"I've brought you a basket."
Edith thumped the wicker vessel on John's work desk. He looked up at her with a teasing eye.
"My, Edith. How have you reduced yourself so low as to visit your impossible brother while working at the 'stinking brewery?'" John kept his face solemn but a smile tugged at his lips. He loved his sister, but she often forgot how hard he worked for the things that she enjoyed. Her fashions, her parties, her lavish ornaments and other frivolous purchases were always topics of contention between them. Still, she was fiercely loyal and he had come to appreciate her friendship.
"Hush you or I'll take it right back." She scowled at him, and John thought better of his teasing.
"What has prompted this visit?" John lifted the towel covering the basket to find a selection of tea-cakes, cheeses and meats. It was not lost on John that Edith had chosen his favorite selections. He watched her adjust her skirts and sit in the chair directly across from his desk, wondering what bad news she brought.
"I want to know what is about with the Band of Hope." She pulled a leaflet out of her dress pocket and handed it to John. It was one he'd seen before, but his sister's interest in it set him on edge.
"They believe in abstinence from drink." John answered, knowing that the pamphlet said as much. "Its of no concern to me – unless you are planning on joining their ranks?" He raised an eyebrow at his sister.
Edith pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at John, clearly not pleased with his affected indifference.
"There is going to be a march, John."
This news surprised him. The Band of Hope was a radical movement often populated by church going citizens who believed that alcohol was morally wrong and socially degrading. Off and on he'd had to field questions about how the liquors his distillery manufactured might be causing alcoholic men to become homeless, abusive, or to die prematurely. He answered those concerns the same way each time. He was not responsible for the shortcomings of others. Do men not also kill themselves with knives, guns, and rope? Should all of these be banned in order to protect those weak enough to succumb to them?
His answers had always been enough to steer conversation to more pleasant matters. He'd never, however, had to quiet a rally of the Band of Hope. He suspected that when gathered en masse the voices of the fanatics who dared him to close his business – his livelihood and that of his family – would be harder to speak over. They had even had some success in banning the manufacture and sale of spirits in other cities.
"Where did you hear this?" John held his concern and stilled his expression into one of mild interest.
"A woman on the corner just outside of the house." Edith's voice made clear her discomfort at having such people so close to her home. "They will march from the Presbyterian church to the Brewery."
That was a concern. The thought of a throng of Teetotalists marching through the city streets and assembling in front of his brewery – in front of his house flooded John with indignation and anger.
"When?" he asked, working harder to keep his face calm.
"They are hoping a week Sunday," Edith answered with dismay. She was less able to control her emotions and John knew that she was worried.
"I'll take care of it," John replied. He hoped that his sister wouldn't fret. John was a man of responsibility, and this was his problem to solve. Edith's worrying would only cause him guilt.
To her credit, Edith was more than happy to lay this burden with John and wash her hands of it.
"I know you will," She said, visibly relaxed.
Unpleasantness aside, Edith took lunch with John, sharing the basket of goodies she'd brought. John did not let on the anxious need to learn more about the Band of Hope's plans, or his intense desire to be alone with his thoughts. Edith retreated back into lighter topics, most notably Kitty Price and her ever-pleasant disposition.
"Really John, you must consider her. She is so sweet and kind. More importantly she is the only woman I've ever met with enough cheer to survive your constant brooding," Edith prodded.
John shook his head.
"I do not 'brood' Edith. I am simply busy. I have a lot on my mind," He countered, not willing to address the topic of Miss Price.
"You scowl, John. Everyone notices it. Ladies are afraid of you!" She continued, her stubbornness morphing into blunt rudeness. "Miss Wilde said it was the only thing she remembers of your encounter," Edith put in as further evidence.
John's eyebrows shot up. Why would Edith have spoken to Miss Wilde about him? He wondered back over the incident in the alleyway and tried to remember what might have caused Miss Wilde to say such a thing. He was surprised to find himself hurt at the thought that he might have scared her or come off as unkind. What did it matter, he wondered to himself.
"I give no thought to how Miss Wilde might remember me." John met his sister's gaze with a look that allowed no further discussion.
Edith narrowed her eyes at her brother's response, but did not pursue the questions he had raised in her mind.
"Good. Miss Price, on the other hand, thinks very fondly of you."
The following evening, John stood in the company of Ilchester's most influential merchants, importers, brewers, and hospitality owners to discuss the looming threat of the Band of Hope's march. He had discovered that Gerrhardt Distillery and Brewery wasn't their only target; two other groups were planned to march from the church, one to a prominent spirits merchant and the other to a public house. The stakes felt heavier with each passing day.
"We've got to find a way to keep them from marching," Nathaniel Black, a good friend of John's, began. "They've got public opinion—or at least they think they have—and that makes them feel righteous enough to disrupt the city and our livelihoods."
"There is seldom an argument when both sides do not think themselves righteous," John replied mildly, though his gaze was sharp as he looked around the room.
"Well, it's not just about their righteousness," Trent Witehall cut in. "Did we all forget about '54? There were riots then, and the law was repealed."
John nodded, recalling the chaos after the Sale of Beer Act. Restricting Sunday beer sales had seemed trivial compared to the outright abolition the Band of Hope was now promoting. Witehall, who supplied several of the city's pubs, was a good customer of John's but also a good source of public opinion.
"Yes," John Turner, a distillery owner, added, "but they don't need a law to bankrupt us. All they need is for people to stop drinking. Half my sales happen within a days delivery - it'd strike my profits in half if I had to get outside the county for a sale."
"Then what? Shall we resort to pamphleteering ourselves?" another man chimed in, his voice tinged with frustration.
"No, we must be more organized than that," John said firmly. "It was one thing when they were teaching children temperance. But now they're painting us as the cause behind incivility and ruin. They say we're responsible for homelessness, hardship—condemning this city to Hell, single-handedly." He looked around the room, his voice steady but resolute. "This is nonsense. It has no basis in fact. If we can simply make our case to the public—"
"Aye," Nathaniel picked up the thread. "We'll be the perfect example of civility and appropriate conduct."
John allowed himself a small, approving smile at his friend's understanding. "Exactly. We must engage the debate on our terms and in a manner that reflects our integrity."
"'Protect yourself from other people's bad manners by a conspicuous display of your own good ones,'" Witehall quoted, his tone half-serious.
Nathaniel nodded. "But what does that look like, John? The Band of Hope is staging picnics and rallies."
"Those are aimed at children," Turner countered dismissively. "I don't mind losing those sales. It's the working men and the gentlemen we need to keep."
There was a murmur of agreement around the room. The men began to discuss how best to counter the Band of Hope's influence over the working class and dissuade the masses from joining the march. Ideas ranged from public meetings to letters of appeal, though none felt sufficient to quell the mounting tide of opposition.
As the discussion wound down, the men began to leave, their voices fading into the night air. John lingered behind, standing near the window as he watched the city lights flicker in the distance. The faint hum of industry reached his ears, a constant reminder of the lives tied to the work of men like him.
John's jaw tightened as he thought of the Band of Hope's rhetoric. They weren't entirely wrong—he'd seen the toll drink could take on the families in Havert District. But their solution felt reckless, like treating a festering wound by severing the limb entirely. What would become of the families who relied on the breweries, the distilleries, the glassworks? What of the workers who depended on honest labor to feed their children?
The weight of it settled over him like a heavy cloak. For the first time in years, John felt not just the burden of running his business, but the enormity of its place within Ilchester. He turned away from the window, his expression hardening. They could plan, debate, and strategize, but they had to succeed. Too many lives depended on it.
Margaret adjusted her bonnet to shield her eyes from the bright sunshine. She had convinced Helen to join on her morning walk and hoped to make a mends for her earlier insensitive prodding.
"Thank you for accompanying me, Helen." Margaret began shakily. Helen had not been unkind, but had been distant for several days. Margaret knew it was her own doing and scolded herself inwardly for being so meddling.
Helen nodded, but didn't speak. She went on.
"I wanted to apologize for the other day. I'm so sorry to have scrutinized you at the dinner table in that way." She turned in her walking to see her cousin's face.
Helen kept her head bowed, looking at the brick path below them.
Margaret took a deep breath and led the way. She had become rather familiar with the city and could now walk comfortably to the bookstore - by the main roads rather than the alleys - the church, the library and several of Jude's friends' homes including Thornton House.
"I believe I've worked out what it is that draws you to Mr. Powel," Margaret continued, hoping that her next words would offer the comfort of a confidant and not the embarrassment of being found out.
Helen still didn't look up but offered a murmur of "Mmm?"
"Its Mathew," Margaret went on, "You liked him – loved him maybe – until he met Jude."
Helen stopped walking and looked up at Margaret, her face full of distress.
"Oh please don't tell Jude! She wouldn't ever do anything to hurt me, and I don't want her to know."
Margaret smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She held out her elbow to Helen who took it.
"Its our secret. But do you honestly want to marry Mr. Powel as consolation?" She pressed.
The two paused to look before crossing an intersection and Margaret smiled inwardly at her near death weeks ago.
"Oh Maggie…" Helen paused for a moment and the two walked in silence. "I don't. But I'm afraid now it is too late. Mr. Powel is a kind man and I do not want to hurt him with my pettiness."
Margaret pressed Helen's hand on her arm. "Oh Helen. Wouldn't he be more injured living with a wife who does not want him?"
Helen was quiet for some distance and the pair walked until they found themselves on the library steps. Margaret hoped she hadn't offended her cousin by implying Helen was doing injury to Mr. Powel. She only wanted Helen to see that marriage to a man for unjust reasons is painful for both parties.
"Perhaps you are right." Helen spoke at last. "Perhaps I should talk to him about it." She looked up at Margaret with bright, kind eyes. "At the very least I do think he and I are friends. Perhaps he will understand."
Margaret nodded and opened her mouth to reply. She was interrupted by a screeching voice nearby and whirled to see what it was.
"March to save our souls!" A man shouted from the top of the library steps, handing out leaflets to anyone who passed him. "Protect our children from the Devil's Drink!" He cried. "Sign the pledge!"
Seeing the ladies looking at him, the man crossed the steps and handed a leaflet to them both.
"There's a march missus, two weeks of Sunday. We are going to put an end to this nasty business." With that, he resumed his original post and began shouting once more.
"What on Earth is the Band of Hope?" Helen asked, reading the leaflet.
"I'm not sure," Margaret replied, flipping the document over in her hands.