The Artisan and the Duke

by Abigail Agar

  Everyone seemed to be running the next moment. It was as if the whole of the human population was swarming towards the light that flickered in the predawn hours. All the tradesmen and women that were close enough rushed to help, but at the building they were pushed back by the heat.

  Jules stared open-mouthed and filled with frustration. Try as they might to rush into the building, the flames pushed them back. No help seemed to be coming, but there was the commotion of running feet. Buckets and water flew between hands. Jules could not see where they were getting the water from.

  A woman’s cry near Jules made her turn her head towards the ailing woman. The woman sat miserably leaning against a post with another woman’s arms around her as if holding the wailing woman back from the fire. “My Bonnie!” the woman wailed over and over.

  Jules understood. The factory had employed children. Jules swallowed down her fear and ran toward the fire again. The fire burst out a window. Jules and two men scattered to avoid the flying glass. “We can’t get in,” one of the men shouted.

  “Just help with the water,” Jules shouted. “It’s too far gone. We need to keep it from spreading to the other buildings.” She felt defeated, but there was no reason to get others killed.

  ***

  The breakfast was spread out over the small, intimate table that his mother liked to eat at in the morning. Lady St Claire had a very dear affection for the roses in her garden and liked to dine among them whenever possible. Gregory looked out through the glass doors that opened onto a stone terrace where his mother’s breakfast table was set up.

  As Gregory opened the door to go out into the garden, his mother looked around at him. She was a short woman, full of figure and of fire, as Gregory’s father had always said. “Morning, Mother,” Gregory said amicably as he came over and pulled out a chair for himself.

  “And to you, son of mine,” Lady St Claire said in amusement. “Did you run into that merchant and his daughter?”

  Gregory gave his mother a look of dismay. “I certainly hope that you have not been encouraging Greyson and his offspring with their schemes,” Gregory said as he picked up a plum off the fruit bowl set to one side.

  “I would not say that,” Lady St Claire said with a wry grin. “No. I simply have stated to the merchant that I would very much like to see you happily wedded. If he took that as an endorsement, then that is on his shoulders.”

  There was no point in arguing over the details of what she said. The woman was used to the twisting tongues of the courtesans and ambassadors of the court. She could talk herself out of anything if she were given enough room to manoeuvre. Gregory ate his fruit in silence. His mother seemed content with that arrangement as well as she went back to looking over her garden.

  The door from the living area that opened onto the terrace burst open with enough force to rattle the glass in the wooden frame. Lady St Claire put her hand over her heart. “Fredrick St Claire, you are going to break that door. It was a gift from the French ambassador,” Lady St Claire said sternly.

  Fredrick did not look abashed at the scolding, instead he came over to the table unsteadily. He had not yet gotten the knack of walking on the wooden leg that he had been fitted with, and he refused to use the crutches even when at home. “Thought you might be interested in this,” Fred said as he dropped a newspaper onto the table near Gregory before slumping down in a chair.

  Gregory picked up the newspaper. He had thought it would be another of those horrible gossip papers that spread all sort of rumours about anyone of any importance. Gregory had found himself in a few over the years.

  Instead of the gossip rag, Gregory found it was the daily newspaper. There were an account and a depiction of a fire at a factory over near where Gregory had been the day before. His thoughts flicked to the spokesman briefly. “What a horrible thing,” Gregory said as he pushed the newspaper away.

  “Horrible thing? Children died,” Fred spat. “What’s worse is there’s a clamour already that it was set deliberately.”

  Lady St Claire gave a strangled cry of distress. “Can we please not talk about such things while breaking our fast?”

  Fred grew silent, but he stared at Gregory with a glare. Gregory nodded and tapped the paper. “I might see what I can learn about all this while I am out today,” he said lightly.

  “You will do no such thing,” Lady St Claire said then she added, “I am sorry to treat you like a child, but you have to take your responsibilities seriously.

  Gregory agreed, “I know, and that is exactly why I need to know the truth.” He sighed, “I promise to be careful, but I have to satisfy my curiosity on this.” With his mother somewhat distracted, Gregory turned to his brother, “Fred you should take a jaunt with me and get out of this stuffy house.”

  “You know that I cannot do that,” Fred said as he folded his arms across his chest defiantly. Although he was two years Gregory’s junior, one would have thought him much older with the deep lines that etched across his face in the early morning sun.

  Gregory reached across the table and grasped his brother’s arm. “Are you truly unable, or are you merely adopting an attitude of ineptitude to keep from facing the world outside?”

  “Leave me be about it,” Fred warned as the man shoved to his feet.

  After Fred had made his exit, Gregory took his leave of his mother’s breakfast table. He went back upstairs, and instead of putting on his commoner’s disguise, he pulled on his travelling coat. The sun was bright and shining without giving any clue to the fact that a tragedy had occurred the night before.

  ***

  The street the fire had happened on was one filled with small businesses and residencies. The buildings had smut on them from the smoke of the fire, and everywhere lay bits of ashes or burned wood. Gregory stepped over a piece of debris, wary of the sharp nails sticking out of it.

  The rancid scent of smoke filled the air, and Gregory pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket to hold over his mouth and nose. He looked around at a sound and saw movement from the burned-out building. Three youths were carrying a bundle out wrapped in a blanket. Bile rose in Gregory’s mouth. He had not realized that the bodies of the workers were inside still.

  “Not something a Lordly sort sees every day,” a voice said behind Gregory causing Gregory to turn abruptly to face the speaker. The young man from the day before stared at Gregory with an air of distrust.

  Gregory coughed to clear the smoke scent from his nostrils. “Yes, I guess I thought they would have the bodies moved by now.”

  “Odd for someone like you to be here at all,” the young man said. There was a pause before he continued, “It takes a long time to find bodies, especially the ones that are more badly burned.”

  Gregory could see the ash and smut that decorated the young man’s clothing and face. A group of men came by, and one of them clapped the young man on the back and said, “Ready to go back in?”

  The young man nodded and said to Gregory, “Feel free to hop to it, your Lordship.” The men guffawed and turned to go to the building with the young man in tow.

  Gregory did not get offended easily at the indifference to his title, but he still bristled at the distaste that the people here seemed to treat him with. He stepped into a bakery across the street.

  “Your Lordship, it is an honour,” the old baker gasped. “Can I get you a cake or some honey bread?”

  Gregory waved off the man’s offer. “I’m actually here enquiring about the fire.”

  “The fire, Lord?” The baker’s brows furrowed together. “No need to worry about that. They’ll have it sorted soon enough. The boys are just getting the remains so the families can have their dead. They’ll probably start tearing it down soon.”

  Gregory frowned and looked at the building across from the baker’s. The factory sat like a stark skeleton on the corner where one street met another. “The building does not concern me. Have there been any guardsmen to check into it?”

  “Doubt
ful the guards will worry over us, Lord,” the baker said with a shake of his head. The man seemed confused as to Gregory’s motive. “Do you own some property near here?” The man asked the question as he tried to reason out what Gregory had to do with the burned building.

  Gregory was doubtful the baker would give him any information. “Yes,” Gregory said, but he did not elaborate. To compensate the man for his time, Gregory laid some coins on the counter which the man profusely thanked him for as Gregory left.

  He would have been better off coming in disguise, Gregory realized. He had thought that perhaps a noble checking on his property would be a reasonable excuse to make enquiries. However, the locals appeared to be wary at best and hostile at worst towards their betters.

  Now his cover was blown since the young spokesman had seen him the day before. The young man had clearly recognized him. Gregory sighed in dissatisfaction. He walked towards the street where he had left his horse with a young girl.

  The little girl looked up with a smile as Gregory approached. Her dark hair showed that she was not used to frequent baths, and her face was smudged with what could have been any number of things. “For your worry,” Gregory said as he held out two coins to the girl. She took them with more enthusiasm than Gregory had ever seen. He could not help smiling as the girl raced off down the street that Gregory had just arrived from.

  ***

  “Whatcha suppose he’s up to?” Roger said gruffly after the dandy nobleman had taken his leave.

  Jules shrugged. “Checking property, perhaps,” Jules said with distaste. “That’s all the ranks of his sort care about.”

  They sat down heavily on the curb. Since before dawn, they had been sifting through the debris. There were still names unaccounted for, but the men had grown weary. David walked up dusting off his breeches and spat, “Would be nice to see a guardsman.”

  “They would just give you a fine for the effort of coming to look at you,” Roger said as he shook the ash from his red locks.

  Jules shook her head. “There’s no need to be so distraught over such as guards. What I’d love to know is where were the insurance’s watermen? No fire brigades seen yet, and we all know there was no way that Marcus didn’t have that place insured.”

  The men all nodded. Roger agreed, “I remember seeing the badge on the building.”

  “Aye,” called another Irishman down the way. “I saw the fire mark too. It was just by that lantern post by Roger’s head.

  There was a chorus of agreement from the men. Jules too was certain that something had gone terribly wrong. There had to be a reason the watermen did not come. Were they not called? “Speaking of the Devil, has anyone seen Marcus?” Marcus Lambert was the owner and operator of the factory in question.

  The men all fell silent. Roger scratched his head. “I saw him at the baker’s yesterday morning, can’t say I saw him again after that.”

  “Didn’t see him at the pub, either,” another local named Finnegan added. “He’s almost always there going on about his money.”

  Jules sighed. There definitely was something off about the fire.

  ***

  “Did you see what they were saying in the paper?” Jules’ mother asked as Jules came in from working all day to clear the rubble.

  Jules wiped her forearm across her ash-smeared forehead. “I’m certain it will not be helpful,” she said with a tired sigh.

  “The implication was that the fire was set deliberately. Why would anyone want to burn down that old place?” Mrs Kelley shook her head. “Makes little sense, and I can see no one that would benefit.”

  Jules was too tired to contemplate any of it, and she just grunted as she went to find her old mattress upstairs. She collapsed unceremoniously onto the mattress that had at one time been her grandmother’s. Jules just did remember to take off her cap before she gave herself up to sleep.

  ***

  “Sounds like the Luddites to me,” Maxwell Chapman said definitively. He rapped his knuckles on the wooden table in the Gentleman’s Club as if he were presiding over a court. Maxwell was a nobleman in his own right, as the son of the Duke of Rutherford, but he had chosen to dedicate himself to a life on the judge’s chair.

  Gregory shook his head. “I fail to see how it would benefit anyone to burn down a building filled mostly with women and children,” he said with disgust.

  “You obviously have not met any of the activists that claim to be trying to protect the jobs and security of the working class,” Maxwell said. “Why to them the only negative is if their jobs get hurt in the process.”

  Gregory sighed at his old friend, “Some of the people the Luddites advocate for worked in that very factory. Besides, I went down there and perceived the damage. The only ones there were the local tradesmen and artisan guilds. Not a guardsman in sight.”

  “Why would there be?” Maxwell lifted his shoulders dismissively. “The insurance companies are bound to keep the fires in check, not the guards.”

  While the answer did not sit well with Gregory, he knew that the guards only did what they had to do. Few would go beyond the normal calls of duty, especially for the kinds of people who worked and lived in the section of the city where the factory had been.

  Chapter 2

  Fredrick held the newspaper in his hand. “Going out to investigate?” he asked Gregory as his brother came downstairs dressed incognito in the white shirt and breeches.

  “Found out,” Gregory said in amusement. “I feel like there has to be something else there.”

  Fredrick nodded. “There might very well be,” he agreed. “There’s another story about the factory fire in the newspaper today.”

  “You seem more interested in that fire than you have in anything since you returned home. What makes it so intriguing?” Gregory sat down on one of the soft cushioned chairs in the foyer of their home in one of the more affluent sections of the city which was dominated by homes fit for the upper echelon of society.

  Fred did not respond right away, and when he finally did respond it was with a furrowed brow. “I cannot say that I know what fascinates me so about it. I saw so many things on the battlefield that I deemed unjust, that when I see something now that I do not agree with, I feel a compulsion to do something about it.”

  “In that, we are two of a kind, my brother,” Gregory said with feeling. “I wished so long to take your place but was impotent to do so. Now I wish to make something of the position I have. What is the point of all of this if I cannot do a little good in this world, after all?”

  Fredrick scoffed, “I thought you were more interested in evading the marriage altar.”

  “You have been talking to our cousin, I see,” Gregory said with amusement, but he did not deny the charge.

  There was a twinkle in Fred’s eyes that Gregory had not seen in some time. “Mother’s schemes can grow a bit tedious,” Fred said with joviality.

  “Come with me into the city,” Gregory pleaded. “See how the world has changed in your absence.”

  Fred shrugged off the idea. “I would rather keep some of my delusions in place for my own sanity, dear brother,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Gregory could not really disagree with that. It was easier not to look too closely than to peer at all the cracks under their very feet. Still, Gregory sighed. “One day we might not have the luxury of looking away, but until that time, I humbly hope the curtain stays drawn tight for you.”

  ***

  Jules walked briskly along Dauphin Street. There was a gathering of tradesmen and artisans, and she very much intended to be there. With no warning, she felt a hand grab her arm and pull her into a small alley between the buildings. “Get your hands off of me,” Jules growled as she lashed out at the person.

  “Calm yourself,” Gregory said as he dodged the blow the young man lashed out with. A struggle ensued which caused Jules’ hat to get knocked off. As it fell to the ground, Gregory stared in shock at the young man whose hair fell around his
face. “You’re a woman,” Gregory whispered in disbelief.

  Jules shoved the man and pushed him away from her. “What are you doing?” Jules demanded the answer with all the bravado she had left. The man had guessed her gender, but she might still be able to play it off as simply feminine features. Lots of men had softer appearances.

  Gregory stared at the young ma—woman. “I was just going to ask you if you had learned anything else about the fire.”

  “What sort of game are you playing?” Jules had had enough of the nobleman playing rogue. “Is this what nobles do for sport when they can’t hunt down foxes?”

  The dark-haired youth stared back at Gregory defiantly. There had been no denial. There was no protest. The confidence in her face was overwhelming, and if Gregory had not been certain of her gender, he might have wavered in his opinion of her being of the gentler sex. However, his finger had brushed against what felt like a binding, and it did not feel like the kind of binding to shrink one’s waist.