The three of them agreed that the same people—all those involved in managing the Sheffield iron and steel trade—would also be the most likely sources of information about anyone who might have developed an unhealthy interest in Carmichael Steelworks.
“I think,” Martin said, “that we should also keep our ears peeled for any mention of the man Edward spoke with at his club.”
Sophy frowned. “What man is that?”
Between them, Martin and Oliver explained.
“Hmm. A hard-looking man in a good coat. That’s not much of a description,” she pointed out, “but if he was in the Iron and Steel Club, then there’s a decent chance someone here will know him.”
“Right, then.” Oliver waved at the crowd now packing the room. “Shall we?”
With two tall men flanking her—moreover, ones who were plainly used to locating people in crowded ballrooms—Sophy found that effectively quartering the room wasn’t as hard as it would have been had she been alone. Looking over the crowd’s heads, Martin and Oliver singled out people among those standing and chatting and directed her attention their way, then she confirmed identities, and they decided whether to approach or pass those people by.
They concentrated on the upper echelons of Sheffield industry, assiduously avoiding those of purely social status.
That suited Sophy to the ground; she was much more comfortable with the local captains of industry than she was with the mavens of Sheffield society. Luckily, the wives of said captains weren’t members of the latter group.
As they wended their way through the crush of bodies, she grew increasingly aware of Martin’s presence beside her, of the light brush of his hand on her back as he guided her this way or that. Curiously, rather than leap at every touch, as her senses previously had, now they quietly purred.
Between them, they charted a course through the crowd, meeting and chatting with every steelworks or foundry owner they came across. The Vickers family was there in strength, along with their cousins, the Naylors, both families as entrenched in Sheffield iron and steel as the Carmichaels. Likewise the Osborns, Hadfields, Firths, and Sandersons; Sophy greeted them all and made Martin and Oliver known to everyone.
She was impressed by how readily Martin, and Oliver, too, although to a lesser degree, interacted with the steel men; it was as if Martin spoke the same language as they… In fact, she decided, that was it, exactly. He was a businessman who demonstrably cared nothing for class, and Sheffield’s steelmakers were cut from the same cloth; they were fundamentally the same sort of character and quickly relaxed in each other’s company.
In addition, however, both Martin and Oliver had been raised within the ton. They had the experience and the glib tongues to be able to lead the various conversations in the directions they wished. Through the exercise of that particular talent, they learned that no other steelworks had found themselves plagued by strange accidents, and although the others had—of course—heard rumors of the accidents that had been occurring at the Carmichael works, no one had any notion of who might be behind such attacks. No one had heard of anyone, other than Martin and Oliver, expressing interest in any steelworks, much less Carmichael’s.
“Besides,” Thomas Firth said with a smile for Sophy, “everyone around here and his dog knows you’ll never sell.”
She laughed and agreed. After exchanging a pointed look with her, Martin turned the conversation to other matters, namely Edward’s unknown man. But, as they’d found again and again, no one knew anything about the fellow, although one of the Naylors confirmed seeing him with Edward at the club.
“Never seen him before, here or elsewhere.” Naylor shrugged. “Reserved-looking chap with a craggy face, not the sort you’d choose to amble up to and chat with. Mind you, whoever he is, he has excellent taste in overcoats, but other than that.” He shook his head and grimaced at Sophy. “Sorry I can’t be more help.”
She assured him the man wasn’t particularly important, and they moved on.
A few steps on, Oliver halted and stared across the room. “I might just leave you two to your own devices for a while. There’s someone over there I want a word with—about iron, rather than steel.”
They parted, and Sophy and Martin continued their perambulation through the town’s industrialists. They came upon Tom Vickers in the crowd, and it transpired he’d already heard of Martin’s interest in new steel alloys. As the chief metallurgist of Naylor, Vickers, and Company, Tom had taught Sophy her skills and was unsurprisingly interested in Martin’s ideas.
The three chatted animatedly for some time, then recalling that they were at a ball and couldn’t simply stand talking alloys for hours, reluctantly, they parted.
Soon afterward, Sophy heard herself hailed. By then, Martin had offered her his arm, and without hesitation or, indeed, much thought, she’d wound her arm with his, shifting that much closer into his protective aura. She drew him to a halt and turned and beheld her godfather making his way through the crowd.
She smiled delightedly and waited for him to join them.
His face telegraphing his delight, he halted and sketched her a bow. “You’re pretty as a picture, Sophy, m’dear. I remember that color on your mama—it suited her, too.”
She beamed. “Thank you.”
He nodded at Martin. “Cynster.”
“Mr. Brown.” Martin half bowed. “We meet again.”
“Indeed.” Her godfather’s eyes twinkled. “I warned you we would. I’m here to pick your brains about this idea of yours about armor-plating safes.”
“Not precisely armor-plating.”
Every bit as interested as her godfather, Sophy listened avidly as he drew details from Martin, and in turn, Martin probed her godfather’s long experience in steelmaking as they discussed the possibilities. As the exchange continued, with Martin easily holding his own, she could tell her godfather was impressed.
To impress the Father of the Sheffield Iron and Steel Trade with one’s insights into the future of steel wasn’t a task easily accomplished. Indeed, she doubted many could manage it.
