Page 51 of The Lady Tempts an Heir
Max sighed and handed over the entire contents of the packet. There was no point in dragging this out any more than necessary. Now that the man knew something was amiss, he’d not rest until he found out, even if it meant telegramming New York.
Adjusting his reading glasses, Papa sat back in his chair to better examine the documents. He grunted in disapproval a few times, his brow furrowing in concern. Finally, he said, “This is preposterous.”
“The requests are a bit steep. The amount they want in wage increases alone is enough to bankrupt the factory, but—”
“There is nobut. This list is extortion. Railroad growth isn’t what it was. We’re in the midst of what they are calling the Great Depression. If we gave in to these demands, we’dallbe bankrupt and living in the street. Don’t they understand that?”
“No, I don’t think they do,” Max said, keeping his voice calm. “The depression has made everyone desperate. We’ve cut wages by a total of twenty percent since the Panic of’73, meanwhile food and housing have continued to rise,” Max said.
“This is asking for twenty percent above what they were earningbeforethe Panic. Do they not understand that if we are earning less, then they, too, have to earn less? I cannot control the price of housing or bread.”
Max took in a breath, having had variations of this conversation with his father for years before the Panic set in. “Wecancontrol the cost of housing to an extent. It’s why we have begun to acquire apartment houses in the city and row houses in smaller towns.” Even though his father had voted against that move, Max had convinced the board to try it in Pittsburgh and Middletown to much success. “Our resources are considerable when pooled together, allowing us to provide this for them at a lower cost.”
“You sound as if you’re taking their side.”
“There are no sides, Papa. There is only the best way forward. God knows we can’t afford to increase wages by fifty percent. But it’s not unreasonable for them to expect a living wage when they are being asked to work just as hard as before. If they are assured of having homes and food, then we will all be able to weather this storm.”
Papa shrugged. “There are no assurances in life. Banks have collapsed, and the price of steel increases. We can’t pay them what we don’t have, not if we intend to keep our profit margins stable. They can’t expect us to provide comfort”—he glanced down and read from the list—“food, medical care, death benefits. Our responsibility to them ends with their wages.”
“If that’s the case, then we’ve done a poor job keeping up our end of the responsibility.”
“We live in a market society.” Papa shrugged again and leaned forward to place the papers on the desk. “The costs of goods inflate and deflate to reflect that; the same goes for wages. It’s absurd that they expect them to stay constant in a world where everything changes.”
“Then why must we insist that profit margins stabilize? We could afford to cut into them briefly until the economy recovers.”
“And what if it doesn’t? What if we slowly eat away at ourselves until there’s nothing left. How will it help the workers if we have no factories, no enterprise left? It’s cannibalization, and it won’t help anyone in the long run, not the workers and certainly not us.”
“I saidbriefly. Besides, this is why August and I have been pushing so hard for auxiliary investments. They would allow us to diversify our assets, so we can help avoid these scenarios. The markets have an inevitable ebb and flow; diversifying can help keep our income stable. It’s why the dock is such an important opportunity. We cannot solely rely on railroads.”
Papa shrugged. “I have relented to the dock, have I not?”
Max couldn’t stop the glower that came over his face. “Ostensibly, as long as I do what you want.”
The man smiled a sly grin that Max found more irritating with age. “Have you not found favor with our good Helena?”
“It would appear so.” He was reluctant to discuss her with his father. His feelings for her and their arrangement were so complex that he didn’t yet understand them himself. There was no way he could adequately talk about them with Papa.
“When do you plan to ask her to marry you?”
Max felt seedy and irrationally angry to be forced into the ruse he had concocted. His parents should have no part of what went on between him and Helena, but his father’s demand had made it so. Also, Max didn’t like the reminder that he, too, was capable of intrigue and subterfuge to further his own agenda. “The house party.”
“She’d be a fool to turn you down.”
“She won’t.” He could guarantee it, but he didn’t say that, because he actually didn’t know where they stood anymore.
Five days had passed since Max had last talked to Helena. Every day he sent her a small token of his regard. One day it was a bouquet of lilies procured from a hothouse on the outskirts of London. On another day, a book from Hatchards. Today it had been one of the new stylographic pens that Violet raved about. They were all gifts ostensibly expected by Society and meant to reinforce their courtship, but to Max they had become small demonstrations of his growing affection. If only she would accept them as such.
Each one had received a short and prompt thank-you written on embossed cardstock in reply.
Not wanting to linger on the subject of his upcoming betrothal, Max said, “Unfortunately, it appears I won’t be able to stay through Christmas. I have to get back home to New York, which means I need to settle things here so that I can leave in a week or so.” Thank God everything had been arranged with Sir Phineas.
“What about Farthington’s house party and Lady Helena?” Papa’s eyes narrowed.
“Naturally, I’ll still go. I’ll bring my trunks so that I can leave from there a few days early.”
Papa nodded in agreement. “Yes, unfortunately, I agree that’s best. This rebellion needs to be squashed, with force if necessary.”
“I’ll handle it as I see fit.”
