by Jen Turano
“Does it frighten you, that danger?”
“Quite the opposite.”
Male satisfaction flowed through him again, but before he could question Izzie further on exactly why she enjoyed what she apparently thought was his dangerous attitude, Jonathon gave a brisk knock on the door and stepped into the room.
“It’s after eight, sir,” Jonathon began. “You’re running unusually late this morning, which is why I took the liberty of fetching your satchel, which I’ve left for you directly beside the front door.”
Ian fished his pocket watch from his jacket, saw that Jonathon was right and it was well past eight, even though it certainly hadn’t felt like he’d been talking with Izzie so long. “Thank you, Jonathon. I’m afraid time does seem to have gotten away from me.”
“Distractions have a way of doing that to a person, sir,” Jonathon said before he nodded to Izzie. “But speaking of time, you and I will be leaving this house in exactly forty-five minutes. That will allow us time to travel into Pittsburgh and be first in line when Joseph Horne Company opens its doors.”
Izzie consulted her list. “And this Joseph Horne Company has furnishings, along with other much-needed items?”
“They do. We’ll start on the sixth floor first. That’s where furnishings are located.”
Jonathon pulled out his pocket watch before he sent Ian a pointed look.
Knowing that Jonathon would soon take to escorting him to the door if he lingered any longer, one of his secretary’s most important tasks being that of keeping Ian on schedule, Ian moved closer to Izzie, surprising himself when he suddenly reached out and took hold of her hand. Knowling there was nothing left to do with that hand except kiss it, since it was rather curious for a man to grab hold of a lady’s hand and merely hold on to it, he brought her fingers to his lips, gave them a kiss, then frowned when she simply gazed back at him, clear bemusement in her eyes. Needing something to say to fill the silence that had settled over the room, he latched on to the first thing to spring to mind.
“The staff at Joseph Horne Company is very familiar with Jonathon. You’ll have no difficulty charging any items you might find to purchase to my account.”
Izzie tilted her head. “I’m not certain how much progress Jonathon and I’ll make today, but if you’re in agreement, I thought I’d concentrate on making the nursery more pleasant for the children, finding some furnishings, along with toys and a variety of books to cheer up that cavernous room.”
“You should try to find some things for your room as well,” he said, giving the fingers he was still holding a squeeze. “I’ve not neglected to notice it’s sparsely furnished.”
To his surprise, she waved that straight aside. “My room is fine. And until I get the nursery done, I won’t have time to worry about the rest of the house.”
The desire to pull her straight off the chair and into his arms took him by such surprise that he found himself at a loss for words. To distract from that pesky business, he kissed her fingers again, collecting his misplaced wits in the process. “Finishing the nursery sounds like an excellent plan, but do remember to purchase some roller skates if the store has some in stock. I promised Henry and Violet a pair, and I don’t want to disappoint them.”
Giving her fingers one last kiss as she nodded and told him roller skates were at the top of her list, he released her hand and strode for the door, feeling rather smug because he hadn’t neglected to notice that Isadora’s cheeks had turned rather pink while he’d been kissing her fingers.
Stopping once he reached the door, he turned. “My meeting shouldn’t last the entire day, so I’ll do my best to meet the two of you at Joseph Horne Company if I finish before the shops close for the day.” Ignoring the raised brow Jonathon sent him, even knowing there was every reason to conclude his secretary found him to be behaving very curiously because he never left the office until the dinner hour, no matter if his meetings ended early, Ian strode down the hall.
Walking through the front door, he was pleased to discover it was merely a hazy sort of morning, one that had rays of sunlight peeking through, instead of the gloomy mornings he frequently encountered when the smog from the city settled over Shadyside during the night.
His pleasure in the morning, however, lasted only until he reached his office. After stepping from the horse car that was packed with men traveling into the city for work—men just like him who were unwilling to take the time to have a horse readied from the livery—he found three men waiting for him in front of his office, all looking grim.
He wasn’t well acquainted with any of the men standing before him—Mr. John Gerber, Mr. Charles McClintock, or Mr. Louis Brown—only knowing them because they were engineers on the Eliza Blast Furnace and stopped in often at Norma’s to catch a bite to eat. That the men had come to see him suggested an urgent matter of business.
“Ian,” John Gerber said, stepping forward and holding out his hand, which Ian immediately took. “We were just about to leave. Miss Norma told us you could be found at your office by eight, but it’s well past that now.”
Ian inclined his head as he turned and shook Charles McClintock’s hand, and then Louis Brown’s. “I’m running a bit off schedule today,” he said, gesturing to the front door. “But I’m here now, so come inside and tell me why you’ve paid me a call. I assume it’s something to do with the labor talks being held later?”
Following him up the two steps that led to the front door of the office, John shook his head as Ian stuck his key into the lock and opened the door. “That’s not why we’re here. We heard you were asking about Roy Duffy, and we’ve got some news about him.”
Something in John’s tone suggested the news was not the type to be delivered outside on the stoop. Ushering the men inside, he led the way through the front receiving room and then into his main office, where he kept a desk on one side of the room and a large table with numerous chairs on the other, used when he met with men of business. Gesturing the men toward the chairs, he walked to the coffeepot Jonathon usually kept brewing for him. “May I interest anyone in coffee? It won’t take long to make a fresh pot.”
“Thank you, but no,” John said, taking a seat. “We’ve a meeting scheduled later this morning with other engineers, so we don’t have much time.”
Ian moved to the table and sat down. “Dare I hope you’ve learned where Mr. Duffy is?”
John exchanged looks with Charles and Louis before he returned his attention to Ian. “There’s no easy way to say this. Mr. Duffy suffered an accident at our mill over two months ago. He didn’t survive.”
It took a moment for that disturbing news to settle. He’d known there was a chance something unfortunate had happened to Roy Duffy, but he’d been hoping the man had merely gone on a drinking binge, as many of the men who worked in the mills seemed to do. It was a dangerous job, working in the mills, and many a man enjoyed escaping the thought of the danger they faced every day by dulling their senses at the numerous taverns located in and around Pittsburgh.
That Roy Duffy was dead was a circumstance he hadn’t allowed himself to fully consider, but now, armed with that disturbing truth, he was going to have to tell the children.
They would be devastated to learn they’d been rendered orphans and would undoubtedly be worried about what the future would hold for them. The only consolation he could give was reassurance that he would be responsible for their welfare now, which meant he’d provide them with a home, see to their education, and make certain all their needs were met.
What meeting their needs entailed, he really had no idea, but he couldn’t imagine turning the children over to anyone else, or never again being on the receiving end of Daisy’s wet kisses, or . . .
“We have some details,” Charles said, interrupting Ian’s thoughts. “They’re not pleasant.”
Ian rubbed at a temple that was already beginning to ache. “Tell me the worst of it. I’d also like to understand why no one reached out to the Duffy family
to let them know what had become of Roy.”
Louis sat forward. “Roy hadn’t been working at our mill long. A shear used to cut iron bars broke and landed on Roy, leaving him unrecognizable, which made it difficult to identify him. By the time a positive identification was made, a couple of weeks had gone by. And when the mill sent someone over to the address Roy had left on file, another family had already moved into his rooms and nobody knew where his family had gone.”
An unpleasant memory took that moment to flash to mind. “This accident didn’t happen to delay production all day at the Eliza Blast Furnace, did it?”
Louis nodded. “It did. The shear was so heavy we had to bring in equipment to pull it off the man buried underneath, a man we now know was Roy. Some of the investors were indignant that production suffered, and one of those investors was even heard to say—”
“‘Just because a man got squished like a jelly isn’t an excuse for production to grind to a halt,’” Ian finished for him, shaking his head as the temper he’d been feeling so often of late began to churn through him.
“You heard Nigel Flaherty say that?” Louis asked slowly.
“I did. Told him that was beyond inappropriate as well as insensitive since he was blithely talking about the death of a man.” He caught John’s eye. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Roy Duffy is buried, would you?”
John nodded. “He’s at the Homewood Cemetery. Management decided to step in and pay for a proper burial after they realized tensions about the dangerous atmosphere in the mill were reaching the boiling point. The men were furious about Nigel Flaherty’s remarks, so management hoped that by picking up the cost for a burial they could defuse some of that fury.” John frowned. “It’s only a matter of time until that anger boils over though, especially when our wages keep getting cut while owners and investors still seem to be getting richer.”
Ian’s stomach clenched. “I’m sure you’re right about the fury of the men, but getting back to Roy Duffy, do you know if he was buried beside his wife?”
“His wife is dead too?”
Ian leaned back in the chair. “Mrs. Duffy died a few years back, which is why Roy’s children got sent to an orphanage when Roy didn’t return home to pay the rent. That orphanage was full, so the children finally ended up at Glory Manor with my aunt and uncle.”
“Orphanages do seem to be filling up fast these days,” Charles said. “Too many men are dying in the mills, or else their wives die and they’re forced to put up their children in the orphanages because they can’t mind them with the long hours demanded in the mills.” Charles narrowed his eyes on Ian. “Might be nice if someone could convince the owners that cutting the hours and giving the men a set wage instead of an hourly one would go far in boosting morale. That might very well see production increase once demand for our products begins to grow again.”
“Demand will always increase with iron and steel,” Ian said. “The country is still building at an unprecedented rate. Production is only currently suffering because the railroads are being unreasonable with what they’re charging to transport raw materials to us. Because of that, we’ve been forced to increase our prices, which has builders holding off until more favorable prices are offered.” Ian leaned back. “Negotiations are even now underway with the railroads, and once those are settled, demand will probably exceed what the mills are capable of producing.”
“But will the owners of the mills take wages back to what they were before production slowed?” Louis asked. “That question is what has all of us worried, as well as contemplating a strike.”
“A strike won’t keep food on your table,” Ian pointed out.
“True, but considering all of us are facing the same fate as Roy Duffy when we go to work every day, it only seems fair that we should know we’re being sufficiently compensated. We also want to know that the owners and investors understand the risks we’re taking and make their decisions accordingly.”
“That might be asking too much,” Ian said quietly. “But you’ve made some interesting points and given me much to ponder, especially about decreasing hours men are demanded to work. I’ve broached that idea before, but perhaps I need to investigate it more closely, see if I can find proof that productivity won’t suffer if hours are cut. Roy Duffy’s children might not have been left on their own so often if Roy hadn’t been expected to work twelve-hour shifts.”
John frowned. “How many children did Roy have?”
“Four, all under the age of ten.” Ian drummed his fingers against the table. “It’s going to be difficult to tell them about their father. I hope they’ll find some small comfort in knowing I intend to make certain their parents are laid to rest together, although I have no idea where their mother is buried.”
Charles pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “You might want to ask Miss Norma her thoughts on the matter. She’s always well informed about the happenings in the community.” He nodded to John and Louis. “We should probably be on our way.”
The three men rose to their feet as Ian did the same.
“I imagine I’ll see you gentlemen at the meeting later.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across John’s face. “You will, although do know that none of us will take offense if you don’t acknowledge us at the meeting. We’re fully aware that owners and investors don’t look highly on intermingling with the commoners.”
Charles moved beside him and clapped Ian on the back. “I heard tell that you were once one of us, as was your father. It would be nice if we didn’t have to leave the meeting today with no concessions won.”
“You do have competent attorneys representing your interests, though, don’t you?” Ian asked.
“Depends on what you consider competent. They’re good, don’t get me wrong, but . . .” Charles winced.
“They’re no match for Andrew Carnegie?” Ian finished for him.
Louis stepped to his side and smiled ever so slightly. “It’s not Andrew they’re worried about. It’s you. In case you’re unaware, your reputation for winning negotiations precedes you, which does make it a little troublesome to find competent attorneys to go up against you. Attorneys, I’m beginning to realize, don’t care to lose, which normally happens when they’re dealing with you and contracts.”
“I’m not certain you mean that as a compliment.”
Louis smiled. “If you were working on our side, it would be.” He shook Ian’s hand again. “Just remember what Charles said. You were once one of us, and because of that, you understand the dangers all of us face every time we step foot in the mills.” He gestured to John and Charles. “Any of us can be, as Nigel Flaherty so charmingly put it, ‘squished like a jelly,’ so keep that in mind as the negotiations start up again.”
Walking with the men out of the office and through the reception room, Ian couldn’t get the memory of the callous way Nigel had talked about Roy Duffy’s death out of his head.
That callousness was embraced by far too many Pittsburgh industrialists, men who’d made a fortune through the backbreaking toil of laborers, engineers, and managers of the mills. Those industrialists did not care that thousands of men had died in the mills over the years. All they cared about was increasing their profits and their fortune.
He, to his chagrin, had obviously become one of those men.
The thought took him aback and left him realizing he did not want to be a man who blithely disregarded the death of a man as simply being the price of doing business. He also didn’t want to be a man responsible for causing other men to suffer financial and family hardships because he was supposed to safeguard profitability for his contemporaries, along with himself, no matter the consequences.
“Gentlemen, a moment, if you please,” he called to the men now walking down the sidewalk, striding to join them.
“You said your attorneys are hesitant to go up against me,” he began. “But I should tell you that Andrew has taken me out of most of the negotiation process because he
feels I’m too sympathetic to the laborers.”
The three men exchanged looks before Charles stepped forward. “And you’re telling us that because . . . you want us to tell our attorneys they don’t have to worry they’ll be going up against you?”
Ian shook his head. “No, I’m telling you because I’m not one to appreciate being banished to the sidelines. Because of that, I’m thinking I’ll need to stand up and propose a contract that Andrew is not going to like, but one that will be fair to the laborers. I’m wondering if you believe I can find success with the unions if I push for a decrease in hours, although I know I won’t be able to take the decrease in wages off the table.”
Louis frowned. “The union men would probably be willing to consider that type of proposal. But you must know that Andrew Carnegie will be furious with you if he’s taken you out of the negotiations and you defy him by stepping back in.”
“You’ll also be ostracized from Pittsburgh industrialists,” John added, watching Ian closely.
“An excellent point,” Ian said before he turned and began walking back to his office.
“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about stepping forward?” Charles called after him.
Looking over his shoulder, Ian smiled. “Not at all. I’ll definitely be proposing my idea, and if I get ostracized, so be it.”
With that, and leaving the men smiling, he continued into his office, made his way to a wall filled with file cabinets, then began pulling out file after file, hoping he’d be able to collect enough case information from past negotiations to convince everyone involved he’d not lost his mind.
Chapter 29
“Is it me, or does it appear we’ve got almost every salesperson in the store assisting us now?”
Looking up from the navy velvet suit she’d found on a rack in the boys’ department, Isadora glanced past Jonathon and discovered an entire swarm of salespeople gathered nearby, all of whom had pads of paper in their hands as they watched her expectantly.
