I have decided to pimp up this story and completely change the way I'm telling it. It will be from John's POV now, and I hope its a better read. I will be updating the prologue and chapter 1 now. Later chapters will be updated later only if you like it and review! LOL
Enjoy and please review!
Prologue
Milton,
The Hale household
How had such a pleasant conversation about Arkwright's inventions turned into such a fiery conversation about the indecencies of Milton? Come to think of it, how had my attention turned so swiftly from Mr Hale to his daughter? Ah yes, I remember. I was captivated by the way she was giving her opinion so openly and blatantly. Captivated? Since when have I been captivated by anything other than the figures I write in my ledgers? Or the date the next batch of cotton had to be shipped?
Beautiful as she may be, I could not but feel a stab of hurt at the accusation – which undoubtedly included me – she had just hurled. I set my cup down on the table next to me. My expression had been gradually growing more serious, but after the most recent lash of words it became stern and dark.
"We Masters are not all the same, Miss Hale, whatever your prejudices against Milton men and their ways".
"Oh I have seen the way you treat your men. You treat them as you wish because they are beneath you –"
"No I do not –"
"You have been blessed with good luck and fortune, but others have not"
"I do know something of hardship"
The words slipped out before I even knew what I was saying. I never spoke of my past with anyone. The topic had not even come to light with Mother. But something about the sharp, direct answers of young lady sitting in front of me compelled me to say something in retaliation. Something, anything, to hang onto the dignity that I felt had been slowly slipping away this evening. Should I tell these new acquaintances about Father? I contemplated. I looked into the eyes of Miss Hale again and noticed that my words had sparked not just curiosity, but an irritated glare that reminded me of a mother wanting to know what wild madness had possessed her child to act in an irrational manner. The look, although emphasizing the beauty of her eyes, unnerved me yet again and I knew that the only way for me to give a justification of any weight was to first tell them about Father's suicide and then about the troubles I faced thereafter. Taking a deep breath I said in a low and controlled voice to all in the room;
"Sixteen years ago, my Father died under very miserable circumstances. I was taken from school and had to become a man in a few days. I had such a mother as few are blessed with, a woman of strong power and firm resolve. This made the beginning: this taught me self denial. Now that I am able to give my mother such comfort as her age requires, I thank her silently on each occasion for the early training she gave me."
I waited for another reproof. But there was nothing. Miss Hale, along with her mother and father, had lowered her eyes, apparently taken aback by my confession. I suddenly realized that I might have said too much. That this family who seemingly had not seen much in the way of suffering and worldly struggle, were shocked that a man who could be so cruel to his workers had himself struggled through life. The atmosphere in the room had grown instantly cold. None in the room had said anything and I knew that conversation was no longer going to be paramount.
"I have outstayed my welcome", I said, standing up to go. Mr Hale, polite and courteous as ever, stood up and insisted that it was not the case. I knew better however, and did not waver in my intention to leave. Looking once more at Miss Hale I took a step closer to her and held out my hand for her to shake.
"Come Miss Hale, let us part as friends despite our differences. If we understand more of each other's ways we may learn to be more tolerant".
She turned away from me, completely disregarding my proposal and the common gesture of courtesy. I curled my fingers back in to my outstretched palm, my knuckles turning white from the force at which I did it. How can such a beautiful, intelligent creature be so rude?
I wanted to storm out the house that second, for I feared I would lash out at her otherwise, but knew that I still had to take my leave in a somewhat courteous manner. Turning my head to Mrs Hale I gave her a quick bow and turned towards the door.
I was glad when the cold night air hit my face. It calmed my fired-up mood. As I walked home I went through the events of the evening in my head. I was almost embarrassed to remember how transfixed I had been by the way Miss Hale had poured the tea. How I had immensely enjoyed watching the bracelet sliding down her arm in unison with her movements, and then her shoving it back up with an agitated huff. But then that damn conversation had started, and the dainty, elegant Lady was firing accusations at me from all angles. Though I was ashamed to admit it, I had enjoyed the banter just as much as watching her pour tea. And I knew that, despite her manner of such direct speech, she did not have much experience in the world of toil, and certainly not in the relationship between Master and Worker. But that did not stop me from being extremely annoyed at the fact that she had so directly pronounced that Milton was an uncouth place in which workers were treated like scum. What did she know of these things? Did she not understand that the living conditions of a worker was just the way things where? And that a Master can only provide so much in payment to his workers? The payment they receive and the hours they work is not an unfair and quick decision given by a Master who could not care less whether the families of those very workers eat a meal that day, but rather part of a carefully worked out budget that must be adhered to in order for the Mill to prosper. Of course, I knew Miss Hale would not know any of these things, but I wished she would take the time to understand Milton better. Then maybe she would understand the reasons for how its inhabitants live and operate.
Another thing I knew she would not know was the years of struggle Mother and I faced once Father had died and left us. Left us. That's what he did, took his own life after making a stupid, foolish decision to place a huge amount of money on a speculation. Of course he lost it, leaving himself in a very large amount of debt. Then he couldn't take it and killed himself. I still can't forgive him for that. It upset Mother so much. And Fanny was only a small lass. They both missed him terribly. And me? Well, I had to pick up the pieces he left. I was the one who had to work long, hard hours just to get ourselves out of the mess. I had to leave school. I loved school, but I had to pay off the debt he had left. I made damned sure I earned enough money to pay every single penny of, and my family were not put in the same horrible, humiliating position again.
All those years of hard work did pay off, and now I am a Master of my own mill, but only after all that hard work, and Mother's continual encouragement. So who was Miss Hale to think she knew how to run a Mill? Who was she to tell me, as if it was my fault, that the conditions of my workers are poorer than mine? She would not be able to even begin to imagine what life used to be like for us. How we had been forced to spend days sleeping out on the streets. That was a fate I knew my workers were not facing. I made sure of that, at least.
As I was mulling over these thoughts, I reached the stone steps to my house and suddenly realized how tired I was. The evening's conversations had certainly given me much to think about. Well, tomorrow was another day at the Mill, and one in which I knew there was much work to do. There were many orders to fill and accounts to write. I slipped upstairs to my room to get a good night's rest, determined not to think anymore of Miss Hale and her pouty, miss-guided opinions.