Page 54 of Real Earls Break the Rules

“We are going to take a little trip that will require your silence when we return. There’ll be something extra in your month’s wages for you. Understand?” It was a command more than a request, but gently given.

Lily’s head bobbed up and down. “As far as I know, my lord, ye weren’t with us and the miss and I went to the village and back.”

“Precisely.”

A half hour later, they halted before a large building. Black soot curled from a chimney, marring the beautiful blue sky.

Amelia turned to the maid. “Stay inside the carriage. We won’t be long.”

Lily’s eyes were wide as she stared at the brick factory. “Yes, miss.” It was clear she had no desire to enter the building.

Brandon hopped out of the carriage, then turned to help Amelia alight. “I must warn you that it’s stifling hot inside.”

“I’m not completely ignorant of factory life. There was a large paper mill nearby where we lived. The family next door worked there.”

The parents and all eight of their children. Amelia and her sisters had occupied the tiny one-bedroom apartment beside them. Amelia had counted her blessings that they’d never had to work in the factories. Chloe had often been ill with a lingering cough, and Amelia knew her sister wouldn’t have survived the harsh conditions of factory life.

Brandon opened the massive front doors, and Amelia stepped inside. She was immediately engulfed by a wall of heat and a cacophony of noise. Rows of machinery operated at an incredibly fast pace. Belts whirred. Bobbins spun. Four huge men turned a large wheel at one machine. The odor of oil used to lubricate the machines and the sweat of the workers permeated the air. Her senses were overwhelmed with sights, sounds, smells, and heat.

“Come.” Brandon took her hand as he led her into the factory.

She was grateful she had worn her light summer muslin dress. She still had on her gloves and her palms were sweating inside the kidskin. She scanned the massive factory floor. Female workers scurried about checking the spinning bobbins and hurried up and down the rows to ensure the equipment was working properly.

No one paid them any attention, but Amelia watched them in wide-eyed wonder. How on earth did they not faint from the heat? She studied the scene and attempted to memorize details that she would incorporate into her sketches later that evening.

She didn’t see any children. She recalled that Brandon had eliminated child labor at his mill. It was a noble effort on his part and revealed more about his character. She understood he’d have to hire adults to fill the positions and it would cost him more in pay.

Her attention was drawn to a machine with a long row of bobbins. She tried unsuccessfully to count the number of whirling bobbins. There were at least a hundred. As she watched, fascinated, each one was being threaded at breathtaking speed.

Brandon noted her interest. “Those are the spinning jennies. The machine was invented by James Hargreaves a little over fifty years ago. His invention allows one worker to spin many separate yarns at the same time. It revolutionized the textile industry.”

“It’s amazing how quickly they spin,” she said.

“Once the bobbins are full they are taken upstairs to the looms where the cloth is woven.”

Her thoughts were cut short by the approach of a middle-aged man with a battlefield of wrinkles, straw-colored hair, and thick shoulders.

Brandon stepped forward and shook the man’s hand. “Mr. Begley. May I introduce Miss Somerton. Mr. Begley is my factory manager.”

Mr. Begley nodded in greeting. If he thought it odd Brandon had brought along a woman, he showed no sign.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Brandon said.

They walked farther into the massive room. Brandon tucked Amelia’s arm into his, keeping her by his side.

“It’s good you’re here, my lord. Some things have improved. Others have not,” Mr. Begley said.

“The labor?”

“I ceased the child labor just as you instructed, but many of the workers are disgruntled.”

Brandon’s brow furrowed. “Disgruntled? Haven’t you hired women and men to replace them?”

“I have. But the families of the children have lost a source of income. They need every shilling just to survive.”

Amelia immediately understood. Her former neighbors had relied on the income each of their eight children produced from the factory. The entire family rose at five in the morning, ate a piece of bread, and returned past seven in the evening. Amelia had learned the children had only three short breaks when they were fed oatmeal. Other children vied for positions, but work wasn’t always available. The mother had often said it kept her children out of the gutter and occupied them. Idle hands were Satan’s hands, she’d said. Amelia didn’t agree with that reasoning, but she sympathized. A hungry belly was a desperate one. She began thinking of a solution to the labor problem at Brandon’s mill. There had to be a way to compromise, to keep the families’ income steady and care for the children at the same time.

“I don’t want to hire the children back,” Brandon said.