These Tangled Threads

by Tracie Peterson

“I don’t mean to offend any of you fine men, but the fact remains the Americans are moving forward by leaps and bounds in the textile industry. Surely you’ve already experienced a decline in sales. I know they now import very little from England.”

  Archer nodded his head. “Of course. But they’ll never achieve the quality of our cloth. There are Americans who will still demand cloth woven in England.”

  “I’m not as certain as you, Mr. Archer. The mills in Lowell are now weaving every imaginable type of cloth, even carpets for American and foreign markets.”

  Archer glanced about the circle of men and then eyed William suspiciously. “How is it that you are privy to information that permits you to speak with such authority on the topic of the American textile industry?”

  Chauncy Fuller had drawn closer and now placed his hand on Archer’s shoulder. “Mr. Thurston is personally acquainted with some of the industrial giants of America.”

  Several of the men sniggered while casting glances at one another. “Industrial giants,” one of them guffawed.

  “The Americans have never had an original idea. Everything they’ve accomplished has been developed by the English. The only achievement those American capitalists can claim is thievery,” Reginald asserted.

  William nodded in agreement. “That’s a fact, Mr. Archer. Oh, they may have refined a thing or two, but Francis Cabot Lowell relished telling how he had visited the homeland and managed to finagle an invitation to tour the mills. Of course, I must give the man credit. He possessed an exceptional memory, and it served him well. He died a wealthy man while causing a dip in profits for the rightful owners of the design living here in England.”

  A lanky bespectacled man moved closer, his eyebrows knit into a tight line above his wire-rimmed eyeglasses. “Just how did you come by this information that you’re so willing to share with us, Mr. Thurston?”

  “I was a member of the Boston Associates.”

  A gasp could be heard from somewhere among the group. Thurston peered around the circle, wishing the uncomfortable silence would soon end.

  “Well, that’s quite a revelation,” Chauncy finally remarked.

  The lanky gentleman removed his spectacles and leveled a beady-eyed stare in William’s direction. “Indeed! And you left the financial security of your membership in the Boston Associates because you suddenly have an abiding love for the motherland. Is that what you expect us to believe, Mr. Thurston?”

  The man’s accusatory tone sent a ripple of irritation flowing through William. “It would appear you find difficulty accepting my explanation, sir.”

  The man nodded, a smirk etched upon his lips. “Any sane man in this room would find it difficult to believe a man would leave a thriving investment merely because he’s suddenly decided he loves the motherland—especially when he’s never even lived here before.”

  William rested his chin in one hand and gave the man a look of contemplation. “You’re right. Were the circumstances reversed, I’d probably harbor at least an iota of disbelief. I can’t force you to accept the truth of what I’ve said. However, I think that you’ll find all of my information verifiable. In fact, the Associates were busy spreading ugly rumors about me before I ever sailed for England. Feel free to contact any of them. I’m sure they’ll tell you all manner of lies about me. They consider my departure nothing short of a crime—in fact, sources tell me they’ve accused me of any number of criminal deeds since my departure. They’re fearful I’ll somehow undermine their plan to overtake England as the leading industrial nation.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “And, in fact, gentlemen, that is exactly what they’re planning— to send England into a spiraling business slump—a depression, so to speak.”

  “Depression?” The word spread among the men like a flame licking its way through dry kindling.

  William gestured for quiet. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. There’s no need for concern—at least not yet. Armed with information and a few good men, we’ll be able to outsmart the Americans at their own game. I have sources in America who are willing to, shall we say, share information for a small price. There’s no reason we can’t borrow information and use it here in England.”

  “I’m not certain we want to stoop to their level. After all, we can’t prove what they’ve done is illegal—at least not all of it,” Fuller stated.

  Thurston plucked a glass of port from the tray of a passing servant. “If you don’t stoop to their level, you’ll soon find yourselves swept aside by the industrial tidal wave in America. I don’t think any of you want to suffer the kind of financial disaster such inaction will reap, but of course, I wouldn’t consider forcing your decision.”

  William peered over the rim of his glass, taking great satisfaction in the manifestation of fear that had already etched itself upon all the faces now staring back in his direction. “To your health and good fortune, gentlemen,” he said while lifting his glass into the air.

  “How reliable is your information?” one of the men called out.

  “Reliable enough to know that all of your printing designs have been copied and are presently being sold in the United States. In fact, they’ve expanded upon your printing technology through several Englishmen who sold out to the Americans. When I left Massachusetts, the Associates were developing new print designs that surpassed anything I’ve seen in England. Any of you familiar with John Farnsworth?”

  Reginald Archer hoisted his cigar into the air. “I am. He was my employee in Lancashire. Good man, talented. I hated to lose him, but he said he had an opportunity that would provide him a more substantial lifestyle than he could make in the mills.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Farnsworth meant to say he had an opportunity that would provide him more money than he could make in the Lancashire mills. He left England and is working in Massachusetts for the Boston Associates. He spoke the truth about a substantial lifestyle. He’s managed to make himself invaluable and is handsomely paid,” William divulged.

  “Treason!” Archer shouted. “Employees of the mills are forbidden to divulge trade information to foreign powers. It’s difficult to believe John Farnsworth would behave in such a self-seeking manner. I thought his allegiance to the crown was above reproach.”

  A surge of delight swept over William. His plan was working. “Money is a treacherous master, Mr. Archer. John Farnsworth has obviously bowed to its power. Not only that, but he later sent for his young nephew, Taylor Manning. Granted, the young man had no previous experience, but Farnsworth has taught him everything he knows, and his nephew appears to have a natural talent for design. I understand that between Farnsworth’s mechanical prowess and the nephew’s artistic design, they’re developing what will be undeniably beautiful fabric.”

  Discordant murmurs sifted throughout the room. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. We’ll not resolve any of this tonight; in fact, I’ve already received several disapproving looks from my wife. Perhaps we should agree to meet in another setting. I believe we’ll soon be going in for dinner,” Chauncy advised.

  “We can meet in my London office if you like,” Reginald Archer offered. “When are you available, Mr. Thurston? Your attendance is imperative.”

  William attempted to hide his feeling of smug satisfaction. “My priority is to assist you gentlemen in any way possible. You decide what time and date will work for all of you, and I’ll be present.”

  Chauncy Fuller escorted William to the door, confirmed their meeting for the following Wednesday, and returned to the drawing room, where Barlow Kent, his wife’s pitiable cousin, was obviously attempting to gain his attention. Chauncy’s wife had recently begun inviting Barlow to their social functions, obviously hoping to somehow cheer her distant relative. Since his wife’s untimely death several years ago, Barlow had been wallowing in self-pity. But although Chauncy dearly loved his wife, her relatives were another matter altogether. They were a beggarly lot, not one of them ever amounting to much, and Barlow was a prime example.

 
The half-crazed man continued to wave a lit cigar overhead until Chauncy finally reached his side. “Put that thing down before you set someone’s hair afire,” he warned.

  “Let’s step outside for a few minutes. We need to talk,” Barlow said.

  “Outside? It’s freezing outdoors. If it’s privacy you want, we can go to my library,” Chauncy replied, leading the way down the hallway and into the room. Firmly closing the door, he turned to face Barlow. “What’s so important?”

  “I heard what that Thurston man had to say, but John Farnsworth is in London at this very moment. I’ve seen him.”

  “What are you talking about, Barlow? You don’t even know John Farnsworth. It was Reginald he worked for down in Lancashire.” Chauncy gave the man a sympathetic look, fearing Barlow’s grief had finally caused him to become delusional.

  “I’m not crazy, Chauncy. John Farnsworth and I worked together for a number of years—before Reginald hired him. I know it was Farnsworth whom I saw going in and out of several shops and the museum last week. I followed him. He was with four or five people—relatives, I surmise. Then a few days ago, I happened upon him at a teahouse. I kept out of sight and followed him back to his father’s house. Look, I know John left England to help the Americans. He told me as much when he quit his position with Reginald. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s returned to gather more information and seek out our latest innovations to take back to the Americans.”

  “You’re certain about this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chauncy hesitated, wondering if he should trust Barlow’s rationality, yet a sense of urgency gripped him. He knew they must act. “Then we must put together a plan to stop Farnsworth. I’ll contact the authorities first thing in the morning.”

  “No! I don’t think that’s wise. The police will want to investigate, and they’ll scare him off. Worse yet, he may complete his espionage and leave the country before they arrest him. We can take care of this ourselves. Once we’ve formulated and carried out our plan, we can turn him over to the Crown and he can be tried for treason, but we don’t want to let him get out of the country. You know how the authorities tend to mishandle the simplest of matters.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Chauncy conceded. “I’m to meet with William Thurston next Wednesday. Would you feel comfortable confiding in him? Possibly we could join forces with him to bring Farnsworth down.”

  Barlow nodded. “I would rather talk to Thurston than the authorities, and with his knowledge of the United States and his obvious disdain for the Boston Associates, he may prove useful.”

  “Well, then, let’s set this matter aside until Wednesday. I really must return to my guests,” Chauncy said. “Perhaps you should get some rest, Barlow. You look exhausted.”

  “I think I will excuse myself if you won’t think me an ungrateful guest.”

  “Not at all,” Chauncy replied. “I’ll send the butler for your coach.”

  Barlow raised his hand in protest. “No. I’ll see to it. You attend to your guests. I’ve already taken too much of your time.”

  Chauncy flinched as Barlow Kent grasped his hand in a death grip and pumped his arm up and down. Barlow would bear close scrutiny.

  CHAPTER 11

  Lowell

  Daughtie tied her bonnet and impatiently waited at the bottom of the steps. “Come on, Ruth, or we’ll be late,” she called out while intently watching the stairway.

  Daughtie didn’t want to be delayed this evening. Over the past several weeks, she had been growing increasingly annoyed at Ruth’s persistent tardiness. Thus far, Daughtie had been able to hold her tongue, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She waited, tapping the toe of her shoe on the shining hardwood floor and watching the hands of the mantel clock march onward.

  “Ruth! I’m leaving right now.”

  Ruth appeared at the top of the steps and cast a look of disdain in Daughtie’s direction. “I’m doing my best. We have plenty of time.”

  “I want a good seat where I can see and hear everything. I specifically told you I wanted to leave early.”

  Ruth raced down the steps at breakneck speed and came to a skidding halt directly in front of Daughtie. “Well, here I am. Let’s go,” she said, holding the door open.

  Daughtie frowned at the remark. Ruth’s tone made it sound as though she’d been ready and waiting for hours instead of the other way around. “We’re leaving, Mrs. Arnold,” Daughtie called out. “Are you certain you don’t want to attend the meeting?”

  Naomi Arnold came from the kitchen, wiping her damp hands on a frayed white dishcloth. “I’d love to hear Miss Crandall speak, but I don’t want to keep Theona out after bedtime, and I fear the meeting will run late. You girls go along. I’ll look forward to hearing everything when you return—if it’s not too late. I may be in bed,” she added with a smile.

  “If you’re not up when we return, I’ll be sure and set aside some time before I go to the library tomorrow evening,” Daughtie promised.

  The girls walked in silence for several minutes, the cold December wind whipping at their cloaks. “It’s cold. Let’s walk a little faster,” Ruth said, picking up the pace. “I wish they were having the meeting at one of the churches here in town.”

  “You know that would have caused trouble for certain. There are too many folks who would object to Miss Crandall being permitted to use one of the bigger churches. It’s better this way—maybe the folks who disagree with her views will just stay away.”

  A coach and several wagons rumbled down the street past them. “As cold as it is, maybe everyone will stay away,” Ruth retorted.

  “I doubt that. After all, we’ll be in attendance, and I know there are a lot of others planning to be present.”

  “You lasses care for a ride?”

  Both girls looked up toward the driver as he pulled back on the reins, bringing the team of bays to a halt alongside them.

  “Yes,” Daughtie delightedly replied.

  “No!” Ruth responded while tugging at Daughtie’s arm. She leaned in close to Daughtie’s side. “We can’t ride with him.”

  “You can walk if you want, but I’m going to ride. As you pointed out only a few minutes ago, it’s cold.” Daugh-tie accepted Liam’s outstretched hand and allowed him to assist her up. “Are you walking or riding, Ruth?”

  “Riding,” Ruth grumbled while reluctantly accepting Liam’s assistance. She settled beside Daughtie and whispered, “This is a mistake and you know it.”

  Daughtie chose to ignore the comment. Liam gave a slap of the reins, the horses moved out, and the wagon lurched forward, jostling her closer to Liam. Ruth jabbed Daughtie in the ribs, motioning her to scoot away from him. Instead, she held fast and made no effort to move. In fact, Ruth would be appalled if she knew just how much she was enjoying Liam’s nearness, Daughtie decided.

  “From the look of all those wagons, it appears there’ll be a good crowd this evenin’,” Liam said as the churchyard came into view. Wagons, coaches, and saddled horses filled the area that surrounded the small country church. He pulled into a spot between two coaches and helped the girls down from their perch before moving to the front of the wagon to secure the horses.

  “Come on, Daughtie,” Ruth urged, grasping Daughtie’s hand.

  Daughtie tugged back, freeing herself from Ruth’s hold, squared her shoulders, and stood firm. “I’m waiting for Liam,” she replied.

  “Liam? You call him by his first name? I’m worried about you, Daughtie. What’s going on up there?” Ruth asked while pointing a finger toward her head.

  “I’m just fine, and nothing’s gone awry with my thinking. I’m going to sit beside Liam at the meeting, and if you don’t want to be seen with us, then you go ahead in and take a seat. I’ll be careful not to sit beside you. I wouldn’t want to cause you any embarrassment.”

  “Fine!” Ruth retorted, and Daughtie watched her roommate march off toward the front door of the church.

  “I’m
guessin’ yar friend is a wee bit worried about being seen in public with an Irishman,” Liam said as he approached Daughtie. “And ya should be, too. Why don’t ya go on and join her?”

  “Because I don’t want to. I’ve given this a great deal of thought over the weeks, and I feel like a hypocrite every time I avoid you. I’m not embarrassed, and if folks don’t like it, that’s their problem. I’m not going to permit narrow-minded people to interfere in my life.”

  “I don’t know that ya’ll be gettin’ a choice in the matter,” he said, walking alongside her into the church.

  Daughtie took the lead and found a pew near the front with only a few occupants. She edged her way into the row, seated herself, and patted the space beside her. Liam lowered his gaze and seated himself as far from her as space permitted, hugging the end of the pew.

  “Liam! Good to see you.” Matthew and Lilly Cheever were standing at the end of the pew. “May we join you?”

  “Certainly,” Liam replied while standing to permit the Cheevers entrance into the row.

  Matthew seated himself and then leaned forward to meet Liam’s gaze. “Did we interrupt something?”

  “No, ’course not. Miss Winfield and Miss Wilson were afoot, and I offered them a ride in me wagon. There were only a few seats remaining when we arrived,” he hurried to explain.

  “Well, I’m pleased there’s a good crowd. I had to twist Matthew’s arm to get him here,” Lilly replied before turning her attention to Daughtie. “Have you received any correspondence from Bella or Addie since their arrival in England? I’m anxious to hear how they’re doing.”

  “Yes. I had a letter from Bella, and they had a safe voyage,” Daughtie replied. She glanced toward Matthew and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you discover Mr. Cheever is pro slavery after all? Is that why you had difficulty getting him to attend the meeting tonight?”

  “Pro slavery? No—but as I explained at our Ladies Aid meeting, he must be very careful where he places his allegiance, what with the mills and all. I’m sure you understand.”