Page 14

Oh, Lud, the man had over-imbibed.

“I were in the sappers, my lord,” Sergeant Humphries lowered his voice in such a way that told Mariah what he thought of the St. George title. “We dug the trenches at Sevastopol.”

“But why are they here?” James gestured unsteadily at the structure erected inside the hall, which, in fairness, possessed a disjointed appearance from his current vantage point. The weathered timber that Humphries had been reinforcing hung by a precarious web of hemp cords, lashed to both the linen tent and the aged masonry.

“Because your wife is brilliant, you idiot.” A burst of cold air that was followed by the clank of the door closing told Mariah that Harrison had arrived.

“Captain Reed,” the two sappers tipped their hats to Harrison who gave them a brief nod of recognition before turning his eye toward James. Humphries and his comrade glanced at each other before they moved to steady another beam on the opposite side of the tent.

“In f-fairness, the expense of—” Mariah began before Harrison uncharacteristically spoke over her.

“The expense is nothing. You have a handful of sappers to help you erect the tent and set up the stove. The construction on the tenements does not begin until next week.” Something eased in Mariah’s chest at his words. Though she had sought to quiet her own misgivings with the same logic, Harrison’s validation silenced the nagging doubts that had taken residence in her mind..

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” James drawled, in a voice she had never heard from him before. It was thick and oily, like a sauce that had been over-embellished by a cook “My brother and my wife, making plans with my funds.”

Harrison, whose eye had not turned away from his brother, did not flinch.

“Legally, these are your funds, yes, yet you have not lifted a finger to earn them. Mariah has saved your estate and ensures you always have enough to spend on your gambling and your women while somehow managing to fund a school, housing for the workers who have no work, jobs for veterans⁠—”

“There are no women—” James sputtered before Mariah spoke over him.

“I can fight my own b-battles, Harrison.”

James and Mariah stared at each other. Her husband's light blue eyes grew molten as they narrowed on the hand she had placed on Harrison’s forearm.

Swallowing, she stepped back and corrected herself. “Captain Reed, I can⁠—”

“You need to see this.” Harrison was always unfailingly polite to her, so if he was being terse, there must have been a reason. As he drew a folded missive from his coat, the molten heat in James’s face vanished, replaced by a ghastly pale that rivaled the gray Yorkshire sky.

“Mariah, it’s not what you think,” James began, his voice now carrying a weight of sobriety that had been entirely absent a moment before. “Where did you get that?” He then hissed at his brother.

“I returned to the Crown and the Loom to apologize for our words, but I found you asleep at the bar with this note beside you. You ought to be more careful with such sensitive information.” Harrison’s disgust for his brother was evident in the lines of his scarred face.

Before James could stop her, Mariah snatched the letter from Harrison and opened the crumpled paper to review the tidy scrawl of a man she had only heard of from her father. She read the letter three times to fully understand its full meaning, only half aware that James shoved his brother the second the paper was in Mariah’s hands.

If I do not receive word that Mr. Monahan has adjusted his wages, I will sign the deeds over to the railway directors on the first of the month…

James was not in the north out of the goodness of his heart. She had known that. Mariah had naively believed that perhaps boredom was the cause of his return, but this note, oh, this note. It struck dead any hope she had foolishly began to kindle that her husband could be a better man. That he had learned or appreciated anything in the days since his return.

Looking up from the letter, she opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her tongue as they transformed into a gasp of horror.

Harrison, who still possessed the strength of his military days, had managed to shrug James off him after being shoved by his brother. James leaned briefly against the ancient door, his chest heaving. Then, as if a bull before a flag, he lunged at his brother, who with his quick reaction speed, darted out of the way. Unfortunately, this did not stop her husband’s momentum as he crashed into the beam that Humphries and the other sapper had not fully finished steadying.

Falling to the ground, James stared up at the beam, which wobbled, then began to fall like a tree in a forest. This weakness proved the undoing of the entire makeshift structure, as the rest of the tent began to collapse as well.

With something like a great sigh, the tent hung in the air for a moment, like the ghost of a dream come back to haunt Mariah. Then, almost comically, it sank to the ground.

The shouts and screams of those inside shook Mariah from her momentary stupor.

“Thomas!” She gasped in horror as she raced forward. “Miss Mason!”

Guilt etched across the harsh planes of Harrison’s face as he roughly pulled his brother to his feet. Darting past them, Mariah charged forward, and began to frantically grasp at the linen.

Smoke. Fire. Please no.

Mariah had been a girl when a fire struck one of the largest cotton mills in the heart of town. Even after all these years, she could still vividly recall the screams of the trapped workers and the heavy, acrid smell of burning wood and fabric, a terrifying sensory memory that was not unlike the chaotic scene she experienced now.

It took the remains of the hour, but by the grace of the heavens, no one was seriously injured. Humphries, Harrison, and the other sapper helped methodically lift the tent, stamping out the fire that had started from one of the gas lamps within. Thank goodness they had not yet lit the tallow candles, Mariah thought as she shut her eyes and steadied herself after sending the children home early for the day.