*A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters!

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Chapter 12

"Every subject's duty is the Kings, but every subject's soul is his own"

'A worker was caught by his sleeve in the the loom. It didn't just take his shirt, it pulled his entire body toward the machine. His arm was ripped from his body at the shoulder. Blood just sprayed everywhere. He died in hospital. That machine was taken over by a worker whose had was crushed in the gears. Most of the workers refused to work at that one after that, so only the new ones did.'

Margaret sat, distraught, in the reading room of the library. She had visited the library wanting to read the surveys Mr. Thornton had mentioned. She had found a compilation of interviews with mill laborers. The author had not included any infliction in the workers' accounts, so even the most brutal answer was alarmingly unemotional. It seemed to Margaret as though the workers had been so worn down after years of harsh treatment that detailing these events were simply a restating of reality, not an aberration.

The interviewer asked questions about the length of hours, their proximity to the mill, conditions and breaks. She read accounts that detailed a two mile walk to the mill, there and back, in rain or snow. Most worked fourteen or sixteen hour days without only forty minutes for one meal a day. A few workers stated that they lived at such a distance from the mill that they awoke at four o'clock and were forced to go without breakfast in order to make it on time. They needed to be on time because many mills had a penalty system in place to discourage lateness. Margaret thought the penalty's cruel and unfair. Workers were beaten or received an enormous cut in the day's wages. Some interviewees detailed instances of overseers and masters purposely setting impossible standards or altering the time on the mill clocks in order to impose fines on the workers. Some masters even demanded a certain amount of revenue be achieved each month in fines. Workers could also be fined for talking or having an inadequately cleaned machine.

Some poor parents sold their children to the mill master in order to receive an insignificant sum in return. One instance Margaret read saw a six-year-old boy sold for fifteen shillings for six years of service. Masters who accepted child labor in this way would whip the children for attempting to run away. Some children had iron weights put around their necks or their ears nailed for the table for any manner of insubordination.

Workers were locked up in the mill overnight. They were doused with water in an effort to shock them awake if they dozed off during a shift. Some mills only had a single water closet for all 400 employees.

As well as gruesome accidents, they suffered lung disease, skin complaints, poor hygiene and little food. Many workers became deaf due to long exposure to the loud noises of the machines. Children were deformed due to the debilitating movements they were forced to perform for their jobs. Adults too suffered physical ailments and pains from constant movement. Rooms in the mill were poorly ventilated and dangerously heated.

On top of these horrible conditions, Margaret also learnt that the industry of cotton manufacture was very changeable. Workers were fired or receive a cut from their wages during times of a lessening in demands for cotton fabric.

'A child doffer passed out from lack on sleep one day. He fell straight over the top of the spinning mule and the spinner didn't see him fall. His body was crushed instantly.'

Margaret closed the book with a snap. She couldn't bear to read anymore. She had heard tell of some of these things about Milton, but nothing so harsh. She knew there was laws about child labor and safety in mills, but she also knew that uncaring masters would not follow them if they could get away with it.

She found her opinion of Mr. Thornton spinning backwards again, until she remembered her conversation with Jenny and Mary earlier. They had said he was an honest master. They too had spoke of accidents, but that is likely all they were – unfortunate accidents, rather than a deliberate cruelty on Mr. Thornton's part. Margaret also could not see the honorable Mr. Thornton using any of those unjust practices like fining or whipping of children.

Still, she did wonder at other things about the mills. Whether they had enough water closets, or meal breaks. The long hours, the heat, the sickness. The poor children who were kept from schooling in order to work. She began to wonder what she might do to help. She knew there was a labor union for the workers but she did not think she would be successful there. Even Margaret, ignorant of business, knew that masters would be unlikely to listen to a workers' union. They loathed the idea of taking orders from a group of illiterate men who knew little about how a mill was run as a business. She decided she would do more research and then present her ideas to Mr. Thornton. He had been receptive of her face masks. He would have more sway with the other masters as well. She decided she would ask him about his practices on Friday when she met with him about her venture.

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"John, do stop jostling your leg up and down like that," said his mother crossly. "You are shaking the whole table!" Chastised, John made an effort to still his movements. He'd been impatiently waiting in his office for Miss Hale. His mother had come in to ask after the household wages for this month and he had been quite unconscious of what he was doing until she snapped at him. His mother flipped through the mill accounts while John busied himself with retrieving the allotted funds from the safe.

"What has this sum been set aside for?" she demanded suddenly. Pointing at the ledger in the expenditures column, she tapped her finger against a sum of ten pounds. John inwardly cursed at his methodical ways. He'd written it in there to remind himself of the amount Miss Hale had asked for, forgetting that his mother also frequently looked through this book.

"Repairs for the carding equipment," he covered quickly. "I neglected to write in the purpose." He detested lying to her but he was not yet ready to reveal what it was for. He did not want to get her angry preemptively and cause her to lash out at Miss Hale. After the masks had been completed and handed out, he would reveal that it had been all Miss Hale's idea. Then he would try to explain to his mother that Miss Hale was more than just a pretty young woman after his fortune.

He was anxious for his mother to leave so that his time with Miss Hale would be uninterrupted. He'd deliberately scheduled this meeting to coincide with his mother's set time for paying calls. If she didn't leave now, he'd risk Miss Hale arriving at an inopportune moment. Thankfully, she did leave and John got almost no work done, so often did he leap out of his chair to look out the window for Miss Hale's approach. Finally, at one o'clock, a gentle knock sounded on his office door. John stood abruptly. He smoothed back his hair and straightened his cravat. He schooled expression into one approaching calm and opened the door to admit her.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hale."

"Hello, Mr. Thornton. Thank you for meeting with me," she smiled. She was wearing a striking rose coloured gown. He smiled appreciatively and waved her inside, leaving the office door open for propriety's sake.

"Your office is beautiful. Elegant and logical," she told him. She ran her fingers across the spines of his books. "It is the epitome of what the South think's a Northern man's office looks like. I thought that the first time I was here."

"I'm glad I meet with you exacting standards," he returned, with a smile of his own. His heart lifted to hear her say so. He had been wrong earlier in their acquaintance. She was not prejudice against Milton men. It had only been that one incident that upset her, that one hurtful comment. Remembering the reason for her visit, he picked up the two five pound notes on his desk.

"Here you are, as promised. I look forward to seeing your completed work." He frowned as a sudden thought occurred to him. "I have 350 workers in my mill that will require masks. Surely you are not going to make all of them yourself?"

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "I am going to ask the girls in the foundling home for help. They already sew shirts to sell so they are skilled with a needle. I will use some of the funds to pay them for their efforts."

"Ah," his expression cleared. "I remember your father telling me that you helped at the home. How is your maid scheme coming along?"

Miss Hale looked surprised that he remembered. "Quite well, thank you. I've already arranged for two of the girls to be placed with new families."

"I am glad to hear it," John replied. After a moment, he said, "Would you like a tour of the mill? Of all of it? I wish to hear more of your ideas for its improvement, if you would be obliged to share them with me."

She stared dumbfounded for a moment and then beamed at him. "I would indeed. Thank you. Would you believe that despite six months of living in Milton, I have not yet seen any factories in their entirety?" John grinned at that and gestured for her to proceed him out the door. He resisted the temptation to brush his fingers against her gown as she passed.

John guided her to the baling shed, deciding to begin as production did in the mill. The men were hard at work here, breaking and sorting the bales of raw cotton before feeding it into the spinning mill for further breaking, then into the blowing room for cleaning. He caught a piece of the raw fiber and showed it to her, touching his fingers to hers as they exchanged it. She brought it to her nose to smell and then rubbed it between her palms.

"It is so soft already. No wonder Milton cotton has such a reputation for quality. From where do you source it?"

"Egypt. It costs more but the supplies are steadier. I used to import it from the Caribbean but found delivery was disrupted so often that I lost profits. The workers' wages were disrupted often too, as I cannot give them what they are owed until I have received the payments from the buyers."

"I am glad to know you use Egyptian cotton, Mr. Thornton, and not that which is derived from slave labor," said Miss Hale, giving him a relieved smile.

"Ah. Yes." To his shame, John had not thought of it that way. He only ever looked at the books when buying the raw cotton, not who had harvested it. It was simply a coincidence that he had chosen as he had.

"Are all your commissions from London?" Miss Hale asked.

"No, I receive orders from all over the world. Mostly the British Empire but other countries as well. The one I am working to fulfil now is for an American importer." Miss Hale looked impressed by that.

He led her through the baling shed to carding room. The machines and workers were almost invisible due to the thick white flurries of cotton in the shed. He explained how the fibers were detangled and ordered into parallel lines by the carding machines. He'd also pointed out the ventilating wheel and received a satisfied smile in response.

He showed her the spinning room with some trepidation, thinking she might react badly to the necessary bare feet of the workers and the young children required to performing the doffing due to their nimble fingers. She surprised him however, by only glancing briefly at the workers' feet upon the slippery floor. The heat from the fires was intense in this room. John felt sweat break out instantly across his brow. It was also incredibly noisy. There was constant clanking as the mules were moved back and forth. It was not possible to carry a conversation in here, so after observing for a few minutes, he led her out of the shed. He could practically see her thoughts whirring in her mind.

"The heat is to stop the threads from snapping, I assume?"

"That's right. How did you know that?" he asked, perplexed.

Miss Hale's cheeks redden slightly. "I... I read some books on cotton mills after our last conversation. As well as some of those survey's you mentioned. I realized that I knew very little about the industry in Milton. I should know more about the place I live in. And If I am to argue my points with you, I must at least be on equal ground." She pressed her lips together in an effort to hide her grin. John chuckled, delighted to hear her say so.

"I understand they cannot wear shoes, but perhaps a mixture of sand and water could be put on the floor to make it less slippery," she mused. "And the masks to help with the dust. I did not anticipate the sound to be that strong. They must suffer deafness."

"Yes, some of them do." John was fascinated by her quickness of thought. Again, she had shown him that she spent her time thinking and researching cotton mills. He wondered if it was because of her connection with him or because of her connection to Milton. He desperately hoped it was the former.

The two of them stepped out of the way of the bobbin carriers who were running back and forth between the carding and spinning rooms. As the spinning room took elaborate skill to work in, each person moved with crisp efficiency. John explained to Miss Hale that a new worker was trained extensively before being permitted to work in this room. Each team developed personal tricks and codes unique to them and so it took a great deal of communication between them to ensure that no accidents occurred.

John showed her to the weaving room, the only part of the mill she had already seen. As he followed her along the expansive floor to the elevated walkway, John was surprised to see a few of the workers raise their hands to her or greet her with quiet words. He couldn't imagine why they would presume to speak to her. How had she come to know so many of the laboring class? Was it just due to her mask venture, or was their something else at play?

Miss Hale gathered her skirts about her legs and ascended the metal staircase. John was about to follow behind her until he saw the hem of her shift beneath her gown and realized the immodesty of his plan. He quickly averted his eyes away from her until she was at the top and then climbed up after her. He cleared his throat, hoping that she did not notice his sudden discomfort.

"I've spend a great deal of time training workers to complete their tasks within a set timeframe. Anyone who continuously falls below this standard is let go. Less mistakes are made and less material is wasted. Since I took over the mill five years ago, I've managed to increase production and profit twice over. I also rearranged the layout of the mill to be more logical and involve the least amount of physical distance between each process," he told her. She nodded but did not speak. He looked down and saw that Miss Hale was gripping the railings of the walkway quite tightly.

"Are you alright, Miss Hale?" he asked, brow creasing in concern.

"Oh, yes. I'm fine. I've just never been on a platform like this before. I feel rather wobbly all of a sudden. Being able to see the huge drop beneath through the metal flooring is also quite dizzying!" she laughed.

"The platform is very safe. A herd of elephants could walk along it and not bend it an inch," he assured her. She smiled crookedly at his joke.

"Is this where you spend most of your time, Mr. Thornton? Here in the weaving room?"

"I try and go all over the mill. I keep a superintendent in each shed so that production is being continuously watched. I'm summoned if there is a problem that the superintendents cannot fix; machine repair or suchlike. I spend a lot of time in the office as well, going over the business side of things. I do not keep a clerk; I prefer to do that work myself. It keeps me connected to the business," he replied. She looked at him, impressed.

"That's a great deal of work for one man. What is there left for Williams to do?" she teased good-humoredly. John smiled.

"I interfered greatly in the beginning. The habit was too ingrained in me from when I was overseer," he admitted. "I had trouble employing overseers and there was high turn-over in their numbers at the start of my operation. That's largely where my reputation as a ruthless master came from, I suspect."

"Perhaps," Miss Hale smiled. "I have since learnt that there is a difference between a master and a tyrant. I was not exposed to much discipline when I was growing up. My parent's preferred to govern with affection. Even now, I am able to do as I please almost without censure. It was not until I moved here that I realized how odd that was, and it was the reason why I had been so against strict actions in the beginning. But they are needed here, for work like this. I see that now." They were both silent at her words, taking them in. Miss Hale's eyes followed the movements of the children who were scuttling about on the floor. She squared her shoulders, then said, "I have read accounts of masters imposing fines upon their workers. Is that a practice that you follow?"

"No. I see no point in that. Their wages are low enough already."

"And the children are… treated fairly?" she asked hesitantly. John was momentarily confused by that statement until he realized she must have read some horrific account about it in a survey. He spun towards her, impatient to set her straight on that account.

"Yes, of course. They are paid their wage same as everyone else. They work with their parents if it can be arranged. And they are trained to not make mistakes." She relaxed slightly, but was not finished with her interrogation. It sounded to him as though she was checking things off from a list in her mind.

"They are not beaten or whipped? They are not sold to the mill?"

"No, Miss Hale," he told her firmly. "They are not."

She nodded, satisfied with his answers. He frowned as he considered her questions. Then he said, "Those surveys are done so that the public can see what conditions in the mills is truly like. They also force those that run their mills inhumanly to change their ways. The public outcry is such that one cannot continue to do business that way. Milton is a large enough city that a mistreated worker is able to find work at another mill or in another occupation entirely. The masters know this and so have done away with the cruelest practices. I will admit that some of the masters take amusement in riling up their workers, but they do not use the worst of those acts to do so."

"I am relieved to hear you say so, Mr. Thornton. I will admit that I was deeply disturbed by what I read. I am glad to know that your mill is not run in that fashion," said Miss Hale. "But, I must ask, how do you keep order in the mill if there are no fines or corporal punishments? I mean, I am glad there is not, but with this many workers housed together in such a manner, there must always be disputes."

"Aye, there are a fair number of them. But I have devised a system for monitoring their conduct." John pointed to a small cube of wood that was painted a different colour on each side of its face and fixed upon a spike so that it could be rotated. "Do you see those cubes at the end of each loom?"

Miss Hale shifted closer to him to see what he was indicating. It was clear she was looking for something larger than he described and it took her a moment to find the monitor. "Oh. I had not noticed those blocks before. What are they for?"

"Each colour represents a behaviour. Red for 'poor', white for 'indifferent', blue for 'good' and green for 'excellent'. The superintendents rotate the monitor every few days to reflect the weavers conduct to the rest of the workers. They tally up the number of times each colour has been used for each worker, which they show me every two weeks. Those that are continuously in the red are ordered to improve and are dismissed if they do not. Those that are in the green most often are given a reward of a few extra shillings."

Miss Hale listened to his explanation with rapt attention. "That is amazing, Mr. Thornton! What an excellent idea. Do the other masters know of it? Do other mills use this?" she asked excitedly when he finished.

John grinned at her enthusiasm. "They are aware, yes. Most don't use the monitors in their own mills, only Henderson does. Many of them believe that harsh punishments are the only way to be effective. So far, they have been unwilling to listen to my and Henderson's admission that the monitor works just as well, if not better."

"How unfortunate! If only they would comprehend the benefits of it," Miss Hale huffed in annoyance. After grousing for a moment, she turned back to him and tried to lighten the mood.

"The name of your mill is Marlborough, although the other owners name theirs after themselves. Was Marlborough the name of your predecessor?"

"Aye. I did consider changing it, but the previous owner taught me a great deal about the business. All of my early training in cotton came from him. I decided to leave it as a sign of good faith."

"That's a kind gesture," said Miss Hale smiling. "It has a nice ring to it, in addition to the sentiment." She watched the people below them for a time then said, "The workers only get one break halfway through their shift. Do you not find fatigue to be a problem? Surely more mistakes are made towards the end of the day, when the workers are tired."

John nodded his agreement, then sighed heavily. "It is when the most accidents occur as well. I wish it was not so, but nor can I stop production anymore than I already do."

She pursed her lips at that, considering. "What if the workers were given a small break in waves, instead of all at once? It could be arranged to work with the natural flow of the mill." She mimed the movement with her hands. "Those in the baling sheds could stop after a certain number of bales are complete, which would allow the carders a pause after a while, and so on through the mill."

John drummed his fingers on the railing and thought about her words. "It could work," he said slowly. "It would have to trialed and timed with precision. But yes, I believe it could work as you suggest." He bestowed a wide smile on her. "You'll put me out of a job yet," he told her teasingly.

"I am glad you are reflecting on my views, Mr. Thornton. I know I have no experience with the mill," she told him, slightly sheepish.

"On the contrary, Miss Hale, I am pleased to accept them with as much sincerity as I'm sure you make them."

He suggested they continue with the tour, as they had only the warehouse remaining. She maneuvered herself carefully back down the stairs and John made sure not to repeat his earlier mistake of rudely staring at her while she did so. Back out in the mill yard, John guided her to the warehouse where the finished bolts of cloth were stored; wrapped in grease paper to keep them from safe from dirt and moisture. The warehouse was connected to the weaving rooms and had huge doors that opened onto the courtyard, allowing the men to heave the bolts into waiting carts pulled by mules, which then transported the finished product to the canals for shipping; or to other factories for dyeing and printing. He took care to mention that the mules were housed comfortably in the stable at night, along with the pair of carriage horses; all of which was attended to by a stable boy and the groom. Miss Hale asked to visit the stable and John happily obliged her.

"Do you ride, Mr. Thornton?" she asked him, reaching out to pet one of the horses. It leant its head out of the stall to lip at her hand for a treat. She giggled.

"No, I do not. We did not own riding horses when I was growing up. And of course, it was not possible when I was older."

"Of course," she echoed faintly, her brow creasing in sorrow. She did not continue with that line of thought and John was grateful. He did want to tell her more about his childhood, but not right now. He did not want to spoil the perfect day with such unhappy thoughts. As though sensing that desire, Miss Hale changed the subject.

"Do you call a surgeon for your workers if they become ill while here at work?"

"If it is severe enough; accidents or fainting fits. Fanny claims to suffer from nervous spasms," John paused to huff at that, expressing to her exactly what he though of Fanny and her faux complaints; Miss Hale smiled, "and she uses a Dr. Donaldson and that is who we call for the workers. He charges exorbitant fees but Fanny likes him so I've kept with him."

"Have you inquired at the charity hospital?" When John shook his head in the negative, she continued. "The surgeon there is highly skilled and efficient. I'm sure he would not be opposed to your bringing workers into the hospital for treatment, provided a small annuity was donated to the hospital. It would be cheaper than using that physicians that indulges Fanny's fainting fits in an effort to rob you of your money," she told him shrewdly. John snorted. There was truth in that indeed.

John walked slowly with Miss Hale back to the entry gate. He did not want her to leave.

"Thank for taking the time to show me around, Mr. Thornton. It was most instructive. I must also tell you that I think it wonderful what you have done. How you have accomplished all this on her own merit. I admire that."

"I – ah. Thank you." John's heart stuttered at the compliment in a way that it never had before when others more experienced than she had praised his work. Miss Hale took her leave. He bid her goodbye softly. John stood at the gate and watched her walk back towards Crampton. Not until the last possible moment did he turn back into the mill.

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*Authors Note 1: In the BBC film, John says he sources cotton from America. I wrestled with this issue for a long time before deciding to change it to Egypt, even though this is not historically accurate for the time, as Egypt did not become a main cotton exporter until the American Civil War in the 1860s forced the Americans to give up their stronghold on the cotton trade for a while. But American cotton plantations used slaves to pick the cotton and Margaret would have known this. She would have resented the terrible treatment of the slaves in the same way she resents the poor conditions of the labourers in Milton. I did consider the idea that she did not know about it, but, again, that would have been unrealistic for her inquisitive personality. I also considered setting it in a fictional past where slavery never happened but that would have been incredibly disrespectful of me. And so I chose to source the cotton from Egypt.

*Authors Note 2: In the Victorian era, there were three classes of medical people; a physician was a member of the gentry and referred to as Dr., a surgeon was considered a tradesman (because their work consisted of manual labor, which disqualified them from the gentry) referred to as Mr., and an apothecary who supplied medicines but could also be asked to give medicine advice, also a tradesman. By calling a physician for his workers, John is showing Margaret the he does not, in fact, think his workers are beneath him.