At seven the next morning, the heat in the basement of the Gaston Textile Mill was already thick with the smell of damp brick and coal dust.
Marcus knelt before the rusty housing of the secondary boiler, his wrench gripped tight as he worked a stubborn bolt.
Thomas Ridley, the mill owner, stood near the coal chute, polishing his gold-rimmed glasses with a clean white handkerchief.
His slow, booming drawl echoed off the low concrete ceiling.
“These coal prices are climbing three percent every quarter, Marcus,” Thomas said, setting his glasses back on his nose.
“We cannot keep bleeding money on steam if the looms are going to run six days a week.”
Marcus cleared his throat, tapping his wrench against his palm.
“The gasket on this old unit is dry-rotted, Thomas,” Marcus said. “It is letting half the pressure escape into the floorboards.”
“Just patch it for now,” Thomas said, squinting up at the copper water pipes that ran along the damp ceiling.
“We do not have the capital for a full rebuild before the winter.”
Thomas turned and walked toward the wooden stairs, his heavy leather shoes creaking on each step.
