British hegemon

Chapter 125 Mr. Roger Offers a Way Out

Horseface was curious. Why had Neil, the bald man in front of him, changed so much in just six months, giving him an indescribable feeling of unease?

The middle-aged man quickly pulled his son away and scolded him a couple of times, then turned back and continued to smile apologetically, "Brother Neil, don't bother with this ungrateful fellow."

As he spoke, the middle-aged man took a linen money pouch from his belt, stepped forward, and stuffed it into the bald Neil's hand. "Brother Neil, please put in a good effort. If my son can get a job at the textile factory and earn money, I will definitely give you a reward in the future."

Neil has made a lot of money in the last six months, but this is the first time he has accepted a bribe. This feeling is wonderful.

Bald Neil glanced at the old woman still sweeping snow in the courtyard, then turned slightly to the side and gently weighed the purse in his hand. It jingled, probably containing twenty or thirty pence, not a small amount. "You know, I'm now a person of status by Lord Roger's side, and I can make decisions on some things. Leave the matter of getting into the textile mill to me."

Bald Neil clicked his tongue, looked at the disdainful young thug, and suddenly laughed, "But I have a job more suitable for a horse-faced guy like you. My master wants me to open a new shop in Glasgow and needs to hire two reliable servants. Half a penny a day, room and board included. If I do a good job, I might even get a military officer or country gentleman status. How about it? Interested?"

The middle-aged man hesitated slightly, "This... we have to leave the island again? And we only have half a penny..."

Bald Neil immediately raised his eyebrows. "You think your guy isn't good enough? Even if he got a job in the textile mill, he'd only get half-penny manual labor. So many people would be scrambling for that kind of good job. Would I tell you this if we weren't old neighbors?"

The middle-aged man hesitated for a moment, but upon hearing that the horse-faced youth could go to Glasgow to fool around, he immediately perked up. "I'll do it! Baldy, no, Brother Neil, I'll take this job. I'll pack up and come over tomorrow. I'll definitely help Brother Neil complete Mr. Roger's mission..."

After a while, Bald Neil politely saw the father and son off at the gate. Watching their departing figures in the snow, he was pondering how to smoothly put the other half penny of his wages into his purse when he suddenly felt his hand go empty. The purse he had just warmed had fallen into the old woman's hands.

"You old geezer, can't you spare my life?"

"Thank you, Mr. Roger, for giving us a way to survive."

At Campbell's textile mill outside Brodick town, a robust, plump widow knelt on the ground, repeatedly thanking the mill's owner.

Roger readily accepted the fat widow's kneeling thanks, then had the steward Jenny help her up, saying, "Mrs. Cecilia, I've heard from Steward Jenny that you've been very diligent since you came to the textile mill. Very good. Keep up the good work, and I won't treat you unfairly."

The plump widow stood up, her face plastered with an unpleasant smile. "Sir, you've given me a job to keep me alive, how could I dare to slack off? It's all hard, clumsy work, just right for a stupid woman like me."

The fat widow was a woman with a tragic fate. She probably suffered from a strange disease like gigantism, and was born stronger than ordinary women. Being strong meant she ate a lot, and the poor, isolated island family could not afford to support such a person. So, at the young age of twelve, she was sold to a grumpy old blacksmith in Gildonan.

The old blacksmith, though old in years, was still young at heart. He fathered three sons with the fat widow. Two years ago, the old blacksmith died, leaving behind the fat widow and her three good-for-nothing sons.

The old knight, the lord of Gildonan, was righteous and kind, but that was towards those of equal status. To ordinary commoners or lowly serfs, his methods of exploitation were no less than those of other lords.

The fat widow owed the lord a large inheritance tax in order to inherit her husband's blacksmith shop. Without the old blacksmith's skills, the blacksmith shop struggled to survive for more than a year before finally going out of business. The family could only dream of having a full meal, and their lives became increasingly difficult.

So when she learned last year that young master Roger was hiring warriors for a hefty sum, she joined without hesitation.

After the "bandit suppression operation," the fat widow received a large reward, but it was immediately taken away by the lord who was chasing her for debts. Her family lacked strong laborers, and the barren land was neither cultivated nor produced enough food to feed the family.

Seeing that she was in dire straits, the fat widow simply gave up her land to the farmhands and led her three good-for-nothing sons to Brodick. Through Jenny's connections, she entered Roger's textile mill.

In the textile factory, a laborer like her would only earn half a penny a day, but the job was stable and long-term, and she could get a free lunch every day. Although it wasn't anything fancy, she could at least eat until she was about 80% full.

If they could grit their teeth, they could save half a rye bread from their plates and take it back to the flea-infested hut for the children to chew on.

"How old are your children?" Roger knew the fat widow had several dependents, but he didn't know the specifics.

"Reporting to Master, the eldest son is twelve years old, the second son is nine years old, and the youngest son is four years old."

Roger pondered for a moment, "What is my eldest son doing?"

"I'm currently apprenticing with a butcher in the market town."

"Hmm~ Being an apprentice sounds good. Is there a salary?"

The plump widow thought she had misheard. "Sir, you mean salary? How could an apprentice possibly get a salary? You'd be lucky to get two meals of clear soup and wheat porridge."

"Oh." Roger recalled that in this era, apprentices were treated almost the same as serfs, or even more exploited.

Roger paused briefly. "Here's what we'll do. I have an alchemist at my manor who needs an apprentice. You can send your eldest son to Milk House Manor to take a look. If he's chosen, he'll be provided with room and board, and um~ he'll also get a two-pence reward every week."

"However, that apprenticeship is not easy, and it may even be somewhat dangerous. You know, the work of alchemists is usually not safe."

The plump widow's face was full of joy and surprise. "Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, we are willing, we are willing, thank you for your kindness, sir." She then knelt on the ground and thanked him repeatedly.

The few workers who stayed behind to look after the factory whispered among themselves, all casting envious glances at the plump widow.

"Alright, get up. Everyone, get to work. I won't treat you unfairly." The crowd bowed repeatedly in thanks.

"Jenny, Wolf, come with me. Let's discuss setting up a dyeing workshop."

Jenny and Wolf, the bookkeeper with the ailing leg, quickly followed Roger and walked together toward the gate of the textile mill.

Seeing the two men catch up, Roger said, "Sir Gildonan has invested fifteen pounds in us, but the textile mill is not ready to expand for the time being."

Roger pointed to the steaming house by the pond: "So I plan to add a little more money to buy that dyeing workshop and turn it into part of Campbell's Textile Factory."