Virginia Henley by Enticed Read Free Book Online Page A

found you. There’s trouble at the mill. I went up to the house, but your father was out and they told me where I would likely find you.”
    Patrick stiffened. “What kind of trouble?”
    “Well, your father cut the wage rates today and there’s an ugly crowd gathered outside the mill. I can’t control them.”
    “Let’s go,” said Patrick, gathering up his hat and gloves. He stepped inside the Man … Scythe Pub and caught Bradshaw’s eye. Terry followed them to the pub’s coachyard, where the carriage was parked. “Gibraltar Mill, and hurry.”
    The well-lit streets of the town center were soon left behind as they drove into the poorer district. The carriage rumbled over the greasy cobbles of the dark street. Despite the poor light, they could see that a large crowd was gathered. The bookkeeper was very nervous. “You can’t tackle them on your own, sir; they’re a bunch of mad buggers. You know what the Irish are when roused, nothing but brutes and savages. Oh! Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.”
    Patrick’s teeth showed like a wolf’s. “I suppose we are,” he said reflectively. A crowd of men, women and children hurled curses and abuse when they spotted the carriage. They brandished bottles, bricks and assorted clubs as Patrick looked out from the carriage and saw their hard-set features.
    “Put the clogs to ‘im! Blood-suckin’ bastard!” and a woman’s shrill, “The old pisspot, let me get me hands on ’im!”
    Patrick’s tall figure emerged from the carriage and someone shouted, “It’s not the O’Reilly, it’s Patrick!”
    He looked into the anger-filled faces where usually he saw only despair.
    “I won’t let my father cut wage rates and that’s a promise. Now disperse and go home. You know you are breaking the law, or do I have to read you the Riot Act?” They stood back silently from the tall man. His evening dress told them clearly that they were slum rats and he was of the ruling class. He continued, “The saying is that the Irish would rather fight than eat, but I don’t believe that. I think putting food on the table is more important to you than rioting. Now take my word about the wages and go.”
    Slowly the crowd started to melt away. Patrick let out a relieved breath and cursed his pigheaded father. “By Christ, you can always tell a Lancashire man, but you can’t tell him much!” He glanced around. “Where’s Bradshaw?” he asked Terry.
    “The minute the carriage stopped, he made himself scarce. I’m after thinking he was scared shitless, sor.”
    “It looks like we’ve seen the back of them all, but before we go I’d better make sure there’s nobody lurking about in the millyard. You’d better stay with the horses, lad.”
    Patrick went around the back of the mill, heard and saw nothing and turned to retrace his steps when a dark figure from the shadows darted out and attacked him. It all happened so quickly; Patrick grappled with the burly figure and saw the blade’s glint just in time. He recoiled sharply and the knife that was intended for his heart slid against his breastbone and was diverted upward through the breast muscle. The impact felled him, and his attacker took off over the mill wall into the blackness. Terry thought he heard a scuffle, but he was loath to leave the horses alone. When Patrick didn’t return he knew he had no choice. When he saw him, Patrick was struggling to his feet.
    “Yer bleedin’, sor!”
    “Rather badly, I’m afraid. Here, take my scarf and wad it up against my shoulder.”
    Terry helped him to the carriage, terrified that he would expire before he could get help for him.
    “Do you think you can drive?” asked Patrick.
    “Of course I can drive. Just tell me where to find the doctor, sor.”
    “No. I don’t want this news spread all over Bolton. Just get me home.” Inside he fell back against the squabs. As the carriage jolted over the cobbles, the pain became almost unbearable and a couple of times he had to force