Talent Scouted

Over the next few days they seemed to now tolerate my existence as Evelyn showed me around the city. After all, I had only visited Bath once, briefly, in my past life. I spent several hours relaxing in the rejuvenating hot springs. 

Without her, of course.

Why this didn't become prevalent in British culture I'll never know. I mean, both Britain and Japan are rather socially reserved societies with a long culture of this amongst their elites. I guess it will have to be a side project for the future. 

My opinion of her parents basically boiled down to, for the time period, they were progressive, but my morals directly clashed with how they thought the world ought to be, so mutual existence it was.

A combination of the booming worth of Albion Chemicals and the licensing for synthetic rubber production from French, American, German, Italian, Nordic, and Japanese companies had meant I had a massive amount of cash sitting around. I don't know…

a million fucking pounds. 

God is good, but capitalism is greater. I also had a few enquiries from the Soviets who had just won their civil war a few years ago, and now with Lenin dead, the Party's main goal was industrialisation. I was hesitant at first but thought about it like this: the Soviets needed massive amounts of rubber, and it was one of the primary reasons the Soviets would have fared measurably worse in the war without Lend-Lease. Hopefully with an earlier introduction, it will be far easier for them to convert their massive fuel reserves into rubber. 

Then again, if I were a heartless patriot of Britannia, I could always just buff the Soviets to the point they steamroll Europe before the Yanks get involved, meaning the Americans would have to prop up the empire to act as a counterbalance. But I didn't want to sacrifice hundreds of millions more for the glorious experiment. Yeah, abandon that train of thought. I decided that the idea of the Soviets winning was not an option and only minor buffs would be applied. And it's meant to be the British Empire, not the American Empire, which does not in any way exist at all. 

Besides, these companies are going to find out it is tedious and incredibly hard to set up a production system that doesn't kill half your workers and have the result be a neoprene product of constant quality. It's why I didn't really push for royalties but larger licensing fees. I needed money now, after all, in order to develop said better machinery.

Evelyn was happy, of course, considering she owned half the company, meaning her net worth was steadily catching up to her parents. Yay, more subtle gold digger claims.

Coincidentally, all the money I made from licensing was personally mine since the patents were in my name, and technically it made me on paper more wealthy than her parents, though still not as much as some of the tycoons in Britain, let alone those over in the states. And also it has to be said, 'on paper.' 

Time for some 'aggressive' expansion. Will it become a monopoly? Eh, it's fine, as long as I don't abuse that everything should be fine. Right? 

No one. Good, just double-checking. I'm not crazy. Well, more crazy than an unwilling time traveller who is trying to save the human race from its slow decline ought to be. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.

I ended up meeting Evelyn's cousin, Charles Owen. Evelyn's aunt on her father's side had married a Glaswegian industrialist named Timothy Owen. The Owens were once a major shipbuilding corporation but had suffered far more, losing most of their wealth after the mass disarmament by the royal navy as well as the lack of demand for new ships. 

Evelyn and Charles had been close growing up, and she had a very positive opinion of the man. He was two years younger than her, being only twenty-one. He was rather stout and heavily built, which was made up for by a face that I found reminiscent of his uncle's. Jesus, the luck in this family, I swear. 

In conversation with him, I found myself liking him for his honest attitude and unwillingness to put up false veils in front of Evelyn and, consequently, me. 

Charlie openly admitted that he was Jealous of Evelyn for managing to attend king's college when he flunked out of Manchester University two years ago. We ended up having many discussions between the three of us, and even if he didn't understand something I or Evelyn said, he would just ask for an explanation. No hesitation. The balls on this man. 

He openly admitted that the Owen and Ashburn families either needed to modernise or fall into obscurity. With both families assets destined to go to his older brother, he lamented this fact and held great resentment toward his family for his uncle for not giving the Ashburn Estate to his daughter and himself for not being talented enough to save the work that his forefathers had broken themselves and others to achieve, as well as upon hearing of my plans to expand and how I was concerned about keeping the quality of the factories and their treatment of employees fair when I was stuck on the other side of the country, he insisted on introducing me to someone some time soon.

By the time my stay in Bath was coming to an end, I could certainly say I had made a new friend. Evelyn seemed pleased we got along, which was a bonus. 

It was the last day before I headed back to Bristol, so Evelyn insisted on showing me something. She dragged me to Alexandria Park right as dusk was approaching. I watched as the sun dipped low on the horizon, its golden rays stretching lazily across the city. The view from here felt almost sacred, as if the landscape itself were offering a benediction. Below, the spire of the abbey. It had a soaring and steadfast presence that caught the dying light, its limestone facade aglow with a warm, honeyed brilliance. Shadows gathered at its base, but the upper reaches seemed to shimmer as though touched by fire, each detail of the holy tracery etched against the deepening sky.

I had been charging continuously for the last few years, heading towards something. What was my actual ultimate goal? I wanted to enjoy life, sure. But something was missing. 

The city below softened in the amber haze, its Georgian terraces glowing like burnished gold. Rooftops glinted faintly, their symmetry a quiet testament to time and care. The trees that framed the park rustled faintly in the breeze, their leaves burnished by the fading sunlight, as though nature herself had dipped them in molten bronze. The air felt charged with both serenity and grandeur, the kind of moment that compels you to hold your breath.

I wasn't a utopianist. I had been through far too much and seen so much suffering to ever truly believe a perfect world could exist. But I wasn't a pessimist or realist either. While I like to believe I saw humanity for what it is. Cruel. Vicious. Uncaring. 

It was times like this that I saw that spark. Something greater, which no person had ever fully managed to quite put into words, but we all sometimes caught glimpses of. 

As the sun's final rays withdrew, the sky surrendered to a bruised palette of purples and blues, a reminder that night would soon arrive. But for a fleeting moment, the abbey seemed almost celestial, caught between the radiance of the heavens and the encroaching shadow of earth. I felt, standing there, not just a witness to beauty but a part of it, as if Bath itself had whispered its timeless grace into the evening air.

I wasn't an expert on politics or history or economics. And I had no clue how my actions would affect the outcomes of events that in my mind were inevitable since I'm not a seer. But I'm pretty sure that with a hell of a lot of work and a small modicum of luck, I might be able to change the world for the better. Sure it won't be perfect. Insane and horrific stuff is still going to happen, but it can be a hell of a lot better than how things turned out originally. Guess that's what I've already decided a while ago, but it's good to put this into words.

Kill Pol Pot is definitely on the to-do list then.

Evelyn headed back to Bristol as Charlie decided to drag me up to Manchester despite my protests. He took me to a modest house in the city, and on the door was a brass plaque that said…

"Rochdale Society of Equitable Pioneers." I said in a mocking tone, "Who on earth chose that name?" 

"This is very serious," he said with a mildly annoyed look on his face. "I'm taking a big risk introducing you." To which I nodded as he knocked on the door.

"Good evening, Gertrude, how are you?" he said to an older lady who had opened the door. 

After some pleasantries, I was guided inside, and what I was not expecting was a collection of young men. Well, not young; they all look under the age of thirty. It's a party. I leaned over to him and said, "You still haven't told me what this is."

"This is the bimonthly meeting of one of Manchester's cooperative movements," he said. "Don't worry, just stay with me, and I'll introduce you as they come to greet me."

My mind was now on autopilot. A veritable buffet of, "How are you doing?" and "Fine, thank you, yourself?" and other pointless drivel seemed to gently drift around the room. I was introduced, and occasionally someone would recognise my name and a conversation would ensue. A few debates I overheard were interesting. 

"This is Edmund Warring. Eddie, this is Henry Jameson. He's a business partner of my cousin Evelyn," said Charles as I shook hands with the man before me. He was tall, having a good five inches on my 5'8 stature. He had curly blonde hair and said, "Henry, is that okay? Charlie told me about you."

We ended up chatting for a while. If Charlie was the type of person you would trust quickly and would tell your worries to in order for him to make you laugh, Edmund was the one who would eagerly want to get to know you, and before you could decide whether to trust them, you're swept off your feet. At least that's the impression I had gotten from both. 

Harrington grew up in Birmingham, the heart of Britain's industrial revolution. His father was a respected foreman in a steelworks factory, and from an early age, Charles showed a keen mind for machinery and organisation. After excelling in school, he received a scholarship to study mechanical engineering at the University of Manchester, where he was exposed to fountains of knowledge that somehow supercharged his passion. 

During World War I, Edmund served as a logistics officer, organising supply chains for the British Expeditionary Force. His ability to ensure efficient transport of ammunition and supplies earned him recognition and a promotion to captain. The way he spoke about the war, it seemed to have instilled in him strategic thinking from others perspectives and a deep commitment to improving the lives of others.

After the war he joined a company making artificial silk owned by Alfred Loewenstein. He was fired and accused of embezzlement and had been struggling to find anyone willing to hire him or invest in any of his ideas. He had been travelling between the various cooperatives trying to join one when he met Charlie in Glasgow. As he told me the story, I could see Charlie eagerly waiting like a puppy for praise as if he had done well. 

In normal circumstances I wouldn't hire someone who'd been accused of stealing, but the fact I knew who Loewenstien was from my previous life and Charlie seemed to believe he was innocent made me willing to give him a chance; the fact he had been honest about it made me like the man more.

I said, "You really should come down to my factory in Bristol. I think you will find it fascinating; the same goes for you, Charlie. You know where it is, but Evelyn hasn't shown you around yet, has she?"

Both men seemed rather happy, though Edmund seemed even more relieved.