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So why was he starting to feel sympathy for the coal miners? He almost hoped to discover that they hadn’t formed a union. Those workers needed help, but it most assuredly wouldn’t be coming from the government. They protected the rich and connected members of Society; they cared little for the poor.
The war with Napoleon had taken its toll on the people, and they were miserable because of it. Food prices had risen steeply, there was unprecedented unemployment due to trade restrictions and new machinery, and taxes had gone up. Many of the people he’d arrested had decided to join the Royal Navy rather than starve for another day on the streets.
Guy’s job was to stop traitorous plots, not feel compassion towards criminals’ plights. He imagined the look on Miss Locke’s face if she ever discovered that he had tricked her into doing his bidding. That could never happen. He would complete his assignment and just disappear. That is what he always did. He avoided forming any attachments with the people he worked with; it was much simpler that way.
A knock came at the door, breaking him out of his musings. He sat up in bed and saw a piece of paper being slipped under the door. Rising, he retrieved the paper, unfolded it, and read:
If you want to learn the truth, come to the back door of the coffeehouse now. Tell no one.
Guy slipped the paper into the pocket of his waistcoat before he removed the pistol from the waistband of his trousers. He wasn’t sure if they would search him, but he didn’t care to explain why he carried a pistol with him. He wasn’t unarmed, however. He always had an overcoat pistol in his right boot.
He exited his room, locking the door behind him, and headed towards the main hall. As he descended the stairs, he watched as the same two women served drinks to a bunch of drunken men.
The innkeeper was wiping down an empty table when he saw him. “Can I get ye something to drink?”
Guy shook his head. “Not this evening,” he replied. “I need to run an errand.”
Mr. Croke gave him an odd look. “At this hour?”
“Aye,” he replied.
Fortunately, Mr. Croke did not press him for any additional information, not that Guy would have revealed anything. Instead, he asked, “Do ye require yer coach or horse?”
“I do not,” Guy responded. “I shall walk.”
Mr. Croke tipped his head. “I wish ye luck, then.”
Guy departed from the coaching inn and started walking towards the center of town. It wasn’t long before he arrived at the coffeehouse. The windows were dark, and a sign on the door read that it was closed.
He walked through the alley adjacent to the coffeehouse and approached the back door. He knocked on it and stepped back on the foul-smelling stoop.
The door was only opened a crack, so he was unable to see the person on the other side. “What business do you have here?” a male’s voice asked.
“I was invited.”
The door closed and he waited for a long moment. Finally, the door was reopened, and a blond man ushered him in. “Get inside before anyone sees you.”
Guy stepped into the room and saw a group of ten men staring back at him. He wasn’t familiar with any of them, and by the looks on their faces, they did not appear pleased to see him.
Mr. Burke emerged from the back of the group and greeted him. “I am glad you received our note.”
“I did.”
The blond man came to stand next to him. “Do you have a pistol on your person?”
“I do not,” Guy lied as he tugged down on his waistcoat.
The man didn’t appear convinced as he turned to Burke. “How do we know this man isn’t a Bow Street Runner or a justice of the peace?”
“Because neither could afford the fine clothing that Mr. Stewart is wearing,” Burke replied.
“That isn’t saying much,” the man argued.
Burke came to stand next to him. “Mr. Stewart is sympathetic to our plight, and he wants to help us.”
“He works for the bank,” a lanky man huffed. “They are the ones who impose the conditions at the colliery.”
Burke put his hand up. “Isn’t our main objective to see that changes happen at the colliery?” he asked. “Should we not at least hear Mr. Stewart out?”
