Chapter 25
July 1635
The smell of roasting beef permeated the entire house when the family returned from morning chapel on a Sunday six weeks later. Nat lifted his nose as if he would draw in all the aromas.
“I will eat the entire side of beef by myself!” he declared.
The others laughed.
“Well, you had best not,” said Sir Timothy, with mock sternness. “We’re expecting a good deal of company, and some of them have appetites to match yours.”
Everyone sounded chipper and bright, but an air of brittle nerves permeated the household. According to letters conveyed from Magdeburg, Aaron Craig and a cartload of aqualators were expected to arrive within the week. Messages had gone back and forth to Grantville on the Meadowlark and other ships. James himself had brought the last one, informing Margaret and Sir Timothy that the mechanisms were ready, and went on the final voyage to fetch the up-timers and all their gear. The household had been in a flurry of activity to prepare rooms for the arrivals. Lady de Beauchamp had overwhelmed herself with fussing over whether the furnishings and amenities would be enough for their guest from the future.
“They will accept anything,” Margaret had promised her. “They even offered to share a room, either with one another or with any of us, or to put up in a guest house.”
“That won’t do!” Delfine had protested. She had made the servants move different furniture in and out of the rooms until it all became too much for her, and she went back to her own sitting room with her embroidery to calm down. Margaret was glad to have her out of the way, although she couldn’t help but go in and straighten the bedclothes and count the towels and linens that had been set out for Aaron and Martin, his stepfather.
The date of their arrival was supposed to be on Friday. From Wednesday on, Margaret had been in a spin, keeping an eye on the avenue in case the cart should arrive. She wished fervently for a telegraph or a radio so that she could receive advance notice. Had the up-timers failed to meet the ship? Had the ship met with a storm and been delayed on its passage? Had the cart met with robbers or impassible roads?
In anticipation of Aaron arriving on Friday and having his aqualators up and running in the weavers’ shed, Sir Timothy had invited the manor’s workers and the Master of the Weavers and Fullers Guild, Richard Blackford, to come to luncheon with them at Churnet House and see the modern marvels for themselves. Alas, no sign of the cart or the up-timers had appeared, so nothing had changed, and no number of hints served to soothe the curiosity buzzing through the neighborhood.
After some discussion with Margaret and James, Sir Timothy decided that food and drink would do the trick to making his workers receptive to new ideas, even in the absence of the mechanical marvels themselves. And to invite Master Blackford was only proper. Though the workers were not independent craftsmen, the four masters among them belonged to the Weavers and Fullers Guild under Master Blackford. Their journeymen and apprentices would become full members in time, but in the meanwhile, their masters were responsible for their education, and for their behavior.
They had resigned themselves that the lunch would take place without the guests of honor. No news of a disaster at sea had arrived, so Margaret had to trust that Aaron would arrive eventually, but they would have to explain the purpose of the celebratory meal in some manner. It all felt so awkward.
Early in the arrangements, Sir Timothy had spoken to Mrs. Ball and the other servants about keeping any information they overheard about the visitors a deep, dark secret. All of them had promised solemnly not to reveal anything, but Mrs. Ball had dismissed the notion as foolishness.
“Sir Timothy, people will talk,” she said, drawing herself up to her formidable height. “We cannot pretend that nothing is happening. We have a roost full of gossips, and they must have fodder, or they will starve.”
“You’re right,” he admitted. He and Margaret conferred for a moment. “The weavers in Hamburg are famous. My daughter sailed there three months ago to negotiate with our buyers there. She was privileged to observe master craftsmen whose work she felt would enhance our own. Not to take away from Churnet House’s weavers, who are renowned for the beauty and durability of the cloth they produce, but to take advantage of innovations that are in use on the continent. We have invited two men from the Germanies who have offered to share their skills with my workers. We hope that you will welcome them with all the hospitality of the house.”
Mrs. Ball nodded with dignity and turned to the other servants.
“You hear that? There’s your story. If I hear otherwise from anyone, you will be sleeping out in the coop with the hens.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ball!” they chorused.
It had taken a reminder or two, but queries that made their way from the de Beauchamps’ friends and neighbors proved that the servants had largely adhered to the story that Sir Timothy had formulated. Nothing about it was untrue; rather, the truth was diluted, and a few elements were left out.
The story, however, didn’t satisfy the weavers themselves, who sent a contingent to speak with Sir Timothy. He promised the four master weavers in his employ that they need not fear for their jobs, and that all would be revealed when the visitors arrived. That caused more buzzing in the rumor-hive, but that was to be expected. But, at last, the day had come.
“Squire!” Noah, the undergardener, came pelting inside. “The cart’s here! By Heaven, sir, it looks like it’s carrying a whole house!”
“Oh, thank Heaven!” Margaret grabbed her skirts and hurried out into the sunshine to meet it.
The goods wagon had only just pulled past the gate house and was trundling slowly but steadily toward them. At the sight of her, James and Aaron stood up on the seat beside Ranulf and waved to her with both arms. An older, larger man was in the rear of the cart, wedged between cloth-wrapped bundles. It must be Aaron’s stepfather, Martin Craig. She had not met him, but he had been involved in the correspondence that had been traversing back and forth over the sea. Sir Timothy came panting up beside her. They met the cart halfway to the house. She couldn’t believe how many boxes were packed into it.
“Well, I’m here,” Aaron said. He hopped down. “And you will not believe how amazing the system works!”
“Oh, I am so happy to see you!” Margaret said. She grasped his hands tightly, then realized how forward the gesture had been. She let go. The boy blushed. She felt her own cheeks burning. “I am sorry. I am just so excited! Please introduce me to this gentleman.”
“My dad,” Aaron said, proudly.
“Martin Craig, ma’am,” the man said, clambering down from his perch. His large, rough hand dwarfed hers, but his touch was very gentle. “My boy and I are pleased to be here to help you. Miz Rita sends her regards, and says to tell you she’s back in Ingolstadt, but she’ll do anything you need her to.”
Margaret introduced her father to them, who clapped them both on the shoulders.
“Come in, come in! You’ve traveled all this way, and there are people who are eager to make your acquaintance.”
* * *
Aaron couldn’t restrain himself from chattering about the machinery that he had escorted all the way from Magdeburg. The boy had a big, dark green sack fastened with straps slung over his shoulder, which he kept close.
“…And the clockwork parts that run the heddles based on the encoding embedded in the aqualators, Dr. Gribbenflotz helped out a lot with that, as well as a couple of blacksmiths that work for the USE Navy. I couldn’t get all the pieces to line up right at first, but the aqualators are gonna stand on platforms that adjust up and down, depending on how fast you want the shuttles to go. Weavers are still gonna have to manage the beaters. If I had to work out more programming to pull that, you’d have to have a hall the size of a gym for all the aqualators. Until I met Herr Oberdorn, I didn’t know weaving was like riding a bicycle while juggling chainsaws.…”
Margaret finally managed to squeeze in a word, as the rest of the family spilled into the sitting room. Her mother led the way, gliding like a swan. Three of the servants followed in her wake, bearing mugs and plates.
“Please allow me to introduce my lady mother,” she said at last. Aaron closed his mouth and goggled like a fish as Delfine bore down on him like a ship coming into harbor. “Lady de Beauchamp. These gentlemen are Martin and Aaron Craig.”
Mother favored them with a gentle smile and offered her hand. Aaron goggled a little at the delicate gentlelady wreathed in lace shawls and cap. Margaret giggled. She knew he was used to heartier women like Rita Simpson and the forthright German woman who was in charge of the Treasury’s bookkeepers.
“Be welcome, gentlemen,” Mother said, like an angel bestowing a blessing.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Martin said. He wiped his face with a handkerchief from his pocket. “Sorry about the delay. Our crates were too much for the cart axle. It had to get fixed just outside the port. Lucky there was a blacksmith who could take care of it right away. It only cost a few coins. We paid with marks. I thought they might have a problem taking another country’s currency, but they were nice about it.”
Another expense! Margaret’s heart sank as she contemplated how much they were going to need to settle with the people of Grantville. With every extra person that Aaron mentioned, she pictured more red ink on the ledgers. Her father must have had the same worries, but neither of them allowed their concerns to show on their faces. The project must be a success, or everything would be lost.
However, the Craigs were welcome guests in the household, and were given every courtesy. Both of the up-timers proved to be polite and friendly with the children and the servants of the house. As Margaret had predicted, they behaved to the latter as though they were equals, immediately endearing themselves to the employees and scandalizing her parents and Mrs. Ball. Margaret knew that the Americans’ familiarity meant that from then on, Gilly and the others would make certain that Aaron and Martin would receive the choicest cuts of meat, the best of the bread and sweets, and generously poured glasses of beer. Mother oversaw the offerings of hospitality with kindness. Margaret was beside herself with impatience, but had to wait until all of the niceties were observed. When Martin set down his mug for the second time, Margaret couldn’t help herself.
“Are the devices ready?” she all but blurted out. “Will you be able to make them work before the others arrive?”
“Margery!” her mother exclaimed, appalled.
“It’s all right, Mrs. de Beauchamp.” Aaron frowned and pulled a thin, hard board out of his green sack. It had a metal clip on the top affixing a sheaf of the white papers to it. “It’s gonna take some time, but I could probably get one of them running in a couple of hours.”
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed four. The weavers would be arriving soon. Margaret’s stomach whirled with nerves.
“Should we begin now? How may we help?”
“It will have to wait, Margery,” Sir Timothy said, with a wealth of patience. “The guests will be arriving very soon. We cannot wait the luncheon, or Mrs. Ball will serve us sour porridge and rotten meat for a week. If Aaron would be so good, we can make one afterward.”
“That’s all right with me. I can explain everything while I put one together,” Aaron said. “Your employees can ask questions. I know you’re worried about them taking to the machines, but people can accept something new if they get a good explanation.”
“That’s good common sense,” Sir Timothy added. “We have committed to this change. We rise or fall on this moment. One way or another, our lives will change.”
“I’ll make it sound as positive as I can,” Aaron said. “I think they’ll be up for it. I think it’s pretty amazing. All the test runs were fantastic.”
“Pray remember,” Margaret pleaded with them, “you may only speak German or Amideutsch. No one must know you are Americans.”
“Oh!” Aaron looked abashed. “I forgot. You said something about that when you were in Magdeburg.”
“I understand, miss,” Martin said, with his slow smile. “You let us know where it’s safe to talk between ourselves in English, but otherwise, it’ll be no trouble. We’ll just ask you to translate for us.”
“I hope my Amideutsch is up to it,” she said.
“I’ll be all right, miss,” Martin said, smiling at her. “Once they see what my boy has designed, they won’t care if we brayed like mules.”
* * *
How right he was.
Sir Timothy saw to it that two kegs of beer were brought up from the cellar, and a cask of good red wine. The pantler had barely tapped the first keg when Liza came in to announce the arrivals.
“Master Richard Blackford…and others, sir,” she said, with a clear expression of annoyance.
Sir Timothy grinned. “Pray admit them, and make certain we have mugs and glasses for all.”
“And others” was a dismissive way for the under housekeeper to refer to the weavers and fullers who were in the direct employ of the manor, as being of lesser rank than the house servants. The up-timers were clearly unaware of the distinction. As they were “Germans” and not supposed to know English customs, Margaret had to let the situation take its own course. The Craigs would be resident in Churnet House for several weeks. It was all she could do not to try to hold all the strings as if she was a puppeteer in a mystery play, controlling every little motion of her characters. She couldn’t manage every interaction. It would tear her to pieces like a piece of bread caught in a whirlpool. If Martin Craig’s easy-going nature was any indication, whatever strictures that she or Sir Timothy put on them would almost certainly fall by the wayside in little time. She would have to trust them.
Master Blackford entered first, wearing his Sunday finest, a black velvet coat and matching breeches, highly polished boots, and his heavy gold chain of office. He was a grand-looking man, with long, dark hair and beard worn in a style echoing His Majesty the king’s. Sir Timothy greeted him and showed him to a place of honor beside the fire. The burning logs were barely necessary, now that it was getting toward full summer, but the symbol of hospitality meant a lot to the Master.
He greeted the children fondly, as he had known all of them since birth. He shook hands solemnly with James.
“Good to see you returned safely from the sea once again, Master James.”
“I thank you, sir,” James said. For once, Margaret’s brother had been forced into his best boots as well as good clothing borrowed from his father’s linen press. Their mother had been horrified at the condition of the clothes in his sea chest: stained, faded, torn and much mended, and daubed here and there with ineradicable pitch and paint. The borrowed tunic, several inches too large, was belted tight around his midsection. She had thrown up her hands at his hair. “Providence has been good to us.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Master Blackford said. “You know what rumors are like. No one escapes them. Like death and taxation.” He chuckled at his own witticism.
The de Beauchamps, knowing they needed his good will, laughed along.
“And you, Mistress Margaret, your trip abroad has brought roses to your cheeks.” Master Blackford patted the side of her face. Margaret forced a smile. It had only been two months since her return.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“I look forward to hearing what you saw on the continent,” Blackford said. Margaret felt ice form in her belly from nerves. The Guild Master progressed to Lady de Beauchamp, who received his handshake from the seat opposite the one prepared for him, on the other side of the fire. “Delfine, you have never looked more beautiful.”
Her mother smiled at the compliment. “You are too kind, Guild Master.”
Close behind the Guild Master was Master Fred Wilkinson, the eldest of the master weavers, stocky and broad-shouldered, fading blond hair and beard, with his three eldest children. Samuel, Alder, and Ivy had grown up in the trade. Samuel, born the same year as Margaret, had already taken his journeyman’s examinations, and was a member of the guild beside his father. Alder was a sound workman. Ivy, the others said, should have been born a man, for she was more talented than any of her siblings, and plied the shuttle as if it was an extension of her hand. She had a plait of barley-gold hair down her back and bright green eyes the color of her namesake plant, and was not yet married.
The weavers and fullers filed in and found seats on the chairs and benches set out for them. As the eldest and most senior of the weavers, Fred saw to it that all of his workers were served beer before he accepted one for himself. He held up his mug to the assembly.
“Squire, Guild Master, may Heaven’s blessing be upon us all.”
They toasted him and drank.
“Thank you for your kind words,” Sir Timothy said. “You are all welcome in our home. No doubt you are curious about the two strangers in our midst. These are craftsmen from the continent. From, er, Hamburg. Herr Martin Craig and his son, Aaron.”
At the sound of their names, both of the visitors stood up and waved at the assembly. Margaret expected them to bow, but mentally cut the puppet strings holding onto them. They wouldn’t know the customs. No one would expect them to. Hettie kept close to her mistress, fearing that she was going to worry herself into a tizzy.
To her great relief, the Craigs played their parts well. They pretended to look puzzled at most of the conversation during the meal, and kept their conversation to a few low exchanges, all in German. Ivy shot a curious glance at Aaron. He caught her eye and smiled. She blushed and turned her attention to her plate. The boy kept shooting glances her way every time she looked up. Margaret smiled indulgently, feeling as though she was Aaron’s mother, instead of barely older than he was.
After the lunch was finished, Sir Timothy rose, glass in hand.
“I wish to express my gratitude for you all. We have been together through thick and thin—perhaps not that thin.” He patted his round belly. Everyone chuckled. “But truly, the last few years have been challenging ones. You have all risen to face those challenges, and I cannot tell you how much that has helped to keep the de Beauchamp name alive. I bring you here today to let you know of a tremendous opportunity that has come to us. You will be playing a part in history. I want to explain it to you, and ask for your forbearance in not revealing any details outside of this room until it comes to pass. Do I have your word on it?”
The workers murmured among themselves, but only Master Blackford raised the question.
“What details, Sir Timothy? You know you may rely upon our discretion, but truly, what is there to be discreet about? Our craft is not a new one. Indeed, though those present are of the highest level of skill on these shores, they have perfected what their forefathers have passed down to them.”
“Yes, all that is true,” Sir Timothy said. “But we live in more comfortable surroundings than did our ancestors. We have the benefit of modern learning—science!—passed along to us by enlightened minds. Why should we not incorporate that into our craft and take a step toward a future that our forefathers would have been proud to live in?”
Master Blackford gestured toward the Craigs. “And is this why your visitors are here?”
“Indeed. I have commissioned from them a mechanical wonder that will give our fabrics a twist”—Sir Timothy chuckled at his own witticism—“to lift our work above that of the textiles for sale on the continent. To be sure, you will have noticed that we are not getting the remuneration that we have in the past for sales beyond these shores.”
The Guild Master frowned. “Yes, indeed, I have. I have admonished the weavers to make fewer mistakes and produce a higher quality cloth. That is all we can do to compete with our rivals overseas.”
“That may not be all,” Sir Timothy said. “And why I must swear all of you to secrecy, or ask you to leave at this time.” He looked around the room at the weavers and fullers. Margaret admired the way that he had built up their curiosity. None of them would have risen from their seats at that moment to save their souls from perdition. She had to keep from smiling. “Do you all give me your most solemn word?”
Fred cleared his throat. “Squire, I do.” All of the workers nodded, their eyes wide. Sir Timothy looked at Master Blackford.
The guild master threw up his hands.
“Oh, very well, I do, too.”
Sir Timothy turned to the Craigs. “What help do you need from us?”
“Bitte?” Aaron asked, with just the right expression of polite confusion. Margaret could have risen up and kissed him. James released a spate of German that she could just follow, and Aaron nodded.
“We will to the looms go,” he said, affecting a thick accent. Ivy looked on him with shining eyes, and Margaret watched her with a combination of worry and indulgence.