His eyes opened and focused on her for the first time this evening. “You should see it,” he said, to her surprise. “You should see what you’re helping to create.”
“I’m not doing anything.” She wanted to visit the works more out of curiosity than anything else.
“Paperwork has to be done and you appear to be good at it. It’s taken a burden off me.” He stood, stretching his long frame. “I’d like some fresh air. Will you walk with me?”
“Now?”
“It’s a warm night for November, and we can talk outside as easily as in here.”
“You might want to…um,” she motioned at his head. When he gave her a quizzical look, she added, “Here let me.” She rose, going closer to him to smooth down the little tufts of golden hair. She expected the texture to be coarse, but it was silky and soft to the touch. Although she wanted more of him to touch, wanted him to react, he didn’t. He held very still, not looking at her until she took a step back. “I’ll get my wrap.”
A slight breeze rustled the dried leaves as they strolled away from her aunt’s house. Gas lamps lit the street, creating little circles of soft light. Other couples enjoyed the warm evening. Ella termed the atmosphere romantic, but Jim, who walked by her side, made no move to take her arm.
“Lovely night. I didn’t realize.” She turned her face into the breeze. It smelled of leaves, wood smoke, and fall.
“I shouldn’t keep you chained to the desk so much,” he said. “I hope you’re attending some events.”
“Aunt Louise and I went to a concert in the Upper Rooms last evening,” she said without thinking, temporarily forgetting she’d planned not to mention that entertainment, considering the company hadn’t been stellar.
“Was the performance good?”
“Yes, a soprano sang beautifully and I enjoyed most of the evening.” Deciding that honesty was best with Jim, she gave herself the opportunity to say more.
“Most?” He caught her meaning.
“Lord Spencer made an appearance, but I saw him only once. I don’t think he stayed long.” At the mention of the other man, Jim went rigid. Her long legs matched his stride until now, but his pace accelerated for a second and she hustled to stay near him.
“Did he approach you?” Slowing, he wrapped her arm through his as he spoke, but she couldn’t be sure if it was due to Lord Spencer or to guide her around a slower walking couple ahead of them. Either way, she had no plans to let him separate himself from her.
“No, he kept on the opposite side of the room, but I know he saw me. I certainly didn’t wish to speak with him.”
Jim said nothing, only turned with her to walk along the edge of a park where vendors offered treats and performed for passersby.
“I don’t think he’ll cause any trouble for me. I’m sure he’s put his interest elsewhere.” Marriage to a wealthy, moldable young lady was probably Lord Spencer’s purpose in Bath.
“I hope you’re right,” Jim finally commented.
“Let’s not worry about him and take pleasure in the evening.”
The scent of confections wafted on the air. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I am terribly fond of those little cakes.” She pointed to a cart where a man and his son sold cakes wrapped in paper.
“I’ll get one for you,” he offered, leaving her in the glow of a street lamp.
Idly waiting for Jim, she let her mind drift. She could imagine their life, taking strolls in the evening, talking through the day’s events. Completely comfortable with each other. Precisely what she wanted. Busy days and blissful nights.
A tug on her reticule snapped her out of the daydream. Instinctively, she reached out, clamping her fingers around the thin shoulder blades of a child, who snatched at her bag. She gripped tighter, catching hold of the fabric of his jacket when he struggled to free himself.
“Hold still,” she commanded, applying a little more pressure.
“Lemme go,” the boy, perhaps ten, pleaded with her when she clamped her other hand down on his free arm. “You got no right.”
“I have every right to call the watch,” she said, studying the boy. His thin body was masked in oversized clothing, but pale skin and the sharp angle of his cheek and collarbones told of a difficult life. One grimy hand gripped her satin bag, leaving stains. She didn’t care about some dirt, but his hollow-looking eyes worried her. She wanted to know his story. “You were trying to steal my bag. Why?”
“Lemme go. I didn’t mean nuthin’,” he complained again, his voice pitching up in fear and resentment.
“Other than theft. Do you know what happens to boys who steal?”
“Nuthin,’” he yelled, and then shrunk back, afraid of attracting attention.
“They go to the work house. I’ve heard stories of that place.” She bent toward him and whispered with a shudder, “I wouldn’t want to go there.”
“They don’t send ladies there.”
“I suppose not. Give me my bag and I won’t call the watch.”
The child held the bag close enough that she could reach it. When her hands were on it, he tried to run. “Not so fast.” She refused to release him. “Tell me why you’re trying to steal when you should be at home sleeping or learning your letters.”
“Can’t eat letters,” he mumbled.
“Learning letters can help you get a job, an honest job, where you don’t have to steal. Can you read?” Jim’s footsteps smacked the pavement behind her. Not turning to see him, she could feel his presence looming.
“A little,” he admitted, his eyes wide, shifting to Jim.
“If I give you some shillings for food,” she said, focusing on the child, “will you study your letters for an hour, then go to sleep?”
He nodded, still trying to keep his distance despite her grip on his arm. She undid the clasp of her reticule with her free hand, finding three shillings for him. “Food, then letters. Understand?”
Holding the money just out of reach she waited for his answer. “Yes or no? I can find someone else who would like these coins.”
“Yes, miss,” he said and she dropped the money into his grimy hand. Before she could say anything else he was off, rounding the next corner and disappearing from sight.
“What was that about?” Jim spun her around, resting his large hands on her shoulders. “Why did you give him money?”
“So he could eat. Why else?” At this range, the tick under his left eye throbbed. She’d noticed it once before but only when he was upset.
“You’ve just been scammed by a street hustler,” he declared, tightening his grip on her.
“You don’t think he was hungry?”
“He was hungry.” Jim glanced in the direction the boy had taken. “Street kids always are.”
“You’re not sympathetic,” she accused him. “That surprises me. How do you propose helping people?”
“Make them employable like you suggested to the boy.”
“We agree on that, but he wouldn’t last long at a job without some food in his stomach,” she said, defending her position. “He has to be fed first.”
“You’re probably right,” he conceded vocally, but his face remained rigid with anger.
“But?” she challenged him.
“You believe a few shillings will solve his problem. Right now, he’s buying some Sally Lunn bread at a bakery on the next street. He’ll eat it and begin hunting for his next mark before the hour’s up. Your charity accomplished nothing.”
Furious at his words, she shook free of him, batting his hand away when he tried to take her arm. “I just wanted to help and I thought I did until you ruined it.”
“Wealthy people’s charity accomplishes little but make them feel good.”
“That’s…oh…the most insulting thing you’ve ever said to me.” She walked away from him headed toward her aunt’s home.
“I’m sorry,” he said, catching up with her, although his tone wasn’t conciliatory. “I agree it�
��s important to assist others, but the boy will keep up the same strategy if stealing gets him what he wants.”
“So I’m taking away his opportunity to succeed on his own?” Sarcasm sliced through her words. “He was ten. Were you on your own at that age?”
“I worked. I needed to help support my family, but I had good parents who understood the value of an education and would have whipped my hide if I’d even thought about stealing.”
“I’m glad you had them. They were obviously caring people, but don’t try to suggest to me that you haven’t helped others. Annabelle told me the story about my brother and how you picked Heath up from the gutter where he was lying dead drunk and beat up, only inches from being run over and how your family cared for him.”
“Not right to leave a man in that condition.” A subject he didn’t want to talk about, judging from his tone.
“But that’s not charity in your definition?” She had him there. “What would you call it?”
“Decency.”
“How is giving a boy a few shillings not decency then?” They faced each other at her aunt’s front gate now. “Why are the rules different for you?”
“Because I’m a…” He stopped himself.
“A man.” She finished for him. “How convenient.”
“It has nothing to do with convenience.”
“If you were a woman,” she tapped his chest, “you’d disagree.”
Faster than she could have imagined, he grabbed her hand, pulled her to him, and kissed her hard on the lips. The kiss started and ended so abruptly she felt disoriented, lost.
“What was that for?” she asked, putting some space between them, passion outpacing anger in her bloodstream.
“To remind you I’m a man,” he said, his voice low and ragged, “and you like it that way. I’ll see you in two days.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jim prowled between buildings at the steam works in Bristol. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but if one presented itself, he wasn’t backing down. After his third trip through the machining shop, the loudest and most dangerous part of the operation, his nerves calmed slightly. Everything was running on schedule and as flawlessly as could be anticipated considering the expectations.
The other part of his life was less flawless. After his fight with Ella early in the week, he’d avoided going to her. Instead, he sent notes via a courier. It wasn’t the same. There were holes in the correspondence, things they needed to discuss for the business. More importantly, an apology he needed to convey for his own peace of mind. Maybe she’d stop taking center stage in his thoughts once he’d done that. The smolder in her eyes after the kiss would take longer to put out of his memory.
“Any messages for me, Mr. Jim?” Sam caught him in the cinder-covered yard outside the machine shop. With food and a new suit of clothes, the street urchin who had tried to steal Ella’s reticule looked better, almost respectable. It had taken Jim’s head of security and a Bath police officer only a day to track down the boy based on Jim’s description. As Ella suspected, the boy was in need of help. Sam’s mother had died the winter before; his father was long gone. He’d been surviving on the streets for several months.
Since thieves tended to work the same locations, especially young ones, his men picked up the boy quickly. He’d had the kid brought to Bristol, cleaned him up, found a home for him with one of the worker’s families, and employed Sam as a messenger boy. Food and employment, honest employment. He hoped Ella would approve and some of his guilt would be assuaged.
“Run down to the ship and ask McGregor for an update. I want those engines turning over today.”
“Yes, Mr. Jim.” Sam darted off, tripping lightly down the path to the harbor.
If only all problems could be solved by clean clothes and a roof over one’s head, he thought, as a carriage came through the steam work’s gates. He didn’t want to admit that Ella’s arrival for a visit was the key source of his anxiety this morning, but it was. At least, her aunt would accompany her, taking some of the pressure off him.
“It’s changed,” Ella accepted his hand to exit the carriage. “My goodness.” She swirled around. “New buildings, more equipment.”
“More work,” he said, greeting Aunt Louise and helping her from the carriage.
“I forgot you’d visited before, dear,” Aunt Louise said, removing her large handbag from the vehicle before it departed.
He hadn’t. Ella’s visit six months ago with Annabelle and Edmund stood as a watershed in his life. He’d met Ella a few days prior at a reception in Bath and felt an instant connection with her. But when he guided Ella and Sophie around the works, he understood the power of overruling attraction. He’d seen friends, even his sister, succumb to it, but he never thought it was real until Ella.
“Remarkable. Does it ever stop?” Aunt Louise asked when loud banging from three directions and the hiss of a steam engine filled the yard.
“It’s almost quiet between two and three in the morning,” Jim answered to the clang of a hammer on metal.
“I suppose you’re here even then.” Ella shaded her eyes, staring down the hill toward the ship riding at the dock.
“Some nights. Not all,” he admitted. He went to his cottage to change clothes and grab a few hours sleep at some point during the night. Most of the time he was in his office, on the nearly complete ship, or somewhere in the yard. Pure exhaustion was the only thing that led to sleep. Worries about the ship in progress, about the larger contract, and about the beautiful woman standing by him kept him awake unless he worked himself to fatigue.
Sam scampered toward the trio, tipping his hat at the ladies. “Mr. McGregor said the engines would be runnin’ at three today. He wants you to come.”
“Tell him I’ll be there.”
“Mr. Jim. Can I stay and watch ‘em work?” The boy’s eyes wandered to Ella’s face before a blush colored his cheeks as he recognized her.
“For an hour or so, then I’ll have some errands for you.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam took off back down the hill.
“Wasn’t that the boy from the park?” Ella wanted to know, giving him a penetrating look.
“The one who tried to take your bag?” her aunt asked.
Aunt Louise’s question told Jim that Ella had shared the story. How much of the details of the evening had she imparted? The kiss still sent a curl of desire through him. “It was,” Jim said. “His name’s Sam.”
“You took the trouble to find him and bring him here.” Ella’s clutched his sleeve, squeezing tightly. “Is he working for you?”
“We needed a messenger boy.” He wanted to shrug it off without explaining.
“You did this to help him,” she continued, a smile lighting her face and eyes.
“Or to please you?” Aunt Louise addressed her niece before putting the question to him. “Which is it, young man?” Aunt Louise was more like Ella in her forwardness and less like Ella’s mother who might have thought the question, but not asked.
“Both,” he admitted, truthfully. “The boy needed help and I behaved badly.”
“It’s a good way to solve two problems at the same time. Excellent thinking,” Aunt Louise congratulated him. “Now, I’d like the easy, old lady tour of the place. Then, you may leave me in some nice office with a pot of tea to do my needle work while you show Ella around through all the nooks and crannies.”
****
“Is that the building where the fire was?” Ella indicated a scorched workshop with broken out windows. He nodded. “Any leads?”
“Just more trouble,” he admitted, although he hadn’t meant to burden her with his problems.
“What else?”
“Another break-in, supplies coming by water waylaid, some of our men got in an altercation in town. Little things.” That added up to trouble. Staying focused on the overall goal kept him from over-reacting, but the frequency of events was increasing. Something big would put a hole in his carefully constru
cted timeframe.
“But you’re concerned.”
“I don’t have extra time for delays and there’s the possibility this is…” He didn’t want to say the word aloud even to her.
“Sabotage?” she suggested. “If you thought the fire intentional, what else could it mean?”
“Wish I knew,” he muttered, guiding her past scrap metal still glowing with heat in the yard. It felt good to discuss it with someone he trusted. “Wish I knew who.”
“One of your workers?” She seemed to perceive his problem. “How many are there?”
“Over two hundred at the moment. It’s always possible if someone were paying them. I don’t know everyone who works for me personally.”
“Who would be paying this worker?” She kept her voice low, preventing the twenty men working nearby from hearing their conversation.
“Someone who doesn’t want to see that ship,” he pointed toward the dock, “or the full-sized one float.”
“France?” Her voice soft and questioning as she leaped to a conclusion.
“It’s logical, but the Royal Navy’s committee isn’t sharing details with me.” Knowing the enemy would be better. Edmund was working in London to obtain information about the threats the committee alluded to.
“What can you do?”
“Increase security, hope for the best…” As he had been since the first incident.
“And be here yourself every waking moment,” she concluded for him.
“Yes. Not that it prevented the occurrences.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I were in Bristol? You wouldn’t have to make the trip to Bath during these last few weeks of construction.”
“Not feasible.” He dismissed her idea for a multitude of reasons.
“Why not?” Just like Ella to not acknowledge the list of objections to such a suggestion.
“Where would you live? Where would you work?” He laid out the obvious problems for her. “I can’t have you here at the yard. It’s too dangerous.” Fires, thefts, fights. If they built toward something larger, she needed to be miles away in Bath where he knew she was safe.
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