horses set off in the direction of Thorne Lodge, for she had much to occupy her thoughts. Outside the inn last night, Mr. Walker had asked her to plead for a better life for the mill children. Not only were their lives in danger, but Mr. Sherbourne himself had become a target.
Were the laborers at the mill so ready to revolt? Prudence recalled the crowd that had gathered around her when she denounced Richard Warring. Dick the Devil had certainly made enemies. But his employer would bear the brunt of the antagonism that had built up while he was away at sea.
Prudence was determined to save herself the humiliation of returning to the mill for a second demonstration of her vocal powers. She would win this battle using the weapons she knew best. Feminine wiles could charm a man far more easily than any hotheaded oration.
But as the carriage neared the mill, she was startled to see a stream of workers begin to trickle outside, swelling quickly to a rush and finally into a cascade pouring through its doors. Ragged children and haggard adults lined the roadway. They waved, whistled, called to the carriage as it neared.
“We’re Miss Watson’s workers!” someone yelled. “Watson’s workers! Watson’s workers!”
The crowd took up the chant, clapping in unison to the rhythm of their cries. Stunned, Prudence leaned to the carriage window in disbelief. Instantly the throng surged toward her. Hands reached through the opening. Someone lifted a child and then another. The laborers began to beat on the carriage frame, startling the horses and forcing the footmen to prod the crowd back with their short whips.
The chaos lasted only moments before the carriage rolled through the horde onto clear roadway. Trembling, Prudence finally let out her breath. She looked behind to find several children running after her. One of them was young Tom Smith.
“Oh, Tom!” She clenched her fists in helplessness. “Go back! Go to the mill!”
Dick the Devil would surely beat the boy. And Tom’s injuries would be her fault! She had roused this sentiment in the masses. She was to blame, but they would pay the price.
Sinking into a quagmire of dread and worry, she hardly noticed that the carriage had pulled to a stop in front of Thorne Lodge. A footman, cheeks still red from the effort of fending off the horde, opened the door. Prudence let out a breath, took his hand, and stepped down.
“Good on ye, Miss Watson,” he said under his breath as she passed. “’Tis time the people had a champion.”
She whirled around to face him, but he had turned away to lead the horses toward the stables. Had she heard right? Could it be that even the staff who served the great family were chafing under its rule?
Still quivering with shock and confusion, Prudence lifted her skirts and ascended the steps to the door. She could hardly believe such undercurrents of mutiny existed everywhere— even within the family’s household. Whether or not she liked William Sherbourne, she at least must warn him of the danger.
But when she stepped into the sunlit foyer, Prudence was met not by a liveried butler, but by Olivia Sherbourne herself.
“Lady Thorne,” Prudence exclaimed. “How good of you to greet me in this way.”
“Dear Miss Watson, I would not have you take another step until I had alerted you to some distressing news.”
“What has happened?” Prudence blurted out. “Is he harmed?”
“Do you mean William?” Olivia shrank back a little in surprise. “Harmed? No, my husband’s brother is in perfect health. But the steward of our estate has just arrived from London, and both men are compelled to meet with him on a matter of great financial import.”
“I see. But of course.” Stunned at this change of plan, Prudence tried to steady her breath. No matter what sort of engagement required William’s participation, she could not rest until she had alerted him to the imminent danger in his path.
The silence in the foyer became awkward,
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