shook her head. “No, Mr. Creakle. That’s not what I meant. Why are these men here?”
She gestured with her finger to the Miners’ Hall.
Creakle shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. Ramsey ordered it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Creakle began backing away from her.
“He said it was fer y’all’s protection.”
Protection?
Sumner stiffened, an old familiar resentment filling her like white-hot steam. Of all the low-down, sneaky, conniving tricks. A trio of armed Pinkertons had been stationed outside a building filled with women who were injured, traumatized and at the complete mercy of their unwilling hosts? And Mr. Ramsey wanted them all to believe that it was for their protection?
Apparently, she and Mr. Ramsey needed to have another talk.
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