“I returned as quickly as I could,” Chloe said as she and Kuni strode into the room. Both men stood at once. “Mr. York, this is my dear friend, Juffrouw de Heusch.”
Kuni glanced at the duchess in surprise. Not only because she had done an excellent job at pronouncing Kuni’s name, but because of the phrasedear friend. After Kuni set sail, they were unlikely to see each other again. Save for a short royal visit by Princess Mechtilda.
Her heart gave a pang. Leaving would not be easy, but returning into the Wynchesters’ lives two months from now for a short half-hour chat…that day would almost be worse.
“It is lovely to meet you, Mr. York.”
“And lovely to meet you…” He glanced at Chloe out of the corner of his eye. “Er…”
“‘Miss de Heusch’ is fine,” Kuni assured him.
Kuni normally preferred to be militant about her name, but this was Philippa’s father. Kuni’sdear friendPhilippa, if the world had worked a little differently. As it was, there was no point wasting time in a pronunciation lesson when she would never cross Mr. York’s path again.
“Miss de Heusch,” he repeated, coming admirably close.
The duke was clearly distracted with the matter in hand, but he glanced up at Kuni, eyes crinkling. “Couldn’t think of an excuse to avoid Parliament?”
Kuni grinned at him. “Didn’t try.”
The duchess ushered Kuni into an elegant armchair and took a seat on the sofa next to her husband. “Where were you, before we interrupted?”
For the next several hours, the trio argued, debated, refined, reflected, crossed out, crumpled up, and began anew. Kuni was spellbound.
When Chloe had claimed Mr. York had his lines memorized, she had not been exaggerating. They took turns playing speaker and opposition, never pausing for so much as a breath before firing off their eloquent responses.
Kuni watched it unfold in awe. She didn’t comprehend half of the words or recognize most of the names mentioned, but it was clear all three possessed an encyclopedic understanding of England’s laws and procedures.
Maids tiptoed in and out of the parlor, delivering refreshments and refilling drinks as though this were a perfectly ordinary domestic scene in this household. Perhaps it was.
Now Kuni understood why the other siblings had opted to stay home to put the champagne on ice. There was nothing Kuni could do to help. The men were more than ready. Mr. York would be able to convince even a radish-brained snood of their moral and rational position within a matter of minutes.
Kuni might not be present when the changes officially took effect, but she still felt as though she were witnessing history unfold before her.
Faster than one might expect, it was three o’clock and time to set out for Westminster. The duke would be watching from the adjacent Strangers’ Gallery listed in Kuni’s guidebook, while the duchess and Kuni peered down from the attic.
When they arrived at the House of Commons, the stairs to the attic were indeed plentiful, narrow and uneven.
The viewing portal was a large wooden octagon, rising from the floor to the rafters. Each of the eight panels bore a cutout just large enough to poke one’s head through. Doing so invited a face-full of rising smoke from the chandelier, which hung in the center of the octagon, obstructing the view of the parliamentary chamber below. At least it had stopped raining and the small attic windows were open, allowing the noxious smoke to escape.
From what Kuni could see, the participants below were of a single type: wealthy, white, and male, their ages skewing older.
“The future of the Goodnights and all the other laborers in Tipford-upon-Bealbrook and elsewhere relies on…these men?”
“Trust me,I know.” The duchess leaned her shoulders against the wooden octagon. “The struggle is ongoing. But several men seated here today have confirmed they will fully and vociferously support any measure that addresses the underlying—Shh.” The duchess poked her head into the closest aperture. She popped back out only long enough to say, “They’ve called on Mr. York! It’sstarting.”
Kuni hurried to her post and peeked through the opening.
“The laborers are aware that a reduction in hours must bring a commensurate reduction in wages,” Mr. York was saying. “That adjustment is an acceptable compromise. ’Tis better to employ two healthy laborers to split sixteen hours than to force the same on a single child. With exhaustion come mistakes. Mistakes cause increased danger for the workers and delayed or defective product for mill owners.”
“The pocketbooks of wealthy owners like Mr. Throckmorten are notourconcern,” Chloe whispered. “But many MPs possess a financial stake in execrable manufactories. They have grown rich from exploiting the poor and the helpless and will not be swayed by appeals to ethics. The prospect of losing money, however, will not be borne.”
Kuni watched, fascinated.
“Because the House values the trade of our country,” Mr. York continued, “it must not fail to feel for the suffering of such workers. We must consider the plight of those whose trade has sustained our heavy purses.”
“Hear, hear!” shouted several MPs.
Excitement bubbled through Kuni’s veins. It was working!
