Page 14 of Glasgow Rogue

Aileen looked past Annie’s shoulder as she entered the Trades Hall Monday evening. “Did ye actually convince Mr. MacDonald nae to escort ye?”

“I said I would find a way,” Annie answered, although she didn’t elaborate.

She hadn’t convinced Niall of anything since he didn’t know she was coming here, but she didn’t want to add a lie to her somewhat dubious scheme.

Not that it was totally deceitful. She had told both Owen and Niall that Mr. Haines had planned a meeting for this evening, which was partially true since he would be in attendance tonight.

And she’d asked Kingsley to send a rented hack, so she could at least claim the carriage was arranged by the office.

“Good,” Aileen said. “The men here, especially the weavers, need to understand we women are capable of the same work they are.”

“Ye doona have to convince me,” Annie replied and switched the subject before Aileen could question how she’d managed to elude Niall. “Where are the others?”

“They are waiting down the street,” Aileen said. “We thought it best to have the men arrive first and allow the meeting to get started, unlike last time.”

Last time. Niall had been here. Annie glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see him on the steps. That somehow he’d found out where she was headed. But he wasn’t there.

She remembered his scolding them that they were lucky to have gotten out of that meeting with just boos and jeers. But tonight was different. Mr. James knew they were coming. They were even on the agenda of the meeting, so the tradesmen would not be surprised as they had been the last time.

“Ah, here they are now,” Aileen said as the rest of the women came through the door. “We are last to speak, so we have a bit of time to gather our thoughts.”

Even though they were well-prepared, with Aileen doing most of the talking and the rest providing support, Annie still felt a bit of queasiness as they entered the Grand Hall upstairs twenty minutes later.

A sudden hush fell over the audience as the women appeared, but that was to be expected.

In a way, they were breaking ground simply by being here.

Annie looked for Mr. Haines and spotted him at the far end of the hall.

She didn’t see Kingsley anywhere, but then the warehouse foreman probably didn’t need to attend a tradesmen’s meeting.

This time, Mr. James gave a proper introduction, requesting the men to refrain from booing and jeering. But Aileen had only begun to speak before the shouting began.

“We doona want women in our workplaces!”

“Why nae?” Aileen shot back. “We can do the work.”

One man stood up. “Weaving is a skill that takes years to learn. Ye cannae just step in.”

“Many women ken how to use a loom,” Aileen answered.

“Stick to making dresses,” another man called out.

“Seamstresses doona make good wages,” Cora said. “The weavers’ union has forced the government to bring back decent pay.”

“Aye,” the man standing said. “Because we are a union. We pay dues and we stick together. We had to go on strike to make the government believe us. Those wages support our families.”

“Women have families to feed too,” Cora replied. “We should be paid as well as men.”

“Nae in the weavers’ trade,” the man answered. “We fought for those wages. We’ll nae let someone—man or woman—come in and steal from us.”

“We are nae stealing…” Aileen began, but half the hall was already on their feet, starting to move out. “Wait! Where are ye going?”

“The weavers’ union is walking out,” the original standing man said. “We have nothing more to say.”

Fenella and Deidre began to protest, but Aileen held up her hand. “Let them leave. Perhaps we can convince the remainder.”

It took Mr. James several minutes to quiet the rest of the audience down. He turned to the women. “I suggest you conclude your remarks quickly.”

Annie frowned. First the union workers walked out—she’d also seen Mr. Haines follow them, more than likely to insure their goods would stay at the warehouse—and now their group wasn’t supposed to finish speaking?

Aileen took a deep breath. “We just want to let the rest of ye ken that we just want the right to work—”

“Then be a seamstress,” someone yelled.

“Seamstresses doona make good wages,” Aileen answered. “We—”

“Doona expect tailors, cordwainers, or milliners to let ye take away their jobs,” another man interrupted.

“We doona want to take your jobs,” Cora said. “But some women have families to feed too.”

“Then get married and let your man support ye!”

Annie felt her temper rising. “Maybe we doona want to be chattel!”

“’Tis your place. A man provides a roof over your head and ye should be grateful.”

“What if we want to be independent, just like ye?”

A rumble of voices followed that remark. Mr. James hurried over. “I think you had best leave.”

Annie turned to glare at him, her hands on her hips. “Why?”

The answer she waited for did not come from Mr. James. Instead, several dozen rotten pieces of fruit and vegetables came raining down on them. Annie had started to duck, but a large cabbage hit her head. For a moment everything sparkled around her and then all went black.

****

Niall stomped up the stairs to the warehouse, found it locked, and started pounding on the door.

“You are making enough racket to wake the dead over at the Necropolis,” Owen said mildly. “Everything is dark. I do not think Annie is here.”

Niall didn’t think so either, but he kept pounding. “There was a light in the back of the warehouse when we passed by.”

“I thought she had a meeting with Haines. What would Annie be doing in the warehouse?”

“Hell, I doona ken,” Niall answered, “but she should have been home by now. If she’s nae in the office, where else can she be?”

“Did Haines say they were to meet here?” Owen asked.

Niall paused, rubbing his sore knuckles.

Had Annie mentioned the location? She’d just said she had to attend a meeting with Haines and she’d insisted that Niall not accompany her or Haines would start to think she was not competent.

He’d argued the point, but when she accused him of considering her a dimwit, he’d acquiesced.

He didn’t want her feeling he thought she was stupid. “I doona think she said.”

“I think she may have given us the slip,” Owen said.

Niall gave him a sharp look. “Us?”

Owen shrugged. “I did not try to stop her either.”

“Well…” Niall started to go down the steps when he heard a bump and then a muffled voice on the other side of the door and turned back. “Someone is in there.”

“Aye. It sounds like someone bumped into something,” Owen said and started rapping on the door with metal head of his walking stick.

Niall glanced at it. “I guess that comes in handy for something.”

“Actually, this thing comes in quite handy as a quarterstaff when used correctly,” Owen replied. “London does not favor men walking around with long swords strapped to their sides.”

“Good point.” Niall resumed hammering on the door. “I ken someone is in there. Open up or we’ll break down the door.”

There was another muffled sound, closer this time, and then the door opened. Kingsley held up a lantern. “Good God. Do the two of you want to have the night watchman come running?”

“I doona care if he does,” Niall answered. “Where is Annie?”

“With Haines, I imagine.”

Niall held onto his temper. Barely. “And where were they meeting?”

Kingsley frowned at him. “The Trades Hall.”

“The Trades Hall?” The hair at Niall’s nape began to prickle. “Why would she be going there?”

“The union workers are holding their monthly meeting.” Kingsley shrugged. “She said that women’s club of hers was going to speak—”

“Hellfire and damnation!” Niall didn’t wait for him to finish, but started running down the street, Owen beside him.

He should have suspected something when a carriage had called for her, since they usually walked to the warehouse.

The last time the women had gone to the Trades Hall, they’d been lucky nothing had happened besides being shouted at.

The mood of the crowd hadn’t been good then, and with wages still not up to what they had been two years ago, those workers would not be inclined to welcome anything the Progress Club had to say.

Niall increased his pace as they turned onto Glassford Street. “I was a damn fool to let Annie talk me into letting her go alone.”

Owen didn’t break his stride. “That makes two of us.”

Niall gave him a sharp look. For once, they agreed on something, but now was not the time to discuss it. He bounded up the stairs of the Trades Hall, pushed open its double doors, and ran up the steps to the meeting room, Owen right behind him.

It took only a moment to assess the melee. An assortment of rotten food littered the floor near the speaker’s stand. Several men were approaching it while the women huddled around another form on the floor.

Annie.

He sprang toward her, cursing himself that he hadn’t chosen to wear his sword this evening.

One man had almost reached Annie and Niall landed a fist on the man’s jaw, hearing a satisfying crunch and flattened the nose of another who’d picked up a cabbage to throw.

And then Owen was in front of him, wielding the cane like a claymore, swinging the walking stick low to crack the knees of a third man and lifting it as he reeled around to strike the shoulder of a fourth.

“Get the lass out of here,” Owen said, crouching into a fighting stance, holding the staff ready. “I’ve got ye covered.” Then he turned back to the men who stood gaping. “Which one of ye cowards is next? ’Tis a while since I’ve had a good fight.”

Niall hardly noticed that Owen had lapsed into a Scottish burr.

Instead, Niall gathered Annie in his arms—God, was she breathing?

She was so still. Let her be breathing… He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt Annie stir and moan.

He jerked his head toward Aileen. “Get your friends out of here. I’ll follow. ”

She didn’t need to be told twice. They all scurried toward the stairs.

Niall glanced back before he started down.

Owen was still holding his position, but Mr. James was shouting at the men to stand down.

There probably was no need to tell them, since they hadn’t moved after four of their friends were passed out cold on the floor.

Niall managed a quick grin in spite of the situation.

It seemed MacLean was still a Highlander, after all.

****

Kingsley watched MacDonald and MacLean race off and then muttered a soft curse as he closed the office door. That had been a bit too close for comfort, but at least neither of them had asked what he was doing here.

He set the lantern down on the counter. Maybe he was getting soft.

He couldn’t afford to be careless in the spy business, yet light from the lamp must have leaked from the one window in the warehouse, even though he’d pulled the oiled cloth over it before he began investigating.

He’d had a jolt when the banging began, thinking for a moment that Haines had returned from the meeting early, but then quickly realized the man had his own key.

He’d remained still when he recognized the voices, figuring they’d soon leave, but when he went to check if they had, he bumped into a damn chair.

Another mistake. He had no doubt they would have broken the door if he hadn’t opened it.

The prime minister had spent too much time slowly tracking down the suspected culprits in the plan to overthrow the English government for Kingsley to botch things up.

Liverpool would have little tolerance, if any, if his own scheme was discovered.

As it was, Kingsley had not succeeded in identifying who the actual head of the Committee for Organizing a Provisional Government was or if it truly existed or was just rumor.

All Kingsley could do at the moment was begin to ferret out the men who met at Walker’s.

The ledgers at Haines Consolidated Warehousing had been of little value.

He might have saved himself the time it took to persuade the Ferguson woman to trust him enough to double-check the books.

The accounts seemed to be in order, with stock entries matching the numbers in inventory, which nixed his first theory that more stock was being sent out than was reported.

Yet the prime minister had documentation of investments Haines had made that required more money than his profit margin showed he was earning.

Kingsley hadn’t had a chance yet to check on whether shipments received agreed with ledger entries, since none had come in while he’d been here.

A tobacco shipment was due from the States next week and he would take careful count, but Kingsley’s instincts told him he was looking down the wrong rabbit hole.

And his instincts were rarely wrong.

Which had brought him to the warehouse tonight.

If the inventory numbers were accurate, than maybe something was out of order with the inventory itself.

He’d examined bolts of linens and woolens stored on shelves, opened—and closed—boxes of glassware, and even inspected empty barrel drums that a cooper had brought in just that morning.

He’d been about to look at the barley barrels when MacDonald and MacLean had started pounding on the door.

Kingsley picked up his lantern and headed back into the warehouse.

He circled the space where the barley had been placed on wooden pallets to keep the barrels dry.

It has seemed peculiar to him that Haines had insisted they occupy this space only since the other wall was equally dry.

The Ferguson chit had been right that this spot would be better for kelp bales since it was also out of the wind.

So why had Haines been angry and insisted the barley be moved back?

And, Kingsley remembered suddenly, Haines had also said that, in the future, barrels were not to be moved. Why?

Was it possible there wasn’t barley in those barrels? Kingsley pulled out a pocket watch. The meeting at the Trades Hall would end soon. He had no way of knowing whether Haines would come by the warehouse or not, but he certainly couldn’t be caught opening one of the barrels.

He glanced over at the empty barrels the cooper had brought.

Miss Ferguson had counted them, but Haines hadn’t been in today, so he would have no way of knowing if one was missing.

Kingsley doubted that Miss Ferguson would check either since the barrels weren’t due to ship out for several days.

He could fill one with dirt and use it as a placeholder while he took one of the barley barrels to his flat.

If all the barrel contained was barley, he would return it and no one would be the wiser.

Fifteen minutes later, the barrel was in the back of his phaeton and Kingsley was on his way home.