Page 10 of The Elusive Phoebe (The Widows of Lavender Cottage #1)

Chapter Seven

A rchie woke every morning after talking with Phoebe’s solicitor, hoping for some form of communication from her.

He had watched the man’s office, followed him to his place of residence, knew his daily habits.

His original hope had been to follow the man when he went to deliver papers to Phoebe.

But somewhere in the course of the night, his words returned to Archie.

“If I know where she is, then she has wherewithal to live, and if you don’t know where she is, consider she wills it that way. ”

Sending his direction to her was the most respectful way to reach her. If she wanted to reconnect with him, she could now do so. He would not invade her privacy if she so clearly did not wish to be discovered .

It took everything in him to resist, but he stopped trailing Mr. Crane. He wrote her a letter, left it at the man’s office and determined to patiently wait.

But he was also receiving news from home. His mill in Nottingham would soon need his attention. He had hoped to spend some of a Season in London, but that time would run out and he would need to return.

All he could do is hope to hear from her, hope that she still had some memory of him, had some desire to at least see him again, hope that she could forgive him for not doing more to fight for her.

And in the meantime, he was on his way to meet with the Whigs.

It was remarkable what paths opened up for him once he had earned money.

He was sought out and respected and needed in many instances.

But he knew the Whigs were rising to power.

The commoners were looking for change, they were threatening revolt.

People were setting up a demonstration in Manchester for a few years hence.

Whigs would put a new Lord in power, likely to be Lord Earl Grey, and he needed to have a conversation with that man about the mills and their state.

The children working, the slums nearby, the situation swiftly growing into something unsustainable.

The opium was particularly harmful. He refused to employ the children, but it was difficult for families who worked for him.

In many ways, children working kept them busy and supervised.

He saw the issues. He saw all the problems, but he stood firmly in the position that these children needed to be protected, rescued from Mill bosses, and in many cases, from their own parents.

They were in terribly dangerous situations in these factories and worked unhealthy hours.

While he was in London, he would also talk about what his Mill needed as far as protection.

England would be better for producing their own textiles.

If we could be less reliant upon trade with India and China, the better for everyone.

There were many issues at hand. All of which he could attempt to place pressure and offer support and do what he could to represent his cause.

The biggest problem in his mind was the increasing trade and wealth to be had in opium sales.

He ran a hand down his face, the anxious feelings not ever totally leaving whenever his thoughts had to shift to this topic.

They were feeding a terrible addiction across the world, they were doing actual harm to provide opium to anyone at all.

It had very few good uses. He had had many opportunities to shift his cotton growing to opium production.

He’d seen the shift in India, the great wealth that was coming from opium.

China particularly was a lucrative partner.

But he could not do it, could not feel good about selling a product so unethical, so destructive to a happy family life.

He'd seen it so clearly in his mother.

He watched while she wasted away in front of all of them, her personality slowly departing, her light, her happiness, her energy or desire for anything besides opium.

It had destroyed his father. And Archie as the only child was left to wonder who to attach himself to. Neither parent seemed available.

He had very little hope of a compassionate listening ear in the government, of someone who would take up this cause. Too much wealth was to be had. Follow the money, his father had always said. Follow the money trail and you will know where the power lies. The opium market was evil.

Someone, somewhere just might listen.

He had to try.

His appointment was in thirty minutes, and he arrived early in the area, deciding to take a walk in the park first.

A group of men, dressed as nobles, with the finest fabrics, the best boots, top hats, crisp cravats, but no one he recognized, stood together in conversation.

They hadn’t given him much mind. He was close enough that if he approached, they might not notice he would be in earshot.

He knew that some of the best information came from conversations just like this one, or from the women.

The ladies knew everything. But he didn’t have access to any of their conversations.

He closed the distance subtly and the first word to reward him for his efforts was “Lord Smalling.”

He sucked in a breath so quickly he nearly swallowed his tongue. He’d been seeking any news of her from others. It mattered in many ways what the general ton knew of her and her late husband.

“May he rest in peace, but his passing destroyed the plans. We’re trying to salvage the safe house as we speak. She wants some of the servants. So far we have to replace the stable hand and two of the women.”

One of the men swore. “Does she know what she asks? Has anyone told her…she’s but a woman, surely we can override…”

The other man shook his head. “Lord Smalling was adamant and his will is iron clad. She gets what she wants. And I have to say I support them in this. Has she not given enough already? Have they both not?”

The others shifted uncomfortably. And then one of them glanced in his direction, looking twice. “Might we assist you in some way, young man?”

He stood taller, no longer leaning toward them in such an obvious manner.

His mind raced with thoughts. Did he dare just outright ask them what he wanted to know?

Did he make up something? He stepped closer and held out his hand.

“Forgive me. I am actually here to talk about textiles and cotton mills in Nottingham and Manchester. I was waiting until your conversation appeared to be over and now, as I have interrupted you, please forgive me.” He bowed. “My name is Lord Archie Lytton.”

One of them showed a spark of recognition at least, and he breathed out in relief. Perhaps he could salvage this situation.

“You’re the man who is bringing cotton to our shores then? I’ve heard good things, son, good things.”

“Well thank you. The political tides are shifting around here and I’m just trying to ensure the protection of my mills. And to perhaps influence the Lords in their laws…and the people. I’d like to protect the factory workers and their families. ”

One of the men snorted. “Is that all?”

They shared a look, the other man lifted a pocket watch from his coat. “Don’t count the Tories out just yet, son. I don’t know if the political climate will change as drastically as that.”

He had his own opinions, especially if the poor were still threatening revolt, especially if the prime minister started worrying about riots.

But he kept his thoughts to himself. “I am happy with any political climate that concerns itself with the welfare of the mills and the people who run and work in them.” He stood taller.

“Then Lord Tolleson is the man for you to be talking to. Not any of those Whig potentials.”

“Understood. I didn’t catch any of your names. I apologize. I sense that you three would be helpful to know as well. Do you have an interest in the mills?”

They introduced themselves as Lords Winterton, Hainsley, and Castleberry.

Lord Castleberry seemed the most interested and had heard of him to begin with.

He dipped his head. “I do have an interest. In fact, I’d like to meet with you and my man of business.

If you are seeking investors.” His eyes were sharply intelligent, his face open and there was a general air of trustworthiness about him .

Archie nodded. “I’d be open to discussion, depending on the terms.” He’d managed to move forward on his own terms with his own earnings to this point and he was planning to be careful about whom he allowed to have an influence there.

“Very good then. We will be in touch.” Lord Castleberry pocketed his watch again and looked at Archie with a not so obvious hint that perhaps they were done discussing whatever he might wish to discuss.

“Thank you. I’ll set it up with your man of business then.” He nodded to the other two and then stepped away, heading back toward the entrance at St. James. Certainly Lord Grey would be ready to see him now.

After some very productive and promising meetings and the potential of a new investor, Archie felt hopeful about things no matter who remained in power in the coming elections.

Everyone seemed united on child labor restrictions.

It seemed easy enough to explain and to obviously see the hardships and the dangers involved with children in a mill.

The conversation about Lord Smalling had been curious indeed. He at last had time to himself again and decided to check out Whites for the tiniest bit of news about Phoebe .

The main hall was crowded. Poker, drinks, slow conversations and animated challenges filled the air. He made his way to the betting books.

A quick glance told him Phoebe was nowhere to be found in the pages.

But there was an entry of note. Someone had placed a bet on him.

They were predicting how soon he’d find a wife and marry and if it would be any number of the new debutantes.

It wasn’t on the first page, but it had received enough attention that he knew people would know his name.

He also saw notices about Almacks, about assemblies and balls and happenings for the coming Season. Perhaps those were the types of activities where he might hear more of Phoebe. Perhaps her own mother would attend?

He found a table in the corner. A man brought him a whiskey. But he didn’t drink. He slowly swirled the liquid, watching it ripple against itself in the glass. His thoughts were far away, in a different time and place.

Phoebe.

They’d grown up on the same long meandering road, their estates abutting one another. Phoebe’s was considerably larger, but the Lyttons were no small presence in their county either .

Their families were close. They were two of a handful of core members of their smaller society.

And Archie was often in her company.

If the families weren’t dining, dancing in their foyers, or having picnics and outings, he and Phoebe were walking, going through town, or unbeknownst to most, getting into all kinds of trouble.

She was perhaps the most inappropriate with him.

She could sit prettily and be a diamond of the first water in front of the others, but with Archie, she was delightfully genuine and much more fun.

He grinned without trying to stop himself even though anyone in Whites looking in his direction would surely think him addled, sitting by himself with a wide smile.

He shrugged. Phoebe was a gem. She was perfect for him and he’d always assumed that one day he’d ask for her hand.

His parents and hers seemed to assume as much also.

They were both coming of age to have a Season. Hers started talking about beginning purchases and things to sponsor their daughter. His began talking about a trip abroad on the continent for him.

They both resisted the plans of their parents, happy to be with each other .

But all the parents involved seemed set on the plan.

And as happens with most plans, everything derailed.

His thoughts were interrupted. “Mind if I join you Lytton?”

Tanner.

What terrible timing. He’d just been coming to the part of his past that included details of this particular traitor of a friend. How pleasant memories would be if one could wipe out those who lingered in the mind when they had no business disrupting peace.