Kinnison shared a sideways grin with Darcy, who nodded and smiled faintly. Darcy was not a heavy drinker by any means, a few youthful overindulgences having taught him severe lessons in moderation; but he did not fully ascribe to the near satanic, sinful qualities attributed to alcohol by some. Nonetheless, having been witness to the tragic results of drunkenness in terms of domestic violence and financial ruin--especially amongst the lower classes, although on occasion in his own peer group--he did sympathize with the temperance movement. Frankly, as a man of superior self-control, Darcy had little patience for men who chronically over imbibed and considered it a hideous character flaw.
As a company policy, alcohol of any kind was prohibited on the mill grounds. Its possession was grounds for immediate dismissal. The idea that employees would jeopardize their livelihood and lives for a drink filled him with a simmering rage. "Do we know the finer details?"
Kinnison spoke up, Shultz still glowering and muttering under his breath. "It took a bit of time. A few threats, intimidation, and cajoling, but they finally gave us enough."
They were inside now, the aroma of smoke and burnt cotton heavy in the air in spite of the widely open windows. Unconsciously, each man retrieved a handkerchief to place over his nose. They walked down the seemingly endless rows of liquid-filled vats and gigantic tables where the bleaching, scouring, dyeing, and other finishing procedures were carried out. Darcy was relieved to note that they were heading away from the separated rooms where the two steam engines were located, those machines being by far the most expensive, not to mention necessary for all other operations to take place. They walked up a curved stairway to the second floor where they traversed long aisles between the weaving looms. Now standing idle with the threads in various stages of completion, the powerful machines were undamaged. They mounted the sooty stairs leading to the third floor spinning room while Kinnison continued, voice muffled behind cloth.
"Not too original, Darcy. A bit of holiday cheer, as it were, to accompany a lively faro game. They holed up by the stacks of rovings where it is warmer. It was early afternoon, but yesterday was cloudy, so apparently they brought in extra oil lamps; the better to see the cards, you understand?" He finished with heavy sarcasm and a shake of his head. "Plain stupidity!"
"The lamps are to be kept mounted and well away from the cotton; they all know that." Shultz mumbled, faint German accent notable as it always was when distressed or angry.
"Apparently, Hendle happened upon their entertainment, demanded they clear out, but the four were well into their cups and a fight ensued. Somehow a lamp was overturned." He paused to rub his eyes, continuing in a thick voice, "Hendle ran to the water pumps they tell me, but it gets confused from there on out. The others joined the scene and quenched the fire eventually, but not before Hendle and the others had died. What a waste!"
They halted before a bank of spinning mules, blackened with ash and soot but otherwise intact. Beyond was a scorched, smoking, wet mess of destroyed machinery and piles of burned fiber bundles extending thirty feet to the southern brick wall. Jagged, blackened gaps were visible in the floor and the ceiling, the fire having obviously risen to encompass the fourth level. The ceiling was essentially gone, with thick crossbeams in varying degrees of charred thickness the only support for the ruined carding machines above. The massive contraptions were scorched and twisted with melted metal pieces jutting, the entire row of mangled devices perched precariously.
Shultz gestured above. "The spinners and rovings acted as wicks, funneling the flames to the fourth floor. It looks like the damage is worst up there. Thanks to you, Darcy, we had those water pumps installed, otherwise the fire would have raged unchecked."
"Our first order of business is to remove those carders before they break the beams and plummet through to the bottom floors and cause more damage." Darcy said with a curt signal to several of the loitering men, who nodded and hastened to organize a group of workers for the task. "Any idea how much cleaned cotton was sitting here?"
Shultz scratched at his chin and sighed. "Well, the stacks line the walls here, piled to just below the windows. Freshly prepared bundles are replenished via the far lifts as quickly as they are set to the spinners. I have detailed invoices in my office. Looks like those on the extreme edges may be salvageable."
While he spoke he indicated the area of destruction before them, Darcy's mind performing rapid calculations as he considered the quantities. The walls between floors rose roughly fifteen feet with wide windows all around. The southern wall spanned at least fifty feet, the middle bulk of which was a black, faintly smoldering, and soggy mess.
Shultz was continuing, "Some of these spinners may be repairable. I have three new mules in the warehouse and dozens of spare parts from others that have worn out. Guess we should head upstairs. At least this end of the top floor is just machinery. The raw bales are at the northern end where they are hoisted up."
The group made their way to the stairs, Shultz relating the warehouse inventory as they walked. The inspection was thorough, Darcy calling for parchment and quill to take detailed notes. Eventually, Richard left per Darcy's request to secure rooms for them at the Georgian and to dispatch a note to Pemberley assuring of their safe arrival. It was a long day with Darcy and Kinnison spending the bulk of it in Shultz's office on the ground level, bent over the desk and long table with jackets removed and shirt sleeves rolled up as they pored over invoices and inventory lists. Pages of parchment were written in Darcy's firm hand, itemizing the damage.
Most of the men were put to work on the cleaning and removing. Others returned to the unscathed portions of the factory where the women waited; the steam engines powered up as the sequence of milling cotton from its raw, ginned state to completed weave resumed. Cotton needed processing and orders needed filling, no one wanting to waste any more time or revenue than necessary.
It was well after sundown when Darcy finally eased his aching, exhausted body into a hot tub. With a groan of relief, he sank into the water, eyes closing. For the first time since leaving home, he allowed his thoughts to stray toward wife and son. With clarity, he conjured the image of his family lounging in the parlor, son complacently being passed from devoted relative to relative with serious countenance breaking into sunny smiles at each face encountered. Darcy could hear the adult laughter and infant giggles as he was tickled and nuzzled, always the beloved center of attention.
As an abrupt epiphany, it dawned on him that he would miss his baby's one-month birthday! His eyes flew open and chest constricted in true sorrow. The ironic part was that he and Elizabeth had not talked about celebrating the date, nor had it consciously occurred to Darcy to mark it in any significant way, yet he knew without any doubt that they would have done so. In disgust, he sat up in the bathtub, irritatingly grabbing the soap and attacking his grimy skin with force.
In London, upon the incident of their first lengthy separation, Darcy had foolishly believed that separating from his wife would grow easier with time. He now accepted that the distress merely multiplied. Now he had to add to the agony of missing Elizabeth the pain of missing Alexander. It came as a bit of a surprise to recognize how thoroughly Alexander had wrapped around his father's heart as an individual.
He joined Richard for a delicious and much needed full course dinner feeling depressed and subdued. Richard seemed uncommonly downcast as well, conversation was minimal, and both men retired to their rooms immediately after dinner. Darcy spent what remaining energy he possessed writing to Lizzy, telling about the day's events and assuring her that he would be home well before the christening.
The second day broke with Darcy renewed in his vigor to deal with all the complex issues as rapidly as possible so he could return to his family. He was surly and he knew it, but under the circumstances, no one questioned the cause. Mr. Shultz handled the manual labor aspects, Darcy and Kinnison thrilled to note that every remaining machine was up and running with six of the damaged ones revamped before the day was done. All of the debris was cleaned away and fresh timber was ordered to begin the structural repairs. Areas were rearranged to compensate for the lost space, every employee responding to the orders of Shultz and his foremen with competence. Richard donned casual attire and assisted Mr. Shultz, the military man being quite adept at both receiving and giving orders.
Kinnison concentrated on the reordering of supplies and notification of both buyers and sellers as to the delays incurred due to the fire. Darcy focused on the finances. That there would be a substantial impact fiscally was a given, but the reality was that the combination of careful planning, diligent saving, and significant personal wealth well diversified by all three meant that the impact would readily be absorbed and overcome.
When it came to managing the business aspects, Darcy was in his element and supremely proficient. The years of governing a vast estate had taught him how to deal with the varied array of complications that inevitably arose. Therefore, despite never facing the aftermath of a fire, praise God, Darcy instinctively and through experience dealing with other traumas knew precisely what to do.
It was the human element that was distressing to him. As distasteful as it was in one respect, there was no option but to dismiss Haggar and Merran for imbibing alcohol while on duty. There were a number of other mills in the area where they could seek employment, but Derby was a small community and word would spread. Few employers were as strict regarding the no alcohol rule as Mr. Shultz, but a fire was universally looked upon with horror. Whether the men would be able to attain adequately paying work locally was questionable. Shultz was far more pragmatic than his partners, and he simply shrugged his shoulders, completely unmoved. Kinnison and Darcy wavered a bit, but in the end the decision was clear.
On the third day, Darcy rode with Richard and a foreman named Rhodes to the tiny house in the middle of town where the widow Hendle resided. Mrs. Hendle greeted them with subdued politeness, eyes swollen and red. The Hendle children clustered around her, the youngest of four and five years clutching her skirts and staring with wide-eyed fright at the tall, well-dressed, formal man. The eldest, a skinny boy of thirteen, halted his chore of chopping wood and stood with sharpened axe in hand as he glowered at the men.
Darcy bowed. "Mrs. Hendle, I am Mr. Darcy. Please accept my deepest sympathies for your loss." She nodded, wiping at teary eyes and murmuring her thanks. Darcy continued, "I confess I did not personally know your husband, but Mr. Shultz assures me he was an excellent foreman." He handed her a parchment wrapped bundle. "Per DKS Midlands policy, Mrs. Hendle, you will find the equivalent of one month's salary. Your position will be held for two weeks, as you have been informed, to allow for grieving. Please let us know as soon as you possibly can what your plans are."
Mrs. Hendle sniffled. "This is our home, sir. We got no place to go. The mill's been good to us so we'll be back, me and the young 'uns." Her hand swept the yard to encompass her son as well as the twelve-year-old girl standing behind her. "DKS has the best pay and all, we won't go nowheres else, milord."
Darcy nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but the eldest son had stepped closer and interrupted with a grumble, "If it's so great how come my da is dead?"
"Jerome!" His mother gasped. "I am so sorry, sir! You watch your tongue young man and apologize to Mr. Darcy this instant!"
"I will not! His stupid mill killed my da!"
Mrs. Hendle was crying in earnest, attempting to choke out something, anything, to placate the tall, stern man with the reputation for kindness and fairness, but also stringency and nobility. Darcy cut her spluttering short with nothing more than one raised finger her direction, piercing gaze riveted on the teenager.
Jerome flushed under Darcy's forceful but sympathetic stare, but he bravely stared back, lifting his chin slightly as if to challenge. When Darcy spoke it was softly, but with an unmistakable edge of authority and faint contempt. "Mr. Hendle, is it your opinion that your father was a fool?"
"No! How could you--"
"A man makes his own decisions in life, Mr. Hendle. Your father made his. He was a miller, a foreman in my company, and trusted with tremendous responsibility. He worked hard for his place and knew precisely what it entailed. Do you mean to slander his name by insinuating he was ignorant of the risks?" He paused, allowing the grieving boy to assimilate his words. "He took great pride in his work, was brave and strong. His sacrifice will not be forgotten. Do not allow your sorrow to cloud your judgment, Mr. Hendle. I do not claim to be an expert on theological matters, but I believe that our loved ones watch us from the Heavens. Do you wish for your father to witness your disrespect?"
Jerome shook his head shortly, eyes now downcast and axe fallen to rest on the ground, but he held his back straight and shoulders firm. Darcy smiled faintly, glancing to Mrs. Hendle and nodding slightly. The poor woman was speechless, tears falling in huge glistening drops down her cheeks.
"You are the man of the house now, Mr. Hendle. Make your father proud. Mrs. Hendle, you have my sympathies. If there is anything you require, Mr. Shultz will assist you."
She curtseyed shakily, Darcy bowing again before he turned and mounted Parsifal. Rhodes leaned close and said, "I will keep a close eye on that boy, Mr. Darcy. He may give us trouble."