” She ran out of both breath and words. Dear God, what had she done? If Captain Grafton went ahead and fired him from his position, Mr. Keswick would think she’d told their employer what had happened and he would blame her. Then, her life, and those of her sisters would be in danger.
Marie wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Keswick is a thoroughly unpleasant man. I suggest you steer clear of him.”
Caroline fought a hysterical desire to laugh. She was trapped, and no one would or could save her. How had it come to this? How had her life become so difficult?
“Did you bring me something to eat?”
Caroline shook her head.
“Is there anything to eat?” Marie’s lip trembled.
“Yes,” Caroline finally found her voice. “Mrs. Bridgewater gave me some off cuts of lamb and some sausages. I saved a plate for you.”
“Then I will come home.” Marie smoothed the velvet and cut the last thread. “This sleeve is finished, and only needs to be attached to the jacket. One of the girls can do that tonight.”
Caroline forced her legs to carry her over to the worktable. “That’s beautiful, Mother.”
“Merci.” Marie took off her spectacles and blew out the candle. “I hope that simpering Miss Hetherington appreciates it as much as you do.”
“I doubt it.” Caroline helped her mother into her coat. “She is a girl of very little taste or discretion.”
“She was talking about your Captain Grafton today,” Marie glanced up at Caroline as she unlocked the door. “She thinks he is quite dangerously thrilling.”
“He’s not mine, and he certainly is dangerous,” Caroline agreed. “But not quite in the romantical way she might imagine.”
“I am amazed that he is even received in polite society.” Marie waited as Caroline retrieved her dropped shawl and basket and then locked the door behind them. “He might be a gentleman by name, but his behavior is certainly suspect.”
“He’s a gentleman, mother. They are allowed to get away with anything if they are wealthy enough.”
She’d seen his books and knew that the revenues he accrued as a slum landlord were only a small part of his financial dealings. She was surprised to hear that he was being mentioned in what passed for polite society in Millcastle. Maybe, one of the mill masters hoped to catch him for one of his daughters. Captain Grafton claimed he carried an ancient name even though she was fairly certain he had besmirched the family reputation in some way.
“Nearly home,” Caroline tucked her mother’s hand in the crook of her arm and trudged up the hill toward their house. “Jon Ford shared our repast and stayed to keep the girls company.”
“I’ve changed my mind. You should marry him.” Marie was slightly out of breath as they halted in front of the door. “He at least would make sure we were well fed and properly housed.”
“You would live in his mother’s house? You wouldn’t like that at all.” Caroline unlocked the door and allowed her mother to go in ahead of her. “She’d have you working at the mill just to keep you busy and out of her way.”
Marie’s laughter warmed her soul, as did the sight of Jon reading something aloud to Ivy and Ruby by the fireside. He would make a good husband, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be married again and subject to a man’s will. She took off her shawl, waited until her mother washed her hands, and settled at the table before putting the plate in front of her.
It was good of Mrs. Bridgewater to give her the leftover food from the inn. She wasn’t sure how they would manage without it now. If Captain Grafton were willing to employ her permanently, she would ask for an increase in her wages, and not need to rely on the charity of others.
“Mrs. Sims asked me if I would like to act as her companion in the afternoons,” Ruby spoke up from her fireside seat. “She’s willing to pay me for my time.”
Caroline stifled her instinctive denial. If Ruby had been born in one of the hovels in Millcastle or even on an outlying farm she would already be working a ten or twelve-hour shift in the mill or in the fields. As it was, she ran errands for the dressmaker where Marie and Caroline were employed, watched out for Ivy, and reluctantly worked on the lessons Caroline prepared for them.
“Would you like to work for Mrs. Sims?” Caroline asked. The elderly lady was a widow who lived in a substantial house on the edge of town away from the smoke and dirt of the mill. Ruby had met her at the vicarage with Marie.
“Yes. She is very kind, and she lets me read the books in her library.” Ruby sat forward. “Will you come and speak to her with me tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course.” Caroline smiled at her sister. “It sounds like an excellent opportunity for you.”
“I’ll leave you in peace.” Jon stood up. “Thank you for the dinner and lively conversation.”
Caroline offered him his hat and coat and walked him to the front door.
He lowered his voice. “I think you are very wise to consider Ruby’s request to work for Mrs. Sims. She is a good women and rather lonely in that big old house all by herself.”
“It still seems wrong somehow. When I was even younger than Ruby I was preparing to enter society with nothing but finding a husband on my mind.” Caroline sighed. “But look where that got me.”
“She’ll be all right. She’s a good strong intelligent girl.”
“Aye, that she is,” Caroline mimicked his accent, and he smiled.
“Nay, lass you haven’t got the right vowels for it.” He kissed her cheek, and then put on his hat. “I hear Captain Grafton is due back tonight, so I suspect you’ll be busy.”
Caroline was just about to answer him when there was a furious pounding on the door.
“Open up!”
Bewildered she looked at Jon who set her firmly behind him. “Stand back.”
He opened the door and was unceremoniously pushed to one side by Mr. Keswick who was followed in by another burly man.
“That’s her, officer. She’s the one.”
Caroline took another step backward. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“She stole it.” Mr. Keswick pointed his finger right at Caroline.
“Excuse me, Miss.” The second man brushed past them all and went into the kitchen. “Where’s your bag?”
Caroline pointed at her basket. “What is going on? What exactly are you looking for?”
The constable rummaged through her things throwing everything out onto the table and pounced on something white.
“Here it is.” He turned to Caroline holding up a handkerchief edged with intricate Honiton lace. “Stole this from your employer, eh? Didn’t have time to pawn it yet I see. Good thing Mr. Keswick had his suspicions of you.”
“I’ve never seen that handkerchief before in my life!” Caroline protested. “Mr. Keswick is lying!”
“Now wait a minute, Constable Jarvis,” Jon tried to intervene. “I know this family well. They are not the kind of people who steal.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ford, but an accusation has been made, and it’s my duty to investigate it.” He grabbed hold of Caroline’s upper arm. “Come on, you. We’ll speak to the magistrate in the morning.”
“You can’t—” Caroline was still protesting as he dragged her out into the street where half the neighborhood had turned out to enjoy the show. “I didn’t steal anything, please believe me.”
Behind her she could see Mr. Keswick grinning in triumph, and her sisters crying and calling her name.
“I’ll fetch help!” Jon shouted out to her.
They soon reached the corner of the street and all went quiet again. Caroline had no choice but to allow the constable to force her along at his chosen pace. It began to rain, and she had no cloak or bonnet to cover her head.
“Where are you taking me?” Caroline asked.
“Town gaol, miss.” His grip tightened as they approached the old stone building that housed the courthouse and cells. “You’ll be up in front of the judge in the morning.”
She tried to resist as he took her up the stairs, but it only served to annoy him. Her arm felt as if it was going to break in two as he shoved her through another door, and then through into a large cell where several other people were also being held. She fell down into the filthy straw, and immediately staggered to her feet.
No one even glanced at her. All of them were trapped in their own misery or too drunk to understand what was happening to them. Caroline found a corner and put her back to it before sinking down to the ground. It was hard to breathe, and she pressed her hand to her chest in a frantic effort to calm herself.
Tomorrow would bring her release. Her employer would vouch for her character, and she would explain to the judge about Mr. Keswick wishing her ill. She took another shuddering breath. What was the penalty for stealing a handkerchief? Transportation? She had a horrible feeling that she was about to find out.
“I’ve been doing exactly what you told me to, Captain” Nancy Bridgewater set a plate of lamb stew in front of Francis and a basket full of bread. “Although I don’t think she eats much of the food. She gives it to her mother and sisters.”
“She would.” Francis ripped off a hunk of bread and dipped it into the stew. “This is very good, Nancy. Very good indeed.”
“Thank you, Captain. Will you be requiring anything else tonight?”
“Just a bottle of brandy, please. I’m ready for my bed.” He yawned. “The weather was foul on the way up here.”
“It’s been raining all day.” Mrs. Bridgewater grimaced. “Whole town smells of bad drains and damp.”
“You make it sound so appealing.” Francis took another roll. “Is Keswick around?”
“I haven’t seen him this evening. Do you want me to send him in if I do?”
“No, the last thing I want is his rain soaked carcass steaming in front of my fire. I’ll see him tomorrow after I speak to Mrs. Harding.”
“She said she left the books locked up in the desk for you to look at, Captain.”
“Good for her.”
Nancy paused in the doorway. Francis had first met her when she was an ‘actress’ in London. She was one of the very few people he allowed to speak their mind to him.
“Mrs. Harding isn’t your usual kind of woman.”
“I agree.”
“She’s…” Mrs. Bridgewater sighed. “Too dainty for this place. I saw plenty like her in the whorehouses of London—ladies reduced to selling themselves to pay for food and rent. They never lasted long.”
“You’re wrong about her.” Francis remembered her dousing him in wine. He put down his fork. “Are you attempting to suggest I should direct my attention elsewhere?”
“I wouldn’t dare to presume to tell you what to do, Captain. It’s just that I’ve grown to like her, and—”
“You think I’ll ruin her.” Francis couldn’t quite believe that the hardheaded innkeepers wife had developed a soft spot for anyone, let alone Mrs. Harding. “In case you haven’t noticed, she has already fallen far below her natural status in society with no help from me. I can offer her more than that mean-spirited harridan at the dressmakers.”
“For as long as she continues to amuse you, and then what?” Mrs. Bridgewater opened the door. “I can see you have your mind set on her, Captain so I’ll not waste my breath. I told her to come to me if she wants to avoid breeding.”
“What an excellent suggestion, Nancy my love.” Francis smiled. “Her upbringing would probably not have offered her such useful knowledge. When I bed her, and I do intend to accomplish that fairly soon, I’ll make sure she takes advantage of your kind offer.”
Mrs. Bridgewater departed, perhaps slamming the door harder than necessary, and Francis turned back to his stew. He pictured Mrs. Harding laid out on his bed, her hair loose, and a smile of welcome on her haughty, supercilious face and almost choked himself laughing. She wouldn’t come to him easily, and perhaps that was part of her allure. He suspected she’d fight him every step of the way until he gave her such pleasure that she succumbed to the most intensely erotic experience of her sheltered life.
Except she wasn’t sheltered any more, was she? Francis frowned as he sipped his wine. He could talk to her employer, make sure she lost her job, and had to come to him. But where was the challenge in that?
There was a knock at the door. He bade the person enter, hoping it wasn’t Billy Keswick, and rather the divine Mrs. Harding ready to do battle with him again.
“Captain Grafton?”
Francis stared at the unknown man who now towered over him in his own inn, and instinctively put his hand on the knife in his pocket.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you sir, but—”
Francis interrupted him. “Perhaps we could start with your name.”
“I’m Jonathan Ford, Captain. I work at the mill.”
“So what in God’s name are you doing here?”
Mr. Ford set his jaw. “There has been a miscarriage of justice. I’ve tried to speak to the magistrate, but he won’t listen to the likes of me. I didn’t want to come here, but I suspect you are the only one with any influence in this matter.”
“What matter would that be?” Francis asked.
Mr. Ford met Francis’s gaze. “Billy Keswick accused Mrs. Harding of stealing from her employer.”
“What did she steal?”
A crease appeared between Mr. Ford’s brows. “What does it matter? She’s a lady. She wouldn’t steal a crust of bread from a dead man even if she was starving herself.”
“You know her well, then.” Francis leaned back in his chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world even while his mind raced through several interesting possibilities.
“Aye. I’d make her my wife if I could.” Mr. Ford said decisively.
“But she has spurned your suit?”
“You should know.”
“I have never to my knowledge asked Mrs. Harding to marry me.” Francis raised his eyebrows. He had to admire the bluntness of the man. “Mrs. Harding is currently paying off her debt by managing my accounts.”
“Which is why I thought you might be interested to hear that she is currently incarcerated in the town gaol.” Mr. Ford’s mouth hardened. “It is hardly a place for a lady.”
“Even one who apparently stole from her employer?”
Dealing with the obviously furious Mr. Ford was rather like taunting a bull, but Francis had never feared being gored.
“What exactly do you expect me to do about this petty matter? Ride over to Grovedale House, and insist Sir Ian immediately comes to the courthouse?” Francis shrugged. “If Mrs. Harding is in gaol, she’ll be safe until morning when the court comes into session. Her innocence or guilt will be determined by the due process of the law.”
“Then you intend to do nothing.” Mr. Ford jammed his hat back on. “It seems your reputation is well earned, Captain Grafton. I’ll be on my way.”
Before Francis could attempt a reply, which was probably a good thing because he suspected Mr. Ford was on the verge of punching him in the face, his visitor turned and left. This time the door was definitely slammed.
Francis let out his breath in a whistle and considered his options. He’d never been in the Millcastle gaol, but he had sufficient knowledge of other prisons to know it could hardly be pleasant. He pictured Mrs. Harding there and found the image surprisingly disturbing. He’d airily dismissed Mr. Ford’s concerns as to her current safety but knew she could be robbed of everything, raped, and killed if someone in the prison thought she had enough value.
He refilled his wine glass and contemplated the fire for a long moment. Eventually, he rose to his feet, crossed over to the desk in the corner, and unlocked one of the drawers. The accounts book lay on the top just where it was supposed to be. He took it out and laid it on the blotter.
It was too dark to read Mrs. Harding’s neat script, so he lit another lantern and sat down at the desk, checking her calculations with a speed and accuracy he’d learned from necessity. After turning the page and reading through to her last entry he sat back and considered the notes she’d made at the side of the columns.
Keswick had been cheating him, which wasn’t a surprise in itself. Everyone attempted to line his or her own nest if they could. He’d done it himself when he’d been in need. The odd farthing here, a thruppence there… The amounts taken were negligible compared to his wealth, but having an employee thinking he was an easy mark was unforgiveable.
Francis closed the book and sighed before drawing out a clean piece of paper and a pen. A man had to have priorities in his life, and for once his business inclinations matched his personal ones. By the time he had blotted and sealed his note, Tom had arrived with his bottle of brandy.
“Here you are, Captain.”
“Thank you.”
Tom handed over the bottle. Francis declined the glass.
“Have one of the stable hands deliver this note immediately, and if there is a reply, bring it up to my bedchamber.”
“Yes. Captain.”
Francis locked the desk, blew out the lamp and made his way up the stairs to the best room in the inn. If his instincts were correct, and they very rarely let him down, tomorrow would be a very interesting day.