The Merchant's Daughter

by M J Lee

  But Jayne wasn’t listening. One other thing was troubling her about the Marlowe family tree. If Royston was born in 1834, but his parents weren’t married until 1836, was he illegitimate? That may explain why there was no birth record in the local parish church. But it didn’t feel right to Jayne. If Royston were illegitimate, surely Henry Marlowe would have legitimised the birth to avoid anybody contesting the will?

  Rachel had stopped talking. ‘Did you hear what I said, Jayne?’

  Jayne shook her head.

  ‘I’m going to wangle a day off filming tomorrow too, just in case anything comes up.’

  ‘Are you?’

  Rachel’s face suddenly became white and tired, her back arched and she began to wheeze and cough. ‘I’m so sorry, I seem to have caught the flu. Can you reschedule around me? If you can’t then I will, of course, come in… Cough, cough. Could be one of my better acting performances.’

  Then she brightened up, transforming back into the usual Rachel. ‘That should do it, what do you think?’

  Chapter FORTY

  July 11, 1842

  Wickham Hall, Cheshire

  Emily had continued writing as if her life depended on it. Now even the ink was running low. Could she ask the housekeeper to fill it up, or would that reveal her secret?

  She didn’t care.

  Her book had to be finished today. Once her brother had returned it would be difficult for her to complete it.

  She thought of her son, now aged nearly eight. He looked like a miniature version of Henry now; top hat, waistcoat and trews, all in the modern style. But he hardly smiled any more. It was as if all the fun had been sucked out of his body and replaced with a vat of seriousness.

  Had she made the right decision in returning to this hellish house?

  She wondered if she had, but they would have starved in Manchester had they stayed. Would Liberty have had to live on the streets? Or even worse, slave from dusk till dawn in one of those factories that were springing up like mushrooms after a rainstorm.

  She had made the right decision, hadn’t she?

  She picked up her pen.

  Don’t think of that now, Emily. Finish your book. Tell them what happened next.

  1833 – Manchester

  Manchester was not as bad as I expected. True, there was an obsession with making money and the manufacture of ‘things’, and I greatly missed the culture of Liverpool, but overall I was happy with my life in the city.

  Since our arrival three years previously, we had lived in a house not far from St Peter’s Square where the massacre of the citizens by the militia had taken place just thirteen years before. Even now, the event was spoken of in hushed tones, as if it were some dirty family secret that shouldn’t be discussed in public.

  My own family still disowned me, of course: I heard nothing from either my brother or my father. It saddened me to think of their estrangement from my life, but nothing could be done. I had made my decision to marry Charles and I didn’t regret it for one second.

  Charles was in his study preparing for the meeting that evening. The bill for the abolition of slavery was presently going through Parliament. Everybody was cautiously optimistic that it would be passed this time.

  Having had my hopes dashed before, I was much less sanguine these days; my husband, however, was excited beyond measure. Even the prospect of facing Colonel Leith Hay this evening did not worry him. On the contrary, it gave him energy – as if it were the last battle he must face before victory.

  Colonel Leith Hay had been travelling around the country, challenging the proponents of abolition to an open debate. His expenses had been paid for by the sugar lobby and his efforts were nothing but a transparent attempt to woo public opinion; a public who overwhelmingly, at least for those who were able to read, supported abolition.

  Tonight was Manchester’s turn and Charles, because of his prowess as a speaker, had been chosen to defend the cause.

  ‘I’m ready, Emily. How do I look?’

  Charles was wearing the latest fashion in clothes; a black frock coat with broad shoulders and a tightly cinched waist over a white shirt, accessorised with a dark cravat and anti-slavery tie pin.

  ‘You look very fine, my dear. Do you have your notes?’

  He patted his top pocket. ‘I don’t think I’ll need them, though.’

  ‘Better to have them anyway. Shall I call a Hackney?’

  ‘We could just walk?’ The meeting was to be held at the Friends Meeting House a short walk from their home.

  ‘I think it better to make a show on arrival, Charles, we mustn’t let the society down.’

  ‘As you wish, dear.’

  We arrived to a large crowd waiting at the entrance. As Charles entered the hall, he was patted on the back by a crowd of supporters like a champion boxer entering the ring.

  Colonel Leith Hay was already waiting for him in the wings. His back was straight and his chest puffed out, all his years of military service in evidence through his bearing.

  To me, he looked nothing less than a bantam cock at a country fair, displaying himself for hungry buyers.

  On seeing Charles, he merely nodded once to acknowledge his opponent for the evening.

  The hall was packed to the rafters. The sconces were lit. A four-piece orchestra played chamber music, its attempts at Mozart drowned out by the buzz of the spectators.

  The chair of the meeting, Alderman White, banged a gavel on his desk. The music stopped and the crowd gradually became silent.

  ‘As you know, ladies and gentlemen,’ the Alderman said in his broad Manchester accent, ‘we are here this evenin’ to debate the pros and cons of the question of the abolition of slavery. The motion is “The Abolition of Slavery is good for the soul of England”. Speaking for the motion will be Mr Charles Carruthers…’ A cheer went up from the audience. ‘And against the motion will speak Colonel Leith Hay.’ Another cheer, but this time less wholehearted.

  ‘I give you, Mr Charles Carruthers.’

  ‘Wish me luck, dear,’ Charles whispered to me before he stepped forward.

  ‘You don’t need it. Right is on your side.’

  He kissed me on the forehead and then strode out on to the stage to thunderous applause.

  ‘And the opposing speaker, Colonel Leith Hay.’

  The colonel pulled down his jacket, adjusted the medals on his chest before twirling his moustache and striding out manfully on to the stage. He was met by loud cheers this time.

  To my ears, the audience seemed to be divided evenly between the two sides.

  ‘Mr Carruthers will begin for the motion, followed by the good colonel. Each will then be able to rebut the other’s speech and finally there will be a conclusion of five minutes from each speaker followed by questions. Mr Carruthers, if you would care to begin…’

  Charles stepped forward and, gripping the lapel of his jacket with his left hand and extending his right arm forward, began to speak. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, people of the great city of Manchester…’

  ‘And Salford,’ added a voice from the audience.

  ‘And, of course, Salford. Who could forget Salford?’

  ‘You just did,’ shouted the same voice, to laughter.

  But Charles refused to be deflected from his speech. His voice was powerful and composed, daring anyone to interrupt him again. ’I come here today to talk about one of the most iniquitous punishments ever exhibited by one human on another; the enslavement of black Africans by their fellow humans. Now, I am not going to argue that this is an easy question to resolve. On the contrary, it forces us to ask ourselves a very basic question. How do we judge our own souls? Is the abolition of slavery good for the soul of England?’

  He paused here for a moment and smiled, holding his arms open wide. ‘It is a question of a difficult nature, where those with strong opinions, partly of a religious description, and partly founded on a philosophic view of the dignity of the human species, came into contact with deep convictions
of the ruin and degradation which their enactment would cause to both property and persons. I will show in the course of my speech that the fears of my opponent are unfounded. There is a philosophic argument for the abolition of slavery and also an economic argument for its abolition.

  ‘However, I would call upon my opponent to debate in a manner which requires forbearance, conciliatory spirit, and patient attention. A manner which Colonel Leith Hay has so far eschewed by his use of intemperate language…’

  In the wings, I listened to Charles’ voice with pride, my heart soaring. I no longer listened to the words; I knew the speech off by heart anyway, having written most of it for Charles myself.

  Instead, I heard the music of his voice; the inflexions, the cadence, the subtle pauses that conveyed so much meaning. And behind it all, like a melody running through a concerto, was his passion. A love for his fellow man I had come to share and wholeheartedly endorse.

  At the end of the speech there was a spontaneous burst of applause and cheering. It was almost two minutes before the cacophony quietened down and Colonel Leith Hay was able to begin his speech.

  ‘I thank my learned opponent for his eloquent speech. I wish I had his turn of rhetorical phrase, but I am afraid I am but a humble soldier. My speech will only deal with my own personal experience and the facts of the case. I will not bother to use such calls to humanity and freedom and dignity. Instead, I will just use facts.’

  Here he tugged at his moustache and began to prowl the stage from side to side, jabbing his fingers skyward as he rolled off his points.

  ‘Fact one. The negro population of the British slave colonies are not yet prepared for the gift of freedom. They are at present an indolent and idle race, and it could not be expected that they would work unless there existed some means of making them.

  ‘Fact two. Only one third of the slave population actually did any work. The children, the aged and the infirm, amounting to two-thirds of the whole, remain a burden upon the estates, cared for by the goodwill and nature of their masters. And, indeed, at a not inconsiderable cost.

  ‘Fact three. The estate owners relied on the labour of their slaves to make the estates economic. Without this labour, they would close and then where would the slaves be? I’ll tell you, destitute and starving.

  ‘Fact four. Witnesses have recounted to me that immediate emancipation was altogether impracticable. Admiral Sir Charles Rowley has gone so far as to declare that “if born to a state of absolute labour, he would rather be a black man in Jamaica than a white labourer in England”. There was a great deal of evidence also to show that the habits of the negro had not improved after emancipation in those places where the experiment had been tried. Saint Domingo, for example.

  ‘Fact five. I am more acquainted with Barbados than the other slave colonies of this country. In that colony, there were 5,000 proprietors, owning in all 80,000 slaves. Of these 5,000 proprietors, not more than 1,500 possessed landed property, leaving 3,500 who possessed none and yet still owned 33,000 slaves. If abolition went ahead, their property would be taken from them.’

  A voice called out, ‘Are human beings property?’

  ‘They most assuredly are, sir, as confirmed by the highest courts of law of this land. Slaves are property. And you, sir, would you have your property taken from you without a by-your-leave? Of course not, and neither would the people of Barbados. These are some of the kindest slave owners. It was notorious that the insurrection of the year 1816 in Barbados began upon the estate of a planter who was known throughout the island as the best master, the kindest and most affectionate in his treatment of his slaves in the colony.

  ‘Fact six. Fully twenty-seven million pounds accrues to the Exchequer in taxes each year on the import of sugar, rum and other products from the slave colonies. If the islands are to be made destitute, how will the Exchequer replace the income? By taxes on you and me, my friends.

  ‘Finally, fact seven. What will be the effect on England of such abolition? The incomes derived from the colonies are, for the most part, spent in this country. What would be the effect on trade and agriculture? How would the tiny hamlets fare that had sprung up into towns in consequence of the colonial employment and expenditure of colonial capital? Would the gentleman inform us whether Liverpool, Bristol, Manchester, or even London itself, have risen to importance in consequence of the advantages they have derived from the colonial trade? Why would he sneer at the observation that these cities would decline after abolition?

  ‘Friends, I am not opposed to the negroes, but I am opposed to any action that deprives men of their property without any compensation, creating a precedent which might be applied to other types of property with equal injustice.’

  He stopped prowling the stage and said, ‘Now let me put some flesh on these facts.’

  I stopped listening. I had heard these words far too often from my brother and father as an excuse for continuing slavery in other colonies.

  I only started listening again when Charles took the podium once more, quietly yet forcefully demolishing each and every one of the so-called ‘facts’ one by one.

  As I listened to his voice, I realised I loved this man with all my heart.

  Chapter FORTY-one

  April 08, 1833

  Hope Street, Liverpool

  ‘Damn the man, he’s nothing but a blackguard.’

  Two days later and Jeremiah Roylance was sitting in the front room of his house, reading the Liverpool Mercury. His son, Henry, was stretched out on a divan in front of the fire.

  ‘Listen to this. “Liverpool man leads charge against slavery. Charles Carruthers of St Nicholas Parish was the main speaker at an event organised in Manchester yesterday evening. His opponent was the celebrated soldier, Colonel Leith Hay. Together they debated the motion that the abolition of slavery is good for the soul of England.” Soul, did you hear that? England now has a soul. Never heard such poppycock in my life. Idiots, the lot of them, never worked a day in their lives. All the abolitionists should be strung up, traitors all.’

  ‘Father, they are debating the final reading of the bill next week.’

  ‘And we’ll just mobilise our vote as we have always done to block it. Even with the new reforms, the sugar lobby still has the votes to defeat any bill.’

  Henry sat up straight. ‘I don’t think it will happen this time, Father. There are many voices in favour of abolition, many of them from among the estate owners themselves.’

  ‘Estate owners? You’re telling me men from the Caribbean are going to vote for abolition? Why, it would be like geese voting for Christmas.’

  Henry sighed. ‘I have explained this many times. We cannot and should not block this bill.’

  ‘Why? Tell me that.’

  Henry turned to face his father and began to count the reasons off on his hand. ‘Firstly, the system of slaves working our plantations is unsustainable, Father. After the slave trade was banned in 1807, we can no longer find enough new slaves or replace them as we once did.’

  ‘Make them breed, then we will have more slaves and the value of our plantations will increase.’

  ‘But that’s just it, Father. They are not breeding in sufficient numbers, and we can’t sustain our workforce through slavery any more.’

  ‘So what would you have me do? Free them and then hire them back by paying wages?’

  Henry paused. ‘If you can, do that – but I have a better idea. Bring in indentured workers from India. Labour is cheap and plentiful and there will be no problems with the climate.’

  ‘But that will take time to organise and implement.’

  ‘Exactly, and that is why we have arranged for the former slaves to serve a five-year apprenticeship before they are freed.’

  ‘Apprenticeship? What are we going to teach them, how to cut cane? They know that already.’

  ‘True. But the word “apprenticeship” salves the consciences of our friends the abolitionists and it buys us time. They will be paid a pitta
nce and still have to work in the same jobs. Our costs should go down.’

  The old man put down his newspaper to listen to his son.

  ‘Secondly, the trade is dying. Most of the plantations are mortgaged up to the hilt. Prices are falling and we are unable to compete with America, where slavery is still in force. Unless we change, we will die slowly.’

  ‘We have already changed. Didn’t I develop new trade with India and the East?’

  ‘You did, Father, but it is not enough. The sugar trade is dying slowly.’

  ‘And I suppose you have an idea where we should go?’

  The son nodded. ‘I do. It is here in England. The new railway between Manchester and Liverpool has opened and it is the future. Bringing goods into Liverpool, manufactured in Manchester and Birmingham, for export to the Americas and India and Africa and the East. We need to fund these railways, insure them, build transport services and provide finance to set up the factories to make the goods.’

  ‘And where is this money to come from? Will it grow on trees?’

  ‘It will come from the government in return for freeing our slaves.’

  ‘The government will give us money? I don’t believe it,’ he snorted.

  ‘They have already agreed. The Act, if it is passed, has set aside a sum of twenty million pounds to be paid to the owners of slaves in return for relinquishing their property.’

  ‘But to do that they would have to accept that slaves are property in the first place.’

  ‘That’s the beauty of the Act. They have acknowledged our right to own these people and so they have to pay us if they wish us to free our property.’

  ‘Twenty million, you say?’

  ‘By my rough calculations, it means we should receive the sum of 23,234 pounds, six shillings and threepence.’

  ‘And we don’t have to share it with anybody?’

  ‘The former slaves will receive nothing except their freedom.’

  ‘And we will still own the land and our plantations?’

  ‘Every last acre and iron nail and stalk of cane.’