To Charlie’s surprise, the guard peered into the interior of the carriage with undue suspicion. Out of an abundance of caution, she’d donned a bonnet with a translucent veil, and now she was glad for this layer of protection. To her mind, the visit to Brompton’s was rather like searching for a proverbial needle in the haystack. She’d hoped that if they managed to narrow the location where the matches were sold, they might pick up the trail of Tony’s killers.
She had not expected that the trail might, in fact, lead to this manufactory. Yet the guard’s manner caused a prickling sensation on her nape that she’d learned never to ignore.
“The missus,” Jack said jovially to the guard. “She’s not much of a traveler. Why, she was ill twice already on our journey from Cheshire, and the London smoke don’t help her lungs?—”
“Go on through to the office.” Clearly wanting to be spared from the loquacious country bumpkin, the guard pointed to an adjacent brick building. “Be quick about it. We close in half an hour.”
As the carriage headed through the gates, Jack said under his breath, “All is not what it seems at Brompton’s. Wish I’d done myself up a bit more, but I didn’t think I would need a full disguise.”
“You are playing the role of the innkeeper wonderfully,” she assured him. “You’ll be careful?”
“Always am, love.”
Winking at her, Jack disembarked. Through a slit in the curtains, Charlie watched him inhabit the role of the innkeeper with perfection. His wide, heavy-footed gait and hearty manner went hand in hand with his countrified garb. She admired her lover’s ability to slip into the skin of any persona…but it also gave her pause.
She recalled the way he’d grown still back at his rooms. As if he’d been sucked into a thought, a memory that he couldn’t extricate himself from. Even as he was sharing more of himself, there were parts he kept hidden. His chameleon charm hid a darker side, and she was determined to know that part of him as well. To know all of him, good and bad and everything in between. Because he belonged to her as surely as she belonged to him.
It hit her then.
She wasn’t falling in love with her former husband again.
I am falling in love with him, the real him, for the first time.
The realization percolated through her, leaving exhilaration in its wake.
At the same time, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was not right at the manufactory. Scanning the site through the curtains, she counted a half-dozen rough-and-ready sorts armed to the teeth. Why would a match factory require so many guards?
Raised voices drew her attention. A man and woman were exiting the largest building. The latter was a plump, middle-aged brunette who wore the grey dress, pinafore, and white cap that was the uniform of the female workers. Her skirts whipped around her legs as she tried to keep up with the man’s longer stride.
“I’m needing a few minutes o’ your time, Mr. Karlsson,” she said, panting.
“Not today, Mrs. Sutter.” The man was tall, with sparse, fair hair and an air of pomposity. “I have important business to attend to.”
“Thisisimportant business, sir. It’s about the unfair fines the foreman is giving us workers. I’ve been trying to talk to you ’bout it for weeks?—”
“Put your concerns in a letter. I’ll read it when I have time.”
“If I was any good wif pen and paper, do you think I’d be packing matches?” the brunette burst out, clearly at her wit’s end.
Karlsson stopped a few feet from Charlie’s carriage, and she could see the meanness of his eyes.
“Is this honest work below you, Mrs. Sutter?” he said sharply.
The woman’s eyes widened beneath the smudged frill of her cap. “N-no, sir?—”
“There are plenty of workers who would be grateful for your job. In fact, they line up outside my office every morning.”
“Please, sir. I be needing this job.” Mrs. Sutter’s chin wobbled. “Me husband broke ’is leg and ’asn’t been working, and we’ve six young mouths to feed?—”
“Then I suggest you focus on improving your performance.” Sadistic satisfaction curled Karlsson’s lips. “Now, out of consideration for your circumstances, I shall only fine you a half-shilling for your insubordination today.”
“Insubordination?” Mrs. Sutter said in a quivering voice.
“If you have concerns about the fines levied by the foreman, you should go to him. Not to his superior. I manage this manufactory, which is about to take a great step forward in match production. If I were to attend to the trifling concerns of every worker, how would I perform my duties? You have delayed me, and in doing so, delayed the progress of this business. Half a shilling is a small price to pay for your misconduct. Do you disagree?”
Mrs. Sutter’s hands gripped the edges of her pinafore.
“No, sir.” Her voice hitched.
