Longing by Mary Balogh

warmth of the evening, there was a chilly breeze that would quite likely feel downright cold up on the hills. Or so Verity’s nurse said when her charge begged Alex to take her there for an evening walk again. They would stroll through the town instead, he suggested, not to ruffle Nurse’s feathers. Nevertheless his daughter was bundled inside a cloak and bonnet before she was allowed over the doorstep. Nurses were of a tyrannical breed, Alex thought, remembering his own.
    A few children were playing on the streets and stopped to stare at them as they passed. But both were used to such a reaction at home. Apart from the children, the town seemed almost deserted.
    Alex did not make conversation with his daughter. He had something of a headache and was feeling irritable. It was the unaccustomed feeling of lack of power, he supposed. And the helpless frustration of not knowing or understanding what he should know and understand.
    He did not know anything about the ironmaking and coal-mining industries or even about business in general. He knew nothing about industrial workers. He knew nothing about Wales or the Welsh. He had almost made up his mind in the course of the afternoon to have his trunks packed and to return forthwith to his familiar estate in England, never to return. But he was too stubborn to give in so soon. He would be damned before he would run away.
    He had studied the company books carefully during the morning. He had glanced at them before, but without real consideration. He was appalled at the wages his workers were receiving, especially when he remembered that this week they were to be lowered by ten percent. But then he was ashamed to admit that he did not know much about prices. Was it possible to live comfortably on such wages, as Barnes and Fowler claimed? Perhaps it was.
    His curiosity had taken him to the company shop, called the truck shop. His arrival there had caused something of a sensation, he had felt. Certainly the three women who were shopping there when he went in went scurrying out with such haste that it seemed they must have thought he brought the plague with him.
    Prices had seemed high to him. Not that he was in the habit of shopping for groceries. Really he knew nothing about such matters. Two other women came in while he was there. Both looked at him saucer-eyed and did not react to his affable nod, but neither retreated. One made her purchases, paid for them, and left. The other whispered to the shopkeeper in Welsh, flushing as she did so. The shopkeeper pursed his lips, drew a ledger from a shelf, and wrote in it. The woman made a few purchases, did not pay for them, and hurried away, her head down.
    The woman had asked for and been given an advance on next week’s wages, the shopkeeper had explained.
    â€œThe day after payday?” Alex had asked, frowning.
    The shopkeeper had shrugged. “She had a large advance last week,” he had said. “There was very little in the wage pack last night. Her man drank it up as usual. There are four little ones at home.”
    On further inquiry Alex had discovered two disturbing facts.One was that a large number of women would be taking up advances on their husband’s wages before the week was out. The other was that wages were paid at the Three Lions Inn, which apparently he owned, and that the men, naturally enough, often sat down for a drink or two before taking their pay home. A few had more than one or two drinks.
    Alex had not been pleased and had explained his concerns to Barnes after luncheon. Perhaps, he had said, wages should not be lowered after all. It appeared to him that his workers were not living in any great comfort and could ill afford to be paid ten percent less than they had last week. His examination of the books had shown that the company profits were handsome enough to take the slight loss that the current lower demand for iron would entail. And he himself was a wealthy man even apart from the