Storm over the Caribbean

47. Child Labour?

"Because we are heading to a factory."

I ground my teeth.

He doesn't even bother to deny it, the goddamn son of a bachelor...!

"Let me rephrase, then." I dragged in a deep breath. "Why are we heading to a factory?"

Swivelling his head towards me, Britain's richest business mogul sent me a stare as cold as the heart of an iceberg. "You asked me to find an appropriate place for the girl, did you not?"

I felt my heart plunge into a dark hole.

No.

No. This couldn't really be the man I married, right?

A sudden chill went down my spine, and dizziness started to overcome me. By the time it subsided, the carriage had stopped in front of a tall brick building with several towering smokestacks spewing black fumes into the air.

"Where are we? Where are we?" Leah eagerly demanded, jumping up and down in Mr Ambrose's lap.

The poor girl. I couldn't bring myself to answer her. Because what answer could I really give? That I'd torn her from her lifelong dream for this? To be forced to slave away in a factory for the rest of her life? By my own husband?

No! No, this could not be allowed! I would stop this! I had to stop this! Straightening my back, I turned towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose, opened my mouth and...

...ended up staring at an empty seat and an open carriage door.

The two of them were already gone.

Crap, crap, crap!

Cursing under my breath, I clambered out of the carriage and raced towards the spiky, wrought-iron gate of the factory. The gate that was already closed behind Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

Bloody son of a bachelor! Just you wait until I get my hands on you!

"Good Sir..." With effort, I forced a bright smile onto my face as I turned towards the guard at the gate. "Would you be so kind as to let me in?"

"And why would I do dat, eh?" Snorting, the man spat a chunk of chewing tobacco onto the street—then glanced down at my bulging abdomen. "If you wanna make some money for that brat in your belly, I'm sure there would be enough men willing to pay if you're nice to dem."

My smile flickered. "Why should you help me, you ask?" Cracking my knuckles, I stepped forward. "Well, let me explain exactly why..."

Five minutes and a repentant gate guard later, I hurried onto the factory grounds. I was just in time to see Mr Ambrose enter the main building, Leah right beside him.

Well...let's hope this is a meat processing plant. That would make it so much easier to turn Mr Rikkard Ambrose into mincemeat.

Full of determination, I quickly strode towards the factory entrance. The fact that, from the outside, my confident stride might have looked like a slow waddle was totally beside the point.

The inside of the factory, unfortunately, did not in any way resemble a meat processing plant. Apparently, I would have to turn my dear husband into mincemeat with my bare hands. Instead of dangling slabs of meat and numerous butchers with knives, the large hall was filled with work tables where people frantically worked on...wooden blocks? And...heads? And piles of what looked like horse hair?

What the heck?

Later, Lilly. Right now, you have a husband to eviscerate.

Eyes fixed on the distant back of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I stalked forward. He had come to a halt at the other end of the hall, in front of what looked like a supervisor's office. Without bothering to knock on the door, he pushed it open.