CHAPTER 30
Grace’s smile…Lucien could not stop thinking about it as the hack rattled along the crowded street where factories and all manner of businesses crowded together. Wagons laden with bales and crates and barrels jockeyed for position, the drivers lashing out with whips and curses. Roofs speckled with chimneys belched coal smoke.
He had spent a lifetime believing that commerce was the lifeblood of the empire. But as they rattled up to the building with Pinchbeck and Freyne painted on the sign, he wondered whose blood was being spilled to make it so. Simon and his friend Jamie McLeod’s in the war in Afghanistan that had scarred them both? Families like the Nolans?
And Grace believed he could change things, her eyes shining at him as if he were a far better man than he could ever hope to be.
“Not exactly Bond Street,” Arkwright observed as they climbed out and walked toward a pair of wide doors that led into Pinchbeck’s. “If someone had told me the Viscount Everdene would be touring a factory to view working conditions, I would never have believed it. Grace may be the best thing that ever happened to you, old friend.”
He didn’t doubt it. The observation made him damned uncomfortable. It remained to be seen whether he would benefit her as well.
A cacophony of noise greeted them, the clanking and whirring of machines, the shouts of workers. Sharp chemical smells assailed their nostrils, and he felt as if he needed to sneeze as bits of fiber floated through the air. They made their way to the glass-encased main office where they met a barrel-chested man whose eyes were all but lost beneath the formidable shelf of his brow. He had a well-fed look about him, muscles bulging nearly as much as his arrogance as he twirled a long staff in his hand.
“Good morning, your honors,” he greeted them. “Name’s Mr. Crimmins. I’m foreman here. How can I be of service to you fine gentlemen today?”
“I am the Viscount Everdene and this is Mr. Arkwright. We are here in search of Lord Pinchbeck or Mr. Freyne.”
“Afraid you’ll have to return another time if you wish to speak to them. They’re both visiting Manchester, looking to buy another factory there.”
“A factory for…?”
“Cloth, same as here. But there’s far more industry up north an’ the masters aim to raise production. Mr. Freyne has a source for the finest bales of raw cotton from Georgia and Louisiana for a price you’d not believe.”
Oh, Lucien would believe it. It was no surprise you could produce cotton cheaply when you didn’t pay wages to the enslaved people who harvested it. He remembered Freyne’s assertion at Gunter’s ice shop. People could choose to buy more expensive fabric with cotton grown by freedmen if they wished. But could they really? He looked out at the factory workers barely scraping by. What happened when you had to choose between your moral compass and survival?
“How unfortunate that the factory owners are unavailable,” Lucien said. “You seem to know a great deal about the workings here. Is there any chance you could show us about?”
Crimmins puffed up at Lucien’s praise but looked doubtful.
“Lord Pinchbeck offered me a chance to invest in the business,” Lucien continued, “but my schedule is rather crushing, and I have another venture to consider. On to the next possibility, eh, Arkwright?” Lucien gestured to his friend, making it seem as if they were about to leave.
“We’re turning a fine profit,” Crimmins said hastily. “Come in, come in. I will give ye a look about. Hate t’ have ye miss out on such a fine investment.”
More likely he would hate to have his bosses find out he’d lost them the opportunity to bring in ready cash to offset the purchase of a new factory. “You are so kind…”
Crimmins led them out to the main floor.
It was like walking into the belly of some great beast. Darkness crowded every corner, candles providing the only light.
“These machines are a wonder, m’lord,” the foreman said as he led Lucien and Arkwright onto a narrow walkway along one wall, high above main floor. From that vantage point Lucien was able to see the whole factory and the people working below. The metallic sound of the machinery and roar of engines grew deafening, the smell of chemicals thickening the air. Lucien pictured what could happen if one of the candles tipped over. Fire engulfing the building with terrifying speed? An explosion?
“These machines can do the work of countless people in half the time. We’re livin’ in an age o’ marvels.”
He could see the frenetic actions of the workers more clearly now. Women bent over their tasks, moving so quickly that their hands seemed to blur. Children darted in and out under the machines or climbed on shaky stools to do God knew what.Men wheeled carts hither and yon, shouting and banging on machines trying to fix them.
“Can you tell me about your workers?” Lucien asked over the roar.
“What about ’em?” Crimmins scratched his pungent armpit.
“You have a lot of women and children working here. Many of them mothers, no doubt. What happens when a child falls sick or gets injured?”
The man looked genuinely puzzled by the question. “Never affects production, I promise you. If they’re not back at their post the next morning, got a dozen new ones clamoring t’ do the work.”
A shout rang out over the clamor of noise, and Lucien saw a man lash out with a strap, striking a child who was darting beneath one of the machines.
Lucien’s breath caught as the girl’s head barely missed the whirring metal parts.
Even Arkwright noticed, saying, “That girl was almost caught in the moving gears. Why didn’t the man running it turn them off?”
