“But I know of masters who work just as long, if not longer hours than their workers,” said Mr. Dosett. “If they are willing to put such effort into their factories and mills, why is it wrong for them to expect their workers to do the same?”
“The master chooses to work long hours, but the same is not true of their workers,” said Oliver. “It is wrong to give the lower class no option but to work excruciating hours or lose their position altogether. Besides, it is in the masters’ best interest to shorten workdays.”
Mr. Dosett barked a laugh. “I’ve heard some strange claims in my days, but I cannot fathom how shortening production hours is in their best interest.”
The gentleman’s words may have sounded like a challenge, but there was a lightness to his tone that conveyed interest. True, it was laden with incredulity; however, Oliver took no offense at the earnest expression of doubt.
“It may sound illogical at first, but many seemingly illogical propositions prove sensible once implemented,” said Oliver with a smile. “My uncle owns a cotton mill, and I’ve heard him expound at length about the dangers of exhausted workers. Longer hours mean more injuries and deaths.”
Though his gaze did not leave Mr. Dosett, Oliver felt Miss Caswell’s eyes lighten and sparkle as she gazed at him.
“Ask any mill or factory owner,” continued Oliver, “and they would tell you the same thing: more accidents happen at the end of the workday than at the beginning. Beyond that, the speed and quality of the product produced are reduced. So, I would ask you, what benefit is it to masters to keep twelve-hour workdays when their workers are less efficient and more likely to be injured?”
Mr. Dosett’s brows rose. “And here I thought you were of an altruistic bent, but you are a capitalist with an eye for long-term investment.”
“Don’t be fooled, Mr. Dosett,” said Miss Caswell. “Mr. Kingsley’s motivations are pure, but that does not preclude him from seeing it from a practical standpoint.”
Mr. Flemming clapped a hand on Mr. Dosett’s shoulder. “Come on, admit it. You’ve been beaten.”
Giving a conciliatory nod of his head, Mr. Dosett bowed towards Oliver. “I’m still not convinced it’s the government’s right to meddle in commerce.”
“And that is a fact we’ve argued over for too long, Dosett,” said Mr. Flemming with a laugh as he turned his gaze to Oliver. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, lad. We could use more gentlemen with good sense in Parliament.”
“Are you implying you have any gentlemen of good sense sitting in the House of Commons?” replied Mr. Dosett in a dry tone. “I find that harder to believe than Mr. Kingsley’s claims.”
Mr. Flemming gave another bark of laughter and the others joined in. But as it died, Mr. Flemming turned his gaze to Oliver. “Have you given any thought to pursuing politics?”
“I fear I am ill-suited for that life,” replied Oliver.
“Nonsense,” said Miss Caswell, her elegant brows pulling together. “You have a keen intellect and a passion for the issues rife in our day and age. You would be a boon to the government and the people whom you represent. Think of the good you could do.”
“Well said, Miss Caswell,” echoed Mr. Flemming. “Logical idealists are a rare breed, and together, you will go far in politics.”
That was a thought. Not one that Oliver had given much credence before, but there was an appeal to the possibilities it outlined. For a moment, Oliver cast his mind to that future, picturing effecting change beyond Bristow’s small borders.
“I will consider it,” said Oliver, and Miss Caswell’s smile widened, lightening her whole face as she squeezed his arm.
Ducking closer, Miss Caswell whispered, “I adore seeing you speak with such conviction.”
And with her cheering him on, Oliver could well believe he was destined for a life in public service.
*
Relaxing her cheeks, Mina Ashbrook forced her smile to soften. The silly thing kept shifting into a grimace, and Mina knew better than to allow gossipmongers and harpies to see her distraught. Like predators scenting weak prey, they could not be trusted; they circled round, waiting for the moment to strike in a savage dance as old as time.
But that was a tad harsh.
Mina gave herself a silent admonition for that uncharitable comparison. Mrs. Nelson was nothing but a product of too much money and time. Like many of their class, boredom filled her days, leaving her to seek creative means of entertainment. Unfortunately for Mina, Mrs. Nelson preferred gossip and drama.
That said, Mina felt not a shred of guilt over her thoughts for Mrs. Susannah Banfield. Snake. Harpy. Whether real or mythical, there were plenty of creatures that reminded Mina of that woman.
“We needn’t stay, dearest,” whispered Simon, as Mina clutched his arm closer. The pair strolled around the edge of the drawing room as others gathered around card tables.
“I shan’t flee like a child,” replied Mina. “Oliver is on the brink of marrying Miss Caswell, and Lily is so pleased to be with her friends once more. I will not ruin this for them, nor will I abandon my children to be unsupervised while the Banfields are about.”
“But I cannot stand the thought of you forced into such an intolerable situation. I shan’t allow you to be hurt by her venom again.”
Pulling Simon to a halt, Mina turned to face him, and how she wished they were alone so she could kiss that dear, sweet man. His gaze met hers, and the words she’d meant to speak were swept from her mind by what she examined in those dark depths. Fate had repaid all the long, lonely years of her youth with an overabundance of happiness and love. Simon had feet of clay—as all do—but how she adored him, and when he looked at her with such devotion and concern, it was impossible to remember his shortcomings.
