“You’re serious?”
She nodded.
“The best night of sex either of us has ever had, and you’re willing to resign it to one night?”
She blushed and looked past his shoulder, presumably to check if Ostler had heard the outburst. “It’s for the best, yes.”
“I disagree with this.” He was forced to step back as she turned to ascend into the carriage.
“I know,” she called back.
“You still want me.”
“I know.” This time she grinned down at him from the safety of the carriage.
It was all he could do not to climb in there with her and remind her how good they were together. He might not have won the fight if Ostler hadn’t opened the door on the other side and climbed in, his considerable bulk straining the springs of the carriage.
“I can make you change your mind,” he said.
She grinned again, but she didn’t refute him.
Chapter 17
A loving heart was better and stronger than wisdom.
Charles Dickens
FIVE DAYS LATER
THE CRENSHAW TOWNHOME, GROSVENOR SQUARE
The series of telegrams Max had received earlier in the week from his manager in New York had only marginally prepared him for the contents of the letter before him. The packet had been delivered moments ago by special messenger. Max had torn into it at the bottom of the stairs before returning to his father’s study upstairs. The packet included a detailed letter from David Merchant, the man overseeing operations at Crenshaw Iron in Max’s absence, and a copy of the list of demands from their factory employees that had arrived in the Manhattan office last week.
Discontent had been brewing—with depressed wages and rising costs, how could it not?—but this meant things were coming to a head much sooner than expected. The board had anticipated no movement in the direction of organizing until at least the summer. This list of demands, which included a fifty percent increase in wages, would be impossible to meet.
Fucking hell.
He slowly dropped into his chair, rereading every line. David was competent and seemed confident in his ability to hold the men at bay until the new year. The last board meeting had ended with a resolution to award a special compensation for the Christmas season. Max would send a telegram in the morning authorizing the disbursement. It would soothe things for a bit, but he’d have to return home earlier than he’d planned. If things didn’t go well, he needed to be in New York to handle them.
“What do you have there?”
Max clenched the papers in his hands, wrinkling them as he looked up to see his father coming into the room. He was dressed in his customary suit of clothes, as if he were ready to meet acquaintances. “That is hardly any of your concern. What are you doing out of bed?”
“The doctor has finished his examination. I thought I would take some refreshment before returning to bed. I heard some rumbling from a servant about a messenger and came to see for myself.”
Max cursed inwardly. The damned servants here were too loyal to his father for the man’s own good. They had been sneaking in visitors and sending telegrams on Papa’s behalf the entire time he was supposed to be not working. It was likely because August had insisted on compensating them with higher wages due to the fact that their appointments here were temporary. Since she had moved out, they all but worshipped him to keep his good favor. It also helped that the Crenshaws were now connected to a duke and an earl.
“What has the doctor concluded?” Max asked, ignoring the comment about the messenger. Max had worked from Papa’s study all afternoon to be on hand when his doctor came by for his examination.
“Is that Crenshaw Iron business?” Papa asked, leaning forward to study the papers.
“Nothing to concern yourself with.” Max tried to shove them into a drawer, but the bottom sheet fell free, catching a drift of air to land near his father on the desk.
The older man swooped it up before Max could grab it. The lines in his face deepened as he scanned the words from the first page of David’s letter. “They’re threatening to form a labor union?”
So much for keeping his father’s intellectual strain to a minimum as the doctor had advised. “Only if these demands aren’t met.” He held the sheet with the list tighter, unwilling to add to his father’s distress.
“What are their demands?”
“Will you not do as your well-respected doctor has advised and allow me and August to deal with Crenshaw Iron for now?”
“Give me their demands.” Papa held out his hand.
Max sighed and handed over the entire contents of the packet. There was no point in dragging this out any more than necessary. Now that the man knew something was amiss, he’d not rest until he found out, even if it meant telegramming New York.
Adjusting his reading glasses, Papa sat back in his chair to better examine the documents. He grunted in disapproval a few times, his brow furrowing in concern. Finally, he said, “This is preposterous.”
“The requests are a bit steep. The amount they want in wage increases alone is enough to bankrupt the factory, but—”
“There is no but. This list is extortion. Railroad growth isn’t what it was. We’re in the midst of what they are calling the Great Depression. If we gave in to these demands, we’d all be bankrupt and living in the street. Don’t they understand that?”
“No, I don’t think they do,” Max said, keeping his voice calm. “The depression has made everyone desperate. We’ve cut wages by a total of twenty percent since the Panic of ’73, meanwhile food and housing have continued to rise,” Max said.
“This is asking for twenty percent above what they were earning before the Panic. Do they not understand that if we are earning less, then they, too, have to earn less? I cannot control the price of housing or bread.”
Max took in a breath, having had variations of this conversation with his father for years before the Panic set in. “We can control the cost of housing to an extent. It’s why we have begun to acquire apartment houses in the city and row houses in smaller towns.” Even though his father had voted against that move, Max had convinced the board to try it in Pittsburgh and Middletown to much success. “Our resources are considerable when pooled together, allowing us to provide this for them at a lower cost.”
“You sound as if you’re taking their side.”
“There are no sides, Papa. There is only the best way forward. God knows we can’t afford to increase wages by fifty percent. But it’s not unreasonable for them to expect a living wage when they are being asked to work just as hard as before. If they are assured of having homes and food, then we will all be able to weather this storm.”