“There’s always the chance the workers don’t know anything,” Fletcher murmured as he followed Henry’s gaze.
“True. Maybe the companies that receive the crates hold the items for the Fenians.” Though Henry spoke quietly, they both noticed when a nervous-looking worker startled at the term, only to hastily look away.
“Sir?” the sergeant asked on an exhale.
At Henry’s nod, Fletcher started toward the man.
Henry made to follow, only to see a stack of nearby barrels begin to sway, then tip in his direction. He barely managed tostep out of the way before the barrels fell, some splintering apart as they did so, their contents spilling onto the dock.
“Inspector Field! Henry!” Fletcher was by his side in an instant, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared at the destroyed barrels. “Are you all right?”
Shouts sounded from all around them and several men came running.
“Yes. Fine.” Shaken but unhurt, other than aggravating his sore ribs.
“What happened?” one of the dockmen demanded.
“A stack of barrels nearly fell on a man,” Fletcher replied with a growl.
“Humph.” The man scowled at the mess. “Can’t imagine how that happened.”
Neither could Henry.
“Blast it.” Fletcher looked about. “I don’t see that man now.”
Henry followed his gaze, only to return his attention to the broken barrels. He couldn’t shake the idea that they’d been pushed, but by who? And why?
Twenty-Three
Mrs.Fernsbysetanearthenware jar on the worktable next to Amelia in the kitchen. “Here’s the lard you requested, Mrs. Greystone.”
“Perfect.” Amelia’s suggestion to the housekeeper that they make soap that morning had been met with enthusiastic approval.
She had intended to go to an apothecary after her previous attempt had been interrupted, but she couldn’t make herself go out. The worry of encountering another bomb followed her like a dark and ominous cloud. Witnessing the explosion yesterday had apparently shaken her more than she realized. Telling herself that her distress was normal didn’t help. How did Henry bear it?
She shrugged away guilt for not facing her fears. Tomorrow was another day. For now, she’d let the household task soothe her nerves. This afternoon she was scheduled to conduct experiments at the school for the children, something she had looked forward to—except it meant she must leave the house.
Lye was already waiting on the table, along with a bit of salt to harden the soap and lavender, one of her favorite fragrances,to scent it. A large iron pot and metal stirring paddles also sat at the ready, along with a scale to measure the ingredients.
“I’ll prepare the molds, shall I?” Mrs. Fernsby asked, seeming not to sense anything was amiss.
“Yes, please.”
Mrs. Appleton had released the reins of the kitchen to them while she stepped out for some shopping. The housekeeper lined long wooden boxes with muslin, then tore another length of the fabric to strain the soap. “This is the perfect task for a cloudy morning, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Amelia readily agreed as she measured and weighed. “You already did the difficult part of rendering the fat.”
“Mrs. Appleton helped with that yesterday.” The older woman watched Amelia as she worked, her expression troubled. “In all honesty, we’re quite pleased to still have you with us.”
The emotion in her tone caught Amelia off guard. She glanced up, thoughts of soap flying out the window. “Oh, Mrs. Fernsby.”
The housekeeper sniffed, lifting the tail of her apron to wipe her eyes.
Filled with dismay, Amelia wiped her own hands and offered Mrs. Fernsby an embrace. Though they rarely showed physical affection, she knew how much the housekeeper and her husband cared. They’d shown that numerous times over the years in all manner of ways; had become part of her family.
“I’m so sorry,” Amelia murmured, not sure what else to say. Clearly the incident with the bomb had upset her household more than she’d realized. “I’ve given you and the rest of the staff too many frights of late.”
“Through no choice of your own.” The housekeeper eased back as she shook her head. “We just don’t care for the idea of you in danger, madam.”
