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Chapter 31


“Did you have a pleasant meal last evening?” Lady de Beauchamp asked Aaron, when he returned to the family table for lunch a few days later. His face turned red to the ears. “Mrs. Wilkinson is a fine cook. Her bread is delightfully light and fluffy. And I suppose you were able to spend some time with Ivy?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The youth shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Doesn’t Ivy have a beau?” Nat asked, his attention on his food. “I thought one of the journeymen, Sam Crowforth, had set himself on her. I didn’t think she cared a fig for him, though.”

“She never mentioned him. She was more fixed on telling me the names of things. I didn’t know there were so many names for sheep!” Aaron sighed and bit into a chunk of bread. “I wish I could just talk with her.”

“That’s not going to work, son,” Martin said, sympathetically. “She’s got to be fooled, just like everyone else. It’s only for a little while more. We’re not going to be here that long. I don’t want the two of you to fall for each other when we’ll be back in Magdeburg by autumn. We can’t leave too late. I don’t want to run into rough seas when winter starts coming on.”

Aaron’s shoulders sagged. “I know, Dad.”

Margaret sympathized, but the truth hit her hard in the belly. She had come to admire the Americans even more than before. Martin, with his kind soul and wise mind, had become a genial uncle to the people on the estate. Aaron everyone admired as though he was a lightning bolt that had come to Earth. Small wonder that Ivy, and a few of the other girls around the estate, had noticed him. He wasn’t the handsomest, nor the most charming, but he was friendly, intelligent, and eager to share his knowledge. But why should he be lonely for the time he had remaining here?

“I suppose there’s no harm in spending time with her. She’s a nice girl. Escort her to church, if her folks let you.” Martin patted his son on the shoulder. “Sounds like her parents don’t mind you getting to know her. If you can teach her something about program design, that’s all good for business.”

* * *

That seemed to be the answer to getting more time away with Ivy. Aaron didn’t neglect his duties in the weavers’ shed, taking care of the looms and cleaning out the aqualators when they silted up, and showing the apprentices all the little things to do to keep them running smoothly. But he spent all his free hours sitting with Ivy underneath the trees or around the corner from sight of her vigilant father, Fred, or anyone else who might tattletale to him. Supposedly, they were talking about work, but there was a lot of time for some necking, as well. He was getting paid for his work with the weavers, but this was his real reward.

That afternoon, they sat on the ground near the stream, their shoes and socks off, dabbling their feet in the cool water. A stand of bushes shaded them from sight. Aaron knew she had chosen the spot deliberately and didn’t object. She sat cuddled against his chest, making his blood bubble. She smelled of flower petals, although the scent was almost overpowered by the odor of raw wool, something none of them could escape from.

“So, the little bars in the akalabors are called ‘gates’?” Ivy asked, her fingers busy weaving a wreath out of flowers. “Why is that?”

“Just as gates between fields,” Aaron said. “Open for right data, close when wrong.”

“But what is data?” Ivy asked, then giggled at the frustrated expression on his face as he struggled to remember what words he was supposed to know in English. “Perhaps you shall teach me German, and then I can understand you.”

Ja,” Aaron said. “If you vish it.”

“Wish, I tell you for the ninth time, wish!”

“I wish,” Aaron said, gazing at her lovely green eyes. She leaned closer, her lips very close to his.

“I wish, too,” she said, her voice very low, and set the crown of flowers on his head. Their lips touched. He heard a rustling noise not far away, and drew back a little. Ivy ignored the sound. She pressed her mouth against his for a deep kiss. Skyrockets went off in Aaron’s brain. He’d never been kissed like that in his entire life. No girl at school had ever seemed so interested in him. No girl in his school was as pretty, either. Her mouth tasted of fruit and flowers. He kissed her back, hard, and she giggled again without lifting her lips from his.

Suddenly, she put her hands against his chest and pushed him to the ground with her on top of him. He realized that his legs were more than halfway into the stream. He struggled to get higher onto the bank. Ivy all but climbed his body, giggling like mad. They went on kissing. He put his arms around her and squeezed, not wanting to let go, ever. Her mouth moved on his, and her tongue licked between his lips, touching his. The rest of his body went into a frenzy, wanting to caress more and more of her. She encouraged it, wriggling against his hands. His body surged against the tight denim of his jeans, and he couldn’t do a thing about it.

Then, the distant noise grew closer.

“Boy! Where are you? Aaron! Come here, then! Ivy! I know you’re out here! Come here!” It was Mr. Fred, Ivy’s dad.

Alarmed, Aaron sat up. Ivy went sprawling, and laughed out loud. The bushes parted, and Fred looked through and down. His brow lowered.

“Get out of there!” he barked. “Straighten yoursel’s up! Put your shoes on! Aaron, come by the shed this minute. And you, daughter, get home with ye.”

“Aye, Father,” Ivy said, not looking even a little ashamed of herself. She reached for her shoes and shoved them onto her wet feet.

Aaron was grateful for the thick fabric of his trousers as he scrambled up. Ivy blew him a kiss and set off home. He picked up his shoes and followed the master weaver into the high-ceilinged room, his head bowed in shame. Diccon Linden elbowed him in the ribs and pointed to his head. He snatched the wreath off and hid it behind him.

To his surprise, no one made fun of him or teased him about being caught with the girl. In fact, every loom was at a standstill. Instead, all the weavers and their apprentices were gathered around Master Blackford, Sir Timothy, and Miz Margaret. The squire held up a leather pouch. He shook it. It jingled with the unmistakable sound of coins. Martin stood behind him, a broad grin on his face. Beside him, Piers Losen, the reeve, held a tray with trestle feet, which he planted in the middle of the workroom. On it, he set a small strongbox with a stout lock on it and a thick leatherbound book.

“From London!” Sir Timothy announced. “Master Bywell sent us the good news by swift horse messenger so we would not have to wait. I wanted all of you to behold the beginning of our good fortune!” He undid the neck of the pouch and poured the contents out into the wooden tray. The coins clattered out like a waterfall, glinting silver. The weavers gasped.

“By heaven’s mercy!” Master Matthew declared. “That is far more than the value of the woolens. We may as well have sent them silk.”

“Here is the receipt that accompanied it,” Sir Timothy said, holding out a yellowish piece of paper. Aaron couldn’t read the copperplate script upside down. His own handwriting, like everyone in his school, suffered by comparison with the way people wrote in the current day—those who could write, that was. “Once he displayed Churnet House brocade to the company of drapers who sell to those tailors who make up garments for the court”—the word excited murmuring among the weavers—“they began to bid against one another to obtain as much of the cloth as they could. They paid up to five times the value of good suiting per yard!”

Daniel Taylor threw his cap in the air. It was followed by a scattering of others. “Three cheers for Sir Timothy!”

“Nay,” the squire said, his round face glowing. His eyes went around the room. “Three cheers for all of you. To my daughter, who set this sphere in motion.” Miz Margaret beamed, her cheeks red. “You, my skilled workmen, who have my respect always. And to you, Master Aaron and Master Martin, for bringing us the wonder of the age.” He turned to the guild master. “Now, Master Blackford, if you will?”

The guild master pulled up a stool to the low table and began to organize the coins. “Master Piers, pray note down the sums?”

“Of course.” The narrow-faced reeve never did say much. Aaron hardly ever spoke with him. After Sir Timothy, he was the highest authority on the estate, and kept the books. He was a great organizer and cared deeply for the family. He and Aaron’s dad had made friends almost right away when they had arrived in Barlaston. Of course. Dad made friends with everybody.

With deft fingers, Master Blackford stacked the coins, mostly silver shillings, into columns of ten. Every eye watched his hands. Two stacks represented one pound, a large amount for the day. Piers tapped the top of each with the non-inked end of his pen, adding them up. He made notes in the ledger book in his flawless handwriting.

When the counting was finished, Aaron estimated that there was between forty and fifty pounds on the table. The weavers murmured in astonishment.

“Now the share for the guild,” Master Blackford said, with a pleased expression.

“Alas, no, my friend,” Sir Timothy said, raising a warning finger. “Do not forget that we have expenditures that must come first. For the mechanisms that have made this success possible, Master Piers has the sums.”

The reeve opened to a different page and read out numbers in his sonorous and nasal voice. To Aaron, he sounded like the preacher. He shifted coins toward himself as he spoke. “Educational courtesy, Herr Oberdorn, five guilders. Design and fabrication of the aqualators: twenty-three marks, fifteen albus, nine pfennigs,” he said. “Transport of same, seven marks, twelve albus. That is not to include passage to and from Thuringia for Master Martin and Master Aaron, the sum of eight marks. As for food and lodging…”

“I will absorb that,” Sir Timothy said, waving a hand. “We do not stint on hospitality.”

“As you say, sir.” He reeled off a bunch of other expenses, each of them accompanied by a shifting of coin. “That leaves the sum of eighteen pounds, five shillings, sixpence.”

“And the cost of goods?”

Master Piers moved yet more of the coin stacks to the far side of the table, but it still left a lot of silver in place: the profit on the cloth sold. The weavers twitched with anticipation.

“In the name of the guild, then, I claim one percent of the net,” Master Blackford said, looking pleased. Master Piers stacked coins before him. The guild master swept it into his belt pouch.

“Now, what you have been awaiting, my friends,” Sir Timothy said, with a smile for the assembled workers. “Master Piers has calculated the number of yards that each of you have created in the shipment, so here are your wages—and your share of the profit.”

One at a time, he called the names of the weavers, masters, journeymen, and apprentices. As each stepped forward, he placed silver into their palms. Master Cedric received his with lowered brows, but the eyes of the rest were shining. Sir Timothy even beckoned to Lily and gave her two shillings extra.

She let out a shriek of delight, holding her windfall in both hands. “I’d only expected ninepence!”

“And these are for Ivy,” the squire said, holding out three coins. “She worked hard, as well.” He looked around, his brow furrowed.

Fred cleared his throat. “I sent her home. I’ll give un to her if she mends her ways.”

Aaron felt his face grow red. This time the others did laugh. Sir Timothy chuckled. He beckoned the Craigs forward.

“Master Aaron, Master Martin, please take this as a token of my gratitude.”

Aaron didn’t know what to say, as the squire offered them, not silver, but gold coins from the tabletop.

“Danke, mein herr,” he said at last, his voice unexpectedly thick in his throat. “Danke schoen.”

Sir Timothy beamed at him. “You are welcome and more than welcome. And, last but not at all least in my thoughts, my daughter.”

“Oh, Father, no!” Margaret went wide-eyed as her father offered her a couple of the gold coins.

“Yes, my dear. You earned it. Is it not your design that earned us this treasure?” Sir Timothy asked. He caught her hand and tucked the coins into her palm. “This is only the beginning, my friends. The brocade that you have been weaving in the meanwhile,” he gestured toward the shelves that held the output of the last couple of weeks, “will gain us more and more fame. We move onward to greater triumph!”

“Hmmph!” grumbled Cedric. But he stuffed his money into his belt pouch.

“We begin again tomorrow,” Sir Timothy announced. “We have more orders from London, and we have to fulfill those for customers on the continent. Master Aaron, Master Martin, are the aqualators in good working order?”

Ja,” Martin said. “Need cleaning. Tonight.”

“I trust you to take care of that, my dear friends.”

Aaron groaned. Taking the units apart and cleaning them with a small soft brush or a pipe cleaner wasn’t difficult, but it was tedious.

“Come on, son,” Martin said, more or less reading his son’s mind. “The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”

* * *

“Happy, my dear?” Sir Timothy asked, wrapping his arm around his daughter’s shoulders as they walked back up the hill to the manor house. “I am not forgetting that you defied me while you were in Magdeburg, you know. And here, when you brought up the absurd notion of profit sharing.”

“I know, Father,” Margaret said, feeling flustered. “I apologize…”

“I’m not at all angry,” he assured her. “In fact, I was taken aback for a moment, but every time you have proved that your ideas were right. I am glad that you followed your instinct, and your dreams. If this is a sign of things to come, we shall be well and truly fixed for the future. I shall be content to leave the business in your hands when the time comes.”

“Surely that day will be many years away,” Margaret said, worried.

“Oh, aye, I am in good health, my dear Margery.” Sir Timothy smiled and shook his head. “I only hope that we can find you a husband who will respect your intelligence and drive and support you. So you can raise sons—and daughters—who will innovate and lead, as you have proved you can do. I am reminded over and over again that the Lord created Eve not as Adam’s servant, but to work at his side as his helpmeet. I will accept no suitor for you who does not understand that.”

Margaret didn’t know what to say. In the months, and now years, following the death of her elder brother Julian, her father’s dreams had come tumbling down, including making plans for an advantageous marriage for her. Since then, there hadn’t been time to think about a husband, or even where to look to find one. She wanted to have a mate, certainly, but all the young men to whom she had been introduced at country dances or at the homes of her father’s peers thought as he had, before she had encountered the Americans. Did she want to be tied down to one such as they? She glanced at her father. Having been to Magdeburg, she saw how women occupied spheres of influence equal, or nearly equal, to that of men. Should she ask him if she could find a husband among them, instead?

But her father’s thoughts had wandered away already from the subject of her future marriage. He chuckled, a hearty laugh bubbling up from his belly.

“Did you see Cedric’s face when I paid him? He nearly suffered an apoplexy! I feared we would have to call for Dr. Morrison!”

Margaret smiled. “He both hates and loves the status quo.”

“But it is the status quo,” Sir Timothy said. “The others will not let us revert to the old ways, not for anything.”

“Nor would I want to,” Margaret assured him. “All the expenses for this year could be paid off in four or five shipments!”

“Six at the most,” Sir Timothy said. “And didn’t our lad say that he can make variations in the patterns? While I am content with what we have for the moment, I would dearly love to be able to offer more than one style. Master Bywell would have to conduct auctions for each, at most advantageous rates!”

Dreams in her eyes, Margaret stumbled over a clod of grass. Her father scooped her up and held tight to her arm. “Be careful, Margery!”

She laughed. “I had my eyes on the stars and not on my feet. Thank you, Father.”

“Squire, a moment.”

The two of them turned. Master Blackford caught up with them, straightening his elegant hat.

“Yes, my friend?”

The guild master offered Margaret a polite nod, but addressed himself only to her father. He was not of the opinion that her father had lately voiced.

“Sir Timothy, I rejoice in the success of your venture, and wish to reassure you of my absolute support. However, I must inform you that rumors of what your workers are doing here in Churnet House have reached others of my guild. They are curious about the technique and the machinery that have made wool brocade possible. To be blunt, they are pressing me to ask how and when such advances can be made available to the rest of them. I have not yet given them details, as we agreed, but they can’t help but know what issued forth from here last week. I realize, after Master Piers read out the costs of the aqualators and the associated expenses and training involved that it is an investment that no individual is capable of achieving.” He hesitated, and Margaret realized he was embarrassed. “I acknowledge that the means of attaining these devices is entirely in your hands, through your friends on the continent. If you would be so kind as to facilitate the manufacture of such things and arrange for them to be made available to others in the craft, you would be a benefactor. Naturally, we would expect that you would be entitled to a commission for this, and possibly a royalty for all goods made upon the altered looms.”

Margaret drew in a breath in astonishment. Sir Timothy smiled. “Naturally, sir, we would hope for recompense for providing both the design and the devices. And I am glad to promote the widespread use of advanced technology. You cannot be unaware of the growing disadvantage at which we find ourselves with regard to the continent. I would be proud to lift English woolens once again to the level of esteem that they have always enjoyed in the civilized world before this.”

Master Blackford echoed his expression. “I see that we understand one another, sir. May I and my fellow guild masters call upon you to discuss further particulars?”

“Of course, but this is only the first shipment. We need to see whether this is a single success or the beginning of an ongoing enterprise.”

“I…see,” the guild master said. “I can’t say I disagree, but I am being pressed from several sides.”

“I do understand, my friend,” Sir Timothy said. “But pray see it from my point of view as well. I would ask you to wait a month or two until we are well established. Pray inform my reeve of when it would be convenient for you to call. Good day, dear sir.”

“Good day, Sir Timothy. Mistress Margaret.” Master Blackford touched the brim of his hat and stalked off down the hill.

Disappointed thoughts crowded Margaret’s mind, but she didn’t dare contradict her father, considering what he had just said to her before the guild master interrupted them. But Sir Timothy squeezed her shoulders again.

“Tell me what you think just happened, my dear,” he said, continuing their walk up the hill.

“I believe…that we cannot hold onto exclusivity forever,” she said, choosing her words as carefully as she would pluck flowers from a bed. “But we hoped to build our brand and earn enough that the annual taxes won’t ruin us.” Then, she smiled, as realization dawned. “But you did not give him a date by which we would order aqualators for the rest of the weavers, did you?”

Sir Timothy laughed. He nodded to Percy, who opened the door to them and bowed them through. The squire continued up the stairs to his study. “You are as sharp as a tack, my child. Precisely. Blackford’s not such a fool as to think I can produce aqualators out of the air, but he will have in his mind, as it is in the mind of those who sent him to ask, that he can obtain them before the end of this season. But, oh, my, what with the time it will take to send an order to…to our friends…and what with weather, and delays, and the difficulty in precision manufacture, for I have heard our young friend Aaron’s baffling discourse in an attempt to explain to us the particulars of ‘computers.’” He emphasized the last word, as if it was from a foreign language. “He has also informed your brother James on the state of the seas in between October and March, I could not see them arriving nor being installed and ready before next spring. Even the ones we received had flaws, lowering our potential output.

“I expect we have one season of exclusivity, then we will have rivals rising everywhere. As long as we hold the supremacy in variations on the design, we can continue to be the premier source for wool brocade—for a time, at least. All things that are not basic necessities rely upon trends. Look how swiftly fashion changes. I’ve noticed at least a couple of our journeymen attempting to emulate the indigo trousers that Martin and Aaron wear. They can’t copy the front fastenings, but they have made the five-pocket style. Those, too, will almost certainly have their day as well.”

“Then how will we ever find prosperity?” Margaret asked, almost despairing. “I had hoped that these water computers would be the answer to rebuilding our trade.”

Sir Timothy helped her into one of the chairs and lowered himself with a sigh into his favorite seat. “We walk a knife’s edge in this uncertain world, my dear. I hope to have an inheritance to leave you, but it does not depend solely on me. There are, as Master Martin says, a lot of moving parts that interact, and we dare not knock them too far out of true lest the whole contraption comes falling down about our ears. I expect that there are those who will take the short way to prosperity at our expense, and I am trying to guard against them. In the meanwhile, we continue to produce, and adapt, and hope that today’s income is not just a windfall, but a steady stream. The drapers and tailors will remember our name, but only as long as we have innovations to offer them. I think there we will maintain an advantage for a while yet.”

“I saw the weavers’ faces when they received their profit-sharing,” Margaret said, recalling the expressions with pleasure. “They were so happy.”

Sir Timothy shook his head. “We’ve bought their loyalty, at least for now. I’m not such a fool as to assume that a larger purse might not unseal their lips. Now that we’ve sold the first bolts, the word is out, and we’ll have to deal with what comes, the bad along with the good. We’ve made friends. We need to make more.”



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