EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS so tired it felt like her body was weighed down with lead, Charlotte simply could not sleep. The currant buns had gone down well and several of the ladies who shared the dorm had warmed to her as they shared stories over the divided treats. Charlotte had stayed quiet, thinking over what Mags had said about the other incidents, and Ben’s insistence that she submit for testing. The brother she loved so dearly was turning into the greatest threat to her freedom.
Now that she was in bed, she couldn’t stop churning over the puzzle before her. Ben thought there was a saboteur, but having witnessed the loom’s destruction, Charlotte knew that couldn’t be true. However, his fear of there being some sort of socialist contingent at the mill might have some basis in fact, given the way Mags had talked. Charlotte had agreed with everything she’d said, though. Did that mean she was a socialist? Weren’t they supposed to be bad people? It was all very confusing. Regardless, they weren’t the cause of the problem. Neither was she, by the sound of it; the last incident had involved the loom being lifted into the air, long before she’d even reached the city. Her fragile confidence in her self-control remained intact.
Mags thought the loom had been destroyed by an angry ghost, and had delighted in trying to frighten them all with a scary tale before lights out. It had no impact on Charlotte; everyone knew there was no such thing. Gone were the days of ignorance, before the Royal Society had explained how supernatural activities could be more than adequately explained by the rise of latent magi. Indeed, reports of ghostly sightings had all but ended, now that Latents were rounded up and confined before their loss of control could be mistaken for poltergeists.
But she had seen something wispy in the air above the loom. Perhaps it was just some cotton fibres catching the light, and in her fearful state, her mind had made it into something more. That seemed eminently plausible, and the more Charlotte thought about it, the more she doubted what she saw. She’d been hit on the head, she was angry and frightened—how could she trust herself?
An alternative explanation was becoming more likely, one that made Charlotte feel awful: there had to be another Latent at the mill. For Mags the only explanation could be a ghost, but that was because she didn’t believe that the Royal Society was fallible. Rogue Latents were always hunted down and contained. How could anyone be strong enough to destroy a loom and still be at large? Something that would be impossible in Mags’s world was Charlotte’s very existence. There had to be someone else at the mill hiding their abilities, or unable to accept that they were the cause.
There were many children there within the age range that abilities triggered. The only flaw in her theory was the fact they were still hidden. Surely if someone manifested esoteric ability, they would submit themselves for testing right away? It was a means of escape, not only from the mill, but also from poverty.
Perhaps someone else there shared her fear of the Royal Society. Maybe it was a child with no parents to watch over them and no idea what the strange events meant. But even then, the people they shared a dorm with and those who worked nearby would witness things. With such a generous reward for those who reported rogue Latents, it seemed unlikely that people would stay quiet. The only exception to that could be the foreman, separated from the staff as he was, but the fact that the former foreman had been found dead after reporting the incidents accurately eliminated him.
Charlotte didn’t pretend to know everything about being a Latent, despite the fact she was one herself. Perhaps people manifested in different ways. Hopkins had made it clear she was exceptional—not just in terms of her power, but also the fact that she’d managed to stay hidden. She was certain that being a woman, often overlooked, was a great help. Perhaps that was also true for a poor mill worker, so ground into the dirt by life that no one could consider them exceptional, not even themselves?
The sound of the midnight bells made her sigh. She had to be up in four and a half hours. She rolled over and despite the coughing and snoring of her neighbours, Charlotte finally fell asleep.
* * *
The foreman pulled Charlotte and Dotty out of the flow of people entering the mill the next morning, and she braced herself for a dressing-down. Instead, the foreman simply asked if she was ready to take on four looms by herself if Dotty worked next to her. Charlotte agreed, relieved that nothing was said about the previous day’s violence. The foreman beckoned for them to follow him inside, presumably to make sure that they were positioned next to each other, only to discover two people arguing in the same row.
Dotty hung back as the foreman strode over to tackle the dispute. “No one wants to work that loom,” Dotty whispered. “It’s been bashed up three times now.”
“Do people usually work in the same places?”
Dotty nodded. “We all like to know where we are. People do change over sometimes, if someone’s off sick, y’know, but mostly we’re in the same place. The man who was next to us yesterday is usually down there, but after Bob . . .” She stopped, looking uncomfortable.
Charlotte pieced it together. “Did Bob die in the last incident? Was he the boy under the loom?”
“Oh, that were Sam,” she said. “No, Bob was a loom worker, like us. He saw it lift into the air and keeled over in fright. They said it were his ’eart, but I dunno. No one wants to work that one now.”
Charlotte approached the foreman. “I’ll work that loom, if they don’t want to,” she said, indicating the one considered unlucky.
The foreman looked relieved, and shuffled the nearby workers around so that Dotty was stationed next to her. One of the men who’d refused to work it came over when the foreman’s back was turned. “You mind ’ow y’go on that one,” he whispered. “It’s cursed. A boy and a man were killed there, and a girl lost a finger, too, so mind ’ow y’go.”
Charlotte approached it with trepidation, checking that everything looked as it should. It was a new machine and looked quite pristine compared to its neighbours. After checking that there were shuttles loaded, ready to replace the empty ones when the time came, she waited for the bell to ring.
The tension built, as it had the morning before, as if everyone were holding their breath before being plunged into the frenetic working day. She dreaded the bell already, and the awful noise and heat that would soon follow. She was nervous too. Would she be able to manage the looms and keep an eye out for a possible Latent? And what should she do even if she discovered who it was? She’d already decided to speak to them first, rather than just turning them in. She’d help them as much as she could.
People started looking at each other, exchanging shrugs as the bell failed to ring. Dotty drifted closer, keeping an eye out for the foreman, to whisper to Charlotte. “The belts should be goin’ by now. Do you think they’re goin’ to close the mill because of what ’appened?”
Charlotte shrugged, deeply worried by the prospect. Was Ben in charge today, or his rival? She hoped it was the latter, and that his production scores would be going down, not her brother’s. Then she started to worry that someone had discovered what Ben was doing, and had collared him, stopping him from being able to work the line shaft. She chewed her thumbnail, quietly fretting, until she heard Dotty groan.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Paxton’s on the prowl. Look busy!”
Charlotte grabbed the cloth and started wiping down the frame of the nearest loom as the apprentice’s fine boots clipped across the floor. She didn’t dare look round, for fear that he would see a resemblance to Ben in her features; they had very similar brown eyes, after all.
“It were down this row, Master Apprentice Paxton,” she heard the foreman say. Just the sound of that man’s voice set her teeth on edge.
He was leading Paxton down the neighbouring row to the gap where the destroyed loom had stood the day before. She knelt in front of her loom, pretending to check the positioning of the partially filled roll of fabric, to avoid being seen across the way.
“These are very serious claims being made,” said a deep, gruff voice. Paxton, she assumed, had an East End London accent, one familiar to her ear. He sounded like the dock workers she used to overhear on the streets near her old house when they were on their way back from trips into the centre of the city with their lady friends.
“And I wouldn’t ’ave made ’em, if I didn’t think it were serious,” the foreman said. “I were up all night thinkin’ about it. But I can’t in good conscience manage a factory and not report goings on like that. P’raps that’s why Jimmy drank himself to death. It must ’ave scared the life out of him.”
“I knew it,” she heard Paxton mutter. “There’s a rogue Latent on your staff, Foreman. Someone turnin’ wild. Maybe someone who’s got certain political sympathies. Who was workin’ this loom yesterday?”
“There were two of ’em, Master Apprentice, two girls.”
“Bring ’em over.”
Charlotte, still huddled out of sight, looked across to Dotty who was busily polishing her machine, oblivious. Of course, she hadn’t heard the conversation. She flapped her hand and Dotty looked over, frowning at the sight of Charlotte’s panicked expression. She only had time to point in the direction of the foreman before he appeared at the end of their row.
“You two, come w’me,” he barked.
There was nothing to do but obey. Charlotte didn’t want to get another strapping, and if she ran now, she’d all but out herself as a Latent. Dotty grabbed her hand as they followed the foreman, giving a quick, reassuring squeeze before letting go.
As much as she wanted to stare at Paxton and get a good look at his face, Charlotte kept her eyes on his boots. They were well polished. She hoped he couldn’t see how much she was shaking.
“The foreman has told me that the loom that was there yesterday lifted into the air and smashed itself up. He tells me you two were there. That right?”
Charlotte nodded and saw Dotty do the same from the corner of her eye.
“Way I see it,” Paxton said, taking a step closer, “this is either a load of codswallop, cooked up between yah to cover for some saboteurs, or one of yah is a Latent.”
“Why one of us two?” Charlotte blurted. “There were dozens of other people nearby!”
“Who are you?”
“She’s just a new girl,” the foreman said. “She weren’t working ’ere when the other loom . . . went funny last week.”
“But she was?” He pointed at Dotty.
“Aye. That’s Dorothy. She’s been ’ere for a few years now. Longer than I ’ave.”
“She were next to the loom that got smashed up last week!” said a man further down the row.
“I were not!” Dotty said. “I were over on t’other side, tell ’im, Mr Foreman!”
The foreman scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t rightly recall,” he muttered. “But she were definitely there yesterday, she were supposed to be lookin’ after this loom.”
“Right,” Paxton said, grabbing Dotty’s collar. “You’re comin’ with me.”
Charlotte glared at the foreman as Dotty was pulled out of the mill. “You know she’s got nothing to do with this! Tell him he has the wrong person!”
“Know who it was, do yer?”
She shook her head. “No, but it definitely wasn’t Dotty! Why would she risk her job? She has nowhere else to go! If she was a Latent she’d have put herself forwards for testing to get out of this horrible place!”
The foreman looked briefly uncertain and then settled into a scowl. “Any more lip from you and I’ll give y’another strappin’. You watch ’er looms when the shift starts.”
“But I can’t manage twelve!”
“I’ll find someone to ’elp.” He looked at the other workers, all watching. “What are you lot starin’ at? That bell is gonna ring any moment now and we’ve time to make up. I’ll take it out of yer lunch break if I see anyone slackin’!”
Charlotte watched Paxton pull Dotty through the double doors. Stupid man. He was so desperate to find a scapegoat, he wasn’t even bothering to properly investigate.
Then she remembered what Hopkins had told her about people taken by the Enforcers who refused to cooperate. He’d implied that they were tortured. What if Paxton said she was a Latent and when she didn’t show any ability, he thought she was being obstructive? Would he take it that far?
She looked around at the other workers, seeking any signs of guilt or relief at this turn of events. Everyone just looked scared, heads down, trying not to draw attention to themselves. All except Mags. She looked furious. Their eyes met and they shared a moment of pure frustration before the bell rang.
As the line shafts started to turn, Charlotte knew she had to do something. She had to prove that Dotty was innocent and definitely not a Latent, and the only way to do that was to have another “incident” when she wasn’t in the mill. How could Dotty be guilty if it happened when she wasn’t even there?
Looking around at the other people working the nearest looms, she saw how diligently they attended to their machines, not daring to draw any attention. Even Mags was minding the machines under her care, despite the stern frown still on her face. The foreman had gone off to find someone else to help her, and none of the children were nearby, either. It was now or never.
Charlotte pretended to drop her cloth so she could check that there was no child beneath the loom that everyone thought was cursed. Seeing it was clear, she stood at the loom farthest away that was under her care and pretended to watch the shuttle.
She thought of the “cursed” loom, reaching out for it with her mind, just as she had with the little ball bearings when she’d played bagatelle with Hopkins. She imagined the wooden frames clattering up and down, its shuttle whipping left to right, and then she imagined crushing it, drawing it all inwards to an imagined central point just below the machine.
A surreptitious glance told her some of the yarns had snapped, their ends flying around, caught in the eddies of air around the loom. Charlotte realised she was holding herself back, having spent months constantly reining herself in, always vigilant for any urge to lash out. Now she actually wanted to destroy something, it was proving harder than she imagined it would be.
She redoubled her efforts, thinking not just of the loom, but also Dotty and the way Paxton had just dragged her off. There was a cracking sound, loud enough to be heard over the rattling din of the machines, and she saw one of the other workers running away.
Charlotte had a proper mental grip on the loom, the sweat now running down her back caused by the exertion of her will to lift it into the air. She gripped the sides of the loom she stood in front of, steadying herself as the effort to destroy the other one stole the strength from her legs. A crash and a brief, violent tremor through the floor told her she’d done it.
Panting for breath, she watched the foreman return with the worker who’d run off. As others gathered round the mangled machine, Charlotte forced herself to move to the edge of the small crowd so she would blend in. She didn’t have to fake her shock when she saw the loom. She’d never deliberately destroyed something before.
Something inside her exalted at the sight of what she’d done. Charlotte couldn’t help but think of the dozens of threads strung over the frames of the looms around her and how easy it would be to break them too. She saw a couple snap on the machine next to her and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pull her mind inwards. With a supreme effort, she managed to visualise her marque in the dark space behind her eyes, tracing the curves and swirling shape of the sigil, imagining it as a path she was walking with her mind.
As Charlotte started to sense her power retreating, the horror of what she’d just done hit her. It was exactly what she’d sworn she’d never do. Hopkins had warned her so many times. And even now, even when she was feeling more in control again, she could still feel a pull towards unleashing it once more. There was something inside her, desperate to be free. She clenched her fists, focused on her marque and tried not to think of anything else.
She felt the air move as someone passed her and she opened her eyes to see the foreman running towards the exit. Needing to get away from the looms herself, she followed him outside to find him bent over, hands braced on his knees.
“Where’s Apprentice Paxton?” she asked.
“That’s Master Apprentice Paxton to you,” he fired back with a quiver in his voice.
“He needs to know what just happened,” she said. “Dotty can’t possibly be the Latent, can she?”
The foreman straightened. “No, I suppose not.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t like the way you’re lookin’ at me, lass. I’ve a good mind to get rid of yer. Y’don’t fit in.”
Charlotte saw his hand twitch towards the strap hanging from his belt and felt the edge of that raw power within her again. It would be so easy to just flick him across the yard, smash him against the wall . . .
No. She backed away, looking down, focusing inwards again. “I’ll get back to my looms,” she said. “Unless you want me to find Master Apprentice Paxton for you?”
It was a risky bluff, but she had to remind the irritating man that Dotty needed to be vindicated. “No, go on with yer. I’ll see to that. I’d rather ’ave Dotty back than find a replacement at this hour. Go on! Get back in there and do some bloody work!”
Walking back into the mill felt like climbing a steep hill with a basket of washing on her back. Her body felt leaden and the sun hadn’t even fully risen yet. Charlotte wanted to find some corner to hide in, somewhere to bundle herself up in blankets and shut out the world, just so she could be certain she was fully in control again. She couldn’t understand why she was so tired when only minutes before, she’d felt invincible. But then the very thought of being in that state started to rejuvenate her, and she paused just inside the doorway to visualise her marque once more.
It was the act of reining herself in, of suppressing the power inside her, that was exhausting. She covered her face with her hands as she leant against the closed doors, fearing that she wouldn’t be able to make it through the day. It felt like she’d released a ferocious beast from a cage it had been trapped in for years, and it was understandably reluctant to return to its confinement. She needed Hopkins, needed him to help her force the creature back into its prison. Then the most awful thought occurred to her: Why? Why deny such a fundamental part of herself? It took Charlotte a good few moments to realise it was to protect others. A choked sob escaped into her hands. Was she turning wild?