Page 39 of Hearts of Briarwall

“Purchased in bulk from the auto manufacturers at a discount.”

“Why would they sell their parts out?” Oscar Burke asked.

“The same reason they sell them through catalogs. They recognize that they make their money by selling new cars, not fixing minor repairs in cars already sold. Making simple repair parts available to the Everyman encourages the Everyman to feel more at ease investing in their automobiles. Let me ask you, when you make a major purchase, say, a horse, do you not weigh the cost of the upkeep of your investment, decide whether or not the continual maintenance is within your budget?”

His question was met with nods of agreement.

“I assure you, the growing middle class considers these things greatly. They take pride in their self-sufficiency. And knowing the part they need to quickly replace—be it a spark plug or the ignition timer—is down the street, or in the next town over? It’s a security that frees up their worries about investing their money in the first place. They will foresee the satisfaction of the money they’ll save maintaining their motorcars themselves. Money they will gladly spend at themotor supply shop. More specifically, aHayesMotor Supply Shop.”

Mr. Janes raised his brows in interest. Sir Lawrence leaned forward in his chair.

Spencer’s pulse quickened with hope. He splayed both hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward. “I have the idea. I have the plans. I even have locations. What I need are investors. Who will help me establish these shops to meet the need when it arises? And it will arise, gentlemen, I assure you. Within a few short years, I predict a motorcar for nearly every middle- and upper-class family.” He looked each man square in the eye. “Will you be there with me to greet them?” He pushed away from the table and folded his arms. “Questions?”

An hour later, after many answers and much discussion as each gentleman studied the specifics—most notably the ledgers of necessary capital investment and predicted earnings—Spencer stood at the door of the meeting room and shook hands with each man as he left.

“Interesting, Mr. Hayes,” Mr. Janes—who’d forgone his solicitor’s meeting to ask more questions—pulled a cigar from his mouth. “Very interesting.” He placed a card in Spencer’s hand. The man gave no more sign, but Spencer couldn’t help but feel a thrill of encouragement.

“That was smashing, Spencer,” Oscar said. “Much better than your tennis game.”

Spencer smiled, pleased to have presented his idea well. It would do no good to come off as arrogant. “I’ll accept the compliment.”

“You should. I can’t make any promises, but you’ve given me much to consider. I’ll talk to my brothers. If Andrew’s in, well, that goes a long way.” Oscar slapped Spencer on the arm with a grin and left.

Spencer nodded belatedly though his stomach turned. Andrew had grown quieter throughout the discussion. He’d played it off as allowing his guests to lead the questioning, but Spencer knew his friend.

Sir Lawrence paused at the door, his expression unreadable. He glanced at Andrew, who was standing across the room at the window, then leaned toward Spencer. “I’m in.” He handed Spencer his card and nodded. “I might be able to pull a few more investors on board as well.”

Spencer kept his features smooth, though he wanted to leap with joy. Instead, he gave a single nod. “I thank you.”

“Inform me of when you’re ready to move. Not all of us are blinded to the future by fear.” With another glance at Andrew, Sir Lawrence tossed his ebony walking stick up and grabbed it midair in a surprising display and left.

Part of Spencer wanted to collapse into a chair and pour himself a celebratory drink. But he shut the door, watching Andrew, who finished his own drink.

Andrew set the glass down on the windowsill and stared at it.

After another moment, Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but Andrew beat him to it.

“You did try to warn me,” he said, his tone quiet but on edge.

“Yes. I—”

“You did misjudge me.”

“Andrew, I—”

“You brought to light perhaps my greatest weakness. My greatest suffering. And asked me, in front of my friends, to perpetuate an industry in which I have little respect. Even disdain.”

Spencer hung his head. “It was thoughtless of me. I’d imagined—”

“You’d imagined I’d overcome my hatred of the means by which my parents died a gruesome and premature death.”

That brought Spencer’s head up. Still, he had no words. That’s exactly what he’d hoped of his friend. And not just for this venture.

Andrew gave a slight bob of his head, staring off. “That would’ve been the healthy thing to have done, I suppose.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “But I have not. I cannot.”

“I understand—”

“Doyou?” Andrew turned sharply toward Spencer.

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