him.
Cole inclined his head, crossing his arms against the urge to hit Bingley for how upset Harlowe had been the previous evening. He doubted this was going to be anything good, given how his day was going thus far.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you do not go into our workroom any longer," Bingley said, grimacing as though it was a difficult decision for him to make. It made his moustache twitch like a dying rat. "As I'm sure you're aware, this business is very competitive. I regret that …" Bingley's moustache twitched again. "… we've had some designs find their way to our competitors—and of course, I don't think you had anything to do with that, but we need to keep things locked down more tightly, you see."
"That's ridiculous," Cole said without thinking. Bingley's face darkened, and Cole forced himself to be more diplomatic. "I have a commission with Harlowe. How am I supposed to check on its progress without being able to go into the back room? You don't let him onto the floor."
"That's his choice," Bingley said, his chest puffing up slightly. "You'll have to discuss it out here. One of the girls will fetch him for you, or you can discuss it when he's not working. You have the one piece, correct? That shouldn't take much discussion ." Bingley gave Cole a look that insinuated he thought Harlowe and Cole did quite a bit more than discuss things outside of Harlowe's working hours, and turned, not waiting for Cole's response.
"This is not acceptable," Cole started, furious. He highly doubted Bingley thought he was a thief; more likely he didn't want Cole distracting Harlowe when Bingley could be working him to death instead. He tried to follow Bingley, but he opened the door—unlocked, so the thievery excuse really was a load of crock—and disappeared into the back room. The door loudly locked behind him, and Cole fought the urge to throw a temper tantrum right then and there. Would anything go right before the day was out?
Taking a deep breath, Cole let it out slowly, straightening his jacket and turning to survey the shop. The crowd had thinned out a bit, but there were still a handful of people browsing around. The goods on display were a mix of Harlowe's delicate piecework and Bingley's more heavy-handled work.
"I think it's my fault, I'm sorry," Susannah said from his right, startling Cole.
"What?"
"Bingley," Susannah elaborated, her painted lips twisted in frustration. "Come on, I need to be talking to a customer if he comes back out, else I'll get 'talked to.'"
Cole obediently let her lead him out from behind the sales counter and over to one of the display tables. It held one of Bingley's machines—a medium-sized dog replica that would walk if the winding screw was turned.
"Harlowe's been wanting to open his own shop ever since I started here," Susannah said, gesturing to the dog. Cole followed the movement with his eyes, letting Susannah's words sink in. "He's getting close to being able to do it, just needs a bit more money to buy the shop building he's got his eye on. He asked me to go in on it, be a full partner, but I think Natalie found out a bit about it and tipped off Bingley."
"He doesn't want Harlowe to go?" Cole hazarded. It wasn't hard to figure out that Harlowe's work was what drew people to Bingley's shop, even if most people didn't realize it was Harlowe's work, since he was rarely out to sell it.
"Harlowe's stuff is all that keeps Bingley's shop from going under," Susannah said, snorting. She tapped the winding screw. "It's quite innovative; the winding screw is more
Cole inclined his head, crossing his arms against the urge to hit Bingley for how upset Harlowe had been the previous evening. He doubted this was going to be anything good, given how his day was going thus far.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you do not go into our workroom any longer," Bingley said, grimacing as though it was a difficult decision for him to make. It made his moustache twitch like a dying rat. "As I'm sure you're aware, this business is very competitive. I regret that …" Bingley's moustache twitched again. "… we've had some designs find their way to our competitors—and of course, I don't think you had anything to do with that, but we need to keep things locked down more tightly, you see."
"That's ridiculous," Cole said without thinking. Bingley's face darkened, and Cole forced himself to be more diplomatic. "I have a commission with Harlowe. How am I supposed to check on its progress without being able to go into the back room? You don't let him onto the floor."
"That's his choice," Bingley said, his chest puffing up slightly. "You'll have to discuss it out here. One of the girls will fetch him for you, or you can discuss it when he's not working. You have the one piece, correct? That shouldn't take much discussion ." Bingley gave Cole a look that insinuated he thought Harlowe and Cole did quite a bit more than discuss things outside of Harlowe's working hours, and turned, not waiting for Cole's response.
"This is not acceptable," Cole started, furious. He highly doubted Bingley thought he was a thief; more likely he didn't want Cole distracting Harlowe when Bingley could be working him to death instead. He tried to follow Bingley, but he opened the door—unlocked, so the thievery excuse really was a load of crock—and disappeared into the back room. The door loudly locked behind him, and Cole fought the urge to throw a temper tantrum right then and there. Would anything go right before the day was out?
Taking a deep breath, Cole let it out slowly, straightening his jacket and turning to survey the shop. The crowd had thinned out a bit, but there were still a handful of people browsing around. The goods on display were a mix of Harlowe's delicate piecework and Bingley's more heavy-handled work.
"I think it's my fault, I'm sorry," Susannah said from his right, startling Cole.
"What?"
"Bingley," Susannah elaborated, her painted lips twisted in frustration. "Come on, I need to be talking to a customer if he comes back out, else I'll get 'talked to.'"
Cole obediently let her lead him out from behind the sales counter and over to one of the display tables. It held one of Bingley's machines—a medium-sized dog replica that would walk if the winding screw was turned.
"Harlowe's been wanting to open his own shop ever since I started here," Susannah said, gesturing to the dog. Cole followed the movement with his eyes, letting Susannah's words sink in. "He's getting close to being able to do it, just needs a bit more money to buy the shop building he's got his eye on. He asked me to go in on it, be a full partner, but I think Natalie found out a bit about it and tipped off Bingley."
"He doesn't want Harlowe to go?" Cole hazarded. It wasn't hard to figure out that Harlowe's work was what drew people to Bingley's shop, even if most people didn't realize it was Harlowe's work, since he was rarely out to sell it.
"Harlowe's stuff is all that keeps Bingley's shop from going under," Susannah said, snorting. She tapped the winding screw. "It's quite innovative; the winding screw is more
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