The Reckoning (46 page)

Héloïse, quite naturally, was attracted to it as well. She
drew it out and placed it on the top of the pile.

The Hon Jesmond Farraline
was printed across the centre,
with the address underneath,
Batchworth House, Cheetham Hill.
And under that, written in a bold hand and blue-black
ink,
With compliments.

‘
He compliments us, how nice,' Héloïse said, smiling. 'This
is the gentleman you met in Scarborough, with the mother?'

‘
Yes, Maman,' said Sophie. 'I had forgotten he lives in
Manchester.'

‘
So he does. And he calls very promptly. That is polite. And
without the mother. It must be for your sake, Sophie, for he
does not know me. Well, if he calls again, we shall be very
glad to see him, shan't we?'

‘
Yes, Maman,' said Sophie.

‘
Sell them? Sell the mills?' Jasper cried in tones of horror.
Then he took a pull at his reins. 'Well, ma'am, it must be as
you wish, since they belong to you, but if you would allow me
to advise you —?'

‘
That is why I am here, Mr Hobsbawn — to consult you and
ask your advice. I will be frank with you. Things are not
going well for us at Morland Place. It is the same everywhere,
I think.'

‘So I understand. The ending of the war —'

‘
It is strange, is it not? We all longed so for peace, and now it has come, nothing seems to go right. How can that be? Why
is it that suddenly no-one has any money?’

Jasper smiled. 'I believe that's more than you or I could
ever understand, ma'am. Or any man. Wealth seems to ebb
and flow about the world like the tides, but the how and the
why are beyond knowing.'

‘
We can only know the effects,' Héloïse agreed. 'And one of
the effects is that we need money at Morland Place to pay the
interest on borrowings made during the war.'

‘
You thought you might raise that money by selling the
mills?'

‘
My husband suggested it, and since he cannot leave
Morland Place at the moment, I came instead to consult you.
The mills have not been doing well lately, have they?’

‘No, not since the end of the war. Armies use up a great
many cotton goods, you see, and we in England were
supplying not only our own army but those of our allies as
well.' He gave her a small, quirky smile. 'You may not believe
it, ma'am, but at one time we were supplying Boney's army
too!'

‘No! Surely not?'

‘
It's true. I've seen bills to prove it. Back in the year seven,
the French army were wearing uniforms made from English
cloth.’

Ciel!
That passes belief.' Héloïse shook her head.

War is madness,' Jasper said. 'But it also means trade. And
with the coming of peace, the orders fell off, and so we had
closures and bankruptcies and part-time working, and all the
other ills which have brought us low.'

‘But still you do not recommend selling the mills?'

‘
No, ma'am, I don't – and not only because it would cost
me my livelihood.’

Héloïse was embarrassed by the mention. It was something
which James, in his large way, had omitted to take into
account, but she had already been considering ways in which
Jasper Hobsbawn might be compensated if it were to come to
that.

‘
As to that –' she began, but Jasper shook his head, asking
to be allowed to continue.

‘
My reasons for advising against selling are several. Firstly,
there are signs, good signs, that trade is beginning to pick up.
I have never believed, like some of my colleagues, that things
will never get better. Manufacturers have short memories,
you know. They forget that we have gone through bad
patches before. I believe that in the long run our business
cannot fail. People must always be clothed; and machines are not a passing fancy – they are here to stay. In the future there
will be more and more of them, capable of doing more and
more different tasks – not just spinning, but every other
process of manufacture, from the raw cotton to the finished
cloth.’

Héloïse smiled at his enthusiasm. 'Only so far? You do not,
then, predict a machine for cutting out and sewing up?'

‘
Well, perhaps not that! But at all events, I believe business
will improve – and soon. We're already getting more orders
than we did six months ago. The worst is over, and I think by
the end of the year we will be back to normal working.'

‘
I see. Very well, but you spoke of reasons, in the plural?'

‘
1 did. Secondly, Hobsbawn Mills are in better shape than
any of their rivals to benefit from the good times, and to with
stand the bad times. My late cousin was a sharp man, clever
and far-sighted in business. He built and stocked the mills
from profits of previous ventures, without having to borrow a
penny, so we have no investors to answer to, and no interest
payments to meet – and I think you know, ma'am, how
important that is at the moment.'

‘Yes,' said Héloïse.

‘
When trade is bad, we can simply close down part of the
operation, and when it improves we re-open, knowing there
are no heavy outgoings which have to be met willy-nilly. None
of the other mills is in that strong position.'

‘I see. And thirdly?'

‘
We already have the capacity to expand once trade is back
to normal, as it must be sooner or later – and I think sooner.
Number Three Mill stands ready, with most of the equipment
already in place, to begin power-weaving our own yarn as
soon as the demand is sufficient.'

‘Power-weaving? I thought that was impossible?'

‘
In the wool trade, yes. Woollen threads are not strong enough to withstand the force of a machine. But Mr Hobs
bawn believed, and I believe, that one day power looms for cotton will be the rule rather than the exception. The looms
he bought and installed are of the earliest type and rather
crude, it's true. We've had problems with them – I won't
trouble you with the details – and we really need an engineer
to design us something better. But for the moment, we own
one of the few steam-operated weaving sheds in Manchester,
and once all the spinning-mills are back in operation, not all
the hand-loom weavers in the country can keep up with
demand. It would be a great pity, don't you think, to abandon
that position?'

‘You do not weave at the moment?'

‘
No, ma'am. The weaving-shed has been idle since 1813,
but the capacity is there, ready to use. If you sell the mills – if
you can find someone willing to buy them – you will have a
sum of money in hand with which to pay off immediate debts.
The price you'd get for them would not be what they are
really worth, in my opinion. When prices are low, that is the
time to buy, not to sell – you see that?'

‘Yes, I see,' Héloïse said doubtfully.

‘
But if you keep the mills, you will have an asset which
costs you virtually nothing to keep, but which will one day be
of enormous value, and bring you such an income as you can
have no idea of at the present!'

‘
In your opinion.’

Jasper's eyes had kindled with enthusiasm, but now the
light died. 'Yes, ma'am, in my opinion. You are free, of
course, to seek advice from any other source.’

She smiled encouragingly. 'I shall do so. But thank you for yours, Mr Hobsbawn. I shall consider what you have told me.
And I shall do nothing, I assure you, without consulting you
further.’

*

One of the people who had left cards on Hobsbawn House was
Mrs Pendlebury, an ample widow of means, who regarded
herself as a leader of Manchester Society. She had been well
acquainted with the Hobsbawns over a number of years, her husband having partnered old Mr Hobsbawn in many a busi
ness deal. When Fanny had paid her visits to Manchester
before her marriage, Mrs Pendlebury had acted as chaperone
to her – as far as Fanny would permit it – and had taken her
about in company with her two daughters-at-home, Prudence
and Agnes.

The younger of these, Agnes, was now married, but Mrs
Pendlebury had not succeeded in finding a mate for Prud
ence, and had lately reached the point of accepting that she never would. Prudence was a tall, thin, pale, serious young
woman of twenty-four. She had never been much interested
in dancing and flirting, and it was generally assumed that she
would remain daughter-at-home, and ultimately act as
housekeeper to her brother Fred when Mrs Pendlebury finally shuffled off the mortal coil.

Fred was now twenty-six, also tall, but stout and florid and
extremely well pleased with himself. He had inherited his
father's fortune and business at an early age, but left them to
his mother to control. Being at one remove from the origins of
his fortune, he regarded business as vulgar, and his purpose
was to have as much enjoyment and as little exertion as were compatible with each other. He liked lying late in bed, eating and drinking, gaming if it were for small stakes, riding about
in carriages, and strolling along the fashionable thoroughfares
exquisitely dressed so that the young women might have the
pleasure of admiring him.

Mrs Pendlebury had no anxieties about Fred's continuing
in the bachelor state. She agreed with his own opinion, that
he was the most eligible
parti in
Manchester, and she had not
yet seen the young woman who was good enough for him. She
would have got Fanny Morland for him if she could, though
Fanny's subsequent behaviour made her glad she had not, for
it would not do for her darling Fred to be shackled to such an
unprincipled creature as Miss Morland turned out to be. Still,
the Hobsbawn Mills were a delightful property – to say
nothing of the legendary Morland Place – and the arrival of
Sophie with Lady Morland aroused all Mrs Pendlebury's
maternal instincts again.

To be sure, Miss Sophie was not a beauty: she was small
and thin, and her complexion had no brilliance. Had it not
been for her eyes and her teeth one might even have called
her
plain.
But she was a well principled, pretty-behaved girl –
and above all, she seemed gentle and meek. Mrs Pendlebury
had no idea of retiring to a dower establishment when Fred
did finally bring home a wife, so it was important that the
future Mrs Fred should be governable, and not wish to rule
the roast in Mrs Pendlebury's place.