Chapter 38 – English Lace
AN: I could not find the information required to make this chapter as authentic as I would have liked. If I have anything historically incorrect, please let me know and I'll make corrections. Usually, I search the internet to make my stories congruent with the Regency time period. In this case, I'm setting the current chapters in June 1810. King George III was officially declared 'mad' in June, about the time I've set Darcy and Lizzy's wedding. This would place their initial meeting in 1809, when the Napoleonic war was raging and thus the need for a militia. My OCD goes mad when I find an internal inconsistency with one of my stories. I count on my amazing readers to point out any issues.
"Oh, grow up, Charles," Caroline Bingley harshly remonstrated her brother.
They had been sitting in the small breakfast room in his new London Townhome a fortnight past when Caroline heard of Darcy's engagement and Charles set down his ultimatum for her future. He'd been forced to purchase the home to keep his slovenly brother-in-law Hurst from debtor's prison. It seemed as if his family were trying to cause him no end of trouble. Even with the purchase, Hurst had been left with little but one small estate worth two or three thousand a year. Remarkably, the man seemed to sober up and take an interest in his inheritance, understanding this to be his last chance at redemption. Bingley declared he would not bail the man out again. Away from the dissembling influence of the ton, it seemed Hurst finally understood he must learn to stand on his own two feet.
And so must I, Bingley's mind offered unhappily, watching the busy street below the window of his Scarborough townhouse.
The words spoken by his most difficult relative continued to reverberate in Charles Bingley's ears as he raced to save his business and the source of his wealth. An express came from his man of business, urging he return at all speed. In the fortnight since Charles Bingley understood Darcy's fondness for standing before a window and staring out at the world beyond. Hemmed in on all sides and constrained, it offered a prospect beyond whatever troubled him at the time. It seemed his problems vanished, if only for a few moments.
"Sir?" questioned Mr Clay, Bingley's sectary.
Three men stood beside the retainer, waiting for Bingley's decisions. Initially forced to journey to Scarborough in the midst of winter, and remain for the months of February and March, Charles diligently applied himself to his interests in the hope of remaining in London for the remainder of the season. The mines and factories could not be left to his subordinates indefinitely. Overseeing his businesses from a distance required at least two or three visits to his familiar home each year. Bingley scheduled these duty calls around his social calendar. That would no longer be possible, as Darcy predicted in one of their discussions while hiding from Caroline at Netherfield.
"What is being done to put down this unrest?" Bingley challenged, turning to face the local magistrate, the mill manager and his man of business in Scarborough. For the third time this week, the frames at his mill had been set alight.
"Guards have been posted overnight," Mr Stone, the mill manager, offered in an apologetic tone, "to stop the pilfering and setting of fires."
"Little good they'll do," the magistrate, a local gentleman who knew the Bingley family well, responded. As a gentleman, he looked down upon the tradesman's son, especially as he flaunted his wealth. Most of the shipbuilders or hoteliers retained residences in the city to oversee their business, and remained year-round, partaking of the amusements offered by the local society. The factory and mine owners spent the better part of the year directing their investments from their country homes within the shire. They also enjoyed the delights offered by the seaside resort town. "Many workers are at least sympathetic to or accomplices with the Luddite movement. You have not kept up with the comings and goings since removing to London," Mr Hemsworth felt he could not miss the chance to berate the fickle younger man.
"I am here now and what I do with my time is my business," Bingley glared at the magistrate. Taking in a deep breath, he continued in a calmer tone, "what is their concern?"
"Sir," neither the sectary nor the other gentlemen seemed to have anything to offer.
Cursing under his breath, Charles had done exactly as his sister bid. Not because of her dictate. Rather, this last year forced him to grow in both character and sense. It seemed Hurst and Louisa joined him at Netherfield last year, not to enjoy his company, but to maintain appearances and their way of life. Hurst's creditors had been waiting in the wings when the family returned to London. It took most of January to sort out that mess. Of course, Louisa had little idea of her husband's debts, and so abetted her sister in their removal from Hertfordshire and the presence of Miss Jane Bennet. Had she been aware of the great changes in her circumstance, Bingley suspected his elder sister would have been happy to remain in the country forever.
Then there had been Darcy. Always reminding Bingley of his responsibilities as he attempted to settle into Netherfield and the role of a landed gentleman. Requesting his friend join the family party had been a double-edged sword. The Master of Pemberley instilled the qualities required of a good landlord, insisting Bingley learn from his example. The fact Darcy knew every tenant by name and concern within a fortnight, encouraged Charles to do the same. There was little Darcy would not do himself, if required, in the name of keeping his tenants safe and loyal to his estate. Bingley struggled to take his friend's likeness, even if he had hopes of one-day purchasing property and running it at profit. The days spent at Netherfield became demanding with more to learn than he managed to grasp. Not until he'd been called to Scarborough, did Charles Bingley truly appreciate his friend's sage advice and wisdom, for it related just as well to his mines and factories as managing an estate.
"I have journeyed to Scarborough," Bingley did not raise his voice, but let his displeasure be known in a low, cold tone, "to save my factories and mines. Yet, you offer me no solution. If we are to stop this, we must know why the Luddites continue to attack my business. Perhaps it is time I make a personal visit."
The mill manager and magistrate spluttered at this idea, for vastly different reasons. It was not to be born, a master dirtying his hands. However, Bingley knew Darcy would do the same if this were a dispute with a tenant. Considering the idea further, Charles knows how he must act.
"Mr Wallingsworth," he addressed the magistrate with a grim expression, "who leads these Luddites?"
"I have only vague suspicions," the man responded carefully, obviously not willing to give anything away.
"Clay," Bingley turned to his sectary, "Mr Wallingsworth will supply you the name of the man most likely to be the organiser of this group. Have him investigated and arrange a meeting at the local Inn. I wish to canvass his opinions. Make it a place that is private, but where he will be comfortable and willing to discuss what is on his mind without fear of reprisal."
"Sir," Mr Stone started to object. Only to be followed by the others as they also voiced their discontent at the plan.
Holding up his hand, Bingley silenced them. "I do not believe it is these protestors, as I have made changes to my factories and mines."
"Then you have a suspect?" the Magistrate eyed the Tradesman warily.
Few considered the younger Bingley ready to inherit his father's thriving business empire upon his sudden death three years ago. Long absences from Scarborough commenced when the lad attended a prodigious school near London, and then Cambridge to gain a gentleman's education. He showed a lack of interest in the mines and factories, preferring the social prospects in London to their rural but fashionable city. Charles Bingley might be a lively, congenial fellow, but few thought he possessed the wit, cunning or wisdom required to manage his inheritance.
"I do," Bingley offered with a frown, "but I'm not willing to make an accusation until I have proof. Until then, I thank you for your time and I bid you a good day, Mr Wallingsworth."
Unhappy to be summarily dismissed, the magistrate took his leave. He would discuss this very unusual interview with his fellow landowners. It seemed Mr Bingley had finally taken up residence in Scarborough and would not leave any time soon. That being the case, they had plans to make.
"Mr Stone, how go the improvements we discussed?" Bingley hardly waited for the magistrate to leave his home before turning on the remaining men.
Stone turned to glance at the man standing beside him and then back to Bingley, which told a story Charles did not wish to hear. Darcy spoke of his English Lace project only once. On returning to London from Kent in April, the two met and Darcy confessed to his part in the Miss Bennet debacle. They'd spoken of Caroline's future and Mr Gilliam aided Charles to draw up the contracts releasing the interest from her dowry. In the last fortnight, Miss Bingley had taken up the challenge, accepting every invitation from her fashionable friends in the hunt for a husband. Charles's housekeeper kept him informed of her movements. It seemed the putdown the night Darcy introduced Miss Elizabeth to society at the theatre turned her eye towards a very different target.
Turning his mind back to the issue at hand, Bingley recalled asking Darcy many questions about his English Lace experiment. Considering his mills, Charles finally understood the poor conditions of the workers. Wishing to make improvements, he had laid down funds for a school. Mr Stone was to increase wages and decrease a day's work to twelve hours. No child below the age of ten should be employed when they had access to schooling. He could not abide by a woman almost at her confinement toiling, so had considered the issue at length but not come up with any plans.
Mr Horvath, his attorney and man of business in Scarborough had been quiet until now, but would not remain so. "Mr Bingley, I should like to discuss this matter with you in private."
Charles turned his gaze on the man, his eyes narrowing at the contrite expression he noted and made a snap decision. Going to the bell pull, he called for his butler. Returning to face the three men he paid well for their service, Bingley allowed his expression to harden. Not one of them would meet his eye, which increased Charles's suspicions.
"Mercer," Bingley greeted his butler when the imposing man answered the summons, "have my valet find clothing suitable for a visit to the mills. I wish my horse brought round. Oh, and one for Mr Stone…"
"I do not ride, Mr Bingley," the mill manager stated, somewhat startled by the inclusion. His eyes wide with terror, he glanced between master and butler. "I came by hackney."
"Then tell the stable master a gentle horse is required. I shall be away the rest of the afternoon," Charles smiled in dismissal.
"Very good, sir," Mercer bowed and left to carry out his orders.
Bingley's expression changed to slightly ominous when addressing his sectary. "Clay, find time on the morrow for Mr Horvath. I shall require several hours to go over the details in his report, which I wish on my desk by the time I return this evening."
Understanding they had been dismissed, the pair shared a glance before taking their leave with a bow. Bingley then left Mr Stone waiting in the entry hall. Looking at the fellow as he climbed the stairs, Charles was reminded of Hurst in the days after his downfall. Stone had that same look, which did not bode well for the unannounced visit to the mill. Heaving in a large breath, Bingley knew he would soon be looking for a new set of advisors. It seemed these men had taken his good faith and used it for their own gain. He would not allow that to occur again. In deciding so, Bingley understood his tenure in Scarborough would be of some duration.
Dressed in borrowed servant clothing, Bingley and Stone arrived at the Mill in the middle of the afternoon. The reason for dressing down soon became apparent the moment Bingley stepped onto the factory floor. Ordered to introduce his companion as Mr Charles, the workers believed the new man to be Mr Stone's apprentice and treated him with respectful distrust. It seemed few liked or confided in Mr Stone.
Bingley's youth worked for him, allowing him to carefully observe everything in the textile mill. On the floor, he could not hear a word Mr Stone uttered. When the older man suggested the removal to his office, Bingley agreed. However, he needed to ask the manager about the hand signals between the workers. They seemed to use gestures to communicate. Charles found the movements poetic and intriguing.
A scream rent the air as the tour concluded with a climb up the stairs to Mr Stone's office on the mezzanine level. Pivoting on one foot, Bingley noticed the issue immediately. Appalled at the conditions suffered by his workers, he'd intended to take the manager to task for not starting to introduce his improvements. It seemed none of the written instructions following the discussion with Darcy had been enacted.
"Your there," Bingley demanded of the shift supervisor when he came close enough to shout at the man, "what has happened?"
"Stupid young'n got his hand caught in the…" the supervisor's words were lost as the cuffed the child on the head.
"Stop the machines," Bingley bellowed.
One of the men, obviously understanding over the din, made a signal. Within seconds the gesture was passed along until the shuttles stopped weaving and the frames fell silent. Only the child's heart-wrenching sobs could be heard throughout the mill.
"Don't just stand there," Bingley ordered when few seemed to move, "get the doctor."
"Who does he think he is," a woman snickered, not use to the quiet, her voice echoed in the large room.
"I," Bingley stood to his full height, "am Charles Bingley, the owner of this establishment. No, go get the doctor, man."
"There ain't no doctor," another woman, closer to the owner stated in a mournful tone, "or apothecary, closer than town."
"Then have the child's parents called," Bingley demanded of the woman brave enough to answer him.
"They be dead," another worker offered as he stepped forward. "Father in a mine accident near on a year ago. Mother of childbed fever the year before. Please, don't sack him sir, he got three younger siblings to feed."
"Even without an arm," a small girl, not more than eight or nine in Bingley's estimation, pulled on his sleeve. She understood this man was important and hadn't yet learned to keep silent. "My brother John can work the shuttles once he heals."
While the workers took a chance, pleading the young man's case, others aided him. They worked as a well-oiled team. Stemming the flow of blood with a belt above the injury, they soon had the child sipping from a flask. When he'd had enough to make the pain beardly tolerable, they cut though his mangled limb.
"Stone," Bingley bellowed once the child had been removed and placed in the care of his very young sister. The manager retreated to his office when Charles ordered a rider to go for the doctor at his expense. He'd remained there ever since. Storming up the stairs, Bingley threw the door open, slamming it closed to show his displeasure. "I came to see the instructions I gave you in February carried out. I see none of the improvements, which begs the question. Where have the funds gone?"
Owen Stone did not plead for his position. He did not promise to do better. Bingley, as much as he wished to, did not release him without reference immediately. Charles knew he needed men such as Stone to continue running his mills and mines in the short term. However, if they thought he would continue to be an absent master, they had much to learn. Determined to stop the needless injury he'd witnessed today, the conversation with Darcy about his English Lace Project finally started to make sense.
Returning home after viewing the slums where the young boy and his three younger siblings lived, Bingley pledged himself to their care and keep. Many of the tenants had been only too eager to share their stories when they understood the master would willingly listen. Many were deaf from the sound of the machines, inventing their own sign language in order to communicate. Others lost a limb or fingers. The frames were packed too tightly, making it impossible for any but the smallest to reach them when a shuttle stopped. Children went without meals, growing weak, their bones contorted into odd shapes as they continued to toil for hours every day.
"This is not to be born," Bingley raged while washing the dirt and grime of the day away. He felt wretched at the level of neglect, which could only be laid upon his shoulders.
I thought, he continued silently, enjoying the heat on strained muscles, a competitor had arranged to set my factory on fire. Darcy said he had similar issues with the English Lace Project. Others do not want change. They wish to continue using their fellow man as a resource. I cannot allow that to occur. I no longer wonder at these Luddite's reasons for destroying property. The reason is plain for anyone to see. And the children tell me the work in the mines is worse. How can that be so? Tomorrow I will visit and see for myself. I have much to learn if I wish to be the kind of man who can respect himself.
A very long week later, a list of improvements that could be afforded immediately lay on his desk. The funds he'd sent for the initial improvements had been squandered by Mr Stone and Mr Horvath, improving their lot in life. Bingley would never see a penny of the money returned, so he took it from their wages for the weeks they would remain in his employ.
Fully opening the family home, Charles Binley began firing those men he could not trust and employed others who would work with him to create a new model for his businesses. While his father's companies might not make the same profit under his direction, they would profit in other ways. It would be many years before his family could remove the stench of trade, for the funds set aside to purchase an estate had been consumed. Firstly, by Hurst, and then in the improvement of conditions for his workforce. Yet, Bingley felt useful for the first time in his life.
Picking up another parchment on his desk, Bingley sighed. Any thoughts of attending his friend's fast approaching wedding in London would have to be cancelled. The opportunity to meet up with Miss Bennet once again must wait until he could take a fortnight in July to visit Pemberley. It would take two days hard travel to get to Darcy's estate. Bingley learnt many lessons over the month of May. He now wrote slowly and carefully so his instructions and meaning were not blotted. His ideas continued to flow quickly, so he wrote them down before commencing on any correspondence.
"Oliver," Charles called to his new sectary.
When the older man with only one hand answered, Bingley, handed him the sealed parchment.
"Express, Sir," Oliver enquired a smile on his lips and one eyebrow raised.
"Please," the master sighed. "That will be all for tonight, Oliver. Go home to your wife and family."
"Very good, Sir," he bowed.
Oliver had been one of the monumental changes. Employing those with injuries and ailments in his home and factories lifted Bingley's reputation with the workers, but not the other factory owners. A building had been purchased for an orphanage, caring for those like young John and his siblings. Another for a school and two teachers engaged to commence in August. Children were still employed, until the factory could be expanded, leaving more room between the frames, making the mill's safer. He would tackle change in the mines next. It would be a long process, but a challenge Bingley anticipated with some relish.
"It is a tangled web we weave," Bingley shook his head as he headed to bed. His life had become a lonely one. He did not socialise as those in his class were learning to despise him. They made their disdain of his new-fashioned ideas abundantly clear at any event he attended by giving him the cut direct. Yet, he knew Darcy would applaud his efforts to make himself a better man.
Not that it matters what anyone thinks, Bingley reminded himself with a heavy sigh. If I wish to become a better man, it has to be because it is what I want. I cannot help but look back on my years without trepidation, knowing I was such a fool. I followed blindly, never giving thought to anything deeper than my own pleasure. In this, I have been no better than Caroline.
"And now Caroline has gone and thrown herself at Sir Snowden," Bingley spoke aloud to dispel his feelings of melancholy, "because he has a title and wealth. Her compromise is all over London. Mrs White writes that the servants have not stopped speaking of her in terms that are perilous to her reputation. Well, he has an heir and a spare by his first wife. She will be little more than an ornament on his arm the few times each year he travels to town to business. For a woman who scorns the country, she has chosen her husband very ill. The man hates company more than Darcy. At least she will be someone else's problem next week and I will have time to concentrate on the many issues that face me."
Four days later, Sir Archibald married Miss Caroline Bingley. Mr Gilliam handled the settlement on Bingley's behalf with instructions the gentleman left while arranging the release of her dowry. They were wed from London in an intimate ceremony. Neither Charles nor Louisa were disposed to attend, nor would they, had the bride wished their presence. Sir Archibald and Lady Snowden left from the church door for his country estate, much to Caroline's displeasure. Any thoughts of a grand wedding tour were summarily obstructed by her new husband.
Bingley's express arrived at Leighwood the same day as the announcement in the paper. Darcy could not wait to discuss this news with his betrothed. As Elizabeth and Jane were taking tea with Lady Cowper and Jersey, it would have to wait. They were engaged to go to the opera on Saturday night. Perhaps he would manage a few moments alone with his soon to be bride. Although, he intended to put them to better use than speaking of Caroline Bingley.