Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) by N. S. Wikarski Page B

others, Desmond now rose, albeit unsteadily. “Sure and it’s my turn to let all you good people know...” He paused, apparently having lost his train of thought. “Oh yes, there it is. To let all you good people know that you’re sitting in the presence of a saint, and that’s a fact.”
    The guests eyed one another suspiciously, none of them having the least illusion of the sanctity of anyone present.
    “It’s him at the head of the table, I’m referring to.” Desmond pointed dramatically toward Martin, spilling wine from his glass, which Garrison hastened to refill. “Yes, a living breathing saint if ever there was one. Ladies and gentlemen, the saying goes ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed,’ and truer words were never spoken.”
    Martin had begun to tap nervously on the table, apparently wondering when the testimonial would end.
    “And this man, this saint of a man,”—again Desmond pointed at Martin—“saw that his old friend Desmond was down on his luck and offered him a job at his very own company. There’s not many would do such a thing. Lord love you, Martin.” He raised his glass. “I say again, ladies and gentlemen, a toast to Mr. Martin Allworthy. The nearest friend that ever I had in all the world and am likely ever to have.”
    “To Martin,” the party all murmured uncertainly.
    Having said his piece, Desmond sat down without further ceremony and gave his undivided attention to the cutlet on his plate. The lapse in conversation that his odd behavior had caused was soon covered by eddies and ripples of small talk from various directions. Thankfully, no further outbursts of bonhomie from either Desmond or Roland were forthcoming.
    As the last course was being cleared, Freddie began to grow restive. No one had yet mentioned the one topic he longed to hear about. He was too far from the head of the table to ask Martin directly. Calculating the social damage of offending his hostess, he tried to frame the question as innocently as possible. “Quite an unfortunate accident at your husband’s factory last week, Mrs. Allworthy.”
    Euphemia sighed. “Yes, quite unfortunate. The poor child.”
    “The coroner has determined it was an accident?” Freddie maintained a tone of casual interest.
    “So it would seem.”
    Despite the intervening distance, Martin had caught the gist of his wife’s conversation and jumped in. “What is that you were speaking of, my dear?”
    “Oh, Mr. Simpson was inquiring about the drowning at the factory.”
    All other conversation at table immediately ceased as rampant curiosity took hold. Everyone waited for the host’s next words.
    Martin darted a swift look at Desmond. “Yes, it was quite unfortunate. A needless accident. But the workers are sometimes just like children. They require someone to look out for them every second.”
      “Oh?” Evangeline raised an eyebrow skeptically.
    “Yes, I’ve seen fellows burn their hands time and again in the acid baths out of pure carelessness.”
    “There’s no possibility their working conditions were unsafe?”
    Freddie had begun to sense danger. He fidgeted with his napkin, knowing that once Evangeline had decided to engage in battle, there was little that would distract or deter her.
    Martin looked at Evangeline in surprise, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Unsafe? Why, if you give a man a knife to work with and he cuts himself with it, whose fault is that?”
    Evangeline shrugged. “It would depend on the circumstance.”
    Without appearing to be rude, Martin’s demeanor had turned a shade chillier. “I don’t wish to contradict a lady but, under the circumstances, I think my judgment of the case is to be trusted. Workers are like sheep. They frequently do foolish and careless things. They need a strong hand to guide them.”
    “You and George Pullman seem to agree that you both know what’s best for everybody else.” Evangeline calmly took a sip of wine.
    There was an audible gasp