Page 6 of Glasgow Rogue

“To tell you the truth, I had not considered a woman managing the place before last night,” Mr. Haines answered. “But when I heard Miss Ferguson speak…” He smiled and nodded at Annie. “…I realized there was no reason a woman could not handle the position.”

“There. Ye see?” Annie said to Niall before she turned to Mr. Haines. “Thank ye. It certainly is assuring that some men see value in women.”

“I dinnae say ye had nae value,” Niall said. “Ye do.”

“Just nae when it comes to holding an actual job,” Annie shot back.

Niall started to protest, but then decided against it.

He wasn’t going to win this particular argument.

At least not now. If he wanted to tell Annie how much value she had, he wasn’t going to do it in front of Haines.

The conversation could—would—get personal.

Annie probably wouldn’t appreciate that either.

In fact, he was probably going to get another glare, if not worse, from her when he asked his next question.

“So what will this job include, exactly? I doona want Miss Ferguson injuring herself.”

He hardly had the words out before he could hear her start to sputter. Luckily, Haines interjected before she could unleash a tirade.

“Nothing like manual labor,” the man said. “I have a number of young men who can do the heavy lifting and moving things around.”

Niall didn’t like the sound of that either. He didn’t want Annie surrounded by a lot of young, strong men. It wouldn’t be safe. “I doona think a lady should be—”

“By the saints! Will ye stop?” Annie gave him a look that might have withered another man, but Niall just set his jaw.

“I doona think being the only woman working in a warehouse is a suitable job for ye,” he said stubbornly.

“’Tis my decision,” Annie replied, equally defiant.

“Perhaps I could interpose,” Mr. Haines said mildly.

They both stopped glaring at each other to look at him. He smiled benignly.

“I can understand Mr. MacDonald’s concern,” Mr. Haines said smoothly, “but Miss Ferguson will mostly be in the office handling the paperwork. The only time she need be on the floor is to make sure the inventory is correct before it leaves. She will have to vouch for that.”

“Which is something I can do,” Annie said, blue fire flashing from her eyes in Niall’s direction. “Unless ye think me utterly a nitwit.”

“Nae,” he replied and then realized Annie had outmaneuvered him with that last comment.

Damnation! Then another thought came to him as he recalled something he’d seen on one of the invoices in the marine office earlier.

He smiled and turned to Mr. Haines. “Does your warehouse hold woolens and barley for Henderson Shipping?”

The man looked surprised, but it was quickly masked as he nodded. “It does. Why do you ask?”

“I am temporarily managing Robert Henderson’s office here in Glasgow,” Niall replied, “so I will be stopping by the warehouse myself.”

Annie made that strange sound again that he couldn’t identify. He looked at her, allowing his smile to widen into a grin. “It looks like we might be working together, after all.”

****

Archibald Haines locked the door of his walk-up flat on the East End and walked over to the serving cart that held a decanter of bourbon and poured a half-snifter.

The liquor wasn’t premier stock from either France or the States.

The decanter wasn’t Waterford crystal, either.

But soon, soon, he would be able to afford the best.

He tossed the liquor back and poured another, taking this one with him to the brocaded sofa beginning to show wear in spots, much like the scratched mahogany table in front of it. Those items would be replaced soon as well.

Archibald looked around the room. The wallpaper was still intact and showed no signs of yellowing.

The carpet—not Aubusson—still looked relatively plush.

There really was nothing wrong with the place, other than that he longed for one of the mansions on Buchanan.

He deserved one of those. His father had owned one, only to lose it—along with the family fortunes—when the Revolutionary War brought the tobacco trade to a halt.

Damn the Americans. Damn the British. And, for that matter, damn the French too.

With all the sea blockades in place, nothing had been easy to trade.

Now, at long last, goods were coming across the Channel and going across the Atlantic too.

He took another swallow of bourbon, more slowly this time.

The interference and regulations would be rectified once the Committee for Organizing a Provisional Government put their full plan into action and declared Scotland’s independence.

And when they did, he would be ready. He would become one of the most powerful rulers of the new country.

Last night’s meeting at the Trades Hall had been a godsend.

Initially, he had reacted like the rest of the men when the group of women from that idiotic Club for Liberty and Progress showed up.

Then the red-haired chit began to talk and Archibald thought perhaps the Fates were beginning to smile on him at last.

Not that he agreed with anything she said. Every man knew women weren’t capable of managing anything other than household staff. They certainly didn’t know a thing about how businesses were run.

Which was why Annie Ferguson was perfect for the job. She’d concern herself only with the inventory count—even a female could compare the number on an invoice to the actual product—and not question the contents of the shipments.

Archibald took another swallow. Every barrel of barley had a false bottom.

Beneath that bottom, powdered opium—for which he used smugglers in order to avoid the huge excise taxes the English government demanded—was carefully packed for shipment to the state of Virginia.

Once there, the barley and opium would be unloaded and replaced with tobacco for the return trip.

The false bottom would contain gold, which he would meticulously count and then turn over to Gordon Monroe, the unscrupulous accountant at Henderson Shipping, to invest for him.

Unfortunately, the man had disappeared a few weeks ago.

Archibald thought it had to do with Monroe’s connection to an insane woman who tried to attack the wife of Alasdair MacDonald.

At least, Archibald hoped that was the case and not that MacDonald had discovered that Monroe was also altering the books at the shipping company.

Archibald finished his drink and stood to get another. Damn the MacDonalds too. When Alasdair left for London, Archibald thought the coast was clear. Then the brother showed up. Not only that, but Niall MacDonald had made it obvious he was the Ferguson hoyden’s watchdog.

Archibald poured more liquor and stood staring out his third-story window, although he paid no attention to the scene below.

He needed Annie Ferguson as a foil. He wasn’t a man of violence.

He much preferred aristocratic pursuits, but if Niall MacDonald interfered with the plans too much, there were dockhands on the quay that could make a man disappear into the murky waters of the Clyde.