“Of course.” The foreman smiled uneasily. “We can thank the modern structural design for containing the fire to the third and fourth floors. Considering the building is seven floors, that is the definition of intelligent design.”
Mack hummed noncommittally. “What caused the fire?”
“I suspect new electrical work that went in this week. I wouldn’t be surprised if the electrical company is blamed for faulty wiring, but we’ll let the captain be the judge of that.”
“I’ll follow up with him later,” Mack promised. “Anything else to add?”
The foreman’s eyes darted around the crowd. “We have several new girls on the third floor, where the fire started. We’ve had problems with them before, and it’s possible they damaged the wiring.”
“Why would a button-maker trying to make her quota damage the wiring?” Winnie piped up from beside him, her eyebrows puckered and her pencil poised in the air.
“Once we know more details, I’ll be happy to supply them.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Jenkins.” Mack waited for the foreman to turn away before shaking his head at the man’s foolish comments.
“What a convoluted story—trying to cast blame on anyone but themselves,” Winnie said. “Highly suspicious, if you ask me.”
“I agree.” He chuckled at her startled expression. “Perhaps for the first time, eh?”
She shrugged one shoulder, but her lips curled. “At least everyone got out in time. That, in and of itself, is a miracle.”
“I’d say the recent construction reforms prevented a catastrophe, but we still need to do some digging.”
Winnie’s attention caught on something over his shoulder, and she nodded toward a group of women huddled together on the block corner. “Those are no ordinary spectators. They’re wearing factory uniforms and are covered in soot.”
“They could be the women from the third floor,” he breathed. “Good catch, Mrs. West.”
He strode toward the women, tempering his pace as he drew near. He did not want to pounce on them, nor make them fearful of speaking to him. From experience, he knew his tall frame could have that impact on children, women, and even some men. Not Mrs. Winnifred West, of course, but he had already determined she was a different breed.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” He swept his hat off. “Mack Donnelly fromThe Puget Sound Post.By the looks of you, I’m going to hazard a guess you were in the building when the fire started. If you’re willing, I’d like to ask you a few questions, and my assistant, Mrs. West, will record your words. Would that be amenable?”
“I didn’t see nothing,” muttered an older woman with lined cheeks. She moved deeper into the alcove, pulling two women with her. Some, however, remained, studying Mack with a mixture of wariness and eagerness.
“Why us?”
Mack considered his words carefully. “I’m speaking with several witnesses. The more we can piece together, the clearer the picture becomes. But I did notice your clothing bears more soot than most. Does that mean you were inside when the fire started?”
The workers glanced at each other, but no one spoke. At last, a young woman with frizzy hair falling from her cap stepped forward. “If we talk, will you write our names?”
“Only with your permission, though anonymous sources are common and just as important.”
She tightened her frayed shawl and gave a derisive sniff. “You were talking to the foreman, Mr. Jenkins.”
“He mentioned the fire could have started from faulty wiring.”
“He also said some women may be responsible for it.” At Winnie’s addition, indignant mutters spread through the group.
“Don’t say nothing more,” a third woman hissed. “I can’t lose my job.”
“Neither can I,” another said. “If they find out we talked, we’ll be sacked. And who will buy food for my baby? Medicine for my mother?”
Mack’s chest ached. What had these women experienced, and why were they so scared to share what they knew? He gathered his thoughts, determined to convince them they deserved to be heard. Before he could speak, Winnie edged in front of him, her shoulder brushing his arm in the crowded space, and laid a hand on the woman’s arm.
“I know what it’s like to fear for your job.”
This time, a serrated blade twisted his gut. Surely, she referred to employment she’d had before arriving in Seattle, not her current position at thePost. Regardless of his need to stop her from writing about suffrage, he wouldn’t dream of taking her stenography job away from her. From what’d he seen, she was an asset to the newspaper. Even Horace would—Horace.
Of course his uncle would have made Winnie feel like her position was in jeopardy, if he hadn’t already threatened her outright. Nothing had been said in front of him, probably because his uncle knew he wouldn’t stand for it. But it didn’t matter. Because of his own role in his uncle’s game, he was complicit. A sour taste filled his mouth.
