Page 161 of The Armor of Light

They went inside. Sal found the hall dark and depressing. There was a fireplace with no fire, and a tall clock that ticked importantly. In the portrait over the fireplace, Hornbeam glared malevolently at anyone who dared to enter his home. What was the point of a great big house if you lived without light and warmth? Sometimes rich people really did not know how to spend their money.

Simpson came back and showed them into a rather small room that appeared to be Hornbeam’s study or office. It was as unwelcoming as the hall. Hornbeam was behind a big desk, dressed in a coat of a rich dark-brown cloth. He said curtly: ‘What is it, Shoveller?’

Spade was not willing to dispense with the courtesies. ‘Good evening, Alderman,’ he said.

Hornbeam did not ask them to sit down. He looked hard at Colin then returned his gaze to Spade. ‘What’s that man doing here?’

Spade would not let Hornbeam steer the conversation. Ignoring the question, he said: ‘You’ve bought a new scribbling engine.’

‘What’s that got to do with you?’

‘Mrs Box and I are among those tasked with monitoring compliance with the agreement that ended the strike caused by your steam looms.’

Hornbeam bristled. ‘Caused by interference from outsiders.’

Spade continued to ignore Hornbeam’s quarrelsome interruptions. ‘We’re hoping to avoid another strike.’

Hornbeam laughed scornfully. ‘Then don’t call one!’

Spade did not respond to that. ‘You’ll remember, Hornbeam, that the clothiers collectively agreed to consult the hands when introducing important new machinery, to avoid the unrest that is so often caused by unheralded change.’

‘What do you want from me?’

‘We want you to inform your hands about the new machine, tell them how many people will work on it and how many will be displaced by it, and discuss the consequences.’

‘You shall have my answer tomorrow.’

There was a silence. Sal realized that was intended to be the end of the meeting. After an awkward pause, the three visitors left the room.

Outside the house, Spade said: ‘That wasn’t as bad as I expected.’

Colin said: ‘What? He was as mean as a cat! He looked as if he would cheerfully hang us all.’

‘Yes, and by the end I was expecting a flat refusal – but then he told us to wait until tomorrow. That suggests he’s going to think it over. Which is more promising.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sal. ‘I think he’s got something up his sleeve.’

*

Sal was dreaming that Colin Hennessy was making love to her, his black hair falling forward over his face as he gasped with pleasure, when she was awakened by a banging on the house door. She felt guilty when she looked at her husband next to her. What a good thing others could not know what you dreamed about.

She thought the banging was the knocker-up, who ran through the streets waking mill hands around four o’clock in the morning. But the sound was repeated, as if someone wanted to come in.

Jarge went to the door in his underwear, and she heard him say: ‘What bloody time is it?’

Then a voice said: ‘Now don’t you give me any trouble, Jarge Box. It’s your wife I want, not you.’

It sounded like Sheriff Doye, Sal thought, and she was struck with fear. Doye himself did not frighten her, but he represented the arbitrary power of ruthless men such as Hornbeam. She was frightened of Hornbeam.

She got out of bed and pulled her dress over her head. She stepped into her shoes and splashed water on her face. Then she went to the door.

Doye was with the constable, Reg Davidson. Sal said: ‘What the hell do you two want with me?’

‘You got to come with us,’ said Doye.

‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘You’re accused of combination.’