Oliver nodded. “It might be a profitable excursion in more ways than one.”
Martin responded with a sharklike smile. “Precisely my thoughts. Especially as you and I can legitimately claim to be interested in investment opportunities in the town.”
“It does seem the sort of event tailor-made for us at this time.” Oliver grinned. “While pursuing any whispers about Carmichael Steelworks, we can both further our own ends.”
“Indeed.”
The clock on the mantelpiece whirred, then softlybongedten times.
Oliver set down his empty glass on the side table beside his chair. “And now I must be on my way, especially if we’re going to this ball tomorrow night.” He rose, and Martin stood as well.
As they walked toward the door, Oliver said, “Tomorrow, I plan to spend the day scouting around town on other business. While I do, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for any mention of Carmichael Steelworks.”
“Do.” Martin halted before the door. “I’ll call in there tomorrow morning. I want to know if changing the locks has put a halt to the accidents.”
Oliver tipped his head. “That might be revealing.”
“We can but hope.” Martin opened the door.
Oliver grinned, saluted him, and walked out. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening at the Assembly Rooms.”
Martin grunted a reply, then shut the door. He stood staring at the panels for a full minute, acknowledging the restlessness that rode his nerves, the edgy tension, all due to the sense that he should be doing something more active and tangible to protect Sophy and her steelworks. It was a strangely powerful feeling, more a compulsion than a mere inclination.
He turned to face the room. Roland appeared, and on impulse, Martin said, “I have a different job for you, Figgs, and Tunstall.”
Roland brightened; he lived for moments when his “duties” took him beyond those activities normally associated with a gentleman’s gentleman. “I’ll fetch them.” He turned and vanished through the unobtrusive door used by the servants.
Martin walked back to the chair by the fire and subsided into its depths. He was sitting there, cogitating, when his three most-trusted staff arrived and formed a line before him.
Leaning back in the chair, Martin studied the three. Figgs was his groom and readily identifiable as such, while Tunstall—his secretary—was visually much harder to pigeonhole. In his neat, well-made, but not expensive clothes, he was more of a chameleon, a trait he—and Martin—used to their advantage. In this instance, however, little subterfuge would be required.
“I want the three of you to set up an effective overnight watch on the Carmichael steelworks.”
“That place in Rockingham Street that you’re looking to buy?” Tunstall clarified.
“Exactly.” Martin considered, then said, “Every morning Monday to Saturday, the foreman, Hinckley, opens the works’ gate at seven o’clock or just before. The works shut down at five, and it’ll be Hinckley again who locks the main gate. I’m not sure when those working in the offices arrive, but they depart at that time. I’m interested in the hours between five in the evening and seven in the morning, Monday to Friday, and from one o’clock on Saturday afternoon through to seven o’clock the following Monday.”
Figgs nodded. “So all day Sunday.”
It was Tuesday. “If it comes to that,” Martin confirmed. “I suggest you hire enough others—men you feel you can trust to do the job for a reasonable fee—to cover all four streets surrounding the works, but obviously, the entrances, which are on Rockingham Street and Bailey Lane, are the principal points of interest. I want at least one of you there at all times to oversee those you hire.”
“You can count on us,” Roland informed him, and indeed, the eagerness in all three faces was marked. They hated living a quiet life every bit as much as Martin did.
Hiding a grin at their enthusiasm, he went on, “If anyone tries to break in, regardless of the time or what I might be doing, notify me immediately. Keep watch, but don’t interfere, and track them if they leave. Otherwise, report every morning.”
“Very good, sir,” they chorused.
Martin let his grin show and waved them off, then rose and headed for his bed. For tonight, he’d done all he could, and tomorrow would bring a new day.
CHAPTER6
Sophy was sitting at the breakfast table, absentmindedly nibbling a slice of toast and rather trepidatiously wondering what the day would bring, when Richards entered and announced, “Lady Bracknell, miss. Ma’am.”
“Oh!” Immediately, Julia, seated opposite Sophy, put a hand to her hair, checking that her chignon was tidy.
Sophy’s grandmama swept in like a galleon under full sail, utterly unstoppable.
Sophy blinked as she registered that, even though it was barely eight o’clock, her grandmother was dressed for a day about town, with her improbably dark hair fetchingly secured beneath a fashionably feathered hat, and her robust figure tightly encased in a new carriage gown of plum silk.
