I had just implemented improved safety mechanisms in the carding and fulling areas, straining budgets dangerously near margins. Surely recent concessions regarding children’s hours eased some disgruntlement? From his office window, Harris’ anxious face confirmed gathering storms even before his words did.
“They mean to strike, sir, if recent petitions go unanswered!” His bass rumbled above the churning mill race. “I’ve tried every method short of fisticuffs, but they won’t be satisfied.”
My boots rang sharply against iron stairs leading down to the factory floor, Bingley and Harris on my heels. Sullen faces and hunched shoulders greeted my entrance. The throbbing machines seemed to slow infinitesimally, though no hands left their posts.
I moved to stand central upon the platform, forcing all eyes upward. “Men, I come in good faith seeking conciliation...”
Uneasy glances bounced between me and Bingley as I pled my case. The men’s stony silence unnerved me more than angry shouts. At last, one bold voice shouted, “We want nowt of your prattling committees! Justice demands fair wages if t’master won’t curb this cursed machinery stealing honest men’s work!”
Incensed grumbles swelled dangerously. I lifted placating hands, my pulse racing. “The automation cannot be uninvented! We must have faith to find appropriate balance as times change. Now, as to wages...”
“Aye, balance indeed whilst you play king, and we brave the daily risk of life and limb to line your pockets!” came the embittered cry.
I insisted calmly, “I keep not one penny aside from maintenance and wages here!” But uproar drowned all reason.
“Lies! We’ll not be pacified by stale promises. We want bread!”
The ominous din swelled. Harris’s anxious face was enough for me—danger brewed potent as gunpowder, and we were not going to succeed here today with words. We ought to withdraw before violence erupted.
Just then, someone flung something… was it a rock? I ducked, pushing Bingley out of the way, but the object struck me on the ear… mercifully not a rock, or I might have been laid out unconscious. Shocked gasps and nervous titters erupted, seeing my face dripping an egg that had started to turn foul. I glared out at them, swiping the worst of it off my jaw before it dripped down my collar.
Then pandemonium erupted with guttural force. With undignified haste, I plunged down the stairs before the mob’s fury claimed more than my pride and a good beaver hat. The office door provided sole sanctuary from the screaming maelstrom. Heart pounding, I slammed it closed.
Safely ensconced in Harris’s office, I sagged against the barred door as angry shouts still penetrated the battered wood. Bingley mopped his brow, eyes wide.
“By Jove, Darcy! I’ve seen men riled, but never a spectacle like that.”
I swiped ineffectually at my slimy cravat, my pulse still hammering. “Demonstrations grow more defiant by the month. This cannot go on.” I frowned at Harris. “You should have alerted me sooner!”
The overseer threw up aggrieved hands. “And have you ride in sooner to receive the same abuse? Your fancy London guest got off lightly.” He stabbed an accusing finger toward the window where howls still echoed. “Mark me, sir, that rabble understands one thing only—the back of a hand! Meet insolence with strength if you want obedience.”
I bristled, jaw tightening. “I’ll not rule Pemberley or the mill through force. There must be some reasonable compromise to ease strains.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but reason holds little sway when men work fourteen hours without respite.” Bingley settled carefully on the corner of a rickety table. “My father contended that better value arises from treating men humanely than driving them like animals. Within reason,” he amended hastily.
“Then shorten their hours! I’ll have no truck with men dropping from exhaustion.”
“Aye, and then they claim they can’t get enough work. There’s no pleasing them, sir.”
“We’ve had it the same,” Bingley put in. “But we enforced a somewhat shorter day because of safety concerns. A steel mill is a rather dangerous place.”
The ominous cacophony outside seemed to crescendo before the mob’s rage spent itself. I pinched my temple wearily. “You both speak the truth. But what remedies exist, not merely temporary and palliative?” My glance shifted between their contrasting faces. “If grievances arise from desperation, how best to answer their needs? What can I supply to alleviate hardship beyond wages that are controlled by far larger markets than our little mill?”
Bingley brightened. “At our Sheffield mills, we provide meals for those traveling distances that prevent returning home to sup. It was my mother’s idea, God rest her soul,” he confessed. “Might something similar ease the strain here?”
I considered this, turning to Harris. “What do you think? Do long hours leave men scarce opportunity for proper meals?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Cannot speak to their habits, only to skill keeping machines running. Not my place to nose into private affairs, Sir.”
“Please, Harris, any insight helps. Might the provision of regular hot meals help keep the peace? I can find the money to fund such an enterprise.” At his continued reticence, I leaned intently forward. “I beg you to speak freely. As a youth, I watched my own father wrestle with similar problems, with the hope of doing right by all men. I aim to continue his legacy, but your experienced guidance is what will make a success of my naïve good intentions.”
The craggy face twitched. Harris sighed gustily before mumbling, “Some do confess heading straight to their machines come dawn with nowt but tea sloshing an empty belly. But you’ll not hear me repeat it.” He slashed one knotted hand across his mouth as if locking away the confidence.
“Thank you, Harris. Both your counsel and discretion become you.” I straightened determinedly. “If hunger fuels desperation, the remedy seems clear, however much it strains resources. If the factory reform legislation I proposed in my letter is enacted, perhaps other mills will find similar remedies, and our local concessions need not threaten the peace elsewhere.”
The last defiant shouts had faded outside, so I deemed it safe enough for us to emerge. Nothing remained of the seething mob save a lingering sulfurous miasma. Dark looks smoldered from the watchful stragglers, but rage’s fever had broken.
I wiped down my hat the best I could and swung astride Apollo, knuckles white on the reins. Bingley and I left the mill at a canter, anxious to distance ourselves from the lessening chaos. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but I could feel Harris’s skeptical eyes following our departure, no doubt unconvinced that hot meals could make any difference to the rising tide of discontent at the mill. Still, I meant to enact the change without delay.
