A Christmas Wedding Wager (15 page)

'I have found him work to do.' Jack gave a slight shrug, as if the boy's condition mattered little. 'This site has no place for slackers or layabouts.'

Emma struggled to control the indignation growing in her breast. Davy Newcomb should not be here. It was wrong of Jack to force him to work. Did Jack consider this appropriate business practice? Forcing injured men to work or become unemployed? 'But he sprained his leg. He should be resting. You should not have had him back here. He is in danger.'

'His family cannot afford for him to rest. He is the only breadwinner, although his mother does take in laundry.' Jack stared at her, his dark eyes hardening. 'What would you have me do--make sure his family starve at this time of year? You surprise me, Miss Harrison, with your unchristian spirit.'

'That is not what I said.' Emma put her hands on her hips, preparing to argue. She did not want to think about his sudden reversion to the more formal use of her name. All she knew was that Jack Stanton was in the wrong. Davy Newcomb should not be here. He was a danger to himself and to the other men. 'It is not the way my father runs his business.'

'I am in charge here, until your father recovers enough to take back the reins. Permit me to run this building site as I see fit.' Jack turned on his heel and strode away towards the office.

'But...but...you have to understand about the men's good will,' Emma said to his uncompromising back. She gritted her teeth. High-handed. Arrogant. And totally sure of himself.

He had to see that having the lad back was folly of the worst sort. Bad for morale. Bad for Davy Newcomb. Bad for Harrison and Lowe. Emma bit her lip, torn between following him and continuing her protest and finding out the truth. There was a chance that she could undo the damage he had inadvertently caused.

'I will speak to him and let him know that his position is safe. Let him know how Harrison and Lowe truly treats its employees,' Emma called after him.

Jack stopped and slowly turned. His face was hewn from granite and his eyes were cold. 'As you wish.'

Emma hurried over to where Davy had stopped to readjust his crutch as he balanced a sheaf of papers in one hand. 'Are you all right, Davy? Is your leg healing?'

'Yes, Miss Harrison, I fare well enough with this here crutch.' The boy pushed his cap back and gave her a cheeky grin. 'I don't aim to fall down no more cliffs, ma'am, if that was what you were worried about. Right brave I thought you were, to climb down as well as the gaffer.

' Course I didn't know he was the gaffer then, like.'

'Your leg, does it pain you much? Particularly after working here?'

'Could be better, could be worse,' Davy replied with a shrug.

'But why are you here? Surely you should be at home, recovering?'

'The gaffer has given me some jobs to do. Important ones they are, too!' The note of pride in Davy's voice was unmistakable. He shifted his weight and stood a little taller. 'He came by the house t'other day and had a little chat with me mam. Told her what a fine young man I was shaping up to be.'

Emma glanced over towards Jack, who was busy issuing orders to some of the men. Her fist clenched around her reticule. He had taken it upon himself to go see Davy and his family. It was not the way her father ran his business.

'You should be at home,' she tried again. 'Your leg needs to heal properly before you come back to work. You and your mother must not worry, Davy. There will be a place for you here when your leg is better. The Newcombs have worked for Harrison and Lowe for as long as I can remember. First your grandfather, then your father, and now you.'

'Miss, please don't send me away.' Davy caught her sleeve and looked up at her with pleading eyes. 'We need the money, like, and it is far warmer in the office than it is at home.'

'I am sure the company can arrange something.' Emma smoothed her skirts. 'My father is here today. I will have a quiet word with him. You will not starve.'

'The Newcombs don't accept charity.' Davy drew himself up to his full height. 'I knows you mean well and all, miss, but the gaffer and I have it sorted.'

Davy clumped away down the hill. Emma watched him go with mixed emotions. Had she made a mistake? Had she been too quick to judge? She pressed her fingertips into the bridge of her nose, trying to think. She needed to have answers, and fast.

'Did you learn anything from your conversation with Davy?' Jack said as she went into the back office. He did not move from his place behind her father's desk. His eyes could have been smooth black marble, and his voice held a distinct chill to it.

'We have been having a discussion. The lad is as obstinate as you.'

'I shall take that as a compliment.'

Emma crossed her arms, stared back at him. She would get to the truth of the matter. 'Why is he here? The boy is injured. He should be home, resting!'

'Have you tried to make him rest? Do you know why he is here? Do you care about that? Or did you simply leap to conclusions and find me guilty? Pretty little assumptions that fit neatly into your view of the world.' He placed both hands on the desk and stood up. His eyes burnt.

Emma took a step backwards as she became aware of the anger he was holding back. 'Let me know when you are ready to listen, and then maybe we can speak.'

'No...I....' Emma put her hand to her throat as she remembered Davy's words--he would not accept charity. She had gone about this all wrong. She dropped her gaze and concentrated on her glove's pearl button. She swallowed hard, aware his burning gaze was on her. 'I am sorry.

You are right. I have no idea why Davy Newcomb is working here today. But he should not be here. It is not the way my father's company does business.'

'Emma Harrison, you are the most infuriating woman!'

'I know. I have to be.' She put her hands on her hips. 'My father's workers matter to me.

They are part of the family. We have a duty towards them. I have no wish for that boy to be crippled for life. He has a mother and siblings to support.'

Suddenly his face softened; the lines became less harsh. 'Miss Harrison, can we talk about this sensibly? Shouting like fishwives will do neither of us any good.'

She tilted her head to one side. A fishwife! Was that how he saw her? 'No, you are right. I have no wish to be regarded as someone vulgar. No doubt Mudge and my father can hear us.'

'I suspect they can hear you down on the quayside with great ease.' A smile broke over his face. 'And me as well.'

Her breath caught in her throat. No man had the right to look that handsome or be that infuriating. She had to meet him halfway. She had to show him that she could listen. It was her only hope of getting him to understand about the necessity of changing the bridge's line.

'I will listen,' she said quietly. 'I am ready to hear your explanation.'

Jack pressed his palms against the desk. When he spoke, he spoke clearly, emphasising each word as one would to a child.

'Davy Newcomb is here because he wants to be here. It is his choice, freely made.'

'But he is in pain. He cannot serve as an apprentice with a hurt leg. You should never have allowed it.'

'We came to a mutually beneficial arrangement.' A very superior expression crossed his face.

'It has solved several problems.'

'But he can't work. You are asking the poor lad to fail, and if he fails he will find it difficult to get other work.' Emma struggled to keep her voice calm. She had to put her objections in a manner that Jack would understand. 'The company cannot afford to carry someone who does not work properly. He will be a danger to himself and to others on the site.'

'And I say he can work!' Jack struck the desk with his open palm. 'Allow me to decide who is and who is not a danger on this site. I run this site my way.'

She swallowed hard. She'd have to leave the argument for later, but she knew she was right.

Davy should be at home, resting. 'I will naturally have to defer to you. You are currently in charge here.'

'You will.' His eyes softened. 'If it makes you feel better, Davy has left Harrison and Lowe's employ.'

Emma stared at him, uncomprehending. 'He is here on site, working.'

'He works for me and me alone.'

'I am not sure I understand,' Emma said carefully as she stared at Jack. One part of her mind took in the small details, like how his long fingers rested against the desk, the slight curl of his black hair and the intent expression of his eyes, while the other part kept turning over and over the information. He had given Davy Newcomb a job. A job! 'He already has a job. He works for Harrison and Lowe as an apprentice.'

'No, he doesn't.' Jack stood up. He hooked his fingers into the pocket of his waistcoat. 'As you rightly said, Harrison and Lowe has no position for someone who is injured. He would be a danger to the others.'

The ribbons that tied Emma's bonnet threatened to choke her. He had dismissed Davy, and then hired him. Why? It made no sense. She wanted to hate Jack, but Davy was here, and clearly loving what he was doing. 'Why should you want to employ him? You already have a valet.'

'He is not my valet. Nor is he my personal servant.'

'Then what is he?'

'My personal assistant.'

'You have taken Davy on as your personal assistant?'

'I need assistance here. Little jobs. Jobs that require a quick mind and willing hands. It seemed the perfect solution to the problem.' His lips curved upwards. 'To both our problems.

I went to see him the day you came to the site about the goose list. You were right that day. I should have gone before.'

Emma flattened her hands against her skirts as her insides twisted. She had done him a grave injustice. His solution for Davy Newcomb was extremely practical. The boy and his family would not accept charity, and yet he could not do heavy building work. Sensible. Practical. 'I misjudged your intention, Mr Stanton, and I deeply regret my earlier words. They were thoughtless. Please forgive me.'

'Sometimes the solution to a problem comes in unexpected ways.' He held out his hand, a strong hand, with tapering fingers. 'Shall we start again, Miss Harrison? Shall we be friends?

Work together instead of against each other?'

'Start again?' She put her fingertips against his, felt his fingers curl around hers for a brief instant before she withdrew. Friends. That was all, and she would have to remember that. "I think I can agree to that. I welcome your friendship.'

He gave a smile. 'It is good to know that you have decided to trust me and my judgement.'

Her insides squirmed. If she truly trusted him she'd tell him about the mistakes in the calculations, and her father's illness, but to do that would mean exposing everything. How would he react? What damage would it do to her father's reputation? Dr Milburn's warning about Jack's underhanded business practices still resounded in her ears. Could she really trust Jack Stanton to behave honourably when serious business was involved? She'd wait and see if there was an opening, a way she could explain. See how their friendship grew.

'What exactly are Davy's duties?' she asked with a bright smile, changing the subject. Once she knew more, she could decide. 'He appeared laden down with equipment and charts.'

'There are measurements that need to be done. Experiments I want rechecked. Davy is ideally placed to do them. He is bright, and willing to work.' He nodded towards Davy, who had reappeared with several different instruments. 'If he proves as able as I think, I am quite willing to help him train as a mechanical engineer. The Empire needs more. Progress demands it.'

'Why do you need to do experiments?' Emma forced her voice to stay calm.

'I have found it best to make sure of everything. Both Brunel and I agree on the matter.

Attention to detail ensures the success of a project.'

Emma's breath stopped. Was this a solution to her problem? Could she explain where her father had gone wrong without seeming to criticise him? Ask that Jack repeat the experiments, repeat the calculations?

'I...that is...my father undertook a series of experiments before the bridge was designed.

Wind speeds, flooding, and looking at the bedrock.' She hesitated, wrinkling her nose. There had to be a way of explaining this. 'It is possible that one or two needed more data. My father was ill earlier in the year...'

Jack schooled his features. Emma had helped with the experiments. That piece of information did not surprise him in the least, particularly not after what he had read. The question was, who had made the errors? They were simple, and easily made, but the fact remained that Edward Harrison should have caught them. Unless...He dismissed the idea as preposterous.

Had Harrison been the one to make the mistake, and was Emma covering for him?

It would appear Emma Harrison had definitely developed an interest in civil engineering. She knew the correct terminology, and the bridge design did show her distinctive handwriting.

'I was not happy with everything I read,' he said carefully. 'It would appear a few mistakes were made. Perhaps not enough attention was paid...'

'The greatest care and attention was paid to the experiments.' She tilted her chin upwards, the blue in her eyes deepened to a flame. 'It is the way my father has always done things.'

'I am not accusing your father of anything.' Jack held up his hand, stopping her words. She had raised her defences. He would have to find another way to get to the truth. 'Through long experience I have learnt to conduct my own, rather than rely on another's interpretation of the facts. Mistakes happen when one least expects it. Numbers can get transposed.'

She started, and her eyes became wary. She trailed the toe of her shoe along the dusty floor.

'It could happen.'

'I think it might have here, but I have to be certain. Much depends on getting the location right. I have decided to take the cautious approach. The current weather has given us time.'

'You are going ahead with the present course, then?' Her voice was quite small.

'Yes, for the moment. But you were right to ask for another survey. It does show that the ground might be better if the line was moved away from the castle keep. A few simple calculation errors in the original document.'