Page 78 of Unmasking the Diamond
Rupert arched an eyebrow. “I sincerely doubt that. The docks are a cesspool of desperation. A man would slit your throat for the coins in your pocket or the coat on your back.”
“I wish something could be done for them,” Luca said, his gaze drifting again to the filth and ruin outside. “But the Lords debate their bills and pat themselves on the back, never daring to look this way.”
Rupert followed his gaze. “The people here don’t expect rescue. They work only to survive another day and never dare to imagine a brighter tomorrow.”
“That is a sad way to live,” Luca said.
“It’s not sad,” Rupert corrected. “It’s pragmatic.”
The coach lurched to a halt, throwing them slightly forward. The footman jumped down and opened the door. “My lord, are you quite certain you wish to be here?”
“I will be fine,” Luca assured him, stepping down. His boots sank into the muck that lined the pavement, slick with something he didn’t want to identify.
Rupert climbed down beside him, scanning their surroundings. “If your coach remains here, you’ll never see it again.”
Luca frowned. “Then how do you propose we return home?”
“Can you walk?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Excellent,” Rupert said, already motioning for the coachman. “Then we walk until we find a hackney.”
Luca sighed. “Very well.” He turned to the footman. “Return home and we will manage to find our way home.”
The man hesitated. “My lord, if I may—this isn’t the safest part of Town?—”
“Wise or not, it’s my decision,” Luca said firmly, though inwardly he wondered if it truly was.
The footman tipped his head and climbed back onto the coach, which soon disappeared into the fog. The sound of the wheels faded, replaced by the distant clang of metal and the mournful cry of a ship’s horn.
Rupert rubbed his hands together. “Where to?”
Luca lifted his gaze to the hulking brick building ahead. Iron gates surrounded it, and a crooked sign hung from one of the bars:Ravenhurst Factory.
“Well,” Luca said dryly, “they make no secret of who owns the place.”
Rupert’s eyes flicked towards him. “You know, you might consider letting me do the talking.”
“And why is that?”
“I have a knack for persuasion. I can usually get what I want if I ask in a particular way.”
“By torture?”
“Good gads, no. I’m not a barbarian.” Rupert smirked. “Just effective. I am, after all, an excellent barrister.”
Luca gave a humorless chuckle and started towards the gates. “I am sure this Mr. Dawlish will be reasonable.”
“You think a factory manager will be reasonable?” Rupert whistled. “You clearly haven’t met many.”
Luca lifted a brow. “And you have?”
“More than you, apparently.”
The factory loomed closer. As they approached the main door, it swung open, and a burly man stepped out, his sleeves rolled up.
“What do ye want?” the man growled.
