I met his gaze evenly. “On the contrary. I may not keep the books myself, but my family’s steelworks in Yorkshire employ more than eight hundred men. I know precisely what it costs to train a new hand, and precisely what is lost when an experienced one dies on the floor. The cheapest investment a factory can make is keeping its workers alive.”
A few of the men shifted, no longer quite so comfortable in their chairs.
Before long, a faint sound drew my attention. Lord Redmayne, newly come into his title and only recently arrived in London, sat forward in his chair.
“I fail to see why we’re debating this,” he said, his tone crisp. “If a simple guard prevents a man from losing a hand, and ventilation keeps a workforce from dying young, the matter seems plain. Industry need not be built on corpses.”
A few of the older peers stiffened.
Weatherby gave a thin, superior smile. “Spoken like a man who has yet to learn what industry costs. Your father understood these things. He built your estate on careful husbandry and prudent restraint.”
Several others murmured approval, nodding as though Redmayne’s youth were proof enough of his naiveté.
Redmayne inclined his head, respectful but unbowed. “I honor my father’s stewardship,” he said evenly. “It is because of his care that I now hold both the title and the fortune. But”—his gaze swept the table—“I am the one who holds them now. And I intend to use them for the betterment of more than my own accounts.”
The murmurs faltered. Even the blusterers found their tongues momentarily still.
I felt a flicker of respect. Redmayne possessed a steadiness uncommon in men twice his age. He would make a useful ally.
Weatherby cleared his throat. “Perhaps,” he said, with the air of a man proposing something eminently reasonable, “it would be prudent to table the matter for further consideration. These reforms touch on delicate commercial interests. Something we must study. We mustn’t act in haste.”
A murmur of agreement circled the table. The suggestion suited them. Delay was always the safest form of opposition.
But I could not allow an indefinite tabling of the measure. In this chamber, “further consideration” was too often the politeprelude to a quiet burial. Too many worthy reforms had died that way—smothered beneath civility and time.
“Then let us not act in haste,” I said, keeping my tone even. “But neither should we allow the matter to languish. I propose that we reconvene in a fortnight’s time to discuss the inspectors’ written findings and the revised factory safety reports which have been circulated to each of you. That should allow ample opportunity for reflection.”
A few cautious glances were exchanged. But before anyone could object, Redmayne inclined his head. “Seconded.”
“All in favor?” I asked.
A reluctant chorus of “Ayes” followed, thin but sufficient. The nays were quieter still.
“So ordered,” I said, bringing down the gavel. “This committee will reconvene a fortnight hence to discuss the documents and consider amended language.”
The clerk scratched the date into the minutes, while chairs creaked in grateful relief. I gathered my papers with unhurried care, outwardly composed, already weighing which of these men might be persuaded before we met again.
As the meeting broke apart into smaller conversations, Redmayne made his way toward me. His step was unhurried, his presence deliberate.
“You argue well, Your Grace,” he said in a low voice. “Even when you argue against your own interests.”
He was right. My own foundries and shipping concerns would feel the cost of these reforms as surely as any man at this table. But profit lost was not the same as life lost. I had seen too many men maimed or buried beneath the machinery that made my fortune. I had already taken steps to improve their working conditions, but even so, there was much more to be done.
“My interests,” I said, “are in keeping men alive.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Not a common priority in these halls.” He glanced around the room at the gentlemen still grumbling. “I fear a fortnight isn’t much time to change their minds.”
“I agree.” It took me a moment to make my decision. “Would you be interested in a campaign to turn things in our favor?”
His gaze returned to me, sharp and steady. “I would. It’s vital for the well-being of our country. Never mind industrial workers. We all benefit when safety is taken seriously.”
“Are you available next Tuesday? I have a few ideas for convincing the doubters that industry will not crumble if they fit a few safety guards.”
“What time?”
“Would one o’clock do? We can discuss the factory reports from Manchester. I warn you, they’re not easy reading. But they might give our argument sharper teeth.”
“That shouldn’t pose a problem. I’ll be there.”
