suffer the consequences. It was the last one to have been delivered, pinned to Heart to Heart ’s front door.
Krista shuffled through the stack. “All of the handwriting seems to be different. It appears we have an army of dissenters out there.”
“Or at least that is what they wish us to think.”
“The handwriting is different, but several of the warnings seemed to be connected.” She handed the notes to Corrie.
Two were in protest of the articles Krista had written in regard to needed improvements in the city sewage and water systems, controversial because of the expense. Several others dealt with the editorial campaign she had started after her father left, favoring a bill called the Mines Act. The bill, if passed, would prohibit all females, and boys under the age of ten, from working underground in the mines. Since children played a large role in the work force, it was highly unpopular with mine owners.
In fact, a man named Lawrence Burton, the primary shareholder in the Consolidated Mining Company, had been particularly outspoken in the matter, but of course, he wasn’t the only one.
Coralee looked down at the message received just that morning. “None of these notes are good, but somehow this one sounds more ominous than the others.”
Krista smiled. “Oh, I don’t know…‘Spawn of the devil’ certainly had a nasty ring to it.”
Her friend laughed. “It is past time we called in the authorities, Krista. We need to send these notes to the police. Perhaps they can discover who is behind the threats.”
“So far that is all they have been, and as you say, the handwriting isn’t even the same, which means they must have come from different people. I can’t imagine where the authorities would begin to look for the guilty parties.”
“Still, I think you should consider it.”
Krista made no reply. She had enough problems without bringing in the police.
Or at least that was what she thought as she left the gazette that night for home.
In the morning, when she found the back rooms of Heart to Heart nothing more than a heap of smoldering soot and blackened ash, she realized she had made a mistake.
Krista arrived early that morning in front of the three-story brick building that housed the offices of Heart to Heart. On her way, she had had Mr. Skinner, the coachman, stop in Grosvenor Square to pick up Coralee, which she had been doing on occasion of late.
Krista was saying something to her friend when she spotted the bright-red fire wagon pulled by a pair of big gray draft horses sitting in the alley behind the building. Throwing open the carriage door before the conveyance had completely rolled to a stop, she quickly descended the stairs and rushed toward the scene.
Corrie followed close on her heels. “Good heavens!”
The fire was mostly out, Krista could see, remnants of white smoke trailing upward where a team of firemen doused the back rooms of the office with a heavy stream of water. But the damage was fairly extensive. She prayed it hadn’t got into the main portion of the building where the printing press sat.
“Ye’ll have ta stay back, miss,” said a burly man with thick red hair who seemed to be in charge. “Fer yer own safety.”
“My name is Krista Hart. This is my place of business. Can you tell me what happened?”
He looked over at the smoke drifting out of a broken window. “Fire started at the back of the buildin’. Didn’t get into the main section, though.”
“Thank God. How did it start?”
“Near as we can tell, looks like someone tossed somethin’ through the window in the back door.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean this wasn’t an accident?”
“No, miss. Fact is, if ol’ Mrs. Murphy hadn’t spotted the blaze, your whole buildin’ woulda gone up, maybe the whole durned block.”
Mrs. Murphy lived with her ailing husband above Murphy’s Family Grocery just a few doors down the street. Krista shivered to think of the property, perhaps
Krista shuffled through the stack. “All of the handwriting seems to be different. It appears we have an army of dissenters out there.”
“Or at least that is what they wish us to think.”
“The handwriting is different, but several of the warnings seemed to be connected.” She handed the notes to Corrie.
Two were in protest of the articles Krista had written in regard to needed improvements in the city sewage and water systems, controversial because of the expense. Several others dealt with the editorial campaign she had started after her father left, favoring a bill called the Mines Act. The bill, if passed, would prohibit all females, and boys under the age of ten, from working underground in the mines. Since children played a large role in the work force, it was highly unpopular with mine owners.
In fact, a man named Lawrence Burton, the primary shareholder in the Consolidated Mining Company, had been particularly outspoken in the matter, but of course, he wasn’t the only one.
Coralee looked down at the message received just that morning. “None of these notes are good, but somehow this one sounds more ominous than the others.”
Krista smiled. “Oh, I don’t know…‘Spawn of the devil’ certainly had a nasty ring to it.”
Her friend laughed. “It is past time we called in the authorities, Krista. We need to send these notes to the police. Perhaps they can discover who is behind the threats.”
“So far that is all they have been, and as you say, the handwriting isn’t even the same, which means they must have come from different people. I can’t imagine where the authorities would begin to look for the guilty parties.”
“Still, I think you should consider it.”
Krista made no reply. She had enough problems without bringing in the police.
Or at least that was what she thought as she left the gazette that night for home.
In the morning, when she found the back rooms of Heart to Heart nothing more than a heap of smoldering soot and blackened ash, she realized she had made a mistake.
Krista arrived early that morning in front of the three-story brick building that housed the offices of Heart to Heart. On her way, she had had Mr. Skinner, the coachman, stop in Grosvenor Square to pick up Coralee, which she had been doing on occasion of late.
Krista was saying something to her friend when she spotted the bright-red fire wagon pulled by a pair of big gray draft horses sitting in the alley behind the building. Throwing open the carriage door before the conveyance had completely rolled to a stop, she quickly descended the stairs and rushed toward the scene.
Corrie followed close on her heels. “Good heavens!”
The fire was mostly out, Krista could see, remnants of white smoke trailing upward where a team of firemen doused the back rooms of the office with a heavy stream of water. But the damage was fairly extensive. She prayed it hadn’t got into the main portion of the building where the printing press sat.
“Ye’ll have ta stay back, miss,” said a burly man with thick red hair who seemed to be in charge. “Fer yer own safety.”
“My name is Krista Hart. This is my place of business. Can you tell me what happened?”
He looked over at the smoke drifting out of a broken window. “Fire started at the back of the buildin’. Didn’t get into the main section, though.”
“Thank God. How did it start?”
“Near as we can tell, looks like someone tossed somethin’ through the window in the back door.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean this wasn’t an accident?”
“No, miss. Fact is, if ol’ Mrs. Murphy hadn’t spotted the blaze, your whole buildin’ woulda gone up, maybe the whole durned block.”
Mrs. Murphy lived with her ailing husband above Murphy’s Family Grocery just a few doors down the street. Krista shivered to think of the property, perhaps
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