Kasey Michaels - The Secrets of the Heart

J UST SHORTLY BEFORE TEN of the clock, Herbert Symington bade his host and hostess a pleasant good night and rather drunkenly tripped down the stairs toward the impressively designed if a tad overly ornate coach and four that was his latest acquisition and one of which he was enormously proud.

It was a grand time to be alive, Herbert Symington truly believed. An Englishman with his wits about him could make a tidy profit from the cheap labor filtering in to Little Pillington. Independent weavers put out of business by the big new mills had lost their livings and would work from before dawn to past dusk for a few shillings a week in order to feed their families.

Take me home, coachie, Symington commanded, giving a sweeping wave to his driver and a drunken kick to the groom, who didnt move fast enough in lowering the steps to the coach to suit his master. Lazy jackanapes, I ought to sack you, he muttered under his liquor-sour breath, pulling himself into the coach and collapsing heavily against the velvet squabs as the coachman prematurely gave the horses their office to start.

Stupid oafs, the lot of them, Symington grumbled into his gravy-stained cravat as he adjusted his considerable girth more comfortably.

And then he blinkedtwice, just to be certainand peered inquiringly into the semidarkness. Whos there? he asked, leaning forward to address the vague shape he believed he saw sitting cross-legged on the facing seat. Gods eyebrows, am I in the wrong coach? Thatll teach me to steer clear of the daffy. Speak up, mansay something!

The click and scrape of a small tinderbox answered him, followed by the sight of the growing, disembodied glow of the business end of a cheroot.

Good evening, Herbert, youre looking well, a low, well-modulated voice answered him at last. And how charitable of you to share your coach with me. Well sprung, I must say, and doubtless cost you a pretty penny. Enjoy yourself at the trough tonight?

Symington swallowed down hard at the sudden lump of fear that had lodged in his throat. What the devil? Who are you? Coachie! he bellowed. Stop at once!

Please, good sir, lower your voice, the unknown intruder pleaded as the coach raced on through the night, bypassing the turn to the right that would have led to Symingtons house and rapidly leaving the dark streets of Little Pillington behind. The confines of this coach preclude such full-throated volume. Besides, as your coachman and groom have seen fit to leave your employ and join mineno loyalty in todays topsy-turvy times, is there, Herbert?I fear I must point out the fruitlessness of further protest. And, to be sporting, I should also advise you that I am armed, my pistol cocked and aimed directly at your ample stomach. Therefore, as any sudden movement might cause the nasty thing to go off, you most probably would be well advised to remain quietly in your seat.

The devil you say! Symingtons gin-bleared eyes were fairly popping from his head now as a fragrant, blue-tinged cloud of cigar smoke wreathed the shadowy figure from chest to curly-brimmed beaver. You your coachie, you say? Am I being kidnapped, then?

An amused chuckle emanated from the shadowy figure. Hardly, Herbert. Kidnapping you would indicate that I believed you had some sort of intrinsic worth. I am here this evening merely to request a boon of you.

Aa boon? Symington repeated, automatically holding out his hand to take the neatly rolled and tied sheet of paper the stranger was now offering. And what is this? he asked, holding the paper gingerly, as if it might somehow turn on him and bite his fingers.

Another blue cloud of smoke issued from between the strangers lips, blowing across the coach to accost Symingtons nostrils. Yes, it is dark in here for reading, isnt it? You do read, dont you, Herbert? Very well, I shall attempt to recall the salient points. Lets see. First, you are to immediately cease and desist employing persons under the age of ten in your mills.

What?

Hush, Herbert, as it is not your turn to speak. Second, you will oblige me in setting up schools for these children, keeping them occupied while their mothers are at work. You will also feed these children one meal a dayeven on Sunday, when henceforth no one will work the Symington millswith meat served to the children twice weekly.

Symingtons ample belly shook as he began to laugh. He laughed so heartily, and with such enjoyment, that soon tears streamed from his eyes. Are you daft? he choked out between bouts of mirth. Why would I do that?

I do not believe I had finished, Herbert, the stranger said quietly once Symingtons hilarity subsided, which it did when he remembered the cocked pistol. You will roll back the laborers shifts from fifteen to fourteen hours and present every worker with a mug of beer at the end of each shift. You will employ a doctor for your workers. You will also increase all wages by ten percent, beginning tomorrow. I think thats itfor now.