Page 57 of Dark Tidings on the Thames
“It is not far, according to my reports,” Stayme said, moving jauntily along. There was not much traffic, apart from the rumbling of wagons. A few clerks rushed to and fro, but for the most part, all the activity was occurring in the businesses they passed. Kara noted a cement works and a seed oil mill. She was staring at the long, open-air lane of a rope walk across the way when Stayme gave a satisfied grunt. “There is the timber works,” he said, gesturing. “Keep your eyes peeled for the bobbin mill.”
The road veered inland slightly, giving way to a large, shallow timber pond. The smell of freshly cut wood filled the air. They kept their distance as they traveled the long way past the large barns, warehouses, and stacks of lumber, until at last they reached a short, graveled drive. It led to a bricked, two-story cottage. It was a mishmash of a building, with multiple roof levels, three chimneys, and the addition of several small attached rooms. A tiny sign at the end of the drive labeled it the Bobbin Mill.
“The first, single-story section looks to be the offices,” Stayme said. “We’ll start there and see if Royston is about. Keep your heads down.”
A door and a window faced the road. Approaching, Staymeknocked. Kara inched closer to the window and leaned so that she could see inside. It was indeed an office, with several stacks of file drawers and a desk that sat empty. A man stood in a corner, looking over a stack of papers spread over a small table and consulting what looked like a schedule on the wall.
Stayme knocked, and the man looked over his shoulder. Kara leaned away to keep from being spotted. She stepped back in place behind the viscount and lowered her head.
They waited. Stayme knocked again.
“I’m not ready,” the man inside called.
Gyda snickered, and Stayme tossed a grin back at her before knocking again. This time the door was yanked open.
“I told you, I don’t have—” The man, tall and ginger haired, stopped speaking. “Oh. You’re not Henderson.”
“No,” Stayme agreed amiably.
“Who are you, then, and what is it you want?” The man was the very picture of exasperation.
“I am Mr. Hervey. Are you Mr. Royston?”
“I am not,” the man replied sharply. “Although I do seem to be saddled with most of his work.”
“I was told Royston was the owner of this mill,” Stayme said.
“Is that what he’s saying now?” the man asked with a snort. “I suppose he thinks that sounds better than ‘partner in management,’ which was already a stretch.”
“I am misinformed, then?” asked Stayme.
“Brown and Long own this mill,” the man said shortly. “It’s an arm of the timber works.” He shot a glance at Kara and Gyda before turning away and going back to the table.
“I expected to find Mr. Royston here,” Stayme said, still pleasant.
“Yes, he is expected daily, but rarely shows his face, so you will just have to join all of us here in our disappointment.”
“May I askyourname, sir?” asked Stayme. “And your position here?”
“I am Lowell. Supervisor.”
“Well, then. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Lowell. It sounds as if you are the man I should speak to, in any case.”
“You will pardon me, sir. But I must complete the work of two men and have no time to talk.”
“Perhaps you will indulge an old man, then, and just listen for a moment?” When Lowell began to object again, Stayme chuckled. “Indulge a veryrichold man, would you?”
Startled, Lowell looked back.
“It’s true,” Stayme said. “I am an old man with a fortune, but no wife or children.” He gestured behind him. “My two nieces will inherit. They are very good girls, Mr. Lowell. They have big hearts and a great deal of passion for a specific cause. They advocate tirelessly for workers’ rights to better conditions.”
Mr. Lowell glanced at them again, this time with respect. “That is a cause I support as well.”
“When I am gone, their income will derive from the investments I make now. My nieces have pleaded with me to use my money to support companies who make a real effort to support their employees instead of treating them as replaceable chattel. I had heard that this mill might be such a place. It was suggested that it might be thanks to Mr. Royston’s efforts?”
Mr. Lowell’s expression went through a curious transition, his face coloring with a potent mix of both pleasure and fury. “You are partly correct, sir. We do make efforts to improve safety for our workers, but Royston would not know an improvement if it rose up and bit him on the arse. I do not believe he has ever even set foot beyond these offices.” He flushed again. “I do beg your pardon for my language, ladies.”
“Yes, well,” Stayme said stiffly, his disapproval clear, “clearly you feel strongly about the subject. I would love to hear your views, but perhaps we can speak about your efforts while my nieces wait outside?I saw some tables and chairs in the shade near the back of the mill.”
