Glasgow Rogue, page 3
“This is not a social gathering,” another one added, to which a number of men concurred with loud murmuring.
Mr. James frowned. “It seems we have some unexpected visitors.”
Unexpected? Niall felt his ear perk up like a buck scenting danger to his doe. He glanced at Annie beside him and kept his voice low. “I thought ye said this had been approved.”
“I thought it was.”
“Ye thought? Ye were nae sure?”
“Well…” Annie shrugged. “The man Aileen talked to said he’d mention it to Mr. James.”
“He’d mention it…” Niall let his voice trail off and raked a hand through his hair. By the devil’s horns! Did the lass not realize the danger she was in by infiltrating this meeting uninvited? The weavers had just finished a strike and the tailors and hat-makers were two trades the women had recently targeted. If their chairman didn’t welcome the women, things could take an ugly downturn quickly. Didn’t Annie realize that? Or was she just too stubborn to care? Niall didn’t need anyone to answer that question. “We should excuse ourselves and leave.”
Annie looked at him as though he were a foreigner not speaking English. Then her expression changed and when she spoke, it was in the tone one might use for a rather dimwitted bairn.
“We came here specifically to speak. We cannae—willnae—leave before we accomplish that.”
Niall suppressed a Gaelic curse. Barely. “Well, have Aileen get on with it, so we can go.”
“Oh, Aileen is nae going to speak. I am,” Annie said and rose to move forward before Niall could reach out to stop her.
Hell’s fires. The lass truly was going to drive him barmy. Silence swept the room as Annie approached the chairman. He did not look welcoming. Niall swore under his breath and fingered one of his knives.
“Mr. James,” Annie said, sounding as though she were greeting a guest at her mother’s boardinghouse. She gestured toward the other ladies. “Our—”
“Who are you?” one man shouted.
“I think they’re part of that damn women’s club that marches around town,” another answered.
“The ones who think they can take our jobs?” a third voice asked, followed by loud grumbles.
Niall started to rise as the chairman held up a hand to quiet the crowd. Slowly, Niall sat back down.
“I have no idea of why you are here,” Mr. James said to Annie. “Obviously, there has been a misunderstanding.”
“We were led to believe,” Annie continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted, “that we would be allowed ten minutes to speak.”
The chairman raised both eyebrows. “I can assure you I did not issue an invitation.”
“They need to leave!” another man shouted.
“Get out! We don’t want them here,” a second one yelled. “They want our jobs!”
Annie turned on them, eyes shooting sparks. Niall wasn’t sure her hair wouldn’t catch on fire, it was blazing so red. For a fleeting moment, he pictured her as the ancient warrior queen, Boudicca. Then he was on his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Before he reached her, though, a middle-aged man stood and held up a hand for silence. Mr. James nodded quickly, looking relieved for the distraction. “Mr. Haines. You wished to speak?”
“Aye. I do.” He turned to the rest of the crowd and grinned at them. “It’s been my experience that if a woman is determined to speak her mind, that is what she is going to do.” He waited until a few twitters of laughter died down. “Now, the way I’m looking at it, let the lady have her ten minutes and then they’ll leave and we can get on with our meeting.”
There was some grumbling, but when Mr. James nodded, the noise died away. Mr. Haines smiled at Annie. “Miss…?”
“Annie Ferguson,” she answered, “and thank ye.”
The older man nodded affably and sat down. Niall took his seat too, although he’d rather have stayed standing. Then he groaned as Annie began to speak about why women were marching. She couldn’t take a more diplomatic approach, considering the odds weren’t exactly in their favor? He heard low rumbling behind him. Niall raked his hand through his hair again. The lass was definitely going to drive him to an early old age…if they made it out of here alive.
Chapter Three
“I think that went quite well,” Annie said to Niall once the group was out on the street fifteen minutes later. From the way Niall stared at her as though she’d just grown another head, she knew he did not agree. In fact, he looked as though a lecture was going to be forthcoming. She smiled brightly. “I did get to speak my piece, so the evening was a success.”
“The only thing successful is that all of you are out here, safe and sound,” Niall muttered.
“Oh, pish,” Aileen retorted. “What were they going to do to us?”
“We are nae witches,” Nairna, one of the twins, said.
“No one has been burned at the stake in three hundred years,” Kiara, the other twin, added.
“And no one had a bucket of hot tar either,” Fenella said.
“Probably because they dinnae ken ye were coming.” Niall grimaced. “None of ye can possibly think those men took ye seriously?”
Annie lifted her chin. “No one laughed.”
“Ye miss the point,” Niall replied. “Boos and jeers are not usually considered sympathetic.”
“The tradesmen are civilized, for all that,” Aileen said. “They were nae going to harm us.”
Niall shook his head. “I am nae so sure, ladies. I doona think it safe for ye to continue with your marches and demands.”
“Even with ye to protect us?” Inis asked and deliberately batted her eyelashes at him. “Who would dare to accost us when we have a braw man like ye around?”
Niall smiled and gave her a lavish bow. “I am glad one of ye lasses sees the wisdom in that.”
Annie gaped at him. Had he not recognized the sarcasm in Inis’ voice? True, she was petite, with delicate features and hair so blonde it gave her an ethereal look, but Inis had a sensible, no-nonsense approach to life. Right now, she was looking a little bewildered.
“Pay him nae mind,” Annie said. “What he means is that I have nae such wisdom.”
Niall turned to her. “Those are your words, lass. Nae mine.” His eyes darkened slightly. “But ye might consider the benefits of having an escort.”
Annie opened her mouth, then closed it. She had hardly forgotten the incident on Virginia Street, even though neither of them had spoken of it. In truth, it had left her shaken more than she cared to admit, even to herself. Niall must have sensed as much or he wouldn’t have agreed to follow her around—shopping for bonnets, no less—the past few days. Drat it. She really did not need a bodyguard. Worse, now the rest of her group was glancing from Niall to her, waiting to hear how she would respond. She gave an indifferent shrug.
“Well, ye cannae escort each of us,” she said to Niall, an idea coming to her. She batted her eyelashes at him too, although it felt ridiculous. “But if ye insist on being our Lord Protector, we could each schedule a day for your company perhaps.”
“That title belongs to Cromwell, I think,” Niall answered, “and what he protected was his own interests, nae lasses.”
“King Arthur, then,” Inis said. “I doona ken a woman who would nae appreciate such support.”
Annie glanced at her. Inis hadn’t sounded sarcastic at all. She wasn’t batting her eyelashes, either. In fact, she was smiling. A real smile. And Niall was smiling back.
“I am nae King Arthur and I have nae knights to summon,” Niall replied and then widened the smile. “but I do have eight available brothers in Arisaig.”
“Are they all as braw as ye?” This came from Cora. It didn’t sound sarcastic either.
Niall shrugged. “Nae man has ever bested any of us in a fight.”
Annie gave him an amused look. “Are ye bragging a wee bit?”
Niall shrugged again. “We’ve each honed skills that come in handy.”
She sobered, remembering how deftly he’d brought out his knives on Virginia Street. She also remembered how Alasdair had thrown his dagger to save Bridget from the mad woman, as well. The idea of eight more of Niall’s brothers riding down to Glasgow was a bit daunting.
“I am sure that will nae be necessary,” Aileen said, sounding authoritative. “As I said before, Glasgow is civilized.”
“But ’tis kind of ye to offer,” Inis said, and the rest of the group nodded.
Annie gave them all a startled look. This wasn’t the usual reaction any of them had to manly offers of help. Were they that impressed with a man brandishing a broadsword and looking a bit like a medieval warrior in that kilt? It definitely did show off a pair of very well-muscled calves… Not that she had studied men’s legs. But the members of the Progress Club weren’t helpless damsels, after all. Yet Annie could see no dissent on their faces, only something that looked suspiciously like admiration.
What in the world was going on?
****
Niall shuffled through the stack of papers that Gustav had given him when he got to the marine office the next morning. How could so much paperwork pile up in just four days? Of course, if he’d been able to spend time in the office, instead of traipsing through half the millinery shops in Glasgow, he’d have been able to keep up.
But that would have meant letting Annie roam the streets by herself. Having a sister equally as strong-willed as Annie had taught Niall and his brothers to tread lightly when trying to be protective, but Margaret was in Arisaig, hardly more than a village. Annie was in a city. She might not think she was in any danger, but contrary to what Aileen had said, Niall didn’t agree that all of Glasgow was civilized. What kind of men booed a woman who was speaking? They may not have thrown rotten fruit—probably because they didn’t have any—but the atmosphere had been far from friendly.
At least, Annie had promised—he made sure she said the word promise—to stay at the boardinghouse this morning so he could attend to ship’s business.
Niall put aside the Bill of Lading for the kelp. That had already been taken care of. The next shipments were bolts of woolens and barrels of barley being shipped to America. Luckily, they were already warehoused and all he would have to do was make sure the inventory count was accurate.
He glanced at the empty accountant’s desk. Gordon Monroe had not returned from whatever family emergency he’d gone to take care of. Gustav hadn’t had any word either, which meant that Niall would be responsible for entering the payments into the ledgers. He hoped he didn’t make a mess of it.
It was several hours later when Niall finally had—he hoped—put everything in order. He cursed when he realized it was already past one o’clock. Annie had promised to stay in during the morning. It would be just like her to be gone when he got home and then defend herself by saying she didn’t leave the house until after the noon hour.
To his relief, he heard her voice when he entered the foyer a quarter of an hour later. Then he heard a man’s voice as well. The sounds were coming from the small parlor across from the main public room. Niall headed straight for the room. What man would be paying a call unannounced?
Niall stopped inside the door when he recognized the middle-aged man who’d spoken at last night’s meeting. Haines, he thought the name was. The man had just taken some papers from the tea table in front of the sofa and was putting them in his satchel. Annie put down the pen she’d been holding.
“What did ye just sign?” Niall asked and then wished he hadn’t sounded quite so blunt. No doubt she’d be irritated with his demand and tell him it wasn’t any of his business. To his surprise, she smiled instead.
“Mr. Haines has just offered me a job,” she said.
“A job? Doing what?”
A flicker of annoyance showed in her eyes and then she suppressed it. “I will be managing his warehouse.”
“His warehouse?” Niall repeated, feeling confounded.
The man rose. “Allow me to introduce myself. Archibald Haines, owner of Haines Consolidated Warehousing. I house stores for several shipping lines.”
“Niall MacDonald,” Niall replied.
“Yes. I remember you from last night. You seem quite protective of Miss Ferguson.” He gave Niall a speculative look. “Are you her fiancé?”
“Nae!” The word came from both of them at once.
Mr. Haines glanced from one to the other. “I see.”
He probably didn’t see at all. Good God. Just because Naill found Annie interesting—even intriguing—didn’t mean he wanted to marry her. He hadn’t even considered marriage. To anyone. From Annie’s forceful answer, neither had she. Niall frowned. Actually, her response was more forceful than his was. And louder. In his experience, women always wanted to get married. Didn’t they? He shook his head to clear it. “I am escorting Miss Ferguson while I am a guest at the boardinghouse, just as any gentleman would.”
Annie made a strange sound he couldn’t quite identify, so he ignored it and continued. “Why would ye want Miss Ferguson working for ye?”
This time, full-fledged indignation showed on her face and also in her tone. “Why would he nae?”
Niall gave her his most contrite smile, which did absolutely nothing to diminish her scowl. Why was this one woman so damn unimpressionable? He turned back to Mr. Haines. “I would think ye would already have a manager in place.”
“Oh, I did,” Mr. Haines replied, seeming not to notice the exchange between Annie and Niall. “But he was involved in a bad carriage accident several weeks ago. Killed, actually. I’ve had to manage the job myself since then.”
“So why did you choose Miss Ferguson?” Niall asked, risking infuriating Annie further. Out of the corner of his eye, he could practically see her hair bristle. Interesting how the color seemed to glow brighter when she was angry. And he had no doubt she was.
“To tell you the truth, I had not considered a woman managing the place before last night,” Mr. Haines answered. “But when I heard Miss Ferguson speak…” He smiled and nodded at Annie. “…I realized there was no reason a woman could not handle the position.”
“There. Ye see?” Annie said to Niall before she turned to Mr. Haines. “Thank ye. It certainly is assuring that some men see value in women.”
“I dinnae say ye had nae value,” Niall said. “Ye do.”
“Just nae when it comes to holding an actual job,” Annie shot back.
Niall started to protest, but then decided against it. He wasn’t going to win this particular argument. At least not now. If he wanted to tell Annie how much value she had, he wasn’t going to do it in front of Haines. The conversation could—would—get personal. Annie probably wouldn’t appreciate that either. In fact, he was probably going to get another glare, if not worse, from her when he asked his next question.
“So what will this job include, exactly? I doona want Miss Ferguson injuring herself.”
He hardly had the words out before he could hear her start to sputter. Luckily, Haines interjected before she could unleash a tirade.
“Nothing like manual labor,” the man said. “I have a number of young men who can do the heavy lifting and moving things around.”
Niall didn’t like the sound of that either. He didn’t want Annie surrounded by a lot of young, strong men. It wouldn’t be safe. “I doona think a lady should be—”
“By the saints! Will ye stop?” Annie gave him a look that might have withered another man, but Niall just set his jaw.
“I doona think being the only woman working in a warehouse is a suitable job for ye,” he said stubbornly.
“’Tis my decision,” Annie replied, equally defiant.
“Perhaps I could interpose,” Mr. Haines said mildly.
They both stopped glaring at each other to look at him. He smiled benignly.
“I can understand Mr. MacDonald’s concern,” Mr. Haines said smoothly, “but Miss Ferguson will mostly be in the office handling the paperwork. The only time she need be on the floor is to make sure the inventory is correct before it leaves. She will have to vouch for that.”
“Which is something I can do,” Annie said, blue fire flashing from her eyes in Niall’s direction. “Unless ye think me utterly a nitwit.”
“Nae,” he replied and then realized Annie had outmaneuvered him with that last comment. Damnation! Then another thought came to him as he recalled something he’d seen on one of the invoices in the marine office earlier. He smiled and turned to Mr. Haines. “Does your warehouse hold woolens and barley for Henderson Shipping?”
The man looked surprised, but it was quickly masked as he nodded. “It does. Why do you ask?”
“I am temporarily managing Robert Henderson’s office here in Glasgow,” Niall replied, “so I will be stopping by the warehouse myself.”
Annie made that strange sound again that he couldn’t identify. He looked at her, allowing his smile to widen into a grin. “It looks like we might be working together, after all.”
****
Archibald Haines locked the door of his walk-up flat on the East End and walked over to the serving cart that held a decanter of bourbon and poured a half-snifter. The liquor wasn’t premier stock from either France or the States. The decanter wasn’t Waterford crystal, either. But soon, soon, he would be able to afford the best.
He tossed the liquor back and poured another, taking this one with him to the brocaded sofa beginning to show wear in spots, much like the scratched mahogany table in front of it. Those items would be replaced soon as well.
Archibald looked around the room. The wallpaper was still intact and showed no signs of yellowing. The carpet—not Aubusson—still looked relatively plush. There really was nothing wrong with the place, other than that he longed for one of the mansions on Buchanan. He deserved one of those. His father had owned one, only to lose it—along with the family fortunes—when the Revolutionary War brought the tobacco trade to a halt. Damn the Americans. Damn the British. And, for that matter, damn the French too. With all the sea blockades in place, nothing had been easy to trade. Now, at long last, goods were coming across the Channel and going across the Atlantic too.
