Page 1 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)

Bolton, Lancashire, England, 1862

S ergeant Halliwell tweaked one pointed tip of his handlebar mustache. “Remind me again, who discovered the body, Mr. Sandiford?” he asked.

Rising from the settee in the drawing room of his comfortable home, Roger clenched his jaw and wished he’d remained seated. At six feet in height, he was considered tall, but Halliwell dwarfed him. As Master of Broadclough Mill, Roger knew only too well how unsettling a death could be for the rest of the workforce, and the imposing sergeant struck him as a tenacious bulldog who’d wrestle with a mystery until he solved it. However, Roger had more pressing matters to deal with than the unfortunate death of one of his workers. “As I said, Miles Smethurst, my overseer, when he came to get the shift started.”

“You keep asking the same question,” Roger’s mother declared, glaring at the policeman.

Lucinda Sandiford’s impatient nature was well known, though perhaps not to this particular policeman from the Bolton Borough Constabulary. “The sergeant’s just following procedure,” Roger said, in an effort to appease his mother. “Although it does seem obvious what happened. Little piecers are often crushed by the spinning machines—a hazard of the job.”

“Many little piecers are injured every year,” Lucinda pointed out. “Crawling under the mechanized spinning looms to reattach broken cotton threads takes agility. Children don’t always pay attention to what they are doing.”

Roger bristled. He wasn’t comfortable employing children to do such dangerous work, but adults were too big for the task. As a child, he’d worked as a piecer himself. He might be master of Broadclough Mill now, but he’d never forgotten the hardships of his youth. Piecers had to keep their wits about them, but they worked long hours and were often malnourished.

“The dead boy was known as a troublemaker,” the sergeant replied.

“What does that have to do with it?” Lucinda asked.

“I’ve been told Smethurst had a run-in with Malcolm Pickering just yesterday.”

“I’m not kept abreast of every problem that occurs in the mill,” Roger replied. “I have an overseer to take care of that.”

“But you personally have disciplined Pickering on previous occasions.”

Prickly heat swept across Roger’s nape. Something was very wrong. “Possibly, I have hundreds of employees. Why all the questions? I have a mill to run.”

“I’m afraid the spinning room will have to remain out-of-bounds for the moment.”

The knot in Roger’s gut tightened. “Sergeant, you’re perhaps not aware of the cotton famine currently threatening our industry. The American Civil War is starving us of cotton. We can’t afford to lose a day’s production. The workers’ continued employment is hanging in the balance as it is.”

He preferred not to mention the bleak outlook for his family and his business if the famine continued.

The policeman tucked his notebook into the pocket of his uniform and nestled the pencil stub behind his ear. “I am aware of the famine caused by the American Civil War,” he replied in a patronizing manner. “But until we solve this murder, the spinning room is off limits.”

“Murder?” Roger and his mother both exclaimed at once.

* * *

Back at police HQ, Marcus Halliwell removed his stovepipe hat, stiffened his spine, and saluted the superior officer who’d assigned him to investigate the death at Broadclough Mill.

“Well?” the inspector asked from behind his desk. “Open and shut?”

“Murder, sir.”

The inspector arched a doubtful brow. “You’re certain? Children who work in the mills are often killed or injured.”

“This lad’s skull bore evidence of several sharp blows with something like a hammer. His body sustained no injuries, which I believe would have been the case had the machinery killed him.”

The inspector frowned. “You must proceed with caution in this matter. We can’t afford to get on the wrong side of the Sandifords, you know.”

Marcus was tempted to make some remark about Mrs. Sandiford’s abrasive manner but thought better of it. His inspector might be a friend of the Sandifords. Powerful people tended to stick together.

“Any suspects?”

At this point, Marcus had no idea who might be responsible, but this investigation was a chance to prove his capabilities. “I plan to interrogate the overseer and other mill workers. Malcolm Pickering was often in trouble with his supervisors.”

“A pest they’d all sooner be rid of.”

“Exactly, sir.”

“Carry on, then. Just tread lightly with Sandiford. The mill owners are an influential lot.”