“It’s not certain yet,” Chloe warned. “But we will send you word as soon as it happens.”
“In my country,” said Elizabeth, “we reward loyal subjects with a token of gratitude. Would you prefer a gold brooch decorated with rubies or emeralds?”
Kuni thought Mrs. Throckmorten was going to swoon right out of her armchair.
“Either,” she gasped, not objecting to being labeled a loyal subject of Balcovia. “Both. That is—I mean—”
“Noted,” Chloe assured her. “I do hope our presence isn’t a bother.”
“Not a bother,” Mrs. Throckmorten said quickly. “Anything Her Royal Highness desires, she shall have with our blessing.”
32
As the night wore on, Mrs. Throckmorten grew in a tizzy, mortified at her husband’s continued absence, but proud to be witnessed keeping “town” hours instead of “country” hours.
Kuni couldn’t care less about the clock. She cared about the mistreated laborers toiling in the manufactory.
Mr. Throckmorten arrived home from his appointment visibly inebriated and barely in time to share a ten o’clock supper with the esteemed guests he hadn’t known he was hosting. After supper, Chloe and Elizabeth entertained the Throckmortens for another hour or two before they, their Royal Guard, and the Balcovian portraitist retired into very pretty rooms to wait for the others.
Jacob, Graham, Tommy, and Philippa had spent their day in reconnaissance. They’d changed out of their servants’ costumes and into ordinary attire that would blend in with this section of the country.
“Before we came the first time, I worried Graham and Iwouldn’tblend,” Jacob told Kuni. “But there are several Black families in Tipford-upon-Bealbrook, and an even larger community in Manchester. We were able to do most of what we hoped.”
“Starting with purchasing everything we could find at the local bakery and vegetable market,” Graham said. “We spent all morning and afternoon going door to door, handing out any supplies people wished to take and listening to anything they wished to tell us.”
Their stories were similar to that of Mr. and Mrs. Goodnight. Many local families had either lost a loved one to a machine or suffered the permanent damage that came with a serious injury.
None had a better choice. Anyone with enough money to move to a different town had already done so. Here in Tipford-upon-Bealbrook, there was no other major employer—unless laborers wished to walk ten miles to the big city or spend coins they did not have on hackney transit they could not afford.
It was the Throckmorten cotton mill or nothing.
Although the Wynchesters had wanted to interview the laborers themselves, the workers would only have a few hours’ sleep before reporting back to the manufactory. The siblings hadn’t wanted to rob them of their much-needed rest.
And…Graham wasn’t certain he could bear to talk to Victor. Losing a parent in graphic fashion, in the same place that one worked, before one’s very eyes, under the thoughtless command of a ringmaster who cared no more for his humans than he would a donkey…Graham would stay in the street. Gathering information was what he did best. There were plenty of others to visit the manufactory.
Later, Tommy’s expression was full of anger as she described what they’d seen. “The sun had long since set by the time the laborers were permitted to trudge back to their homes.”
Chloe’s brows shot up. “I cannot believe the Throckmortens would waste money on illumination rather than simply allowing the laborers to work humane hours.”
Tommy snorted. “They aren’t spending much on candles. The workers are only permitted the tallow sort.”
“Tallow?” Kuni asked.
“Made from animal fat,” Tommy explained. “They’re cheap, smelly, and smoky—and there are precious few to be found in the factory. One of the laborers caught her fingers in a spinning machine because of the poor lighting, and was delayed cleaning up the blood.”
“‘Carelessness’ is grounds for docking an entire month’s wages, even for apprentices,” Jacob said. “The supervisor seems sympathetic to their plight—”
Graham consulted his notes. “A Mr. Yates.”
“—but he’s terrified of Mr. Throckmorten and of no help to the workers. Tommy provided more assistance than Yates.”
“All I did was redress her wound to guard against infection after she left the factory.”
“Like I said,” Jacob repeated. “More than Yates. Mr. Throckmorten has the supervisor under his thumb.”
“That changes tomorrow,” said Chloe. “We’re to have a tour of the mill first thing in the morning.”
***
