Page 100 of The Time for Love
Increasingly uncertain, avoiding Sophy—now regarding him as stonily as anyone—Blackwell reluctantly looked at Martin. “Who are all these people?”
Martin glanced at Sophy, passing the question to her.
She inclined her head fractionally to him, then returned her attention to Blackwell. Calm, collected, and assured, she smiled coolly and gestured to the assembled horde. “This, Mr. Blackwell, is the might of Sheffield. These are the people who made this town what it is, and they are devoted to seeing it prosper. All of it, the workers as well as the businesses and the business owners.”
She looked invitingly at the lord mayor.
He inclined his head to her, then focused on Blackwell. “Many of those here are aware of your reputation, Mr. Blackwell. We’ve now heard your proposal for Sheffield, and we wish to inform you that should you press ahead, that proposal is doomed to failure. We will never allow such housing as you propose to be built within the town’s boundaries.”
The imposing figure of John Brown stood among the front ranks of those assembled. His gaze resting heavily on Blackwell, he rumbled, “I’m John Brown. Many call me the Father of the Sheffield Iron and Steel Trade.” He glanced around the circle of his peers and smiled confidently. “With good reason.”
Many softly laughed and, with patent good humor, nodded, indicating he spoke for them and encouraging him to continue.
He looked back at Blackwell. “Together with all those gathered here today, I wish to inform you that there’s no place in this town for men like you, looking to make your fortune off the backs of our workers. Between us, we own the vast majority—” He paused to glance over the ranks again, noting those present, then amended, “Actually, all the steelworks and associated industries in this town, and we will ensure that none of our workers falls into the trap of taking a lease on such housing as you propose, be it yours or anyone else’s.”
Several in the crowd murmured affirmations, most along the lines of “The success of our business depends on our workers, and we’re not likely to forget that.”
Then Tom Vickers stepped forward and met Blackwell’s eyes. “Colonel Thomas Vickers of Naylor Vickers.” He nodded at John Brown. “And I second everything my colleague said. We’re a collegiate group in this town. We want the best for it, for us, our workers, and all who live within its borders. Speaking for myself, although I daresay this applies to others here as well, that isn’t due to any altruistic belief but rather one based on cold, hard experience in running a business where success depends on the efforts of many. Put simply, the success of the Naylor Vickers business relies on the health and well-being of our workforce.”
“Hear, hear” rumbled through the room.
Tom tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You see? We all know on which side our bread is buttered. Consequently, now we know what you’re proposing to do, we, collectively, will ensure you or, indeed, anyone similarly inclined do not succeed. No matter what approach is taken, one of us will learn of it—nothing could be more certain, not in this town—and as a group, we will step in and do whatever’s necessary to scuttle such plans.”
“If necessary,” the lord mayor said, “we’ll enact town ordinances to block such developments.”
Blackwell was thoroughly stunned. He was transparently having trouble taking in the enormity of the resistance marshaled against him.
Lady Bracknell, who, with the other major hostesses, had come in with the gentlemen, trenchantly stated, “We, none of us, want such tenements in our town, and acting together, we wield more than enough influence—socially, civically, politically, and financially—to ensure such projects never see the light of day.” She all but glared at Blackwell. “Yours or anyone else’s, sir!”
The round of “Hear, hear!” that followed left Blackwell in no doubt whatsoever that his project in Sheffield was doomed. However, they’d been careful to target their comments not at Blackwell himself but rather at his proposal or any similar project.
For Martin’s money, it was Lady Bracknell’s proud and haughty denunciation that punched the final nail into the coffin of Blackwell’s development. Martin knew that once the senior ladies of a town took a stance on anything, changing their husbands’ minds became a lost cause, but he doubted Blackwell had as much experience with the species as he. However, since setting eyes on Blackwell, Martin had grown increasingly certain that the man harbored a vision of, at some point, buying his way into society, and in that respect, her ladyship had just punctured any such dreams, at least if Blackwell attempted to push on with his plans.
If he didn’t…
This moment was the critical point when things could go either way. When Blackwell could be tipped into acting in a manner that would satisfy them all or, conversely, in a way that would do no one any good.
If he felt backed into a corner, dug in, and decided to fight like the vicious street fighter rumor had it he’d once been, the town and everyone living there would be in for an uncomfortable few years. Alternatively, even vicious street fighters harbored dreams.
Would Blackwell opt to fight or to follow his dream?
Blackwell’s pale gaze, which had been scanning the opposing ranks, returned, slowly, to Sophy.
She smiled confidently yet with a hint of cold steel in her expression. “Just business, Mr. Blackwell. Please understand that this is nothing personal. Our reaction would have been exactly the same toward any such development proposed for this town.”
That was Martin’s cue. He shifted, drawing Blackwell’s attention, then dipped his head in acknowledgment. “As you earlier noted, I’m a businessman. I can appreciate that you’ve sunk significant capital into purchasing the sites surrounding Carmichael Steelworks. The largely vacant blocks to the west, all the way to the park around the church, and also the row of houses along Bailey Lane to the east. That’s quite an investment.”
“You could say that,” Blackwell growled. He cast a narrow-eyed look at the mayor. “And as far as I know, there’s no law defining what a man can do on his own land, not even in this town.”
“No specific law, perhaps,” Martin conceded, “but there are, I’m sure, many regulations, and as both you and I know, Mr. Blackwell, nothing is certain in life and bureaucracy other than that bureaucracy will get in the way.” That surprised a huff of wry laughter from Blackwell, and he returned his attention to Martin.
“And,” Martin smoothly continued, “like it or not, one has to take into account the reaction of the populace”—with a tip of his head, he indicated the representatives of the town—“especially those with the power to obstruct and, ultimately, deny.” He paused, then went on. “I’m sure you’ve realized that’s the situation you now face, but as, prior to today, you could not have foreseen or anticipated such resistance to your project, I’m willing to make a one-time offer for your current holdings in the town.”
A slight widening of Blackwell’s eyes was the only sign of his surprise. There was certainly no immediate show of interest, but from Blackwell’s studiously blank expression, Martin suspected he was thinking furiously.
Along with everyone else in the room, Sophy held her breath, watched Blackwell like a hawk, and waited to see if he would accept the way out Martin was offering.
A way out—an olive branch of sorts—endorsed by everyone there; all they had to do—all Martin had to do—was convince Blackwell to take it.
