Cinders and Smoke #7
However, Miss Hale reached into her intuitive mind and offered, “Might you put on a second shift? Is it not the case that between eight o’clock in the evening and six o’clock the following morning the Mill is shut down except for maintenance?
Could you absorb some of the Irish in this manner?
Making cloth to fulfil your orders in less time? ”
Both Higgins and Thornton smiled at one another, surprised at Miss Hale’s na?veté about the nature of the textile industry…Their amusement lasted a few moments, swiftly disappearing when she continued.
“I understand that Marlborough’s order book is strained.
The strike has forced customers to consider other sources, especially the Manchester mills.
However, this is a problem faced by every single Milton facility.
They cannot fill the orders they have on their books.
But they do have orders, ones they will lose if they do not find a way to deliver.
“I recall hearing a merchant captain with the Gardiner line, a Captain Keith, who dined at the Parsonage when he passed through Helstone a few years ago. He was Canon Benton’s friend. Papa was Mr. Benton’s student at Oxford back in the Twenties.
“Over dinner, the Captain explained how the India and China trade works through factoring where one merchant in India may close a deal with another in London to deliver a certain amount of porcelain. That merchant might not have any china in his warehouse.
“But the order itself is a commodity just like the tableware.
Another tradesman could purchase that order at a discount, and then he would undertake to deliver the goods at the India Dock and collect the full amount originally agreed upon.
The customer wants the goods and cares not who fulfils the contract.
“That, said Captain Keith, is what is called factoring,” Margaret stated.
She continued, “You could expand your production if you offer to purchase, to factor, unfilled orders from the other owners. I would imagine that they would take between 40 and 50 percent of their moribund orders’ values instead of getting nothing but a cancellation.
Maybe Mr. Bell could offer some financial guarantees.
“This would offer two advantages. First, you would make a limited profit, but a profit none-the-less, while utilizing your second shift’s capacity and keeping the Irish workers employed.
“And second, the customers would be beholden to you for honoring the original terms of their deals and preserving their margins. Even if you only converted five or six of these from Hamper, Slickson, or Watson customers, Marlborough would be far ahead.
“Only one mill needs to crack. Perhaps Mr. Watson, as he has designs on your sister, may be willing to repave his bank account with an influx of Marlborough cash.”
Thornton and Higgins were astonished at her sophisticated analysis.
They scrambled for pencils and paper to run the figures.
After two or three minutes, the second shift was implemented.
However, even the most generous of calculations accounted for only a bit more than half of the imported hands.
The Council of Three agreed that this was unsatisfactory.
Thornton had wandered over to his desk as he pondered the conundrum of what to do with the surplus. Something nagged in the back of his mind. Then it was no longer hidden.
A chance meeting at the Lambton station when Thornton was changing to the London train laced his mind.
Thornton had been a little worse-for-wear because the Milton line offered indifferent service at best. He had been delayed and already had missed two southbound trains.
He had been standing on the platform waiting to climb into his carriage when an elegantly-dressed couple strolled up.
Perhaps the dark-eyed lady took pity on his weariness.
Perhaps the well-tailored gentleman recognized something in Thornton which he himself possessed.
Whatever the roots of the exchange, the three had engaged in polite conversation while they awaited the coupling of a private car to the back of the train.
Soon enough, though, all was in order and farewells began.
Thornton and the older man exchanged cards.
The couple moved off and boarded their exclusive sleeper, the Oakham Mount.
Thornton was impressed and curious but did not consider the gentleman’s calling card until he was settled in his second-class bench seat.
The words were potent then. They were even more so now.
Thomas C. Johnson
Managing Director
Darcy-Bingley Enterprises
Thornton now grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and scribbled a wire to the man who ran Great Britain’s largest industrial conglomerate, an empire spread across a dozen industries and three continents. Higgins agreed to dispatch one of his watchers to the railway station’s telegraph office.
When Marlborough’s new overseer returned, Thornton explained what he had been about.
“I have presumed upon a very limited acquaintance with the man who runs DBE. I have explained to Mr. Thomas Johnson that I have a difficult problem with excess labor. I wondered if he might be able to employ any of our Irish workers who are surplus to our requirements and would be willing to move on to Manchester to work in DBE’s mills.
I told him I would happily pay their train fare and one month’s housing allowance.
“I am not certain how Mr. Johnson will reply but, by all accounts, DBE is a benevolent employer and is constantly expanding. I hope that he will listen to my appeal.”
Margaret looked slightly troubled and asked, “What about those who do not want to work in a factory but, rather, wish to return to farming? What can be done for them?”
At this, Higgins straightened, “Wull, Miss Margaret, while Master Thornton seems ta hae some connection with one side of th’ Derbyshire lot, I might ‘elp with t’uther.
“You may recall my stories about my days at Selkirk. T’wasn’t all shovelin’ horse manure, ye know. Got to know Mr. Tomkins, Selkirk’s steward…’e was not much more than an ‘opped-up footman then...and I would wager that ‘e might ‘elp find some tenant farms at Selkirk, Pemberley, and Thornhill.”
Thornton continued, completing Higgins’ thought, “And I am sure that Marlborough might find a way to cover one year’s reduced rent.”
Higgins looked offended, “Nay, Mr. Thornton, the estates’ masters would never presume on your good nature.
I am sure they would follow old Mr. Bennet’s practice after Mr. Watson’s mill burned down in Meryton back in the Year Eleven.
‘e let sever’l families live on ‘is estate rent-free until their first ‘arvest came in.”
Another telegram was composed and dispatched to Matlock.
Watching the exchange between the two men, Margaret’s heart softened.
She had always seen Nicholas as a kindly uncle, perhaps even a bit of a father because his bluff nature was so different from her own bookish parent.
Now, as she watched him interact with John, she could see the young man soaking up the fatherly direction.
Thornton’s need for an older man in his life had never been more apparent than in the last hours.
And his open acceptance of Nicholas tipped something deep inside of Miss Hale.
She looked more closely at the Master of Marlborough Mills.
And saw something which disturbed her.
Her left hand shot out and grasped Thornton’s left wrist, turning it so she could confirm what she had observed.
Thornton winced—not at the idea of her touching him but rather at the absolute fact that her grip was…
He winced and inhaled sharply.
“John,” she urgently prodded, “what is this?”
Upon her release, he lifted his arm and turned it, looking at his forearm.
An ugly bruise covered three inches of skin, purpling where it was not green and yellow.
John shook his head, “I have no idea. I noticed it earlier. I must have banged it upon something…”
“Something quite hard, I would imagine, young sir,” rumbled Donaldson who strode over, “If you would allow me a moment here.” After appropriate manipulations accompanied by ‘hmmms’ from Donaldson and small yips from Thornton, the doctor carefully lowered the young man’s arm. Then he looked at Margaret.
“You may recall, Miss Hale, my opinion that your head injury would have been much worse but for a fortunate deflection of the missile.”
He pointed at Thornton’s arm and continued, “The size and shape of Mr. Thornton’s contusion tell me that he became aware of the danger and instinctively protected you.
He was unable to prevent the impact entirely but, like the Duke said, ‘It was a close-run thing.’ As Wickham at Hougoumont did for the nation, Mr. Thornton undoubtedly saved you.
“I fear, sir, that you are beginning to pay the price for your heroism. I do not believe your arm is broken, but you can surely expect considerable swelling.”
Margaret teared up at the idea that Thornton had suffered for her audacity in stepping forward to address the mob. At the catch in her throat, Thornton leaned toward her while Donaldson busied himself padding and wrapping the bruise.
John whispered, “Now, none of that, Miss Margaret…none of that. Your bravery was inspiring to see. That I was too slow to join you on the front line will be to my everlasting shame. You began this night as a gentleman’s daughter, so far above my aspirations yet, to my mind, still within reach.”
Then he gulped and looked down, his native insecurity overtaking him.
“Then the realities of my life harshly imposed themselves upon your person.
“How can I hope to raise myself in your regard? I am naught but a glorified mechanic and a suicide’s son. You are Milton’s treasure.”
His humility and despair broke Margaret’s heart. She gripped his right hand, stopping his recriminations.