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“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No, but it is how we justify our actions,” Mr. Huxley said. “After all, we have investors we must report to.”
Guy tipped his head. “You are right, of course,” he replied as he walked towards the door. “I wish you a good day.”
As much as Guy wanted to argue with Mr. Huxley, he knew it wasn’t his place. His job was to root out a trade union, which he’d done. Now he needed to delve deeper into the union and discover as much as he could about its members.
So why did the thought of abandoning the coal workers to their own devices not sit well with him? His duty was to the Crown, not to the miners. Once he finished his assignment, he would leave Anmore and never return.
That brought the thought of never seeing Miss Locke again, which caused an ache in his chest. He found her to be a rather remarkable young woman, but there could never be a future between them. She was from Society, and he didn’t fit in anywhere. Besides, he didn’t have anything to offer her but a life of hardship. He couldn’t do that to her. She deserved a carefree life, one of opulence and grandeur.
It didn’t matter that his heart would take flight when she smiled at him, or how he seemed to trust her, when he trusted very few. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have time for any distractions, and Miss Locke was most undoubtedly a distraction.
Guy crossed the street and headed towards the blacksmith shop. He was in the middle of the street when he heard a pistol being discharged, followed by a searing pain in his left arm.
Someone had shot at him!
He moved swiftly, keeping his head down as he ran towards the blacksmith shop. He opened the door and ducked inside. He scanned the street through the window, careful to remain out of sight, but he saw no one with a pistol in their hand.
Why the blazes was someone shooting at him? Had someone discovered his true purpose in coming to Anmore? If not, why were they trying to kill him?
Burke stepped out of the back room, rubbing his blackened hands along his apron. His eyes grew wide as he took in Guy’s appearance. “You have been shot,” he said.
“It would appear so,” Guy confirmed as he glanced down at the bloodstain on the sleeve of his jacket.
“Who shot you?”
“I don’t know,” Guy replied, glancing out the window again.
Burke eyed him curiously as he removed his apron and laid it on the counter. “I’ll get the doctor,” he said, walking towards the door. “You just stay here.”
“I appreciate that.”
After Burke exited his shop, Guy brought his hand up to his sleeve and winced. Perhaps it was time he started taking those threats more seriously.
Daphne sat inthe study as she listened to their steward methodically detail all of the items that needed to be fixed or updated on the estate. Her grandmother had previously requested that she start working with Mr. Bradshaw. She needed to understand the nuances of running an estate, and now was as good a time as ever to begin.
The dark-haired Mr. Bradshaw sat across from her and held up a piece of paper. “One of your tenants, Mrs. Tedrow, has requested her roof be patched.”
“Is that an issue?”
Mr. Bradshaw shook his head. “No, but we must prioritize the work that needs to be done and the costs associated with it.”
“What is the most important thing that needs to be done?”
“We need to update the equipment for your workers,” Mr. Bradshaw shared. “Unfortunately, it would require more funds than what you earned last year.”
“Isn’t my grandmother’s estate profitable?”
Mr. Bradshaw nodded. “It is,” he replied. “But we are one bad crop from making some tough decisions.”
“Such as?”
“Do we raise the rent for your tenants?” he asked.
“I would prefer not to.”
“Nor I, but we haven’t raised the rent in years,” he said.
