chapter 6
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but will Mr. Broadhurst be in today?” asked Mr. Smythe.
Caroline looked up from her husband’s desk in the mill office. “He won’t be in. What do you need?”
“He’ll need to take a look at these contracts for next year’s cotton.”
“Bring them here. I’ll look at them.”
“Perhaps I should take them up to the house.” Mr. Smythe shifted from one foot to another.
“My husband has guests and will not be working while they are here. I can take care of whatever needs done and I will inform him of the details.”
The shipping clerk still looked uncertain. Caroline sighed. She pushed back from the desk and stood. “My husband is not a young man. Who do you think you will answer to when he is too infirm to work?”
“Why does he have guests? He never has entertained gents like this before.” Mr. Smythe’s face looked monkeyish in his confusion.
Caroline cast about for an explanation that would make sense. The only thing that popped into her head was Tremont suggesting that Robert might have wanted her to influence gentlemen to help in his petition to get an earldom—a petition she knew nothing about. “Mr. Broadhurst is hoping these gentlemen can influence the crown. He is hoping to be knighted.”
The lie wasn’t totally preposterous. Silently she begged forgiveness as she watched Mr. Smythe’s face work through the information.
“Of course it won’t happen right away, but one must court the right favor,” said Caroline. Mr. Broadhurst would do better to build a hospital or college if he wanted a knighthood, but Mr. Smythe was unlikely to know that.
A commotion at the door brought her out of the office.
Mr. Whitton and Lord Tremont carried a groaning Lord Langley into the office. “Send for a carriage,” shouted one of the men.
“Where is a doctor?”
A gamesman was trying to retrieve the guns from all the sportsmen.
“What happened?” asked Caroline.
“Stepped in a hole and turned his ankle.”
She moved past the confused clerks to where Lord Langley sat on one of the chairs. One of the men was removing his boot.
“I need ice and a tot of whiskey,” said Lord Langley. “I think I shall die.”
When the boot and stocking were removed, Caroline could see no indication of a serious injury, just a bit of swelling. Nonetheless, she sent a clerk for the doctor and another to have the carriage brought around. The sooner she got them out of her office, the sooner work could resume.
“I have sent for the physician. In the meantime we should get Lord Langley to the house where he might be comfortable.”
But lest she be thought a poor hostess, she accompanied the group and made sure Langley was settled in his room with his leg iced and propped on pillows.
When the doctor arrived, he carefully manipulated Langley’s ankle and pronounced it a sprain. But no one would have known it was such a minor injury, given the way Lord Langley moaned and demanded the servants fetch this and that.
What struck her was Jack’s stoic reserve compared to the loud complaints of Lord Langley. But she seemed the only one perturbed as the gentlemen shook their heads over poor Langley’s condition. Finally, she got the men back out the door to resume their hunting and convinced Lord Langley to take a bit of laudanum.
But the last thing she wanted to do was split her time between two sickrooms, especially when one of the patients wasn’t really that injured. Although, splitting her time became a moot point, as Langley demanded all her attention until the laudanum and whiskey made him sleep.
The click of the door jarred Jack awake. It wasn’t as if he slept well other than the first hour after the laudanum took effect. And he’d given up trying to lie down and doze propped against the pillows.
“Jack!” pipped Beth. Her little feet pattered across the floor. She raised a knee to scramble up onto the bed.
He closed his eyes and braced for the pain. After the doctor left, his leg had been on fire, but he was grateful to still have it.
A swift rustle and the absence of the mattress sinking down had him cracking an eye. Mrs. Broadhurst held Beth around the waist. Beth’s legs dangled down. Both of them looked rather startled.
Beth twisted around to see who had grabbed her. “Who are you?”
Mrs. Broadhurst hesitated.
“This is Mrs. Broadhurst, Beth. This is her house.” He switched his gaze to the woman he’d been waiting all day to spend time alone with. “This is my sister.”
Mrs. Broadhurst bent over and set Beth on her feet. “You may sit in the chair, but you don’t want to hurt your brother by climbing over him.”
Beth wound her hands together and twisted back and forth. She cast a shy glance toward Mrs. Broadhurst and then turned toward Jack as if her curiosity would burst out of her if she contained it any longer. “Mama said you broke your leg.”
Jack pulled back the covers and let her see the thick bandage and splint. Although he didn’t want to pretend to be cheerful, he couldn’t send Beth on her way after she’d walked all the way—he searched the doorway for another sibling—alone.
Beth’s eyes grew round. “Can you walk?”
“Not really.”
“He will in time,” said Mrs. Broadhurst gently.
Beth climbed onto the chair. “Will he have a funny walk like that man at the dairy?”
“He limps,” explained Jack.
“We’ll have to see,” said Mrs. Broadhurst with a smile.
Jack’s heart thudded. If only her smile had been for him. He didn’t known if the brush of her hand against his inner leg last night was an accident or deliberate, but he had been too exhausted to pursue it. If he touched her, would she welcome it? Or did he just want her so badly that he had put extra meaning on her assistance?
“School was crowded today,” pronounced Beth. “There weren’t enough seats for everyone. I had to sit on the floor.”
Jack turned his gaze toward Mrs. Broadhurst.
“Children under the age of nine will no longer be allowed to work in the mill,” she explained, “and children under twelve may work half hours only if they attend school for four hours.”
Jack winced. So because of the accident, she had finally convinced her husband to banish the littlest ones from the mill. He only hoped he wouldn’t be around to be blamed when the lost wages were felt. With luck he’d be in London and far removed from the troubles in this mill town.
“Mattie cried all day,” Beth continued on, blithely unaware. “Her mother told her it was her fault they wouldn’t have enough to eat.”
“No one will starve,” objected Mrs. Broadhurst.
“They might,” said Jack. “Mattie’s mother is a widow and they need all their wages to get by.”
Mrs. Broadhurst paled and her lips pressed together.
He knew she meant well, but she didn’t know what it was like for the families like his with lots of mouths to feed. “It would have helped if wages had gone up to compensate for the families who will lose money.”
“Don’t they want education for their children?”
“They want to eat first. Wages haven’t changed in a decade, but the cost of food has.”
Her throat worked. No doubt the situation was more complicated than she’d allowed. “I wouldn’t let anyone starve. I can supply food to those in need.”
“No one wants handouts. They want to earn their own way,” Jack said softly. “They have their pride.” Even his stepmother hated that she needed to rely on his wages to make ends meet.
“I see,” Mrs. Broadhurst said stiffly.
He reached for her hand, but as soon as his fingers brushed hers, she jerked her hand away. He should have known better. She might place her hand on his forehead or assist him with his personal needs, but she wouldn’t want to encourage him to think they were intimates. Obviously she didn’t want him to touch her.
He must have misinterpreted her hand on his thigh. Likely she was only helping him and he’d magnified the brush of her hand into meaning more because he wanted it to mean more.
Beth squirmed on the chair, reminding him she was there.
Jack sighed. “Do you want to go over your lessons with me?”
Soon she would be beyond the lessons he could help with.
Beth ran over to the door where she’d dropped her lunch pail and slate.
Mrs. Broadhurst frowned. “Does your mother know she is here?”
“My mother is dead. But no, Beth’s mother, Martha, my father’s second wife, probably doesn’t know where she is. Unless Beth is late for supper, she won’t be missed.”
Mrs. Broadhurst’s cheeks pinked. “I’ll make sure she is escorted back by then.”
“If she found her way here, she can find her way home.”
Mrs. Broadhurst stiffened. “Nevertheless, she is too young to be wandering about on her own. But I’ll let you get on with your visit, then. I’ll return when it is time for your medicine.”
Jack wished he could call his curt words back. “Hold.”
She turned and cast him such a disdainful expression he was reminded of his place. She wasn’t his to command and he had overstepped. He should have known better. From the satin drapes to the thick carpets and paintings on the walls, the cost of the furnishings in this room alone would keep a mill family in cozy comfort for decades. He’d do best to remember that she had no interest in him as a person, only as a means to further her scheme of getting better conditions in the mill.
“Wanting to educate the children is a noble thing,” he said.
“Noble, but not practical,” she said with bitterness.
Caroline looked down at her hands. Her arm had sparked with raw energy that coiled and tightened in the pit of her stomach and lower when Jack touched her. The unexpected jolt had made her jerk away.
In a cruel twist of irony, he might be the only man who had ever made her feel anything like that. But his injury was too severe to think he could perform the sex act anytime soon. Dr. Hein had said he’d be far too weak for more than lying about for days, perhaps weeks.
“It is just the families need to feed their bellies before they can feed their children’s minds,” he said gently.
“But the children earn so very little.”
Jack shrugged. “When the wages are so low, every ha’penny counts.”
Her husband was often accusing her of letting her heart get in the way of her head. Jack must think that true too. No wonder Mr. Broadhurst thought her too softhearted to run the business. She’d thought Jack understood the value of education, supported it. But she hadn’t realized the families were dependent on the piddling income of the children.
Even though she was nominally in control of the mill for the next month, to give the workers raises would only cement her husband’s conviction that she could not be in charge.
She headed for her husband’s study. She needed to give Mr. Broadhurst a report of the day’s business. She only hoped she was early enough that he was still out and she could leave a note. The less contact she had with him the better. Her anger at him hadn’t lessened. Since she learned of the provisions of the will, it had only grown like a monster inside her eating at her heart.
As she entered the room she drew up short. Mr. Broadhurst stared out the window. He turned toward her.
“Sir.” Caroline bowed her head. It was too late to retreat. “You did not go hunting with the men?”
“I do not understand such idle pursuits,” he said. “I returned early rather than spend all day traipsing through fields just to bring back more pheasants than can possibly be eaten before they spoil.”
Her husband had never understood recreation or sport for pleasure’s sake, and he deplored waste of any sort. “I believe the hunting is as much an excuse to experience the fresh air and company of men as anything.
“Did you need something?” he asked moving behind his desk.
Nervous that he would rail at her for her decision, she prevaricated, “I wanted to look at the books, and see how much the children were earning.”
She’d dismissed the sums paid to children as negligible, which to her they were, but she should understand how much a family might be expected to earn and if the children’s wages were vital to a family’s existence. Knowing the wages they paid were on par with what other mills paid was important to running a business, but she needed to delve deeper and look at it from the mill families’ perspective. She hoped Mr. Broadhurst didn’t ask her about her sudden curiosity, because she couldn’t admit she talked to a worker about such things.
“I have already calculated the savings. It won’t be enough.” Mr. Broadhurst stood and handed her a piece of paper with long columns of numbers.
“Enough?” She looked at the chicken scratches.
Mr. Broadhurst rubbed his forehead. “To make a profit if the price of cotton jumps as high as I think it might. The Americas . . .” He waved a hand toward the newspaper spread across his desk.
The news was a concern of hers too. What was happening in the United States was likely to affect the price of cotton. Swallowing against the dry spot in the back of her throat, she asked, “You read the disturbing news about several of the states threatening to secede if Lincoln is elected?”
She feared she was already late in acting, since the news would have been disseminated in London two days ago.
“Fools, the lot of them. It will be war.”
That was the same conclusion she had arrived at. Sucking in a deep breath, she plunged in hoping Mr. Broadhurst would support her bold move. “I have sent contracts to buy cotton from both Egypt and our regular suppliers in the Americas at market price.”
Mr. Broadhurst lowered his brow. “You cannot make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
She refused to address that he might be referring to her private bargain with him. “We will fulfill our commitments. The worst that can happen is we have too much cotton next year at a good price.”
“There is no guarantee the price will be good.”
“If there is a lot of cotton, the price will be good. If there isn’t enough or not enough can make it to market, the price will be higher, but we won’t pay for what we don’t receive.”
Mr. Broadhurst scratched his head. “So you would gamble on shortages.”
“I already have.” Caroline sucked in a deep breath, wondering if she had made a huge miscalculation. “If we have too much, we can store it or increase production. It shall not go to waste.”
He shook his head. “Is this to show me you are capable of running the mill without me?”
Caroline’s heart squeezed, not knowing what he would think of her plan. If she had guessed wrong, he might have even less faith in her ability to run the mill. “A decision had to be made and I made it. I too would wish for more certainty, but I thought long and hard about the consequences of every possible action. Not acting would be worse than if I miscalculated. I would rather have too much cotton than not enough.”
He stared at her and then grudgingly nodded.
For a second she thought she might sink to the floor. It was not so much that she curried his approval, but his disapproval could be far worse.
She’d never seriously considered the ramifications of running the business without Mr. Broadhurst at the helm. She could handle the day-to-day things, but deciding where and how much cotton to buy in the future was not a task she’d handled before. But a decision had to be made and she’d made it. Even if Mr. Broadhurst disagreed, she was certain the choice was a good one.
“Your brother says you made progress last night.”
Was Robert acting as a spy? Her face grew hot. “I have not decided which one will suit,” she blurted.
To call what happened progress was laughable, but she wouldn’t let Mr. Broadhurst know that. But Robert’s betrayal sat like a hot poker under her breastbone. She couldn’t ask him for guidance in how to seduce one of the men, for fear he would report directly back to Mr. Broadhurst.
“Decide quickly because I haven’t patience for your games,” said Mr. Broadhurst.
“My games? Would you have acceded to my demands to remove the children if you were not looking to cut costs? I think I sold my honor too cheaply.”
Mr. Broadhurst folded his arms and breathed deeply. “What else do you want, Mrs. Broadhurst? Perhaps next time your brother can bring the bloody lot of Parliament.”
Caroline hesitated only a second. She had nothing to lose, after all. “I want your assurance that you will continue to employ Mr. Applegate until he is fully healed.”
“I’m not running a charity hospital. He won’t be fit for his old job for months.”
“He could work as a clerk. Writing won’t require him to stand or walk about much.”
“All the clerks have attended university. You know I don’t hire villagers for those positions.”
“I should think you could make an exception in this one case. He doesn’t want to end up a beggar. Surely you can understand that. And if I am in the family way, I may not be able to do as much as in the past.”
“Will there be a baby?”
“If God wills it,” she whispered.
“God has nothing to do with whether or not you lie with one of the guests.”
“I was not suggesting an immaculate conception.” Caroline tucked her lips around her teeth.
Mr. Broadhurst had about as much use for sarcasm as he did for leisure pursuits.
“You ask too much. When he is healed, if he can do his old job, he can have that back.” He gave a dismissive gesture. “It looks as if the men have returned. You should go to them.”
The guarantee of Jack getting his old job back was better than nothing. She nodded. And now she had to face the men, one of whom she would have to pick for a lover.
The door opened and skirts swished through the breakfast room. Jack struggled to lift his weighted eyelids. God, how was he going to get to London in two weeks if he couldn’t even stay awake?
“I’m to sit with ’im while you help with dinner,” whispered a female voice. Not Mrs. Broadhurst.
Jack stopped trying to open his eyes. He’d been in and out of consciousness since the doctor’s visit a few hours earlier. Mrs. Broadhurst had checked in on him in the morning and been present when the doctor was there, but other than that he’d been seen to by servants.
“Sleeping he is,” said the redheaded maid who’d been sitting sewing in the corner since Beth left. “Not a peep out of him.”
“Caw, least he’s peaceable. My mistress was late getting dressed for dinner and I thought the master was like to kill her.”
The new entrant to the room rattled on, “He stayed on while I dressed her, and tried to do her hair, but the way he kept looking at her—fair made my skin crawl.”
“Hush, that be the master you’re yapping about.” The chair screeched back.
“Not him. I works for the missus. She goes, I go. It ain’t right him leering after her. He’s old enough to be her grandda.”
“He’s her husband. He has the right of her.”
“ ’Fore I came in he was jawing on about getting a baby. As if that is going to happen after more’n a baker’s dozen years of marriage.”
Did Broadhurst blame his wife for her childlessness? Broadhurst had not had a single baby from his first two marriages. The fault probably lay with the old man.
“My aunt was married for fourteen years before my cousin was born. They had to go at it every night for nigh on a decade. He’s her only. Fair dotes on him, she does.”
“Pish,” said the newcomer. “I think the master’s so old his seed dried up.”
“An old man in my village got him a new wife after his wife passed, and got five more babies on the new wife. He musta been ninety if he was a day.”
“I suppose you’d have an answer for everything, but he ain’t been to her bed for a month of Sundays. They won’t get no babies like that.”
“Shush, we shouldn’t talk of such things, and I best get along before Cook is ready to roast me.”
The conversation bothered Jack and wouldn’t let him fall back into sleep. Was Mr. Broadhurst tired of his wife? Did he intend to be rid of her? Both of Broadhurst’s wives were buried at the crossroads. Even if the deaths were more than three decades apart, it always seemed unlikely that both had taken their own lives.
But he had no room to judge.
He’d wanted to be like Broadhurst, just not in that respect. He’d put off marriage. He’d put off having children. All because he hadn’t wanted to be held hostage to responsibilities to others. He’d hurt beyond measure the first girl he’d ever loved and forced her to a horrible choice. And it was probably all for naught.
With his injury, he would be lucky to live the life he’d been planning to rise above.
Jack shook off his gloomy foreboding. No, he would find a way to get to London, convince the owner of the machinery company he could still do the work. He could still design. He had money to live until he could prove he would be an asset to his company. He would figure out a way to get the machining done. He had to make it work, otherwise what point was there to his life?