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“My cook made bread and biscuits for them,” she replied.
He smiled. “That is most kind of you.”
“It is the least I can do for these poor children,” she said. “Many of them have no parents.”
“They are orphans?”
“Working in a mine can be rather hazardous, and many of their parents have passed away from accident or lung disease.”
“That is awful.”
“These children are not working here by choice,” she replied. “I’m afraid it is the difference between life or death for them.”
“Does the parish not defend them?”
Miss Locke shook her head. “They only care that they are employed and are being taught a trade. They do not care where that is.” Her pleading eyes met his. “You must report back to the bank about these terrible conditions.”
Guy shifted uncomfortably in his stance, knowing that he had no choice but to lie to Miss Locke. “I will do my best, but I cannot promise that my report will result in any real change.”
He could tell his response disappointed her by the frown that was tugging at her lips. “I understand,” she replied dejectedly.
Feeling compassion for her plight, he suggested, “Perhaps I could call on you later and you could tell me more about the heinous work conditions here. That way, I can let the facts speak for themselves.”
“I would like that, Mr. Stewart.”
He bowed. “Until later, Miss Locke.”
As he walked away from Miss Locke, Guy recognized that she might be the only person who would be willing to help him at the moment. He hoped that she would give him names of people who were also sympathetic to the coal miners’ plight.
Daphne sat inthe drawing room as she worked on her needlework. She couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Stewart and his intense, watchful eyes. There was something different about him, and she couldn’t quite understand what that was.
He was undoubtedly handsome, with his dark hair and square jaw, but he appeared a bit uncomfortable in his expertly tailored clothes. She found it peculiar, as if there were a story behind it. Then again, she had always been most curious when meeting new people.
Her grandmother’s voice broke through her musings. “How did your visit at the mines go, my dear?”
“It went well,” she replied. “I do wish that you would accompany me one of these days.”
“I am much too old to be traipsing through a coal mine.”
“I do not go into the shaft,” Daphne said, lowering the needlework to her lap. “I go to the building that houses the children.”
“They must be pleased to see you.”
Daphne smiled. “They are,” she replied. “They gather around me and cheer when I remove items from the wagon.”
“I would be remiss if I did not inform you that a coal mine is not an appropriate place for a young lady to visit.”
“I know, Grandmother,” she said, “but I can’t very well sit around in this large manor and do nothing to help those poor children.”
“You are like your mother in so many ways,” her grandmother remarked with a wistful smile. “Grace used to be a crusader, as well.”
“She was?”
Her grandmother nodded. “I have no doubt that your mother would have accomplished great things if she had not died at such a young age.”
Daphne grew wistful at that thought. How she missed her parents. They had been taken away far too early.
Reaching towards the table in front of her, her grandmother picked up a teacup and took a long sip. She lowered the cup and said, “Grace would have hated that mine if it had been around when she lived here. She would have fought for its closure.”
