Satisfie
d—still feeling the buoying effect of their previous evening’s triumph—she walked to the front door and let herself out. After locking the door, she went down the steps and set out along the pavement, heading toward the river. She glanced across the street at the Stenshaw house, but saw no movement, not even of the curtains.
Smiling to herself, she walked on.
She’d just turned into the Butts, the street that ran along the west bank of the Frome, when the sensation of being watched raised the hairs on her nape.
Keeping her expression relaxed, she walked on for some yards, but the sensation persisted—indeed, it grew stronger.
She halted and pretended to search for something in her reticule, shifting so that she could surreptitiously look back the way she’d come.
The street was far from deserted; it was a popular place for strolling on a Sunday afternoon. A dozen or so couples were indulging in the last of the afternoon’s sunshine and steadfastly ignoring the three touts, who wore placards front and back and were exhorting all and sundry to attend one or other chapel.
Such touts were a common sight throughout the city. Being a major center in Methodist country, Bristol played host to literally dozens of chapels, some more sincerely God-fearing than others. Sylvia had heard that some chapels were little more than venues in which charlatans preached fire and brimstone in order to fleece those gullible enough to flock through their doors.
Lowering her reticule, she straightened and openly surveyed the street and the houses fronting it, but could see no sign of anyone who might have been staring at her. Indeed, the sensation had ceased as soon as she’d swung around.
Lips primming, she raised her chin, turned, and continued on her way.
It had to be the Stenshaw boys, watching her from some alleyway.
“Nasty people,” she muttered and made for the bridge.
* * *
As Monday waned and the end of the working day approached, Kit used a rag to wipe his hands, then shrugged on his coat and walked to where Wayland stood studying the bilge board currently taking shape in the framework they’d erected to support their first hull.
Kit halted beside his friend and surveyed the sight with appreciation and not a little satisfaction. One team of carpenters, working under Mulligan, was shaping the board that would become the central base plank of the keel, while another team under Shaw’s direction was hammering away in the offices, which were nearly ready for occupation.
Glancing that way, Kit noticed Miss Petty keeping a watchful eye on the finishing touches Shaw himself was installing. She’d arrived not long ago to check the progress on what would be her space—hers and Mulligan’s—in the workshop. Her arrival had instantly put Mulligan—and the men and even Jack—on their best behavior, a change that both Kit and Wayland viewed with considerable amusement.
All was settling so very smoothly into place, Kit was almost starting to feel nervous.
Almost, but not quite; after all, he’d worked hard to ensure everything did come together, men, building, and tools included.
After several seconds more of looking around and finding nothing remotely amiss, Kit glanced at Wayland.
Before Kit could speak, Wayland waved at the new keel. “If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe we’ve got so far so quickly.” He met Kit’s eyes and grinned. “For the record, I’m damned glad I threw in my lot with you and your mad idea of Cavanaugh Yachts.”
Kit grinned back. “Nothing mad about it—as my brothers will tell you, this is a finely crafted venture.”
“Hah!” Wayland looked back at the keel. “As your designer-builder, I can hardly disagree.”
Kit shifted, then said, “As everything is going well here, I think I’ll call in at the school.”
Instantly, Wayland—who Kit had told about the fire—sobered. He met Kit’s eyes and nodded. “Yes. Go. If those blighters are watching, then seeing you checking in might underscore that they need to keep a good distance.”
Kit nodded. “Indeed.”
Wayland waved. “Go. I’ll lock up here.” He started toward the men, flinging over his shoulder, “We’ve all in hand.”
Kit smiled. He turned toward the open doors, then remembered and diverted to the office to tell Miss Petty he was off to the school.
She looked at him with approval. “Very good, my lord. Should anyone inquire for you at this late hour, I will take their details and suggest they try again tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Miss Petty.” Kit grinned at Shaw, who was having to work under her eagle eye. “I’ll leave you to your supervising.”
Unseen by Miss Petty, Shaw rolled his eyes, but by the time she turned back, he was hammering again.