“Carmichael?” Martin echoed. “I say, you aren’t by any chance connected to Carmichael Steelworks?”
Edward smiled. “I’m a part owner.”
“Is that so?” Martin exchanged a faux-meaningful look with Oliver, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “In that case, perhaps you can help us. We’re here to look into the local steelworks with a view to purchasing one, and the Carmichael works was suggested to us as a possibility.”
“Really?” Edward’s bushy brows rose. “I must admit that surprises me. Although my brother and I own a significant percentage of the stock—and I daresay, given the right offer, both of us might see our way to accepting—the company is controlled by my cousin, and trust me, I entertain no illusions that she would ever be persuaded to sell.”
“She?” Oliver managed to look creditably shocked. “You can’t possibly mean that a woman runs the business?”
Edward looked grave. “I do, indeed, and I assure you, I’m no more in agreement with that than the next man. But”—he shrugged—“my uncle founded the company and held the controlling interest, and he encouraged his daughter, Sophia, to become involved and, ultimately, to take the reins when he passed. She still runs the steelworks on a day-to-day basis—makes all the decisions and what have you.” Edward gestured and drew deeply on his cheroot. After he exhaled, he added, “In truth, I’ve never had any interest in the industry myself, so for my part—and my brother Charlie’s, too—Sophy is welcome to her inheritance. It seems to keep her busy.”
Martin frowned. “I thought you said earlier that you weren’t in agreement with her running the business?”
Edward primmed his lips. “I have no quibble with Sophy’s ability to manage the steelworks. If the distributions and profits are any guide, she does that very well. However, I cannot bring myself to condone a female acting in such a capacity. It’s unnatural, and I wish she would…well, get married and go off and have children and leave running the business to some suitably qualified man.”
Martin couldn’t help but wonder what Carmichael family dinners were like. Then again, he could imagine that Sophy had long ago cowed her cousins into not airing such views within her hearing. Yet… “You have no ambition to manage the reins yourself?”
His expression supercilious, Edward declared, “None whatsoever. I’ve never had the slightest inclination to involve myself in what, in truth, is only one step up from being in trade.”
There was more than enough snobbish arrogance in those words to assure Martin and Oliver that Edward was speaking from the heart. He truly wanted nothing to do with running the steelworks, but clearly enjoyed the fruits of Sophy’s labors and was in no hurry to interfere with that. “What about your brother, then?” Oliver asked. “If your cousin was induced to give up the position, would he—Charlie, was it—step in?”
Edward barked a laugh. “Not likely. My brother is more at home at the gaming tables—preferably those in London—than behind a desk. Indeed, I suspect he would know even less than I about the steelmaking business. Charlie, I fear, is a reckless profligate and will likely come to a bad end. Sophy, however, has a soft spot for him, and in return, I seriously doubt it would even occur to him to suggest she step aside.”
Edward fell silent, his darkening expression suggesting he was brooding on Sophy’s closeness to his younger brother.
Martin caught Oliver’s eye as he responded, “Pity. Do you know of any other steelworks in this town similar to Carmichael’s?” They didn’t want Edward to think their interest was specific to the Carmichael works.
“No. Sorry.” Edward shook his head. “As I said, that’s not my area of expertise.”
“I don’t suppose,” Oliver said, “you can point us to anyone here who might know more?”
“Hmm. O’Connor, if he’s here, would be the one to ask.” Edward peered up the room. “Can’t see him, but he might be in later.”
“Thank you.” Martin leaned forward to stub out his cheroot in the ashtray, and Oliver did the same.
With a nod to Edward, Martin rose. “Thank you for your company.”
“A pleasure,” Edward returned, then his eyes widened. “Oh, I say. If you want to scout out the state of the steel industry in Sheffield, then the best thing you could do is to attend the charity ball tomorrow night. It’s an annual affair, and everyone who’s anyone in town will be there, including all the steel magnates—every last one. It’s tradition and virtually obligatory that they show their faces, so they’ll definitely be present.”
“Where is it held?” Oliver asked.
“At the Assembly Rooms,” Edward replied. “Any hackney driver will get you there. Anyone can purchase entry, and if you want to make contacts with a view to doing business in this town, that’ll be the perfect place to advance your cause.”
“Thank you,” Martin said, entirely sincerely.
He tipped Edward a salute, then he and Oliver moved off, slowly walking down the room.
“Where to now?” Oliver looked about them.
“The bar,” Martin replied. “I think we should seek corroboration of Edward’s views, and at this hour, there should be at least a few gentlemen there.”
There was, indeed, a smattering of six likely gentlemen in the cozy room, and while Martin and Oliver circled the tables, covertly seeking information on Edward and his brother, more thirsty souls arrived.
Oliver nudged Martin’s elbow. “Isn’t that Mellow, sitting at the bar?”
Martin looked and smiled. “It is. How fortuitous.”
Mellow was an old acquaintance, a gentleman of similar background and age to Martin and Oliver and, like them, most often found in London.
