Chapter 35
Margaret was relieved when Aaron entered the parlor. She stood at one end of the room as if she was presiding over a magistrate’s court, much as she had seen her father do many times. The three strangers eyed the Craigs with curiosity. She wondered what they were thinking. When the Americans smiled, at least one of the guild masters started. It was the teeth; the perfect, straight white teeth. That always struck the down-timers, as Aaron called the people of her day, as the most astonishing thing about them. Considering how few of them had ever left Lancaster or Staffordshire, they must now think all Germans had such beautiful teeth. Margaret kept her amusement to herself.
Paul Thornton, the beadle, stood back from the group with deference. He nodded to Margaret, and she returned the courtesy. His presence meant that the visit was important to the guild. Not just the local chapter, but perhaps the whole county.
“Mistress Margaret, I trust I find you well?” Master Blackford greeted her with the same avuncular friendliness as usual. He gestured the visitors to come forward. They were all dressed in the finest woolen cloth, almost gleaming in its smoothness, and lined with shining silk. The tallest man’s elegant hat had a peacock feather in it.
“Very well, sir, I thank you.”
“Sir Timothy, Mistress Margaret de Beauchamp, I want to make known to you the guild master from Stoke-on-Trent, Master Phillip Melton, Master Bernard Green, guild master of Uttoxeter, and Master Reese Denby, guild master of Stafford Weavers and Fullers Guild.”
“Gentlemen, I am honored!” Margaret said, curtseying as Lady Pierce had taught her. The men all swept off their hats and bowed. “These are Herr Martin Craig and his son, Herr Aaron Craig. They come to us from the Germanies, and have been of great service to us.” She rendered the introductions to the Craigs in Amideutsch, who smiled and nodded to the visitors.
“Guten tag, Meine Herren,” Martin said. The visitors bristled.
“Do they speak no English at all?” Master Denby asked, looking peeved. The peacock feather in the hat now clutched by his side bobbed with annoyance.
“Yes, they have been learning,” Margaret assured him, not wanting to meet Aaron’s eyes. He looked as though he was going to laugh, and that would have set her off, too. Behind her, Hettie cleared her throat with a warning. “But they understand nearly everything you will say. How may we serve you, gentlemen?”
Master Blackford looked embarrassed.
“I apologize for the abruptness of this meeting. It was meant to be some weeks or months from now, but thanks to some…interference, no amount of persuasion is enough to delay it further.”
“We want to know about the akalabors!” Master Green interrupted him.
“Aqualators,” Master Blackford said, with a sigh. “Sir Timothy, while he is in your employ, Master Cedric Hollings has been talking widely about the devices and the novel fabric that is being manufactured with their assistance, and that is an infraction against the guild itself. Master Matthew Dale approached me with an official complaint, and that is being addressed separately, but the damage has already been done. The confidential agreement that you and I made has been breached.”
“Yes, I know,” Sir Timothy said. “I find myself embarrassed that this has come to light. We must have a discussion regarding him, and the sooner the better.”
“I agree, sir, but it has precipitated some urgency in other quarters. Now that the word has spread, these gentlemen are here to make a proposition to you.”
“A proposition? Nay, a demand! You’ve no right to keep guild secrets from others of our craft,” Master Melton said, pushing forward, his face red. “Surely you are aware of the competition from the continent cutting into our profits and threatening to put us all out of business!”
“Indeed, I am, sir,” Sir Timothy said. “Like you, I have enjoyed greatly reduced revenue from any goods that we send overseas. Even some of our sales in London are less remunerative than they have traditionally been. It has always been our intention to share the knowledge that has made our new fabric possible, but it is not yet a perfect system. We have errors to correct first before those are distributed widespread across the land. I would also point out that we have a right to recoup the considerable expenses incurred from our outlay before allowing others to profit from our hard work and innovation. While I would never accuse anyone here…” The sudden rising hubbub overwhelmed his voice for a moment, but he spoke louder, “…of undercutting prices or making deals as though we were rival manufacturers. There have been times when I have sent my goods to market only to discover that my buyers have been made a better bargain than I can afford to.”
From the expressions on the faces of the visitors, her father had scored more than one painful hit.
“Sir, you cannot expect us to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of—”
“But is that not precisely what you are asking of me? Times have indeed been hard for all of us over the last several years. I have held back on sharing the process because I can’t. Even now, we are not sure if it’s completely viable…”
“But it does work! We’ve seen the goods!” Master Green declared. “…Well, one man I know has seen it: the fellow who drove me here today.” He gestured vaguely toward the window. “It’s quite remarkable to have revived the wool trade with innovation, and you deserve all the credit for bringing it about. But we want to make it, too, sir. It’s all the talk!”
“That is so,” added Master Denby. “We’ve had news from London, through a supplier of iron goods with whom we do trade. Sir Thomas Bowes has been seen walking out wearing a suit made of your brocade, and his lady in a matching dress. It’s the talk of the town! You are to be congratulated, sir.”
Margaret felt her cheeks flush with pleasure. Sir Thomas was a noted man of fashion, and had been known to spend large sums on clothing for himself and his family. Sir Timothy looked pleased at the revelation.
“You can judge that everyone wants this miracle fabric, sir,” Master Blackford said. “Everyone wants more. We come to you, I and my fellow guild masters, to make it possible for all weavers to create it. These gentlemen want you to share the secret of its manufacture.” He had the grace to look apologetic. “That is why we wanted to have these gentlemen present, to explain the mysteries.” He nodded politely to Aaron and Martin.
“But it isn’t something that you can start up from nothing, sir. The devices had to be created abroad and brought here at colossal expense, I might remind you yet again. They are not easily duplicated.”
“But they can be made and imported?” Master Blackford pressed. “The guilds have put forth the notion of offering you the exclusive on licensing and providing the devices, and even paying you a royalty on yardage produced in this way. Times are hard, indeed, but if you were to offer a way to redress the imbalance by allowing others to share in the bounty, you would still be better off than you were before.”
“We cannot yet make enough to satisfy all orders,” Sir Timothy reminded them. “And the devices do not maintain themselves. Our guests from Hamburg have had to instruct my workers in their operation, and they are having to make constant adjustments as we determine what changes need to be made.”
“Yes, but if you shared the machinery, then we could all be making it!” Master Green said.
“Sir, that is true, but I can’t just provide it out of my pocket. It has to be designed and sent for. You may not even want it when you see how tricky it is to operate.”
“Bah,” Master Melton said. “All weavers need to learn every peg and pedal of a loom to begin with. What’s another piece or two?”
Denby snorted. “My man tells me that once running, all a man has to do is pull the beater bar back and forth, nothing more. We can run them just as well as you. And if you won’t share it, perhaps it is that no one should have it!” He threw himself out of his chair and breasted up to Sir Timothy. Margaret’s father did not move from his seat. He met the visitor’s eyes.
“Are you…threatening me, sir?” he asked in a mild tone.
Immediately, the other guild masters began to argue with Denby, their voices all but echoing off the high, painted ceiling. Margaret, alarmed, withdrew into her chair. Martin set a hand on her shoulder. When she looked back, he gave her a reassuring look.
Hettie disappeared from her post. She reappeared in a few moments with Percy. The boy wasn’t of the subtlest nature, as he had a poker hidden insufficiently well behind his back, and he had thrust his sheathed knife awkwardly through his belt. Margaret sent a questioning glance toward her maidservant. Hettie nodded at the window. Through it, Margaret could see some of the gardeners and farmhands gathering in the drive with their tools. She knew that in a crisis, they could summon thirty or more men to come running to their aid, and more from further afield. If there was going to be an altercation, it would not go well for the visitors. She gave Hettie a grateful smile.
Master Blackford looked wary of the actions and stepped between the visiting guild master and Sir Timothy with his hands raised in a placating manner.
“Please! Everyone is keen to find every advantage available to protect the trade. Let us behave as civilized men. We all want something from one another. Let us negotiate, please, gentlemen.”
“I offer you my apologies, Squire,” Master Denby said, stiffly. “It has indeed been a series of poor seasons, and my passion for renewing our craft got the better of me.”
“Accepted, sir.” Sir Timothy accepted the offered hand graciously. He had noticed the gathering outside the window and glanced back at Margaret. He shook his head, but Margaret felt it better to be safe than sorry.
The temperature in the room had cooled down, and the visitors were looking a trifle ashamed of themselves. Master Blackford thought it best to take a hand. “My friends, might these gentlemen see the looms in operation?”
“Why not?” Sir Timothy said. He drew Margaret’s hand through his arm and patted it. Hettie gave her a hesitant look. Perhaps best to keep their impromptu force on hand in case another altercation arose. Hettie stayed close by. Percy abandoned his poker, but he followed along.
Outside, the manor’s workmen had scattered, and appeared to be laboring in the gardens close to the house, though still vigilant. In the drive, the guild masters’ carriages awaited. A couple of men in each helped their employers into the conveyances. Sir Timothy chuckled, and walked down the hill with his daughter and the Americans. It took only a few minutes to reach the barn door, but somewhat longer for the wagons to traverse the pebbled road that led down from the manor.
“How much do you want me to tell them?” Aaron asked, while they waited.
“At this moment, whatever they ask,” Sir Timothy said. “As Master Blackford said, the damage is done. We are no longer operating in secret.”
He escorted his guests into the weavers’ shed.
To Margaret’s eye, everything was running smoothly. Old Fred Wilkinson was just about to take a bolt of black serge off his loom and looked for some praise from the guild master. Blackford greeted him offhandedly, and walked past to where Master Walter was indeed pulling the beater bar and producing a length of brocade dyed with brilliant purple, a purchase negotiated from Stone Dyeworks that had arrived only a week ago. Fred looked sour. Margaret stopped to speak with Fred.
“That is so very fine, sir,” she told him. “I know that our buyers will have nothing but praise for your skill.”
“Aah,” he said, shaking his head. “I think I know my craft. Forty years and more, man and boy, not that anyone’s appreciating the hard-won skills any longer.”
Cedric, glowering from behind the other unaltered loom, seemed to agree with him. Margaret gave him a pleasant smile and hurried to join Aaron and her father.
* * *
Alongside the guild masters, the men that had accompanied them on their journeys from their hometowns came in to gawk as well. Ben had made himself acquainted with the guild master from Stafford, and had ingratiated himself so well that it seemed natural that he should accompany Master Denby to Churnet House. Though Ben stayed in the midst of the crowd, he knew that Cedric had spotted him. He made a casual gesture with his hand that the weaver should not acknowledge their acquaintance. Best to steer clear of Master Matthew, who would almost certainly recall him from the Four Alls tavern.
The foreign youth was speaking. He seemed delighted to have an audience, and launched into a complicated discourse featuring many lengthy and complicated words in German that he could not begin to parse out. Fortunately, Sir Timothy’s daughter understood everything, and translated to a rapt audience, Ben among them. He was as curious as the rest. Not that he hadn’t snooped in the shed before, but it was the first time anyone present could explain what he was seeing.
“…So, the left stack of aqualators contain the pattern for the brocade, and the right propel the shuttles on their way.”
“Why do they need water to run through them?” Master Green asked.
“That is how the aqualators tell the mechanisms when to lift and lower which sets of heddles,” Margaret said.
“Do they count drops?”
The girl hesitated. “In a manner of speaking. The boxes contain the program, and feed the correct information to each part of the loom it controls at the right time.”
Aaron launched into another spate, gesturing with his hands in excitement.
“Slow down!” Margaret admonished him. Apparently, he could understand some English, or read her expression, for the tumbling words slowed to a trickle. The translated words didn’t make much sense to Ben. Instead, he watched the small wheels turn as the water dripped into them, and saw the pieces of the loom move as though by magic. He made a mental note of every detail. Such a thing might be of use to his lordship, though he didn’t yet know how. He needed more information.
“This is Journeyman Daniel Taylor,” Master Blackford said, with a smile for the young man at the first loom near the door. “Though I fancy not to remain a journeyman for long.”
The other masters moved close to see the cloth.
“It is all the marvel that we have been led to believe,” Master Melton said. He felt the tautly stretched expanse of fabric. “Not as smooth as silk brocade, of course.”
“No, sir,” Daniel said. “Though Squire’s sheep do produce a good, long fleece, it’s not the same staple as silk.” He was delighted to show the visitors what he was doing, and how he was doing it, pulling the bar to himself and advancing the warp wheel every few rows. Master Denby let out a snort.
“Don’t you feel as if you’ve taken a step downward in your craft, letting a machine do the work for you?”
Ben smirked. It was a question he had taken the trouble to prime the guild master to ask. He hoped he could provoke an argument, but he was disappointed.
“Not at all,” Daniel said, with a laugh. “I’m proud of what I’m helping to produce. Look at that! When it’s treaded and fulled, it’s got the smoothest hand and suppleness of a linen.”
“Aren’t you displeased that your hard-won skills set you to minding the wheel like a dog turning a spit?” Ben asked, scornfully.
“I’ve seen you in the tavern, sir,” Daniel said, with a dismissive wave. “You’re a master at causing arguments. I still use my skills.”
“But any apprentice could learn to do what you’re doing now! Most of the skill is in those little boxes, not in your hands.”
Daniel smiled. “And should I go back to the oldest of looms and weave the shuttle in and out by hand instead of using heddles?” he asked. “This is only another convenience taking the trouble out of making good cloth.”
“And good it is,” Master Green declared, shutting down Ben’s argument before it could grow. He retreated. “My weavers have heard the rumors. Now that I see that they are true, I want these in my shop as soon as possible, and I know every man in my guild will say the same!”
“Aye,” agreed Master Melton. “So it is. I see that the pattern is roses and leaves. Can it be changed to, say, wreaths of bay, or the unicorn of Scotland?”
“Ja,” Aaron said, followed by another discourse in German.
The girl stepped forward to translate. “The trays would have to be changed out. Each of these stacks of trays are in six parts, and one or more would have to be replaced to change the pattern, but it could be done. We have discussed having more patterns made for next season, once we have the funds.”
That evidently reminded the guild masters that they were there to strike a bargain.
“What is the cost to get these devices here to the rest of us before the end of the year?” Master Denby asked. “We’d pay a premium if need be. And more beside.”
“Sir, it’s not the cost,” Mistress de Beauchamp said. “It’s the time that it takes to make them.”
“I don’t want to wait until next year! I’ve had customers asking me for the brocade. Disappointing them costs me dearly.”
“Gentlemen, please!” Master Blackford said, holding up his hands.
“I count six,” Master Green said, looking up and down the shed. “Would you be willing to part with one or two?”
“No, sir, I would not,” Sir Timothy said.
“Have you no more to sell? Not in another barn elsewhere on the estate?”
“Nein,” Aaron explained. “I brought eight, but two are broken. One of the local potters is working on replacements for the damaged pieces. He has brought a couple of samples to try this morning, but they have not yet been tested.” The girl explained again, rendering the German’s words into good speech.
Master Green frowned. “Can we buy the two broken ones? See if we can make shift with the damaged pieces?”
“They will do you no good if they are incomplete,” Aaron pointed out. “The system requires a steady flow throughout to drive the pistons moving the heddles and the shuttles. It is a gentle movement, but throwing off the amount of water going through them disrupts the pattern.”
Ben and the others heard the words, but even in English they made no sense to him.
“We would be happy to try, with your aid, Master Craig,” Master Green said, jingling his purse. “There would be a goodly reward for you helping us.”
Aaron let out a sigh and led them to the far side of the barn. There on the floor was a number of pale clay trays. He pointed at a couple of them that looked exactly like the others: little barricades set up like a wild-mouse puzzle with holes pierced through here and there in no pattern that Ben could discern. “They must be intact to function, but there are flaws in two of the pieces that causes errors in the system.”
“Did you create this…system?” Master Green asked.
“With the help of Fräulein de Beauchamp,” Aaron explained. The girl tried not to look too proud, but she was. “And many other people in Hamburg, who brought our designs to reality.”
“Well, then, if nothing can be accomplished without delay, then let us discuss particulars,” Master Melton said.
“Certainly,” said Sir Timothy. “Allow me to escort you back to the house. Gentlemen, ladies, I thank you. Margaret?” He put out his elbow and his daughter came to hold his arm.
They went off talking, the guild masters hoping out loud for the very slight chance that the promised aqualators could be in England before winter set in, and weaving over the cold months would keep everyone warm. The prospect had all of them feeling cheerful, slapping one another on the back and laughing. Even the German boy’s father looked relaxed. Everyone but Master Denby. Ben was pleased about that. He had planted seeds so deeply in the guild master’s mind that he continued to be suspicious of Sir Timothy’s motivations. And so he should.
Ben hung back and sidled up to Cedric.
“So, the boy is the key to all of this?” he asked in a tone low enough not to carry over the noise of the working looms.
“Aye,” the weaver said, sullenly. “His father defers to him like he was the younger and the boy was the elder. Bad enough that we are made to listen to a mere girl, as her father wants her to command good craftsmen, but a foreign stripling?”
“Is it true that the broken pieces don’t work? Or is he holding out for more money?”
Cedric sneered. “Would not surprise me. He acts too good to be true. No one is that holy.”
Ben eyed the pile of clay tablets. “We could sell those two sets. I could arrange it.”
“But we don’t understand how it all goes together.”
“Then the boy needs to come with it,” Ben said.
Cedric gave him a wild-eyed look. “No, I’ll not be involved in that.”
Ben offered a beatific smile. “We only want the information he has, my friend. Once he divulges what the lucky buyer needs, then he can return to Germany. But in the meanwhile, someone else can make their fortune with the wonder fabric. And you will have made it happen, so there surely will be a reward for you. Perhaps your own weaver’s shed, away from these unimaginative dolts.” His smile turned sinister. “Maybe even a royalty.”