Page 50 of Inventing Vivian

“A bit, my lord.” Mr. Thomas took off his own gloves and gave them, along with his hat, to the butler. His eyes were wide as he looked around the hall. “I’ve never met a duke before, let alone—”

“No need to fear, my good man.” Benedict cuffed his shoulder and grinned, hoping to ease his worries. “His bark is worse than his bite—usually.”

Humphries led the men up the staircase to the library.

Benedict thought the formality unnecessary. He was paying a visit to his own father in his family home, after all.

“Lord Covington and Mr. Thomas, Your Grace,” Humphries announced as he opened the library door.

Mr. Thomas hesitated for an instant on the threshold, but Benedict was not going to allow his father to see that he was nervous. He strode into the room. “Good morning, Father.”

The Duke of Ellingham looked up from the page he was reading. He closed the book with a snap. “Benedict.” He glanced behind his son.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Thomas, my man of business,” Benedict said.

“Your Grace.” Mr. Thomas inclined his head.

The duke’s gaze traveled over the man, but his expression did not warm, nor did he extend any greeting. “Sit down.” He motioned to the chairs in front of the desk. “This is not the time for pleasantries.”

Benedict was used to his father’s abrupt mannerisms, but judging by how quickly Mr. Thomas dove into his seat, his man of business was not.

Benedict sat, irritated that his father would resort to intimidation. But he was not going to allow the tactic to deter him.

The duke got straight to the point. “What is this nonsense I hear about you raising wages at the London factories?”

“It is not nonsense, Father. Did you know the typical worker is paid only six shillings per day? Some as few as two.”

“Yes, that is what they earn. It is a common wage throughout the city.”

“But it is not enough to live on,” Benedict said. “You must see that.”

“They have survived thus far.”

Benedict thought of young Jack lying in the hospital ward, and a rush of anger made him lightheaded. “That is exactly the problem. They arenotsurviving. The factory conditions are hazardous. Deadly, even.”

“Then, they should find work elsewhere,” the duke said, fixing Benedict with a flat look. “We are running a business, not a charity. Surely even you, Benedict, are not foolish enough to sabotage the company’s earnings over a crisis of conscience.”

Anger burned through Benedict, and he clenched the chair arms. He knew he must remain calm if he was to state his case, but his father’s words were nothing less than heartless. Had it always been like this? Was this the philosophy by which the duchy was managed?

“If I may, Your Grace?” Mr. Thomas shifted in his seat, leaning forward.

The duke waved his fingers toward the man of business, signaling his permission to speak.

Mr. Thomas opened a folder and handed a paper across the desk to the duke. “There is a company in America, a furniture company, who reported record earnings last year. The chairman, Mr. Norman Peterman, attributes the success to an increase in the worker’s wages. According to an interview Mr. Peterman gave to theNew York Times, a general wage increase of ten percent saw productivity increases of between twenty-seven and thirty-two percent monthly.”

“Thirty-two percent.” The corners of the duke’s mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown as he studied the paper. “That is significant.”

“He claims the workers are happier, their jobs are more desirable, and therefore, they perform better.”

“Trust the Americans to come up with such a radical idea,” the duke muttered. He brushed the side of his index finger over his mustache as he considered, and after a moment, nodded, setting the page down on his desk. “Finally, some common sense.” He scowled at Benedict and turned back to Mr. Thomas. “A worker has much more to lose if he is dismissed from a higher-paying job; therefore, in theory, he should work harder to keep his position. If you are right, the benefit will outweigh the cost.”

“Eventually, Your Grace,” Mr. Thomas said. “That is the hope.”

“And, of course, we hope the workers can make a sufficient living,” Benedict said, “so they don’t wallow in debtors’ prison while their children suffer for lack of warm clothing and proper nutrition.”

The duke turned his gaze to his son. His eyes were cool. Benedict knew he should have remained silent. His father had been open to the business advantages, but Benedict could not help but remind the duke that he disapproved of the inhumanity taking place beneath his very nose. In his mind, that was a much more significant need for the changes than the potential financial benefit.

“I’ve heard you’ve also approved funding for regular doctor visits to the factories,” the duke said.

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