The Old House at Railes: A heartwarming rags to riches Victorian family saga

by Mary E. Pearce

  ‘We’ll be delighted. Won’t we, George? We have not seen the Claytons these many months past. And what of the Yuarts? Will they be there?’

  ‘As yet I don’t know, but I hope they will.’ Martin looked directly at Katharine. ‘I thought if I sent a written invitation, addressed to your husband and yourself, he might perhaps, at such a season, find it possible to accept.’

  Before Katharine could answer him, her daughter and sister broke in together.

  ‘Oh, Mama! Surely he will?’ Susannah cried, while Ginny, fiercely indignant, exclaimed: ‘Of course Charles must accept! It would be too churlish for words if he didn’t and I would very soon tell him so!’

  ‘Well, we shall see,’ Katharine said.

  But Charles, when Martin’s invitation arrived, treated it with angry contempt.

  ‘Does this man seriously think that I would accept hospitality from him? If so, he mistakes me entirely, and his skin must be thicker than I had supposed. Either that or he is obtuse, for surely I have made it plain just what I feel about him?’

  ‘Martin is neither obtuse nor thick-skinned but, being a friend of myself and the children, he wishes, out of courtesy, to extend his friendship to you as well.’

  ‘Courtesy!’ Charles said, scoffing. ‘The man is an ill-bred parvenu and what you see as courtesy is merely the vulgarian’s desire to display the importance he thinks he’s attained. You may be taken in by it but I am not. As for my going to Newton Railes … I will not set foot in that house again until the day comes when I am reinstated as its owner.’

  Katharine stared. It was some time before she could speak.

  ‘And how will such a thing come about?’

  ‘There is only one way. I shall buy it back. Oh, it will take time, of course. But perhaps not so long as you think. At present I’m running another man’s mill but in another two or three years I shall be renting Hainault. I’ve already seen Sidney Hurne and he has promised me a three-year lease with an option to purchase it when I can. After that, when I have my own mill again, it will not be long before I am in a position to buy back Newton Railes.

  ‘You may remember, when Hainault failed and I was obliged to compound my debts, there was a chance that the house might be spared. But you set to work and persuaded me that it must be sacrificed with the rest. It seemed to me at the time that you were determined to martyr yourself, perhaps as a means of punishing me. Be that as it may, I will not recriminate with you now, but the one indisputable fact is that Railes was sold to pay my debts. Obviously, then, it is my duty to do everything within my power to get it back. You will understand that, I’m sure.’

  ‘No, Charles, I do not understand. Railes belongs to Martin now. Even if you had means enough to buy it back from him tomorrow, what possible reason can you have for expecting him to part with it?’

  ‘From what I have been led to believe, Cox has always regarded you and your family with respect amounting to veneration. It seems to me only right, therefore, that when in time the occasion arises, he should be prepared to relinquish his tenure in favour of those who, in every moral sense, are its only rightful heritors.’

  ‘In other words,’ Katharine said, ‘you would appeal to these finer feelings which, just a moment ago, you declared were utterly lacking in him.’

  ‘Oh, I think he would give way to us, if only because of public opinion. Your self-made man cannot endure being the object of disapproval. But why are we arguing in this way, as though Newton Railes meant nothing to you? You returned there promptly enough to keep house for Cox while I was away. Surely, then, you must wish to go back, reinstated as its mistress?’

  ‘It is not a question of what I wish, but of what I expect. And I do not expect to go back.’

  There was a moment of silence between them, broken suddenly when Charles, who held Martin’s note in his hand, turned and flung it into the fire.

  ‘In that case, coming back to the present, it will be no great disappointment to you if we do not dine there on Boxing Day. Perhaps, as I’m a busy man, you will write declining his invitation yourself.’

  ‘Yes,’ Katharine said, ‘I will write to him.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the end of 1863, profits at Loxe Mill had already risen by one per cent. By the following spring they had risen again. More gratifying still, the state of its order-books was such that in the course of that same year a further increase could be expected, bringing the mill’s estimated profits up to a clear twenty per cent. This satisfactory state of affairs was due in some measure to improved trade in Europe, but chiefly it was due to Charles Yuart’s energy, acumen, and experience. Also to his imagination, for, although still contemptuous of the fancy suitings made at Loxe, he was full of ideas for new designs, and these had found favour everywhere. His partner, Maynard, was delighted, and gave credit where it was due.

  ‘That brown and fawn check is doing well. So is this blue-grey herringbone. We’ve got repeat orders for both and it’s only a few weeks since they went out. Altogether, it strikes me that we make a good team, you and I. Let’s hope it continues so.’

  Maynard, in the previous months, had enjoyed an improvement in his health, due, plainly, to the fact that with Yuart in charge of the mill, he was relieved of anxiety. He could spend a short day in his office now without any undue strain, though in winter, when the cold wet weather came, he was often forced to stay at home, nursed by his widowed daughter, Rose. On these occasions, Charles would ride out to Patesbridge two or three times a week with letters and cheques for Maynard to sign, and a list of items to discuss. Maynard by now was glad to give Charles a free hand, but always with the proviso that he was kept well informed, down to the last detail.

  ‘I may not be much use at the moment, but I still want to know what’s going on.’

  And when, with the weather, his health improved, so that he could return to his office, there was, as he freely admitted, little for him to find fault with there.

  ‘You’re certainly making things hum,’ he said. ‘There isn’t an idle loom in the place. Almost every piece of cloth is bespoke and that is how I like it to be. And you are reaping the benefit, too. Your investment is turning over nicely and you’re in a fair way to becoming warm. If I’ve got nothing to grumble about, we can say the same for you, eh?’

  This, of course, was true enough, and Charles on the whole was well pleased. The profit accruing from his investment, being added each month to the capital sum, together with the major part of his salary, the investment accordingly grew, thus yielding still larger profits which, in turn, were invested again. Thus, by the end of his first year at Loxe, his share in the mill’s capital was just over twelve thousand pounds. And it was roughly at this time that Robert Cornelius, who rented Hainault Mill from the Hurnes, suffered a series of strokes and died.

  Charles, on hearing this news, went at once to his friend and solicitor, Alec Stevenson, to discuss taking over the mill, and within a week or two it was done. Sidney Hurne, eager to secure a tenant who would buy the mill just as soon as he could, was only too glad to let it to Charles at a mere two hundred pounds per annum. The option of buying, needless to say, was written into the terms of the lease.

  Maynard, when he heard of his partner’s doings, was more than a little put out at first. Admittedly, Charles had warned him that he would be renting a mill of his own, but it was all happening a great deal sooner than expected, and Charles, to finance his own enterprise, was asking to withdraw the bulk of the sum he had invested in Loxe; namely ten thousand pounds. Yes, Charles agreed, defending himself, his plans had certainly ripened prematurely, but this was entirely due to an unforeseeable circumstance, namely the death of Cornelius. As for the question of his investment, Maynard had admitted asking for this merely as a guarantee of commitment, and Charles now argued that his achievement at Loxe was surely guarantee enough that he would be equally conscientious throughout the term of their partnership.

  ‘Furthermore, as you yourself said,
my chances of succeeding as an independent clothier will be greatly improved by the fact that I am also in business with you. Plainly, then, it is in my own best interest, not only to preserve good relations with you, but to make sure that my remaining investment continues to earn the maximum profit.’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s true enough.’

  ‘Of course, you are entitled to refuse me this favour, in which case I will still rent Hainault but shall be obliged to leave it standing idle until my investment with you is such that I may remove a substantial sum and still leave the original ten thousand pounds intact. But I don’t need to tell you that to leave Hainault idle ‒’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Maynard said gruffly. ‘I shall have to give in to you, I can see. I only hope you are capable of running both mills without one of them suffering for it. Namely, mine.’

  ‘Loxe Mill will not suffer. I give you my word.’

  In due course, and with little delay, Charles withdrew ten thousand pounds from the Loxe Mill account at the District Bank and with it opened an account for Hainault at Coulson’s Bank in Trinity Square. This was where he had banked in the past; his private account was already there; and the manager, Mr Harriman, after a number of searching questions, and a few words counselling caution, agreed that Charles, when his business required it, should have the use of an ‘occasional’ overdraft to a sum not exceeding two thousand pounds, chargeable at six per cent. The high rate of interest, as Charles well knew, was to discourage any ill-considered use of this concession. These limits and these terms, together with Harriman’s advice, were extremely disagreeable to Charles, but thus, he reflected bitterly, did a man’s past history cast its shadow over present endeavour.

  Further difficulties were to come and chief among these was the problem of obtaining credit from local tradesmen. In particular, Pirrie and Son, the Cullen Valley wool merchants, having lost money to Charles in the past, now refused to trade with him unless he could promise to pay on the nail. This of course was out of the question, for credit was the lifeblood of successful commerce, and just as Charles, when selling his cloth, gave the cloth-merchant three months to pay, so he in turn, and because of this, required the same terms when buying the raw materials of his trade. But this was a problem that he had foreseen and again Maynard was willing to help by allowing Charles to buy his wool under cover of the Loxe Mill account.

  ‘No doubt they will wonder at my buying top quality merino all of a sudden and they may well twig the reason for it. But my credit has always been good in the trade and so long as they have my signed acceptance they won’t worry over-much. Just as, when I have yours, I hope I needn’t worry, either, because what it boils down to, Yuart, is that I am acting as surety for you and there is a great deal of money involved.’

  ‘I know that and I’m grateful to you.’

  ‘You’ll have to arrange your own haulage, of course, shifting the bales from my place to yours. Or did you have it in mind, perhaps, that I’d lend you a loan of my carts as well?’

  Charles, aware that a joke was intended, did his best to smile. Enduring raillery of this kind was one of the penalties he had to pay for being Maynard’s obligee. It was something he detested, especially when, as now, it occurred in the hearing of Maynard’s clerk, a man who, Charles felt, was already inclined to treat him with much the same familiarity. George Anstey had been at Loxe Mill for fifteen years; he was fussy and self-important and he liked, in a sly way, to score off Charles whenever he could. Sure enough, in the course of time, when Charles’s consignment of wool had arrived and been removed to Hainault, here was Anstey, in Maynard’s presence, reminding him that his note for the cost was almost a week overdue.

  Charles, in a temper, went to his desk and wrote out the promissory note, under the previous Friday’s date. He thrust it into the clerk’s hands and watched as the man, with finicking care, entered the details into his ledger and filed the note in the slotted box labelled ‘bills receivable’.

  ‘You mustn’t mind Anstey,’ Maynard said, when he and Charles were alone, later. ‘He has my best interests at heart, you know, and he likes to keep a tidy bill-box.’

  ‘I need hardly remind you, Mr Maynard, that as your partner I too have your interests at heart.’

  ‘Ah, but you’ve got another string to your bow, now that you’ve taken Hainault, and perhaps Anstey fears that certain things here may possibly slip your mind.’

  ‘Perhaps you share that fear yourself.’

  ‘Yuart, you should know by now that if I have anything to say, I speak out in plain terms, without beating about the bush. I always will, be sure of that.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ Charles said.

  It was a strange experience, being back at Hainault Mill, especially as, in the first few days, all his memories were of that period four years earlier, when he had left it, a failure and a bankrupt. But he had no time to dwell on the past. There was too much to do. And as he threw himself into the task of managing the mill as it already was, while, simultaneously, implementing plans for expansion, the excitement he felt was so great that it banished past suffering from his mind.

  He was back where he belonged, in the mill which had been in his family for more than two hundred years and which he himself had helped to develop, by the addition of modern buildings and by being the first man in the valley to purchase the new power-looms. He was making his own cloth again and it was only a question of time before he would regain his old position as one of the leading clothiers in the district. A man who, having married into one of the oldest families in the county, had a duty to that family which he was determined to discharge.

  Hainault first. Then Newton Railes. Quite clearly it was intended that he should regain possession of both. To this end he was committed and nothing, he vowed, would stand in his way. There was a mountain of work to be done but the thought of it did not dismay him. On the contrary, the magnitude of his task acted as a stimulus, so that he felt himself imbued with superhuman energy. What had to be done, he would do, even if it took twenty years. But it would not take half that time. Nor even a quarter of it. On that he was fiercely resolved.

  At present the cloth he made at Hainault was mostly worsteds and cassinettes and there were orders enough on the books to keep these in production for three or four months at least. But too many looms were standing idle and this was a state of affairs that Charles meant to alter without delay. First he had to judge ‒ in some cases, re-judge ‒ the calibre of his mill-hands. Many of these were known to him, having worked at Hainault since early days; others had been brought in by the Hurnes; but, old hands or new, so relieved were they at finding their employment secure, that he had their allegiance immediately.

  Soon the idle looms were uncovered and the best of the weavers were set to work producing cloth of the quality that had made Hainault’s name in the past: superfine broadcloth in the traditional plain colours, which, in the right market, commanded high prices and won esteem. Admittedly that market had shrunk but so too had the competition, partly because many mills had closed, partly because those that remained had changed over to the cheaper cloths. Francus Warde, the London merchant, seeing the dark blue Hainault Pastello coming off the looms again, undertook to purchase the lot just as soon as it was ready, and talked of ordering more later.

  ‘It is good to see you back, Mr Yuart, especially here where you really belong. The woollen trade has suffered badly over the past few years and many good clothiers have been forced out of business. Still, it’s an ill wind, as they say, and those few who are still making good quality cloth now have the market to themselves. We’ve come through the worst of our troubles, and the future, I am glad to say, looks a good deal rosier. We shall still have our ups and downs, no doubt, but one thing is certain ‒ quality always wins in the end.’

  Charles had no doubts on that score, but Warde’s assurance was welcome all the same, and the practical aspect of his faith ‒ namely, the size of the orders he placed ‒ was even more we
lcome still. His purchases encouraged Charles to increase his output by a third, while the relevant trade bills, signed by Warde, although they would not be paid for three months, were discounted readily by the bank, which made their value less one per cent ‒ available to Charles immediately. Together with other acceptances, from the sale of the cheaper cloths, turnover was very healthy. Mostly, these sales were made through local merchants, or through travelling salesmen dealing directly with tailoring firms; but his biggest buyer was Francus Warde, one of the best-known merchants in the country.

  And just as money begat money ‒ which of course it was meant to do ‒ so faith begat faith, which meant that in a few short months Charles was already expanding his range to include three more quality fabrics: doeskin, fields, and Hainault rib. One of these, only just on the market, won awards at the International Exhibition that year. As a result, orders came flooding in, and Charles, increasing production to meet demand, needed more capital to cover his costs.

  Once again he applied to the bank and this time Mr Harriman, impressed by what Charles had achieved so far, agreed to extend his overdraft from two to four thousand pounds, at the same time reducing the rate of interest to a reasonable five per cent. To Charles, this agreement was doubly welcome: first, because it met his immediate needs; second, because it signified that he had regained the bank’s trust. Obviously he was making some progress in eradicating the past. He had also begun to climb the ladder that would raise him to his former status.

  Reviewing the situation so far, he was well pleased. Quietly, without any show, he had re-established himself as a man of business. Now he felt the time had come to do the same on a social level. Accordingly, during the summer and autumn of 1864, he and his family were occasionally seen in public: first at the annual Hospital Fête, held in the grounds of Hackford Hall; next at a gala performance of Dido and Aeneas, given in West’s Concert Rooms; and, in mid October, at a ball held in the newly refurbished ball-room of The Commercial Hotel.