Page 205

H ECTOR COULDN’T STOP fiddling with the collar of his starched shirt buttoned all the way up and tied by a cravat.

The constant motion of the carriage reminded him of the raft where he’d spent a couple of weeks, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. If it weren’t for Maddie sitting in front of him, he would have removed his clothes and climbed back in his tree, forgetting about the whole affair.

Mr. Merriweather regarded him with suspicion as if he hadn’t decided yet if he could trust Hector or not. “With regard to your mother,” the solicitor started.

“Yes?” Hector forgot about his blasted clothes.

“I can give you a map of the exact location of her burial.” Mr. Merriweather lowered his gaze. “I’m afraid I haven’t visited the communal cemetery in a while.”

“Thank you.” Hector flexed his fingers. “It would be most helpful.”

Maddie stroked his hand. “We’ll go together when you’re ready.”

Of course, she would say that. Did she realise how sweet and adorable she was? A warm flutter spread in his chest as he smiled at her.

“Do you remember the textile factory your family owns?” Mr. Merriweather asked, breaking the moment.

His leather folder was once again tucked under his arm, and Hector wondered how the solicitor could endure wearing such a tight waistcoat.

He had to focus on Robert and his letter not to panic just looking at the solicitor’s clothes. “I do. I visited it a few times. Mother was fond of the employees and loved taking tea with them. Robert was very active in it and the other businesses, like shipping and such.”

A glint of triumph flashed in Mr. Merriweather’s eyes. “My grandfather was Irish,” he said, with the tone of one expecting a reaction from his audience. “The majority of your textile workers are Irish. Honest, hard-working people.”

Hector didn’t know what to say or what he was supposed to do with the revelation.

“I didn’t know of your grandfather. Did he work here in London?” Maddie asked.

“Yes. He collected the city’s waste.” Mr. Merriweather chuckled. “He’d be surprised to know I became a solicitor.”

“Has Quentin visited the factory recently?” Hector asked.

Mr. Merriweather’s face tightened. “No. I’m afraid the duke hasn’t paid any attention to the factory, especially after his inquest.”

“Inquest?” Maddie frowned. “I don’t remember having read anything about Blackburn and an inquest.”

“The police kept everything quiet by His Grace’s request.” Mr. Merriweather lowered his voice. “Blackburn was among Mrs. Blanchet’s guests when her famous painting?—”

“ The Lady of the Lake .” Maddie’s mouth hung open. “Sorry for the interruption. Please do go on.”

“The night of Blanchet gathering was when the painting disappeared. Mrs. Blanchet blatantly accused Blackburn of having stolen it. But his house was searched thoroughly, and nothing has been found.” The solicitor clenched his fists.

“The duke was angered by the inquest and filed suit against Mrs. Blanchet to pay for the damage to his reputation.” He clicked his tongue.

“Mrs. Blanchet settled the dispute with an undisclosed sum.”

“Heavens.” Maddie slouched back in the seat. “I had no idea and you never mentioned it.”

“Because until recently, the duke was my client. The client-solicitor privilege prevents me to divulge any information about my clients,” Mr. Merriweather said.

“Then he gave me the sack, claiming I didn’t have his best interests at heart.

” He tilted his head right and left. “Which was true, I suppose. Anyway, I take my job seriously. I don’t disclose my clients’ confidential information. ”

“But this is Mrs. Blanchet! You could have told me.” Maddie pouted, and Hector had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to kiss her in front of others. “Do you think Blackburn stole the painting?” Her whole face brightened with interest.

Mr. Merriweather shrugged. “I have no evidence, but my instinct says yes.”

“Perhaps Quentin sold the painting,” Hector said.

Mr. Merriweather shook his head. “Unlikely. A famous painting like that one can’t be sold without leaving a trail.

It’s more probable the thief hid it, waiting for the price to go up and to find a private buyer.

If Blackburn has The Lady of the Lake , it’s still in his possession.

Besides, many art thefts happen because the thief wishes to enjoy the object d’art and admire it in the private, although I don’t think that’s the case with Blackburn. ”

Maddie laughed. “I agree. The duke has horrible taste in art.”

“And a huge debt,” Mr. Merriweather said. “Allegedly.”

Hector frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Before Blackburn gave me the sack, I had a look into his accounts, and even though I’m not an expert, it was clear his finances weren’t in order.

I can’t prove it, but I suspect from what I uncovered, the duke has a penchant for gambling.

” The solicitor lifted a shoulder. “As I said, I don’t have any evidence.

Even when I was his solicitor, I didn’t have complete access to his entries, and his accountant is loyal to the duke. ”

The carriage stopped in front of an imposing red-brick building with tall, industrial chimneys releasing puffs of steam.

Dark mould covered the walls, creeping up like a disease sprouted from the ground, and a few windows overlooking the street were broken.

Potholes dug deep ruts in the cobblestones.

Not as he remembered the factory. Is dilapidated state was a punch in his stomach.

His mother had insisted on keeping the factory spotless, and well-insulated from the cold wind rising from the Thames to make the employees more comfortable.

Robert had made sure its management had all repairs done promptly to keep the factory functioning and clean.

Mr. Merriweather watched him with a focus that gave Hector shivers. “Is it familiar?” he asked, seemingly reading Hector’s mind.

“Not really.” Hector winced when he climbed out of the carriage and jumped onto the cobbled street.

The shoes constricted his feet and squashed his callouses, but he didn’t want to complain. Not when he was worried about the workers. He followed Mr. Merriweather to the front gate, avoiding piles of rubbish and shards of broken glass.

Maddie walked next to him. “Has it always been like this?”

“No. Years ago, it was clean and well-kept. A model for other factories.It was both my mother and Robert’s pride.”

As they stepped inside, a couple of workers touched their hats at their passage and smiled warmly at Mr. Merriweather.

“Good morning, everyone,” the solicitor said in a loud voice. “As you must have heard, Lord Hector Wentworth, the brother of the Duke of Blackburn, is indeed alive. He’s here to inspect the factory. Please continue your work. We won’t be long.”

Hector expected the usual mutters and whispers his introduction always started.

But the workers didn’t utter a sound. An acrid smell tickled his nose.

Something greasy covered the floor, causing his soles to stick to it, and cold gusts swept through the hall, whistling.

The noise from the spinning machines had never been so loud or braying; it was a constant hammering and strident screeches.

He wasn’t an expert, but something had to be wrong with those machines.

But the worst sight was the condition of the workers.

Their tattered clothes hung from bony shoulders.

Dirt covered gaunt faces. He’d gained more muscles on the island while hunting and fishing than these people working in a smelly factory.

What struck him the most were the workers’ gazes. Lost. Sad. Resigned. Hopeless.

There were young men, women, and even children with scrawny faces and frail hands covered in cuts.

They bowed and curtsied at Hector’s passage, their fear palpable.

The name of Mr. Merriweather was muttered a few times, and the people working at the weaving machines cast bitter glances at Hector. No one said anything, though.

“I don’t remember the workers being so desperate,” he said when they reached the end of the hall.

“When I came here with my mother and Robert, the workers would greet us with bright smiles and chat about their families. There weren’t any children, and everyone wore good quality clothes.

The windows were whole and shut against the cold.

The floor was clean. And hellfire, there wasn’t so much noise.

” He forgot to mind his language in front of Maddie, but she didn’t wince.

“Lord.” She blinked quickly, as if fending off tears.

For some reason, shame caused his heart to clench at her dismay. He hated that she witnessed the factory at its worst.

Mr. Merriweather stepped in front of him, a hard glint in his fierce stare.

“My lord, I needed you to see this.” He spread an arm towards the workers.

“Simply describing it wouldn’t have been enough.

This situation started while you were away.

After Blackburn took over…” He exhaled, his hands clenching on the folder.

“The new duke doesn’t care about these people.

His main concerns are making money and enjoying himself.

He lowered the wages to a bare minimum. He forces the labourers to work long hours without further compensation.

Those who fall ill, or carries a child, loses their job.

These people are starving, suffering, and forced to work in miserable conditions for a handful of shillings. This is slavery, my lord.”

Hector couldn’t agree more. The factory wasn’t what Robert had built. Maddie gazed up at him with an expectant face that destroyed him.

“There was a protesting march in November that ended up in a massacre,” Mr. Merriweather said.

“The journalists dubbed it Bloody Sunday. Irish workers took to the streets to protest about their work conditions and demand the release of P. M. O’Brien, one of the few politicians who did something to improve the workers’ situation.

As a result, he had been arrested. The protestors clashed against the police, and it was a bloodbath.

Since then, Irish workers are marked as agitators and their pleas aren’t taken seriously.

A few of your employees were injured during Bloody Sunday, and Blackburn gave them the sack.

Entire families have been ruined. My lord”—he stepped closer—“we must do something. These people need help. Help only you can provide. Claim your title. Help these people. Set things straight. I was one of these children. Not in this factory, but your mother helped my mother and found her a job here. Without your parents, my mother and I would be dead. What do you think is going to happen to these children?”

Maddie drew in a breath as the workers shot glances at them.

Each word shook Hector from the inside out.

Robert would be appalled. His mother would be, too.

Even his father would be angry about the situation.

While his father hadn’t been the sweetest of men, he’d always prided himself on being an exemplary employer and on having happy, productive workers who excelled in their job.

Hector rubbed his chest, watching a young woman breastfeed her child while she kept working at the weaving machine. She looked so frail he worried she might faint from exhaustion.

Maddie placed her hand on his arm. She didn’t say anything though. There was no need to.

“Ernest, Hector,” Maddie said after a pause. “I will agree to help Hector in any way I can if he wishes to claim his title.”

He swallowed hard. “Mr. Merriweather, tell me what I must do.”