They duly adjourned to the drawing room and, once the sherry was dispensed, were soon engrossed in a discussion regarding their next decision, namely, which of the available premises to use for the critical meeting with Blackwell.
“It can’t be held at any of our houses,” Julia stated with finality.
“Absolutely not,” Sophy agreed. “It has to have the right ambiance, and a drawing room simply won’t do the trick.”
“I daresay,” her ladyship said, “that if we asked, the lord mayor would allow us to use one of the Town Hall’s meeting rooms.”
Edward frowned. “Given the manner in which you want to approach Blackwell, don’t you think the Town Hall might be a little too…well, formal and distant?”
Oliver huffed. “If we use the Town Hall, I would be more worried that Blackwell will be put on guard over the possibility of just the sort of ambush we are, in fact, endeavoring to engineer.”
“I agree.” Martin caught Sophy’s eye. “You have a boardroom at the steelworks, don’t you? What about using that?”
Sophy tipped her head, clearly envisioning it, then slowly nodded. “That might work very well. There’s an anteroom to one side, and we could rearrange the boardroom table so that it functions more like a desk…” She met Martin’s eyes. “And Blackwell would assume we were asking him there to discuss a potential sale, so he would come with his thoughts fixed in that direction.”
Martin nodded. “And that would definitely be to our advantage.”
Sophy sipped her sherry, then lowered the glass and observed, “You, Oliver, and Grandmama finding the evidence to back up our conjecture about what Blackwell is up to was a stroke of luck. Once they hear of that, everyone else will be as determined as we are to see Blackwell routed.”
“And to ensure he never comes back.” Martin drained his glass, then Higginbotham arrived to announce that dinner was ready to be served, and the company rose and trooped back to the dining room.
All evidence of their earlier activities had been cleared away. They sat, and Higginbotham and the footmen served the various dishes. Conversation was muted and rather perfunctory as they all went over in their minds what they wanted to accomplish and what they hoped would happen the next day.
As they settled to consume the main course, her gaze on her plate, Sophy grumbled, “I wish we hadn’t decided to wait until the afternoon. That seems such a waste of time.” She was itching to execute their plan and rid herself, her family, her steelworks, and her town of Blackwell.
She sensed rather than saw the amused understanding in Martin’s gaze as it touched her face, but his tone was the epitome of calm reason when he replied, “We need to assemble as much support as we can muster to give ourselves the best possible chance of triumphing over Blackwell and deflecting his ambitions, and for that, the afternoon is the safer option.”
She huffed. “Logically, I know that, but I do so want this over and done with.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Martin shrug slightly.
“That’s understandable, but the afternoon it is.” He glanced around the table. “The larger concern is how many of those we’ve contacted will agree to play their part.”
The comment sparked a fresh discussion—about likely numbers and the accommodations required—that lasted until the desserts were set before them and Higginbotham and the footmen departed, bearing away the plates and emptied platters.
It was Edward who, poking at a serving of gooseberry fool, voiced a question that Sophy suspected was rolling around in all their minds. “Do you truly think”—Edward glanced at Martin, then Oliver—“that denied the Carmichael Steelworks site, Blackwell will discard all his plans and withdraw from Sheffield? Won’t he simply look about for some other site?”
When everyone looked at Martin, he set down his spoon and, plainly organizing his thoughts, took a sip of wine, then he set down the glass and replied, “There are two factors that, we hope, will work in our favor and push Blackwell into deciding that retreat from Sheffield is his best option. The first is that the steelworks’ site is geographically central to his scheme. Without it, his holdings are fractured and, for his purposes, much less useful, no matter whether he seeks another site or not.”
Oliver was nodding. “Blackwell’s had his eye on the steelworks for years, ever since he first started assembling his Sheffield property portfolio. What’s held him back from approaching the family until now—until the steelworks has become a critical acquisition for his project—is, I suspect, that Sophy and her father before her have been steadily growing the business. This is pure conjecture on my part, but I’d be willing to wager that around four years ago, before Blackwell started acquiring the surrounding sites, he would have approached your father about buying the steelworks. For some reason, he formed the opinion that Carmichael Steelworks would go into a decline, and eventually, he would be able to pick up the land, very likely for a song.”
“Four years ago?” Sophy frowned. “At that time, there was an issue about buying the new Bessemer converters. We had to do it, or we wouldn’t have been able to continue, at least not for long. The business didn’t have the cash to fund the expense, and the banks weren’t keen because the technology was new and, to their minds, unproven, and they couldn’t understand why it would make such a difference to our bottom line.”
“So the purchase of the converters was stalled?” Martin asked.
She nodded. “For a few weeks. In the end, Papa put in the money himself, and once we bought the converters and installed them, our profits soared.” She shrugged. “Just as we’d predicted.”
“There you are, then.” Oliver grinned. “Blackwell’s not a steel man. He had a similar expectation as the banks. He assumed you wouldn’t be able to buy the converters and, even if you did, that you’d end in debt. He convinced himself that, one way or another, he would, at some point in the future, be able to buy Carmichael Steelworks.”
“Either as a failed or failing business. He thought that was a sure bet.” Martin met Sophy’s eyes and smiled. “Only it wasn’t.”
“And now,” Oliver continued, “he’s caught. He has to get his hands on the steelworks’ site or his grand plan of creating a workers’ estate will literally fall to pieces.”
“And he’s not going to be able to buy Carmichael Steelworks.” Sophy stated that with absolute determination. “We’ll convince him of that at our meeting, well enough to put the matter beyond question, even for him.”
They all took a moment to envision that, then Edward looked at Martin. “You said two factors. What’s the other?”
“That,” Martin admitted, “is based on my estimation of what’s really important to Blackwell. His true, underlying, most personal aim. If my reading of that is correct, then having the support of the others we’ve called on will be crucial. I’m hoping that by acting in concert, we’ll be able to push him over the invisible line into a not-exactly-willing-but-unresisting retreat.”
