After shrugging into her coat and grabbing her bag, she returned to the outer office. She wasn’t surprised to find Martin waiting. He held the door for her and followed her out.
She strode quickly along the pavement toward Broad Lane; finding a hackney would be easier on the busier street.
Martin kept pace easily. “I take it this is urgent.”
“Yes,” she bit out. “We get pig iron delivered three times a week, but Atlas’s runs are always close to fully committed, and if I don’t rectify this mix-up in time, they might not be able to supply us again until later in the week.”
They reached Broad Lane, and he whistled up a hackney; another reason to take him with her. He grasped her hand and helped her in, then followed and called to the jarvey to get them to the Atlas Works as fast as humanly possible.
The jarvey took him at his word, which was something of a relief. As they rocketed along, weaving in and out of traffic, her heart was racing, although whether in reaction to the situation—surely fraught enough—or from sitting in such close proximity to Martin, she couldn’t have said. Yet over and above everything, even her unrelenting awareness of him, she was glad he was with her.
The hackney swerved, and her shoulder pressed hard into his arm. As she righted herself, she prayed she wasn’t blushing furiously.
“If the worst comes to be,” he said, and she heard nothing but single-minded focus in his voice, which greatly assisted her to find the same, “and Atlas can’t fill your order, I could divert some supply from my Rotherham foundry.”
She glanced at him. “But your runs must be close to fully committed, too.”
His features hardened, and he met her eyes. “There are some benefits to being an owner. If I tell them to divert, they will.”
And he would. She read as much in his eyes. He was prepared to risk creating problems with his foundry’s contracted customers in order to help her and Carmichael’s.
She summoned a weak smile and lightly gripped his arm. “Thank you. But with any luck, it won’t come to that.”
Just as long as she reached the Atlas Works in time.
The hackney rocketed around a corner and onto Lady’s Bridge.
“How long have Carmichael’s been ordering their pig iron from Atlas?” Martin had to shout to be heard over the rattling of the wheels.
“Since my father’s day,” Sophy yelled back.
“And they’re your sole supplier?”
“Yes.”
“So everyone in town knows that Carmichael’s is entirely dependent on Atlas deliveries.”
The hackney shot off the bridge and headed up The Wicker.
Sophy looked at Martin. “What are you thinking?”
His expression was decidedly grim. “That the accidents didn’t work as our villain had hoped, so he’s turned to sabotaging your essential supply line. That’s what the dray was about. It wasn’t a Carmichael dray. It was Atlas’s.”
“So the dray accident was actually a part of this new tack?”
“Had the accident been worse, as it could have been, it would have caused trouble—friction at least—between Carmichael’s and Atlas. Atlas might not have wanted to continue dealing with Carmichael’s. I think making Atlas believe you’ve canceled a long-standing order is another part of this new attempt to undermine Carmichael’s.”
She frowned. “If they thought that a dray accident, however bad, would cause Atlas to step away from dealing with Carmichael’s…that suggests they don’t know the connections in this town all that well.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Martin frown at that, but before he could ask for clarification, the hackney drew up outside the massive gates of the even more massive Atlas Works.
“Thank you!” she called to the jarvey and all but tumbled from the hackney as it rocked to a halt.
Leaving Martin to pay the jarvey, she hurried to the gatehouse.
The gatekeeper saw her and beamed. “Miss Carmichael! It does my old eyes good to see you, miss. It’s been too long.” He raised the bar he manned and waved her through.
“It’s not been that long, Ben, but I need to see the old man immediately. Is he in?”
