“Fire is a tricky thing,” he looks up at the sky, “but it looks like snow. That will help control it.” Ryan chuckles. “I can’t promise that it won’t spread, but I’ll set it outside, containing the damage to the corner of the building. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”
London waits and listens.
“How long until they dump the stocks?” David, his friend, asks.
“A few days at the most. The newspaper will get the notification first thing in the morning. Sheridan Furniture will be in trouble by this time tomorrow,” Lord Hubbard laughs. “I bet he’ll need a business partner then!”
London waits until they leave and rushes from the office and up the stairs. Once she's safely in her room, she paces.
“What if someone's hurt?” Stepping over to the mirror, she stares at her reflection and shakes her head. “You have to warn them.” Reagan will be going out in a few hours, and they are heading to the opera, she can't leave until they do.
“What about the stock?” The only thing she can think to do is to buy it herself. “Do I have enough money?” She digs out her little notebook from her pocket and looks at her savings and stocks. “If I sell what's left of my stocks, I should have enough to buy a majority percentage.” Surely, he would repurchase it from her once she explains everything. If anything, he will thank her and be grateful. London walks to the office and grabs a rag.
“What are you doing, Mouse?” Lady Hubbard shouts from behind her, causing her to startle.
“Cleaning the offices Lady Hubbard,” she explains in a shaky voice.
“Good to know you work to earn your keep.” She stomps close to London and stares. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve decided to keep you on after Reagan leaves us. I’m sure I’ll find a use for you.”
“You’re too kind, Lady Hubbard,” she whispers and keeps her eyes on her shoes.
“Well, get on with it, and be sure to have Reagan on time for her date with Declan tonight. He mustn’t be kept waiting. She’s made a remarkable turnaround. I knew she’d come to her senses. Any woman would be lucky to have a man as virile as that. What am I saying, Mouse? Any woman except you,” she laughs as she walks away.
London glares at her retreating back before hurrying into the office and sends a telegram to her broker. She directs him to sell everything and hold all her money in one account. To gain the majority of shares, she will have to buy higher than she normally would. It depends on how badly this goes. If she's quick enough, she will get there in time to warn him, and all of this will be for nothing.
Reagan’s dress is already steamed and ready for the night. London rushes up to her room to wait. “Mouse!” Reagan’s voice shouts for her.
“Coming,” she calls and hurries to help her dress for her date.
Two hours later, she watches from her window as they leave for the evening. London runs from the room using the servant entrance. Bundled in a heavy coat over her maid uniform, she is plenty warm. She is thankful to be in a city the size of New York. She runs toward a hackney carriage and tells the driver, “I need to go to Sheridan Furniture Store, in a hurry.”
“Climb in Miss,” he says with a grin.
As the city blurs through the carriage window, London prays she will arrive in time to warn them. No one ever listens to a mouse. How do I get them to listen?
Declan throws himself into his work. When he's carving and working, he often loses track of the time. He's in the middle of hand carving a king-sized headboard and footboard with a matching dresser and mirror. It's his best work. The hard work and long hours take his mind off the fact that he's to be married in a week.
His grandfather is beside himself with excitement. Perhaps Grandfather should marry the young girl? He chuckles out loud, and his laughter echoes in the empty shop. It's growing dark outside. “Time to go home.”
“Way past time to go home, Son,” his grandfather’s deep voice echoes, startling him.
Declan turns with a grin and watches him walk across the shop. The large bay doors behind him are on sliders, allowing cold air and light inside. Now they are allowing the stony night air to infiltrate his clothes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Someone has to look out for you.” He uses his cane to amble towards him. His silver hair has grown long, and the beard he sports is as thick and lush as the hair he's so proud of.
“Looks like you could use a keeper too. You need a haircut,” Declan teases and hurries to shut the bay doors. He struggles to slide the wooden doors together.
“I’ve been telling you to get those doors fixed,” his grandfather teases. “The cold air always makes them stick.”
“I know.” Declan pulls and grumbles at the rusted hinges as they finally give, allowing him to close them. He drops the cross beam of wood down, securing them in place. “Sit down while I lock up,” he urges and guides him to a stool next to a lantern on his worktable.
Declan extinguishes the kerosene lanterns and puts away his tools. He walks to the corner to hang up his leather apron when he smells smoke.
“Are you smoking?” he whirls in shock to look at him across the shop. He’s not at the stool, but instead is holding the lantern and running a hand over the intricately carved headboard. His stomach drops.
“This is your best work yet, Declan!” Matthew declares proudly. The scent of smoke drifts to him, and he turns to stare
