Just a Little Temptation

by Merry Farmer

  The mood of the tumultuous conversation shifted, as though someone had shot a cannon into a building that was already on fire.

  “I told you,” Jewel seethed at Lionel, though Max couldn’t figure out for the life of him what the reaction was all about. “I told you I should be involved.”

  “What would a man like you have to do with an investigation into missing children?” Stephen asked what Max was thinking.

  Jewel turned to him, restless and short of breath. “What do you think happens to children who are taken?” He didn’t give anyone a chance to answer before going on with, “Only a handful of things. Slave labor at mills and factories is one of the more fortunate outcomes.” The intense flash of his eyes hinted to Max that he knew a little too well what he was talking about.

  “I intend to travel to Leicestershire tomorrow to investigate this mill,” Stephen said, glancing from Jewel to David. “I thought you should know.”

  “Take Wrexham with you,” David said.

  Stephen shook his head. “He said he wouldn’t be able to make that long of a journey.”

  “I’ll go,” Max said. He wouldn’t let Stephen leave him behind one way or another.

  Stephen turned his head slowly to meet Max’s eyes. “Are you certain you won’t be needed to entertain your fiancée?”

  Max huffed an impatient breath. “It’s not like you to jump to conclusions, Stephen. You know how I feel and you know where I stand.”

  Stephen dropped his eyes, color splashing across his cheeks. Max could see that he did know and he did understand, but it was too late. The walls had gone up again. It made Max want to punch something.

  David drew in a breath, pulling himself to his full height and surveying the storm of emotions and frustrations around him. He settled his glance on Max. “Why do you think Lord Eastleigh is involved in this trafficking ring?”

  “He was at Bardess Mansion this morning,” Max answered without hesitation, speaking more to Stephen than to David. “He’d arranged my marriage to Lady Bardess before I arrived to question Lady Bardess further about the day of the concert. Not only did my father know where Lord Chisolm and Lord Burbage are, he seemed to have some sort of hold over Lady Bardess.” The full implications of that thought hadn’t entirely hit him up until that point. There had been too many other things to think about. “She was frightened of him, I’m certain of it.”

  “It bears investigation,” David said with a nod.

  “My father has made threats against Stephen and his girls,” Max went on, staring hard at Stephen until he glanced up and met Max’s eyes. “Threats that worry me deeply,” he added with undisguised emotion.

  “He made those same threats to me,” Stephen said, equally emotional.

  It was as if the invisible wall separating them grew in strength to the point of being impenetrable. They both knew what the price of their love would be if they pursued the relationship they wanted. The arrangement with Lady Bardess was nothing to the far more insidious threat of harm to the girls.

  When the weight of the silence and misery between Max and Stephen grew almost too heavy to bear, David turned to Stephen and asked, “What evidence specifically did you and Wrexham find in the warehouse that points to Leicestershire?”

  Stephen dragged his eyes away from Max as though they were being forcibly torn out of a lovers’ embrace. He cleared his throat and said, “A piece of paper with Gretton Mills’s address on it and a ticket stub for a journey to London originating in Leicester.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean the children were sent there,” Lionel said, though he didn’t sound happy with his conclusion.

  “It doesn’t mean we should rule the place out either,” David said. He turned to Stephen. “If you’re prepared to go there tomorrow, I will help you in any way.”

  “I’m going with you,” Max repeated his offer.

  Stephen grimaced as a flood of emotions passed through his expression. “Won’t your father stop you?” he asked.

  Max took Stephen’s failure to immediately forbid him from going as a tiny victory. “The only way he’ll be able to stop me is if he physically restrains me. And the only way he can do that is if he finds himself in my presence. Since I have no intention of going within a mile of him until everything is resolved, I don’t believe that will happen.”

  “You’re not going home?” Stephen asked, a different sort of color staining his cheeks.

  Max shook his head. “That place has never been my home.”

  “The Brotherhood has several properties where you can stay unobserved,” David said with an arch of one eyebrow, glancing between Stephen and Max as though expecting Stephen to offer Max shelter for the night. Stephen kept his mouth shut, staring at the floor.

  “Thank you.” Max nodded to David, his heart sinking. He felt very much as though a part of him had made the biggest decision of his life and the rest of him was only just catching up to what it all meant.

  “While you’re busy poking around mills in Leicestershire,” Jewel interrupted, “I’m going to pay a visit to a few old friends.” He cracked his knuckles and ground his fist into his hand. Max’s brow shot up. He never would have imagined the flashy, flamboyantly dressed man with a taste for wearing cosmetics could be so blatantly violent. Even Lionel looked warily at him.

  “Do what you have to do,” David sighed. “And let me know the results. We will get to the bottom of this.”

  Chapter 17

  The journey to Leicester was one of the most uncomfortable of Stephen’s life. It began well before dawn, before anyone else in the orphanage was awake, when Max picked him up in a hired carriage bound for St. Pancras Station. It continued as Max paid for a first-class compartment for the two of them to travel north in. Stephen had never traveled in such luxury, but he would have given it up and ridden in the baggage compartment to avoid the awkward silence that hung between him and Max.

  “This is intolerable,” Max sighed an hour outside of London, as dawn streaked across the passing countryside. “You know me well enough to know I’m not going to marry Lady Bardess simply because my father demands it.”

  “Do I know you that well?” Stephen asked, fighting the way his gut writhed and his chest squeezed with guilt for being so peevish. “How many weeks have we known each other?”

  Max huffed an irritated sigh. “Time is irrelevant, and you know it. My mother and father have known each other for more than thirty years, and they are virtual strangers to each other, whereas I felt as though I’d known you a lifetime from the moment we met.”

  Stephen remained silent, turning his head to stare out the window. Max was right, of course. Time meant nothing in love, unless it was the time two lovers spent apart. And he was in love with Max. Guilt lashed him for pulling away from Max and it punished him for wanting to embrace him. No matter what he did, it would be the wrong thing.

  “I can’t stop thinking about how frightened Jane must be,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  “Neither can I.” Max’s tone was gentle and compassionate, and he rose from his seat facing Stephen, moving as though he would shift to sit by Stephen’s side.

  “Don’t,” Stephen said, holding up his arms to stop him. “I don’t want comfort right now. I want you to stay on your side of the compartment.”

  Max froze mid-movement. His expression pinched, showing how hurt he was. That hurt turned to anger as he fell back into his seat and crossed his arms tightly. “I knew you had it in you to be stalwart,” he muttered, glancing out the window himself, “but I had no idea you could be so cruel.”

  Stephen dragged his gaze away from the countryside, his eyes widening as he stared at Max. He adjusted his spectacles, but it didn’t change the sight in front of him. “I am not cruel,” he said, welcoming the anger that boiled up in him. It was easier than feeling guilt and fear.

  “Cold then.” Max narrowed his eyes. “Without the slightest bit of consideration for what I’m going through.”


  Affection tainted with shame stung at Stephen’s heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was about you and your hurt feelings. I thought it was about rescuing defenseless children from evil monsters.”

  Max let out a scornful breath and snapped his eyes away from Stephen. Stephen knew he deserved the reaction, which only added to his maelstrom of emotions. It wasn’t like him to be such a horse’s arse, but panic did strange things to a man.

  Panic. Stephen writhed against the back of his seat, ostensibly stretching his shoulders, but really trying to shake the eerie feeling that word raised in him. He was desperately afraid for Jane, but Max made him panic. Panic because he’d let the man get too close too fast. Panic because he couldn’t imagine his life without Max now, and Max was a man from a different world entirely—a world that was attempting to reclaim him. He could protest and claim he wouldn’t obey his father’s wishes to marry all he wanted, but how long would that last? The upper classes were powerful enough without a man like Lord Eastleigh calling the shots. Stephen didn’t think he could bear the heartbreak of watching Max forced into a miserable life. And he couldn’t be heartbroken, not with so many young lives depending on him.

  “I do care about your life and your feelings,” he admitted in a quiet voice after a full fifteen minutes of silence. When Max turned his head to arch one eyebrow doubtfully at him, Stephen went on with, “I care a little too much.”

  As much as he wanted to say more, to explain himself fully, he felt as though his tongue were stuck to the roof of his mouth. Max said nothing either, merely studied him. Stephen shuddered to think what the man saw. At least his pinched and furious expression softened.

  By the time the train arrived in Leicester, Stephen was exhausted and wrung out, as though they’d spent the entire trip in a shouting match. The small city was bustling as they climbed down onto the platform, made their way through the station, and hired a carriage to take them all the way to Gretton Mills. The tension remained between him and Max, though, which made the entire errand seem more miserable than it already was.

  Stephen almost gave thanks when they arrived at Gretton Mills. It gave him a chance to think of something else.

  “It’s a cloth mill,” he said as Max paid the driver, then strode up to his side.

  “I assumed it would be,” Max said, nodding at the building. “Cloth mills need child labor to clean and thread the machines. They always have.”

  The thought sent a shudder down Stephen’s spine. He’d toured a cloth mill once when its owner had come to the orphanage to recruit young workers. That mill had chilled Stephen to the bone with its noise, dirt, and general feeling of hopelessness. He’d declined to send any of his girls into employment there back then, and one look at Gretton Mills confirmed that he would have refused to send any of his girls there now.

  “What do we tell them?” he asked as they approached a corner of the building that looked the most like an office. “Why are we here?”

  “To inspect the machinery?” Max suggested.

  Stephen shook his head. “The owner and manager probably know who all the inspectors are.”

  “The press, then,” Max said, lowering his voice as a pair of young men in work clothes crossed their path. “Here to do a story on the burgeoning industry of England’s heartland.”

  Stephen glanced to him, sweeping a look over Max’s suit. It was apparent by the ill-fitting suit he wore that Max had stayed true to his statement about not going home where his father might confront him. He’d obviously borrowed clothes from someone slightly bigger than he was. Which instantly had Stephen wondering where the shirt he’d loaned Max the week before was.

  The thought of Max wearing his shirt led to thoughts of him without a shirt at all, which sent Stephen’s thoughts careening off into a thousand places they didn’t need to go. He cleared his throat and forced himself to stay focused.

  “The press it is, then,” he said, reaching for the door and opening it for Max.

  He’d guessed correctly. A small office filled with cotton dust stood on the other side of the door. It contained little more than a desk, a few shelves, and a stove in the corner that gave off very little heat. A door stood half open at the other end of the office. Through that, Stephen could hear the rattling din of dozens of weaving machines.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Max said with a broad smile, approaching the clerk at the desk with an outstretched hand. “I’m Maxwell Eastleigh with The Sunday Times, and this is my colleague, Stephen Siddel.”

  “How do you do?” Stephen stepped forward to shake the clerk’s hand when Max let go. He would have a word with Max about using their real names as soon as they had three seconds alone, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

  “Nice to meet you.” The clerk glanced anxiously between the two of them. “Er, what are you doing here?”

  “We’ve come to tour the factory, if we might,” Max said, exuding charm. “I’m trying to convince my editor here that Gretton Mills is the perfect example of advancement and industry in England. I want to do a profile story about the vital work you all are doing and the excellent quality of English manufacturing. Would you mind if we had a look around so I can prove my point?”

  The clerk’s jaw dropped, then flapped as he tried to think of an answer. Stephen wasn’t impressed with the man’s intelligence, but he was ready to bless the dolt all the same when he shrugged and said, “I don’t see why not. Let me see if I can find someone to show you around.”

  The clerk stepped out from behind the desk, heading to the half-opened door. Stephen followed hard on the man’s heels, Max right behind him. He wasn’t about to wait idly in an office when a door was opened for him, especially if waiting meant they might not be allowed in at all.

  They followed the clerk down a short hall into a huge room filled with clattering, noisy machines. Either the clerk didn’t notice them right behind him or he didn’t care, since he didn’t try to stop them from stepping onto the factory floor. The din and whirl of activity was so overwhelming that Stephen was tempted to clap his hands to his ears. White dust filled the air, spinning off the power looms and giant, whirling spools of thread, immediately making it hard for him to draw a deep breath. He could only imagine how frightening the place would seem to a child.

  Except that there weren’t any children in sight. Slender, stunted men and women, yes, but no children. Few of the workers glanced up to eye Stephen and Max warily as they followed the clerk down a central aisle between machines. Stephen craned his neck, attempting to search under the machines and between moving parts, but he didn’t spot a single young face or tiny body anywhere.

  A few steps ahead of them, the clerk turned as if searching for someone. He found Stephen and Max behind him and jumped as though startled. “Oh! I thought you were waiting in the office.”

  “We thought you meant us to follow you,” Stephen said, feeling heat rise to his face.

  “What a marvelous establishment you have here,” Max said, glancing around as though witnessing one of the wonders of the world. “It is truly a testament to man’s ability to harness nature.”

  Stephen could see in an instant what Max was trying to do by the way his feigned enthusiasm made the clerk smile. Charm and a handsome face could move mountains.

  “Yes, er, we are rather proud of it,” the clerk said, puffing his chest out as though he had been personally complimented. “But wait right here until I find Mr. Barton.”

  “Certainly.” Max continued to smile. “Take your time.”

  The clerk nodded to Max, then headed off at a swifter pace.

  As soon as the man turned a corner, Max grabbed Stephen’s sleeve and tugged him out of the main aisle and down a row of machines. The noise was even more deafening in the heart of the machines, so neither of them spoke, but Max gestured for Stephen to look around.

  Stephen didn’t need to be told twice. He followed close behind Max as they edged their way down the row of looms, dodging con
fused and bedraggled workers as they did. As much as Stephen pitied the lot of the factory workers, they were a far cry from being the sort of wretched souls Dickens had written about. None of them looked dangerously malnourished or ill, merely poor.

  As far as they traveled and as much of the factory floor as they traversed, Stephen didn’t spot a single child. After a few minutes, however, the workers began to take more of a notice of them. Their confused looks turned to curiosity, and then to suspicion as they strode up and down the aisles.

  “Who are you?” A burly man with an aura of leadership finally stopped them at the end of one row.

  “We’re from The Sunday Times,” Stephen told him, attempting to imitate Max’s smile and outwardly warm nature, but knowing he wasn’t as good at it. “We’re doing a story about—”

  “Child labor,” Max interrupted, his smile suddenly gone. He’d replaced it with a frank and questioning look, but one that was just as charming as what he’d shown the clerk. Once again, Stephen could see his game. He was attempting to make the burly man see him as an ally.

  Unfortunately, the burly man crossed his arms and stared down his nose at Max. “Gretton Mills does not employ children,” he said. “Never has, never will.”

  Several workmen had closed in, as if to see who the newcomers were and what they were about. They nodded along with the burly man. Alarm raced through Stephen. So much so that he grabbed Max’s sleeve and tugged it slightly. When Max glanced questioningly at him, Stephen nodded toward the end of the aisle.

  “And you should be admired for your moral stance on this matter,” Max told the burly man, changing tactics. “Child labor is a blight on England, but Gretton Mills is a shining example of how unnecessary it is to the advancement of industry.”

  As much as he loved Max, Stephen wanted to roll his eyes. The man needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

  “Thank you for your time,” Stephen said, speaking loudly over the noise of the looms.

  He grasped Max’s arm tighter and pulled him away, toward the center aisle. The stares they received from workers as they slipped between machines as fast as possible to reach the aisle set the hair on the back of his neck on edge. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t tell if it was merely the noise and the awkwardness of being caught where they shouldn’t be or something else.