These Tangled Threads

by Tracie Peterson

  London

  William Thurston threaded his way through the shoppers and sightseers lining the streets, careful to keep John Farnsworth and his group within sight. If he grew too close, he feared one of them might see his reflection in a store window. He attempted to edge past a group of elderly women moving at a snail’s pace, obviously more intent upon their own conversation than the fact that they were blocking the path of others.

  He inadvertently brushed the shoulder of one woman as he passed by. “Well, I never! You might excuse yourself,” she scolded. When William didn’t respond, she thumped him soundly with her cane. “I said you need to excuse yourself!”

  William turned and tipped his beaver top hat. “My apologies. I’m in a hurry.”

  “That much is obvious,” the old woman called after him.

  William ignored the remark and rushed onward, now concerned John Farnsworth might disappear from sight. “Foolish old woman,” he muttered, scanning the crowd. Spotting Farnsworth, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  He waited outside each time they entered a shop until his gloved fingers grew numb from the cold. When they entered a large establishment, he pulled up his collar and followed them inside. The freezing temperatures had forced him to discontinue his observations outdoors.

  Moving down an adjacent aisle, he wended his way through the shelves and counters until he found a spot within listening distance of the group, where he heard John mention their dinner reservations were for seven o’clock at the Blue Boar.

  Relieved when the group finally completed its shopping expedition, William retraced his steps back toward his boardinghouse. If luck was on his side, he’d be seated somewhere near the Farnsworth dinner party this evening.

  William’s lips turned upward in a smile of satisfaction. Citing his dislike of large groups, he had convinced the waiter to place a small table in a secluded area behind an ornate marble column near the Farnsworth table—close enough to overhear their conversation, yet concealed enough to remain undetected.

  He sipped a glass of deep red port and watched as the Farnsworth party was seated, enjoying the surreptitious infringement his location would afford him throughout the evening. “It’s almost as though they’ve invited me to their little party,” he muttered in self-satisfaction.

  “I do believe we’re privileged to have the most beautiful women in the room seated at our table,” John commented to Taylor.

  Taylor nodded in agreement. “I believe Bella spent more time fashioning Elinor’s hair than her own.”

  “And well worth the effort, I might add. You look beautiful, Elinor,” John said. “And you, my dear, are too lovely for words.”

  “Enough of this drivel,” William mumbled.

  “Excuse me? Did you want something, sir?”

  William glanced up to see a waiter standing in attendance at his table. “No, just thinking aloud. I’ll wait until later to place my order,” he replied, turning his attention back to the conversation that was taking place on the other side of the stone pillar.

  “I’m not sure that’s wise, John. I think we should wait until the first of the month before making a final decision. After all, Taylor has been able to locate those new print ideas to take back to Mr. Boott, and he seems to have reconnected with some of his old acquaintances. Haven’t you, Taylor?” Addie inquired.

  “Absolutely. Believe me, we know that what we’re doing here in England is necessary. Bella and I are committed to staying until Uncle John is certain there is enough information to return home with confidence.”

  William’s eyes widened, and he strained closer to listen.

  “I appreciate your willingness to remain in England. The fact that you both realize the importance of this visit means a great deal to me. I know you’ve put your future on hold, but I promise you’ll be rewarded for your efforts.”

  “No need for that, Uncle John. You’re family—we do whatever we can for family. Right, Bella?”

  Bella smiled and nodded. “Yes, for your family, we’re pleased to help wherever and however needed.”

  “I still think it wise to check on passages home. If things go as we’re hoping, we still may be able to sail by early March,” John replied.

  “As you wish, my dear. Whatever will make you most contented,” Addie replied.

  William startled at the remark, nearly toppling over his glass of port. The conversation at the other table swirled through his mind. Manning had said he wanted Farnsworth to return home with enough information to feel confident. No doubt he’s made promises to the Associates that he’ll produce valuable information. If Farnsworth returns to Massachusetts without anything of real value, he’ll appear the fool and, more importantly, lose stature with the Corporation, William decided. And the fact that Farnsworth had the total agreement of his entire family to assist him in this sabotage was even more baffling.

  Certainly he would never have confided any business information to his wife, yet both of the women appeared fully informed, entering into the conversation as though they were equals in the decision making. William’s wife would never have agreed to help him, much less keep her mouth shut. The idiocy of these men astounded him! But, he reasoned, both of the women had worked for the Corporation. Perhaps they felt some overwhelming loyalty to the mills—or perhaps it was merely an allegiance to their husbands.

  The fact that Farnsworth and his family might soon be returning to America was most disconcerting. Having all but promised to deliver Farnsworth and proof of his espionage activities, there was now a strong possibility Thurston might lose his foothold with the British aristocracy. Tomorrow he would follow Farnsworth to the ticket offices at the wharf; perhaps the ticket agent would be forthcoming. If not, a few coins would likely loosen his tongue. On Wednesday he would follow Taylor Manning to find out how he was stealing fabric patterns.

  William stroked his chin in absolute delight. What more could he have asked for? A recent letter from Thad-deus telling him of a possible strike in the Lowell mills, coupled with the information he’d assembled about John Farnsworth and his family over the past week, should raise his stature a notch or two with Chauncy Fuller and his pompous English associates. He ordered ale and watched the front door of the pub.

  Barlow Kent and Chauncy Fuller entered the Ale House. William waved the men toward his table and then rose to greet them. “Exactly on time,” he said.

  “I personally abhor tardiness,” Barlow replied while signaling to the barkeep.

  Chauncy pulled a gold watch from his pocket and checked the time. “Since the topic of time seems to be of the utmost importance to both of you, I’d best mention that I have only an hour to spare before my next meeting.”

  Thurston clenched his jaw. However, he didn’t want Chauncy to discern his irritation. “Then we’d best move along swiftly, as I have much to report.” He hesitated for a moment, assuring himself he had their full attention—he deserved their full attention. “Since our last meeting, I have been engaged in numerous activities, all of them garnering valuable information. I began my quest for additional facts by following John Farnsworth on numerous occasions. My first piece of significant information was gained through secreting myself at dinner—”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, my good man, but if we’re to accomplish anything today, you’d best cut to the chase. As I said, I’ve only an hour,” Chauncy cautioned impatiently.

  Unable to hide his irritation, William leaned across the table and met Chauncy’s gaze. “I spent innumerable hours in the freezing cold gathering this information, and now you want me to hurry along so that you may attend to other business? I think not! Perhaps you need to reevaluate your priorities.”

  Chauncy didn’t appear offended, yet he didn’t waver from his proclamation. “Tell the information at your own pace, but the fact remains that I must leave in an hour. Unlike you, I have more than one matter that beckons my attention.”

  William inwardly flinched at the remark but gave no visible sign
he was offended. Instead, he offered a perfunctory nod. “In that case, I assume you’re even more grateful for my assistance. As I was saying, I followed the Farnsworth family to numerous locations and, through my observations, became privy to information that Taylor Manning, Farnsworth’s nephew, may have discovered a way to steal print designs, and the group may be departing England in the very near future.”

  Chauncy’s eyebrows arched. “If they’re leaving and none of the mills has reported espionage problems, what makes you certain designs have been stolen or anything has gone amiss? Perhaps they were here for the obvious reasons— to visit family and spend the holidays in England.”

  William wagged his head back and forth, clearly enjoying the moment. “I assume you’re playing devil’s advocate since I know you’re already convinced Farnsworth is up to no good. The information I’ve uncovered will prove exactly that—Farnsworth is a traitor. And please remember that the earlier espionage committed by the Americans was not detected until their mills were already operating in Massachusetts.”

  “That’s true. He has a valid point,” Barlow agreed.

  William flashed a glance at Barlow Kent. At least he’d succeeded in convincing Kent there was reason for concern. Twisting in his chair, William focused his attention upon his enthusiastic supporter. “As it turns out, Farnsworth didn’t book passage; instead, he merely inquired when ships were scheduled to depart in the months of March, April, and May. The ticket agent has agreed to send word to me when Farnsworth actually books passage. As I expected, it took a few coins to persuade him to cooperate. However, by the time I left his office, I had secured his complete cooperation.”

  Barlow Kent rubbed his hands together, obviously enjoying the revelation. Leaning forward, he gave William his full attention. “Go on,” he encouraged.

  William offered an appreciative smile. “The next day, I followed young Taylor Manning. He’s the one who has been helping with design work back in Massachusetts. I don’t suppose either of you would like to venture a guess where he might have gone, would you?”

  “I don’t think we have time for guessing games,” Chauncy curtly replied.

  “He waited outside Armstrong and Talley—the company that designs for the print work mills in Lancashire. He met one of their employees and the two of them walked off together. I followed but could never get close enough to hear their conversation. However, I’m certain the man handed him some papers.”

  Barlow Kent straightened in his chair. The information had obviously captured his interest. William momentarily basked in the attention before continuing. “You realize, of course, the possibility exists for him to steal any new ideas they may be formulating.”

  Chauncy still didn’t appear convinced. “They may be old friends enjoying a brief opportunity to become reacquainted.”

  “You’ve obviously had little experience in the area of industrial espionage, my good man. All these men need is a foot in the door, so to speak. He could be doing something as unassuming as meeting an acquaintance, but mark my words, he’ll find a way to secure any scrap of information that will assist the Americans.”

  “I think you may be overreacting.”

  “I concur with Thurston, Chauncy. I think William is correct in his assumptions. These men have already hoodwinked us once. Are we going to permit them to do it again?” Barlow Kent asked.

  Chauncy rubbed his forehead and glanced across the table. “I agree they must be stopped. I’ve already conceded that point, but I think we need to be absolutely certain of their plans. We don’t want to make fools of ourselves.”

  “Nor do we want to miss the opportunity to thwart this espionage. It appears their return will depend upon Manning’s ability to steal the design plans. Why else would Farnsworth be checking on so many alternate dates for their return?”

  “Didn’t you say Jarrow Farnsworth is ill? They may be awaiting medical advice,” Chauncy suggested.

  William took a drink from his tankard and settled back in his chair. “That’s all a ploy. I’m beginning to doubt whether the old man is even sick. Likely his illness is a ruse to keep us at bay.”

  “You may be right,” Chauncy replied. “I suppose those who would willingly turn traitor against the motherland would also manipulate and exploit their own families. Perhaps I should have a visit with Wilbur Talley. He’s a business acquaintance and family friend. Once we tell him of our suspicions, I’m certain he’ll be pleased to assist with investigating young Mr. Manning.”

  “Excellent! I was hoping you might have a contact at Armstrong and Talley. If you’d be willing to write a letter of introduction, I’d be pleased to meet with Mr. Talley— since you’re so busy with other matters,” William added. “If he’s willing to cooperate, we could plot out a plan of action. I certainly wouldn’t want to disrupt his business or upset his valued employees.”

  Chauncy hesitated for only a moment. “Since I can’t possibly meet with him for at least a week, I believe I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll write a letter for you later today. You can stop by my office at your convenience.”

  “Any word from your contacts in Massachusetts?” Fuller inquired.

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” William replied, pulling Thaddeus Arnold’s missive from his breast pocket. “You’ll be pleased to hear there is talk of a turnout among the working class.”

  A glint of pleasure shone in Barlow’s eyes. “Do tell! That is pleasurable news. Apparently all this talk of their happy employees working in a utopian existence is little more than propaganda.”

  Chauncy drew closer. “If the employees are striking, it’s because their wages are being lowered or their workload is being increased without an offer of additional wages. Lower wages could mean production has dropped off and their profits are down, which would be excellent news for us. However, if the Corporation is wanting to increase the workload without an increase in wages, it could mean they’re receiving more orders than they can fill and they see this as an opportunity to recoup their investment in rapid fashion.”

  William nodded. “My informant states that orders have remained steady; however, with the increased number of mills in operation, they need to see an increasing market if they’re to operate with a profit. The easiest way to increase their profit margin is to lower wages.”

  “What have they proposed to their employees?” Barlow inquired.

  “Twenty-five percent.”

  Chauncy exhaled a deep breath between his teeth that culminated in a long, low whistle. “I can see why they may be faced with a strike.”

  “Apparently a final decision hasn’t been made—at least it hadn’t at the time this letter was written. By now the workers may already be on strike.”

  “And wouldn’t that be grand news for us? If they remain on strike for any length of time, our orders could double by spring,” Chauncy rejoiced. “Barkeep! Another round,” he called out. Suddenly his two o’clock appointment seemed not quite so important.

  CHAPTER 18

  Lowell

  “Escaping to the library again this evening?” Ruth inquired, her voice distant and cold.

  Daughtie tightened her jaw. She wasn’t going to engage in another verbal contest over the turnout. “Not escaping— merely helping shelve books,” she replied.

  “You can run out of the house, but tomorrow morning you’ll be forced to make your final decision for all to see, Daughtie. You’d do better to sit here and discuss the merits of both sides and make a choice tonight. Or have you already decided and you’re merely afraid to tell me?”

  “Why would I fear you, Ruth? I’m the one who must live with my choice. I’m seeking what God would have me do in this matter. My decision doesn’t reflect upon what you or anyone else is supposed to do, only what I believe I am supposed to do. So, you see, further discussion with you will be of little assistance. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must be going.”

  Daughtie pulled on her cloak and hurried out the door without lookin
g back. She could feel the cold stares of Ruth and the other girls, and she knew they thought her cowardly. Well, perhaps Mrs. Arnold didn’t harbor such views, but certainly Ruth and the others who had gathered at the house shortly after supper believed she was weak and indecisive. She pulled her cape tight against the cold, damp wind until she reached the welcoming warmth of the circulating library.

  “Daughtie! Dear me! Where is my mind? I should have sent word to you. I completed shelving all the books earlier today and have two other girls scheduled to work. I’m afraid there will be little to keep you busy. Of course, there are books to read,” Mrs. Potter said with a bright smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me. I doubt you wanted to be out on this cold night.”

  Rubbing her hands together near the fire, Daughtie gave Mrs. Potter an easy smile. “No need to concern yourself. There are some new fabrics being produced at the Tremont. I understand they’ve been stocked at Whidden’s Mercantile. I’ll go and take a look at those.”

  “If you’ll wait just a minute, I’ll accompany you as far as Gorham Street.”

  Daughtie nodded. “Certainly. I’d enjoy your companionship.”

  Several minutes passed while Mrs. Potter issued instructions and donned her coat and muff. When they were finally on their way, the older woman looped her arm through Daughtie’s. “I’ve overheard talk of a strike. But I’m hoping it’s merely idle gossip,” she said with a note of expectancy in her voice.

  “It appears as if there are many girls who support a turnout. However, it’s impossible to know what will actually occur until the time arrives for them to make their choice. A part of me wonders if those who are speaking so favorably about a strike will, at the last moment, change their minds. Most of them realize that there’s no guarantee they can return to their jobs if they participate in the walkout.”

  Mrs. Potter nodded. “I hope they’ll weigh their decisions carefully. I know many of the girls help support their families, and this situation could prove devastating for them. Now, tell me about these fabrics you’re going to inspect at the mercantile. Are you making yourself a new dress?”