Tenderly, she smoothed the quilt beneath his chin, and stroked the black curls from his pale forehead. Then she came to sit at the table with Nat and his father.
When her eyes met his, Nat held his breath. She unsettled him, this Mrs. Duckett. There was something direct in her gaze. When she looked at him, she saw him.
None of the toffs he’d encountered until now had ever bothered to see people like him. Not really. He and his lot were unsightly obstacles. Something for the eye to become momentarily distracted by, something at which to feel revulsion. But not something, or someone to actually see.
Not so with the woman before him. Nat realized that, though he had worked up the courage to confront her, he had not been prepared for his words to be acknowledged, considered. He had not expected to be effective.
He felt as good as naked under the weight of that direct gaze.
“Now, Mr. Cotter, I suppose you are wondering why I am here,” she began.
“You s’pose right,” he said cautiously. “I can’t see as I’ve done anything wrong, so why you should be here is beyond me.”
“Please pay no mind of my son,” Joseph Cotter apologized. “He is young and strong willed. He—”
Mrs. Duckett held up a hand. “I shall stop you there, Mr. Cotter. I have not come to make accusations or to air grievances. Although the good Lord knows I was astounded by your son’s arrival on my doorstep last night, and even more astounded by what he had to say to me.”
She softened then, her shoulders dropping slightly.
To Nat, she said, “The truth is, Mr. Cotter, that you were right. I do suppose that I shall have to account for my choices one day, and that in this life they affect a great many people. You were, however, wrong about two things.”
“And what might those be?”
“To the first, you said my choice to let men go was selfish. While you also accused me of being small-minded—and you were right on that score—my choice was not selfish. No, sir, it was a lazy choice. Lazy because it was the only solution presented to me by my lawyer—who, by the way, is a good and competent professional, so I’ll not have anyone speaking ill of him.
“The choice which he laid before me was based on the assumption that I was not willing to sacrifice my personal wealth for the sake of the business. But in that he was wrong. And it was because of your visit last night that I realized it. To take work away from men who need it without trying to find an alternative solution was lazy and small-minded. But it wasn’t selfish. It was only that I had not weighted my options properly.”
Her eyes turned to Joseph Cotter. “But now I have, and I’ve decided that I do want to fight. As such, I would like you to come back to work, Mr. Cotter. You shall be given your old job back and shall continue on at the same wage as you had previously. It shall be like this whole thing has never happened.”
Joseph Cotter’s eyes widened. Nat, too, was astonished, but he managed not to show it like his father did.
“What about the others?” the old man inquired.
“I’ve had messengers dispatched to offer them their jobs back, too. If they want to return, that is.”
Nat could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was it true? Had he actually made a difference by storming over to Mrs. Duckett’s home in her rich neighbourhood and abusing her on her own doorstep?
“Begging your pardon, madam, but I wonder why you have taken the trouble to come to my father to tell him that he has his job back when the others will be contacted by messenger.”
A small, self-satisfied smile formed on her lips. “That is because it was not just your father that I came to see.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed. You said some strong things to me last night, about the business and my part in it. You said I should not have given up so easily, you remember. But the problem is that while I wish to fight for my business, I do not know how to solve the problems the brewery faces. I do not even know what those problems are, truth be told, but I know they are far greater than just debt.
“It is an easy thing to tell a person what he or she ought to do, and it is quite another to be in that person’s shoes. Therefore, Mr. Nathaniel Cotter, I have come to tell you that you are going to work for me. I am not asking. You are going to help me find a solution. And we will see if you can live up to those strong words of yours.”
Nat enjoyed the challenge in her eyes. Was encouraged by it. With a wry smile, he said, “And tell me, what was the second thing I was wrong about?”
A wry smile of her own met his. “You said I chose my frills and luxuries over the jobs of deserving men.”
“And that was wrong?”
“It was. As it so happens… I hate frills!”
Chapter Six
At noon the next day, Nat found himself back at Mrs. Isobel Duckett’s home in Belgravia.
The moment he walked in, he could feel the butler, that tall, rotund man whom he remembered was called Willcox, watching him. However, to his surprise both Nat and his father had been received with more dignity and grace than he’d been expecting. Willcox had placidly taken Nat’s coat, and with a voice like cold molasses he invited them to join the others in the drawing room. He even addressed them as “gentlemen,” and not a hint of distaste could be detected (though Nat suspected it was there, simmering in the butler’s gut).
“I’ll give you one thing, mate: You’re bloody good at your job,” Nat quipped, and he thumped the man genially on the shoulder.
“That is one thing on which we both agree, sir.”
The exchange with Willcox elevated Nat’s mood. By the time he strolled into the drawing room with his father in tow, he was grinning slightly. When he saw what waited, however, his eyes widened in surprise. There were about thirty men from the brewery standing around and speaking in hushed tones. Most held glasses of wine, sherry, or port, and several had palm-sized hors d’oeuvres. They took small, furtive bites as if they would be reprimanded for indulging in such fine morsels.
Nat’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he’d not eaten that morning. There had only been enough bread for Rose, Mary, and Oliver.
Two white-gloved footmen in full livery wound through the guests with trays of fresh spirits. Neither one gave indication that the gathering was anything other than a run-of-the-mill, everyday affair.
The drawing room itself was the height of luxury. The floral wallpaper was a mural of varying shades of plum, and the parquet flooring was overlaid with a large oriental rug. Oil paintings of varying sizes peppered the walls in wide, gold-leaf frames, and there was an ornately cast plaster fireplace with a white marble ledge, inside of which crackled a small, cheerful fire.
There were several settees, chairs and stools about the room, but no one appeared to want to sit. Either they were too nervous about why they were here and preferred to stand, or (more likely), they were unaccustomed to such finery, and hadn’t a clue how they were expected to comport themselves.
Joseph Cotter, recognizing many of his friends, stepped out from behind Nat and joined the nearest group in their friendly, if somewhat uneasy, conversation. Not knowing anyone here, Nat tagged along and hovered at the edge of the small circle.
“What do you think this here’s all about?” said one man, tall and gaunt. His unwashed hair had been combed but stuck out over his ears from where he’d removed his hat.
“We’ve got our jobs back, that’s all I know.” Joseph responded. “Although Mrs. Duckett came to our flat yesterday to offer our Nat a job, too.”
“She came to your flat?” the tall man said, disbelievingly.
“You’ve got a job, too, young Nat?” exclaimed another.
“Well what’s it all about?” said a third, when Nat nodded.
“I don’t know,” he told them. “She wouldn’t say. Or, rather, she didn’t quite know. She just said that I needed to live up to my strong words.”
“What strong words?”
“Oh, yeah.” Nat passed a hand through his thi
ck hair and eyed the men sheepishly. “I, em… I came here two nights ago and spoke my mind.”
The men all looked at him, faces reflecting a range of emotion from horror to admiration.
“You never,” said a small, stout man with one prominent tooth in the whole of his mouth. “You mean to say you came here?”
“You’ve got a sack on you, boy,” said the tall man.
“He’s got to learn to mind his gob, that’s what,” Joseph remarked.
“What are you complaining about? It got you your job back.”
By then, another five or so men had arrived. They streamed in one after the other, and all had the same bewildered looks on their timeworn faces.
Eventually, Willcox appeared at the door.
“If you would follow me, gentlemen, we shall reassemble in the library where Mrs. Duckett awaits.”
Moving like a timid herd of sheep, the men trouped out of the drawing room. Some left behind their drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and some, forgetting they held anything in their hands, took theirs along with them.
Willcox led them across the tiled hall with its wood and marble opulence, and into the library where the furniture had been moved aside. In its place, forty-odd wooden folding chairs had been arranged in a semi-circle, three rows deep. At the head of the chairs stood Mrs. Duckett herself.
Her hair was neatly pinned, and she was wearing a sensible frock of deep violet, with waistcoat buttoned to the breast, and a high-collared shirt (no frills, he noted) underneath. She smoothed her hands over her skirts as her guests found seats. Her brown eyes darted from one face to the next, and when her gaze met Nat’s, her chin rose a fraction, as if she were encouraged by his presence.
He’d forgotten in the short time since she’d come to his flat just how tiny she was. His stomach gave an unexpected flip at the sight of her.
Joseph Cotter took a seat in the back row on Mrs. Duckett’s right side. Nat sat next to him. In truth, he felt a little awkward around these men who had shared a sense of camaraderie as employees of the brewery. Nat was little better than an outsider. They filled in the seats around him, some nodding, and some looking him up and down. But since he was with Old Joe, they let him be.
When all her guests had been seated, Mrs. Duckett clapped her hands together. Nat noticed the sharp intake of breath just before she did. Cor, he thought. She was as frightened of the men as they were of her. But he admired her pluck in facing them.
“Gentlemen,” she began in a surprisingly strong voice. “To begin with, please allow me to apologize most sincerely for the temporary loss of your jobs the other day. I hope I have made amends in bringing you all back on, and from what my business advisor tells me, you have all accepted my offer of rehire, for which I am glad.
“I want to assure you that no such ill-considered decision will ever be made on my part again. And in an effort to assure you all I am a woman of my word, you shall each be given your full wage for the days you were out of work. Your pay packets will not be any lighter at the end of the week.”
The generous offer was received with low murmurs as men twisted in their seats to converse with one another briefly.
“I will not mince words, gentlemen,” Mrs. Duckett continued. “Duckett and Company is in financial trouble. Large debts have been amassed against the company by my brother, Mr. Charles Dyer. While I have been able to settle many of the debts, and beg extensions on the remainder, it does not solve the fundamental problem that sales are not what they were in times past. Unfortunately, I dare not begin to guess why that might be. So that is why you are all here. I’m hoping you will help me find the cause of why the brewery is declining so that we can turn it around together.”
She looked hopefully at them. They stared back with suspicion.
“Does any among you have a suggestion?” she hedged when no one moved. “Anyone? Any man at all?”
Nat’s heart went out to the woman. Here she was, standing in front of these unfamiliar men, asking them for help. Asking them to save both her and themselves. And they weren’t saying a thing because they had never before been asked by a toff for their opinion. But if they were anything like his father, then Nat was sure they had more than a mere opinion. Many nights, Joseph Cotter had come home with some strong words of his own about the brewery and its lack of competent management.
When still the men remained silent, he stood.
“If I may, madam.”
Their eyes met for a brief moment. In hers, he saw a spark of gratitude, of hope. She nodded. He looked around the room at the men who were seated. They looked back at him with the same gratitude and hope.
“Some of you know me since I was to me dad’s knees. For those of you that don’t, I’m Nathaniel Cotter. I am the son of master brewer Joseph Cotter. ’Cept for odd jobs here and there, I don’t work at the brewery. Not like you lot. So I don’t really have a part in this. But you do.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in while gathering his thoughts.
“This is your work, men, and this is your chance. If you’re anything like me dad, you know why the business is failing. You’ve grumbled to your families over supper. You’ve chin-wagged with your mates and the barmen in your local pubs.”
This earned a begrudging chuckle from the men.
“Tell me this? When has a nob—begging your pardon, Mrs. Duckett—ever cared about what we lot think? When have they ever asked us for our ideas? You’re being given a chance to do that here. Today. Now. Don’t waste it, men. Speak while you can.”
He glanced once more to Mrs. Duckett before sitting down. The glimmer in her eye had changed. It was no longer gratitude; it was something he couldn’t quite identify. Something much more alive.
It had the curious effect of both sending a thrill up his spine and putting him on his guard.
At the back of the audience, a chair creaked. One of the men stood up, cloth hat clutched in his work-roughened hands.
“Well now, Mrs. Duckett—and forgive me for saying so—but… but the stills. They’re rusting out. I told Mr. Dyer so going on a year ago, and only one of them stills was ever repaired.”
“He repaired it with scraps he bought off the scavengers down at the banks of the Thames,” said another man while the first sat down again. “Didn’t even rinse the muck off, just had a cheap labourer come in and bang the metal into place. Thing still drips ’cause it wasn’t done proper.”
“The latest shipment of grain spilled out on loading, and Mr. Dyer had us scrape it back up and put it in the store house,” another man jumped in. “Horse shite—begging your pardon for my language, Mrs. Duckett. Filth and muck. It changes the flavour, don’t you know?”
“The hops, too,” said yet another man. “They’re rotting. I know a bloke what saw that crate fall off the barge at the docks. It were bought by Mr. Dyer for a song and a handshake. You can’t use hops that are rotting to slime.”
“And the distributors. Mr. Dyer, ma’am, he offended all the good ones. They won’t have us because of him.”
Nat watched Mrs. Duckett carefully. Her hope, when first the men began talking, fell swiftly, though she rallied to remain positive. The problems, though, were many, and it was clear she had no idea in how bad a state the brewery was.
When the men were finished with their long list of problems, as well as a curtailed account of grievances against Mr. Dyer himself, the woman breathed deeply. She pushed her hands into her hips and drew her shoulders inwards as if to alleviate the burden that had just been dumped onto her small shoulders.
“I can assure you that Mr. Dyer no longer has a place at my brewery. From now on, I shall assume administrative and managerial duties myself. And from now on, I insist you bring your troubles and concerns directly to me. Tomorrow I shall come to the brewery myself. I would like to meet with each of you, and you can show me exactly what you mean.” She added, more for her sake than for theirs, “I fear it shall be a long day.”
After the meeting and the
luncheon had concluded, the men began to file out the door a few at a time. It took a while for the room to clear, for Willcox had to retrieve coats and help their owners into them. Nat waited with his father, in no hurry to return home.
“Mr. Cotter, I wonder if you and your father might stay behind a little longer,” Mrs. Duckett said. She laid her hand gently on Nat’s forearm.
Her touch tingled beneath his shirt, and Nat’s eyes lingered on her slim fingers—a little too long; he had to force them away to meet her face.
“Yeah, awright.”
Suddenly the men weren’t clearing out fast enough. Nat willed the butler to move quicker. He willed the older brewers to hurry their creaking joints up and stuff their arms into their coats and be on their way. When, at last, he, his father, and Mrs. Duckett were the only ones remaining in the library, she motioned with her hand to the settee by the front window.
“Please, have a seat.”
Nat and his father moved to the settee, and she arranged herself on one of two armchairs opposite. She let out a breath and looked around the room.
“I admit, I didn’t know what to expect of this luncheon today.”
“It was a beautiful luncheon,” Joseph assured her.
“No, not beautiful. I had considered making it a formal luncheon, dining room, linen, three courses, but my table is not large enough. Besides, something tells me none of my guests would have been comfortable with a formal luncheon.”
“Naw, this was just fine,” Nat said. “You want that lot in there to help you, you’ve got to earn their trust. And a fancy luncheon ain’t going to do that.”
She smiled faintly. “Well, one obstacle surmounted, I suppose. But I fear I am facing a far greater one where this company is concerned. I hadn’t imagined how great. As recently as this morning I had hoped there were only a couple of items that needed attention. But to have learned the stills, the grain, the hops, the equipment all are failing… even the bloody building is in need of repair.”
“These are all things you can fix, surely,” Joseph put in.
The Christmas Blend Page 4