Page 230 of The Armor of Light
‘Yes, sir.’
‘All right,’ Hornbeam said dismissively. ‘You’d better get started. I want someone found guilty. And I want him to hang.’
35
KITCLITHEROE VISITEDSPADE’s mill and asked how he was getting on with his Jacquard loom. ‘It’s quite remarkable,’ Spade said. ‘Sime Jackson operates it, but the machine doesn’t really require a weaver. Once it’s been set up it could be run by a youngster. The skill now is in designing the pattern and making the punch cards.’
‘You should order another one,’ Kit said. ‘Double your output.’ This was the reason for his visit.
‘If I still had my French customers, I would,’ Spade said. ‘Paris has lots of little shops calledmarchands de modes. They sell dresses and hats and all kinds of accessories – lace, scarves, buckles, and so on. Those establishments used to buy almost half my output.’
‘But you’ve replaced them with buyers in the Baltic and America.’
‘I have, thank God. But they want plain hard-wearing cloth. I’ll buy another of your Jacquard looms as soon as this damned war is over.’
‘I’ll come knocking on your door.’ Kit put on a brave face, but he was downhearted.
Spade, who was sensitive to people’s moods, said: ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you. Is business slow for you right now?’
‘It is, a bit. It’s the Luddites.’
‘I would have thought a lot of clothiers would be replacing their smashed machines.’
‘Not soon. They can’t afford it. Wally Watson won’t buy another scribbling machine – he’s gone back to hand scribblers.’
‘I suppose someone who splashed out on new machines might attract a second visit from the Luddites.’
‘That’s exactly the problem.’ Kit stood up. Even with Spade he did not want to appear weak. ‘But we live to fight another day.’
‘Good luck.’
Kit left.
He had tried to hide his feelings but he was demoralized. For the first time since he and Roger had started the business, he had no work in hand and none in prospect. He was not sure what he could do. He was reluctant to spend his savings.
It was the end of a grey February day, and he could not lift his spirits enough to make another desperate sales call, so he went home. He let himself into the ground-floor workshop. It smelled of sawn wood and machine oil, an aroma that always gave him a sense of wellbeing. All was perfectly clean and tidy: the floor swept, the tools neatly racked, the timber stacked at the back. This was his doing: Roger was less meticulous about such things.
He climbed the stairs to the living area on the upper floor. He found Roger slumped on the sofa, gazing into a coal fire. He kissed Roger’s lips and sat beside him.
‘Can I have some money?’ Roger said. ‘I know it’s not due yet, but I’m broke.’
This happened often. Each month Kit calculated the profits, put some aside for contingencies, then divided the rest in two and gave half to Roger; but more often than not Roger ran out before the end of the month. Normally Kit gave him an advance, but times had changed. ‘I can’t,’ Kit said. ‘I don’t think there will be any profit this month.’
‘Why not?’ Roger said petulantly.
‘Nobody’s buying machines because of the Luddites.’ Kit stroked Roger’s blond hair. He was surprised to see a little strand of grey over Roger’s ear. Roger was almost forty: perhaps it was not sosurprising. Kit decided not to mention it. ‘You’ll have to stop playing cards for a while,’ he said. ‘Stay home with me in the evenings.’ He put his mouth close to Roger’s ear and said in a low voice: ‘I’ll think of something for you to do.’
Roger smiled at last. ‘Danke schoen,’ he said. He was teaching Kit German. ‘Perhaps poverty will be fun.’
But Kit felt he was holding something back.
‘Let’s have a glass of wine,’ Kit said. ‘That might cheer us up.’ He got up and went to the sideboard. They always had a bottle of madeira handy. Kit poured two glasses and sat down again.
He had loved Roger for a long time. As a boy he had been possessed of a childish adoration for his grown-up protector. Then Roger had gone to Germany and Kit had grown out of his hero-worship. But when Roger came back into his life he had been overwhelmed by feelings that surprised and frightened him. He had suppressed those thoughts and tried to hide them.
But Roger had known, and he had told Kit the facts of life. ‘It’s not unusual for men to love each other,’ he had said. Kit could hardly believe this. ‘Take no notice of what people say. It happens all the time – especially at Oxford.’ Roger had giggled, then become serious again. ‘I love you, and I want to lie down with you and kiss you and touch your body all over, and you want the same – I know! Don’t even try to pretend otherwise.’
When Kit got over the shock he had been blissfully happy, and he still was. Roger had moments of unhappiness, like now. Kit was thinking about how to ask him what the matter was when there was a loud knocking at the front door.
