“Canada,” Papa supplied.
“Get rid of the lot of them,” Hereford said. “Men who are not grateful for what you give them will forever want more.”
Farthington shrugged. “Bring them in young, trained by your own hand.”
“While children often work twelve-hour days in the factories here, we do not and will not employ children.”
“Our factories employ workers who are over the age of twelve, many of them earning wages their families need, and the workday is limited to ten hours in most cases.” Turning his attention back to Papa, Farthington added, “Your son has much to learn about British factories.”
Papa raised his hand for peace before Max could reply. “Be that as it may, we were discussing our own troubles, Max, of which there are many.”
“Yes, and as we decided, I have been put in charge of Crenshaw Iron in America, and I will decide how to proceed. The board has trust in me, even if you do not.” Ever aware that Papa had yet to make a full recovery, he tempered his voice, but he was angry at having to defend himself again, and it showed in his tone.
“Hear! Hear!” Evan raised his glass of claret in a bid to redirect the conversation. “While we may disagree on many things, we can all agree that Maxwell has done well for Crenshaw Iron. He’s navigated the uncertain waters of falling markets and rising costs with ease.”
“Hear! Hear!” Christian was quick to join in.
“Hear! Hear!” Lord Farthington said, raising his own glass. Fixing his gaze on Max, he added, “I may not agree with your methods, but I admire a man who knows how to take control.”
The praise was unexpected and didn’t set well with Max, but he accepted it anyway and let another sip of scotch roll down his tongue. It was only his third, but he was starting to feel the effects after not having eaten much at dinner.
“Agreed.” This came from Hereford. “Besides, the real issue is how we will handle these nasty little disputes when they arise in India.”
“India?” While Papa was leading the charge on the railroad expansion to the subcontinent and had worked closely with Farthington to procure contracts through Parliament, as far as Max knew, Hereford had nothing to do with it.
Papa cleared his throat and set his glass down, watching it thoughtfully as he twirled the stem between his fingers. “Hereford has decided to come on as an investor.”
“Is that right?” Max asked, suspicion clouding his words. “How does August feel about a new investor?”
“I haven’t told her, but it hardly matters. She’s not in charge of this particular project,” Papa said.
“Do you have a voting interest?” Max asked.
Hereford nodded in reply. “Obviously.”
“You should have told her,” Max said to Papa.
“I agree.” Evan joined in, his voice firm with outrage on his wife’s behalf. “She has devoted too much time and energy to Crenshaw Iron to be left out.”
Papa shrugged. “Her time has been spent on her dock project, lately. I’ve taken over this one, and I will continue to run it as I see fit. Besides, we disagree on the India expansion and have finally decided that this is the way to solve it. She runs her project, and I run mine.”
“What specific disagreement are you referring to?” Neither Max nor August thought the company should expand into India, but it seemed Papa was speaking of a recent fallout.
“Compensation,” Farthington supplied. “Your father and I have discussed the issue at length and come to an agreement on how to treat the workers fairly. Hereford agrees.”
Hereford nodded again. Papa held his jaw tight, a sure sign that Max wouldn’t like what was coming next.
To Farthington, Max said, “I thought your role was simply to help get the contracts through Parliament.”
“Your father values my advice.” There was a note of warning in Farthington’s voice, as if he was saying that Max should value it as well.
Papa broke the tension by laying out the compensation issue. It was in range with what some other railroads were paying, but below the average. It also did not include any additional compensation for accidental death or medical care arising from working twelve- and fourteen-hour days for the men building the railway.
“This compensation is obscenely one-sided,” Max said.
Papa frowned. “It is not. They are being paid the same as others.”
“They will be paid but not fairly. Not with a wage that is livable, not with a wage that will allow them to support their families, but they will take it because they have no choice. You”—he indicated the entire table—“you hold these people’s lives and livelihoods in your hands and you talk about them as if they are mere baubles for your enjoyment without regard for the effects of your actions. It’s made all the worse because you think nothing of taking from them, all the while you despair over what they might take from you. You with your silver cutlery and your aged claret and your heirloom jewelry, you refuse to consider how all of these things are given to you by the men, women, and children you exploit.
“It won’t cost very much to see that they are compensated fairly for their work, because you will see it returned to you in the very goods you sell them. Isn’t that how economies are supposed to work? Isn’t it supposed to be a cycle instead of a vacuum that only works one way?”
“That is quite enough!” Papa pushed back from the table, but he didn’t stand.
“Gentlemen, perhaps we should take a moment to gather ourselves,” Evan said, but Max barely heard him.
“Papa, you go on and on for hours about the legacy of Crenshaw Iron Works. Have you even considered once what that legacy will be? How do you fail to see that this is not the sort of legacy we should be concerned about leaving behind? In a hundred years we will all be gone, but the effects of our decisions will still be here in the families we reduce to poverty.”
He rose and tossed the linen napkin that had been on his lap down on the table. His chocolate tart was left untouched. “That’s not the legacy I want.”
Grabbing the bottle of scotch, he left the table, ignoring the murmurs of disapproval behind him. Farthington called out, but Max did not stop; he kept walking until he was outside the dining room in the dimly lit hall. His gaze was automatically pulled to the sconce across the way where he had kissed Helena last night. The memory sent a terrible wave of sadness in to meld with his anger.
He shouldn’t have yelled at Papa and Farthington, he knew, but he didn’t regret it. He would, however, regret whatever happened if he went to find Helena in his volatile mood. No, it would be best to drink himself to the bottom of the bottle and wait until tomorrow to see her. With that in the forefront of his mind, he turned toward the unexplored depths of the house.