Never cared about anyone other than himself, more like. Not even his own employees in this very room.
Kuni had never felt so helpless. If she were a real Royal Guardswoman—if Elizabeth were the actual Princess Mechtilda—surely there would be something immediate they could do to help. She felt sick at so many desperate workers sweltering in dangerous conditions.
“In my country,” said Elizabeth, “a well-bred host would offer his guest a refreshment to combat the heat.”
Mr. Throckmorten sighed, and motioned the party over to a tall dais where the supervisor sat behind a small desk. He motioned the supervisor away. “Go inspect the cotton, Yates. We’ll dock the pay of anyone who is behind schedule.”
The supervisor’s tortured eyes revealed his dismay at this command, but he nodded obediently and hurried off toward the machines.
“This is where I sit and enjoy a hearty lunch on the cooler days when I visit the manufactory.” Mr. Throckmorten unlocked a wooden panel and slid it open to reveal, not papers, but two glasses and a bottle of whisky next to an odd clay pot the size of a large pineapple and shaped like a pig.
“I’d offer you the supervisor’s perch, but…” He gestured at Elizabeth’s wide panniers, which had no hope of fitting into the confines of the wooden armchair.
She stared back at him blankly.
“Lemonade would be better on a hot day,” he tried again, his fingers twitching with impatience. “My wife has plenty of it back in the house.”
“I should like to try English whisky.”
“Scottish, I’m afraid.” He poured her two fingers of golden liquid.
She picked up the glass and peered at the whisky as though it were an oddity.
Mr. Throckmorten returned the bottle to the desk and hefted the pig-shaped pot. It was clearly heavy. A square hole in the pig’s back showed it was filled to the brim with coins and banknotes. He cradled the pig in the crook of his arm like an infant.
“Scottish?” Elizabeth set down the glass. “In that case, I require a taster. In my country, a small child always tests my alcohol to ensure it is not too strong for my delicate constitution.”
What?Kuni stared at her.
“A redheaded child,” Elizabeth added.
With obvious impatience, Mr. Throckmorten glanced about the room and caught sight of Victor just emerging from behind a cotton spinner. “You. Come at once.”
The lad was clearly wary, but wasted no time hurrying to do as his master bade him.
They’d earned a respite for little Victor!
“I must make haste,” Mr. Throckmorten repeated as he locked the desk. “Observe the mill as much as you please, though I recommend not above an hour. It will only get hotter in here.”
A footman appeared at the manufactory door. “Your carriage is ready, sir.”
“Finally,” Mr. Throckmorten muttered. He cradled the pig and hurried out the door without a backward glance.
Kuni crouched on one knee to be eye-level with Victor. “We would like it if you sat a moment with us.”
He sat down gingerly, as though afraid even the hard wood dais would be snatched out from under him.
Kuni sat next to the little boy. She remembered what it was like to yearn to be noticed and treated as seriously as an adult. “Victor, how many of the people in this room are apprentices?”
He looked thrilled to be included and held up one hand, the fingers splayed.
“Five?”
He nodded.
“And you all work the same hours, whether you’re an apprentice or not?”
He nodded again.
