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A few of the men in the room walked over to him and thanked him for his part. Guy felt miserable for lying to the men. He had no intention of speaking to Mr. Huxley, and he had no doubt that most of these men would be in prison before the strike even occurred.
He wished he could help them, he truly did, but his hands were tied.
Burke came to sit down in front of him. “I’m sorry to come up on your blind side with this.”
“You have no need to apologize,” Guy said, lowering his voice. “I would feel more comfortable if I could confirm the other collieries were striking as well.”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Burke said.
“Why is that?”
Burke glanced over his shoulder before admitting, “Because I have organized the whole thing.”
“You deliver the notes to the other trade unions?”
“I leave at dusk and travel through the night,” Burke shared. “I’m mindful to stay away from the main roads to avoid detection.”
“Why?”
Burke met his gaze. “If not me, then who?”
“Aren’t you afraid of getting arrested?”
“I am, but I can’t sit back and do nothing to help these coal workers,” Burke said.
“I can respect that.”
Burke placed his arms on the table and leaned in. “The other leaders of the trade unions intend to strike with us.”
“How can you be sure?” Guy asked.
“Even if we are the only coal mine that strikes, we still hold the power,” Burke said. “With you on our side, Mr. Huxley will have no choice but to take us seriously.”
Guy rose. “I will do whatever I can to help you.”
“Thank you,” Burke said.
Guy slowly walked back to the coaching inn. He had done what he’d set out to do. He had determined that a trade union was formed, who was in charge, and who was delivering messages between the other trade unions.
It was over.
Now he would report back to Corbyn and the magistrate would be notified. An arrest warrant would be issued for Burke, and he would be interrogated until he revealed his accomplices. He would most likely be facing life in prison or deportation.
For what? All Burke was doing was trying to help these coal workers survive another day. Never had Guy been so conflicted with an assignment before. He had always viewed everything as black and white, right and wrong. But this was not so simple. By doing his job, he was ruining other people’s lives.
Guy arrived at the coaching inn, and saw Hawthorne sitting in the corner with a tankard of ale in front of him. He walked over and sat down next to him.
“How did the meeting go?” Hawthorne asked, reaching for his tankard.
“I discovered who is orchestrating the whole thing,” Guy answered, keeping his voice low.
“Then the assignment is over.”
“It is,” Guy replied, leaning back.
Hawthorne gave him a curious glance. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid I made the mistake of feeling sympathy for their plight.”
