was clear enough that this was a pantomime for the boss’s benefit: he was there for one reason only, and that was to relish the color.
Paul hailed him.
“Have you ever seen a better crimson, Mr. Crace?”
“I can’t say as I have.”
“Nor I. Not here, nor anywhere.”
Leaning in the doorway of the dye house, Lowe himself had come out to see how his color was drying.
“Bright enough for you, Mr. Bellman?” he asked.
“Dazzling, Mr. Lowe.”
Lowe inclined his head and returned to his dye house.
Paul’s arrival had sent the dozen or so lowlier employees scurrying back to their work, but evidently the crimson was the talk of the mill, and everyone who could was coming to take a look. Nor was it only the mill folk who took an interest. Along the far fence, clusters of people leaned and looked, riders slowed, all come for the glorious spectacle of the new crimson.
· · ·
“How does it look?” William was impatient.
“Congratulations,” Paul told him. “We’re going to do well out of it.”
His nephew’s face relaxed.
“You did right not to go over yourself. Lowe is pretending not to notice that he is the star turn, but he is enjoying every minute. What’s on your mind, Will?”
“The frames.”
“In the tenterfield? What about them?”
“We have the length for an extra one at the end of the tenterfield, but the ground drops and the copse at the corner will cast a shadow so that’s no good, and I can’t see that Mr. Gregory will sell us any of the East field, not for love nor money—”
Paul laughed. “But does it matter? We rarely use all five as it is—”
“Yes, but when the orders start coming in for the crimson . . .”
“Hold your horses, William. We don’t know yet what orders will come in for the crimson.”
But William didn’t hear. “So far as I can see, it’s either buy up some land on the other side, there’s nothing to cast shade on that length of field belonging to Mr. Driffield, and he’d sell at the right money, or else build another drying house and do more drying inside. And with the quality of the color, if we had the softness from indoor drying, we could raise our prices. I’d be in favor of that except for the time it’ll take to build it. Unless Mr. Driffield would rent us the land for the time it takes to build the drying house . . .”
“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”
“What time is it?”
Paul consulted his watch. “Ten to three.”
“He’ll be on his way.”
The merchant would be arriving by the Burford Road. He would have an unimpeded view of the crimson cloth for a full ten minutes of his journey.
At five o’clock Paul had orders for a thousand yards of crimson cloth by the end of September and the same again a month later.
He went directly to Mr. Driffield on his way home and arranged to rent a length of his field.
A year. All this the boy had brought about in a year. What could he do if he were given free rein?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
B ehind the scenes were arguments William was not privy to.
“Father, you made me manager of the mill. You must let me manage the mill. I intend to make William my secretary.”
“But Charles is to inherit! Your own son!”
“Charles has no interest in managing the mill. That is abundantly clear to me, as it should be to you. If we insist on him taking on a job in which he has no interest and for which he has—let us face facts—no aptitude, we can expect only one thing. The mill will fail. William is part of the family. He is willing and he is more than able. In two years he has learned more about the running of the mill than Charles, who has barely put his nose into the place since the day he left school.”
“Charles will be interested soon enough. When he inherits—”
“Charles wishes only to travel and paint. He doesn’t know how to speak to the men or the customers. He is bored by the money. When he inherits, the first thing he will do is put a manager in. We do
Paul hailed him.
“Have you ever seen a better crimson, Mr. Crace?”
“I can’t say as I have.”
“Nor I. Not here, nor anywhere.”
Leaning in the doorway of the dye house, Lowe himself had come out to see how his color was drying.
“Bright enough for you, Mr. Bellman?” he asked.
“Dazzling, Mr. Lowe.”
Lowe inclined his head and returned to his dye house.
Paul’s arrival had sent the dozen or so lowlier employees scurrying back to their work, but evidently the crimson was the talk of the mill, and everyone who could was coming to take a look. Nor was it only the mill folk who took an interest. Along the far fence, clusters of people leaned and looked, riders slowed, all come for the glorious spectacle of the new crimson.
· · ·
“How does it look?” William was impatient.
“Congratulations,” Paul told him. “We’re going to do well out of it.”
His nephew’s face relaxed.
“You did right not to go over yourself. Lowe is pretending not to notice that he is the star turn, but he is enjoying every minute. What’s on your mind, Will?”
“The frames.”
“In the tenterfield? What about them?”
“We have the length for an extra one at the end of the tenterfield, but the ground drops and the copse at the corner will cast a shadow so that’s no good, and I can’t see that Mr. Gregory will sell us any of the East field, not for love nor money—”
Paul laughed. “But does it matter? We rarely use all five as it is—”
“Yes, but when the orders start coming in for the crimson . . .”
“Hold your horses, William. We don’t know yet what orders will come in for the crimson.”
But William didn’t hear. “So far as I can see, it’s either buy up some land on the other side, there’s nothing to cast shade on that length of field belonging to Mr. Driffield, and he’d sell at the right money, or else build another drying house and do more drying inside. And with the quality of the color, if we had the softness from indoor drying, we could raise our prices. I’d be in favor of that except for the time it’ll take to build it. Unless Mr. Driffield would rent us the land for the time it takes to build the drying house . . .”
“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”
“What time is it?”
Paul consulted his watch. “Ten to three.”
“He’ll be on his way.”
The merchant would be arriving by the Burford Road. He would have an unimpeded view of the crimson cloth for a full ten minutes of his journey.
At five o’clock Paul had orders for a thousand yards of crimson cloth by the end of September and the same again a month later.
He went directly to Mr. Driffield on his way home and arranged to rent a length of his field.
A year. All this the boy had brought about in a year. What could he do if he were given free rein?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
B ehind the scenes were arguments William was not privy to.
“Father, you made me manager of the mill. You must let me manage the mill. I intend to make William my secretary.”
“But Charles is to inherit! Your own son!”
“Charles has no interest in managing the mill. That is abundantly clear to me, as it should be to you. If we insist on him taking on a job in which he has no interest and for which he has—let us face facts—no aptitude, we can expect only one thing. The mill will fail. William is part of the family. He is willing and he is more than able. In two years he has learned more about the running of the mill than Charles, who has barely put his nose into the place since the day he left school.”
“Charles will be interested soon enough. When he inherits—”
“Charles wishes only to travel and paint. He doesn’t know how to speak to the men or the customers. He is bored by the money. When he inherits, the first thing he will do is put a manager in. We do
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