A Misguided Mistake

Chapter Four

Trouble was in the air.

John could feel it in his bones. He was prepared for it; the Irish safely in their quarters, the soldiers alerted. Yet he did not know what would happen that day, and fear coiled low in his belly. Despite what people thought, he was just a normal man. He felt fear as much as any other, and he would be a special kind of fool not to to be at least a little afraid of a crowd of angry workers out for his blood.

Fear did not control him, though. Hiring the Irish workers was the best decision for his business and the continuation of the mill. The Milton men and women knew what to do if they objected to his decision; resume their work and end this fruitless strike. He would not give in to their petulant demands.

He did this for the good of the mill and his business. Just because it was the right thing to do did not mean he was not afraid. He was not even afraid for himself, but for his mother and Fanny. He should have sent them away, somewhere they could not be touched. It was foolish to keep them here, but his mother would never leave him. She had been by his side in all things, and she would not abandon him now. He was thankful for her, for her level head and her careful nature.

Fanny, however, was prone to panic and dramatics. Having her here was a mistake; she had been pacing all morning, driving everyone mad with her muttering. Her hysteria only served to panic the servants and irritate Mother.

The Irish had arrived late last night. He did not think anyone had seen them, but he was not so naive as to think nobody would find out. He was fully prepared for the backlash that would inevitably come. The strike had been going on too long now, folk were restless and looking for someone to direct their anger at. This would be the last straw, the flame that lit the fuse, he was certain of it.

He locked the door to the rooms where he had kept the Irish - as though they were mere supplies, rather than breathing men and women. He closed his eyes; he could hear it. The distant roar that only a crowd could make. They were coming, coming for him.

He ran back to the main house, and over the sound of his own hurried footsteps he could hear the rattling of the mill gate. Oh God. He finally got inside and slammed the heavy front door behind him and bolting it firmly. He raced to the drawing room to find his mother. She was there, pale faced and tight lipped along with Fanny. The fear in his sister's eyes was unmistakable, and she gave a heavy sob, falling to the floor in her mother's arms.

Usually he rolled his eyes at his sister's fanciful swoons but today he knew that Fanny was terrified. He had no right to place his mother and sister in such danger. This was his fight, not theirs.

"Try to stop her from panicking."

"Miss Hale is here." Mother said, leaning down to steady Fanny as she struggled to get to her feet.

"What? Where is she?"

His mother pointed over to the window, and he saw Margaret's familiar figure staring out of the window. Why the hell was Margaret here? He had told her yesterday to stay at home, hadn't he? He had thought perhaps she would go to Princeton and get tangled in the aftermath of what he suspected would happen here. He had not even considered that she would pay a visit to the mill itself.

"Miss Hale, I am sorry you have visited us at this unfortunate moment." His breath was harsh, winded from running and the rapid pounding of his own heart. He spoke in a softer voice so his family would not hear. "I told you to stay at home."

She frowned, following his gaze out of the window. One could not fail to hear the noise, nor the rattling of the gates as God knows how many men pushed against them. They would not hold for much longer.