Illusions Of Change (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 6)

by Andrew Wareham

  She did not argue, having had no great desire to decorate her own house for fear that she might offend – it would be many years, she doubted, before she would be at ease with Englishness.

  “What of names, Robert?”

  “I would wish, if you think it right, to follow the example set with the boys – Thomas and Iain should be brothers to Verity and Susannah. I could wish to have used your parents’ original names, my dear, but feel that we must keep up the pretence if it is to have any point at all.”

  She agreed, fully, but knew that her parents would accept the compliment for what it was, would be flattered by it.

  “Has our new house a name, Robert?”

  “Not yet, it is large enough that it should have, you are right there. What do you say to ‘The Gift’? A suitable name for the estate as well, and one that can remind our children on a daily basis of all that we owe as a family to your father. I rather suspect that in thirty or so years our sons and daughters might come to wish to forget all of their origins. I would prefer that they remembered!”

  She wondered why.

  He had never spoken to her of his schooldays, of the sneers of those born to the idle rich and resentful of the somewhat wealthier sons of industry. Despite his mother, he could never persuade himself that he was, or had any desire to be, part of the old aristocracy and did not wish to see his sons growing up to imagine that they were. For his daughters, of course, with proper marriages to make, the case would be different.

  “Have the boys seen their sisters yet?”

  “They have, Robert. They were not, I am afraid, much impressed. ‘Very small and very noisy’, seems to sum up their opinion.”

  He laughed, it was as much as one could hope for at their age.

  “Should I ask Trollopes to send samples of their wallpapers to us to approve or should I give them carte blanche?”

  “Your choice, ma’am, but I would suggest that we point out our intention to open a number of branches of Mostyns in the provinces, all of which will need to be decorated. That should suffice to guarantee their best attention.”

  “Will Lord Andrews’ Mr Quillerson hire staff for us, Robert? I had intended to see to that myself but it will be simpler if he will do it instead.”

  “I will write to my father and make the request. He will know how many to set on and where to find them. It is important, you know, to make sure that they come from the right villages, no outsiders to take jobs seen as belonging to one or other of the places near the estate. He will have all of the local knowledge, or can discover it easily.”

  “Good morning, Mr Colcroft! Still with us in New Orleans? I had more than half expected to find you promoted up to Washington!”

  Henry had enquired immediately on his return, had discovered the government law officer Colcroft still to be in his office, still with the same superior, none of his ambitions yet fulfilled. He joined him at his luncheon table, waited for his steak to appear; this was a sophisticated Anglo house, there was a potato and some Navy beans as well as a slab of thickly buttered bread on the side.

  “Still here, Mr Star, and likely to remain for many a year, it would seem. This damned Missouri Compromise, which neither side likes, but is only better than any possible alternative!”

  Henry responded that he had heard little of the affair as he had been away on business, in England, arranging contracts for the new yard to build river boats, steamers to open up the whole of the Mississippi. They could expect a great expansion of trade and a movement of settlers west along the tributary rivers.

  “That, in great part, Mr Star, has been the cause of our problems. New lands, new states – should they be Free or Slavery?”

  “Slavery, of course, sir. The Louisiana Purchase extends north to the Canadian borders and an undefined distance west, I understand. Louisiana is a Slave State and logically the whole of the Purchase must also be.”

  “It may be logic, but it ain’t realistic, Mr Star. At the moment there’s eleven of each sort, Free and Slave, and the North won’t tolerate the Slave States gaining a majority, and the South won’t give up its equality, so it’s negotiate, one for one, and argue what each new Territory must be. The Missouri Compromise has drawn a line that will last for a while, but what will happen when the Spanish states come into the ambit of Washington, Heaven knows!”

  “So… to summarise, Mr Colcroft, north of the new line must be Free, south must be Slave, but to the west, in the lands that are empty as yet, everything is to be debated, case by case.”

  “More like bullet by bullet, sir. I doubt that cases in courts of law will be anything like as effective. Add to that, of course, the question of the Creoles here.”

  Two separate political issues, but impinging on each other, the one wholly a national question, the other more of a local issue. One at a time would be best.

  “Are the Southern arguments being made as well as they could be in Washington, Mr Colcroft?”

  Colcroft was instantly alert – he was a young man with a fortune still to be made.

  “Verbally, as one might say, then yes, sir. Our representatives are most eloquent.”

  Henry noted the careful use of the word ‘our’; no pretence of official neutrality here.

  “And in print, sir? Do the newspapers give their words the attention they deserve?”

  Colcroft regretted that that did not seem to be the case. Judges as well did not always appear to be wholly unbiased in their rulings.

  “Perhaps an office in Washington would be of use in remedying these obvious wrongs, sir.”

  Not an office, as such, Colcroft thought. Perhaps a well-connected and prosperous gentleman who could make discreet contacts with individuals would be better – offices tended to be so very visible, when one considered the matter.

  If Mr Colcroft could identify such a valuable person, then Henry had access to certain funds that might make his task the easier.

  Mr Colcroft had a father, it transpired, a Washington lawyer, he might well send him a letter.

  Henry thought that to be an excellent idea, sons should always show filial respect, he had just been visiting with his own father on his estate in Lancashire.

  “The Cotton King, Lord Star – you may have heard of him, Mr Colcroft.”

  Colcroft had, Star Spinners was a very well-known enterprise, and Lord Star must be presumed to be rich and, quite possibly, the provenance of the ‘certain funds’ Mr Star had mentioned.

  Colcroft had feared at first that Mr Star might be referring to British government money, and, so soon after the war, that could smack of treason in Washington, but family funds were a very different matter. He would definitely write his letter, that evening, in fact.

  Henry agreed that he should, much preferring his bribery to be done at second hand. He had no wish ever to be caught shovelling dollars into the pockets of judges or editors or Congressmen. Much better that Colcroft senior should dirty his hands, and he was a lawyer and would have no moral objections to so doing.

  “I will almost certainly find myself requiring legal advice on matters relating to river navigation and steam shipping, Mr Colcroft. Are you permitted to indulge in private practice on the side?”

  Colcroft certainly was allowed to give advice, provided he informed his seniors of the identity of his clients. He would be very happy to accept Mr Star’s retainer.

  Henry left Mr Colcroft to the contemplation of his epistle, a work that would require a precise delicacy of phraseology, just upon the off-chance that it might come to unfriendly eyes. It would never do to be either blunt or ambiguous.

  The very next day, for Henry was not one to let the grass grow under his feet when there was money to be earned, he made his way to the office of one of the local leaders of the Democratic-Republican Party, there to discuss the elections for Governor. The Creole incumbent, Jacques Villere, was a well-respected man who had done his best to heal the divisions of society in the state, but governors were not permitted to stand for c
onsecutive terms of office and he had to go, could not build on his popularity.

  “You might well not appreciate, Mr Star, not being Louisiana born, the complexity of the term ‘Creole’.”

  Henry muttered appropriately.

  “You see, sir, for a few, and how many exactly one cannot tell, it means merely a gentleman of French extraction and language, such as our noble Governor. For the most it signifies an error made before statehood was attained less than ten years ago. To be candid, Mr Star, as we all know, a man is white or he is not, and if he is not, then what is he? Why, the answer can only be that he is black.”

  Mr Johnson stroked his white goatee, twinkled his very blue eyes.

  “I ask you, Mr Star, if a boy is black, then what must he be? A slave, sir, a bonded servant as is the natural law of God! We have this abomination of a mass of so-called Creoles lounging in their idleness because they were mistaken for free men, and we should devote our efforts to ensuring that this grave error is rectified, or at least not allowed to become worse. Mr Thomas Bolling Robertson is to be our candidate for the position of Governor, and I can assure you, sir, that he thinks the right way. Any Creole who believes that he may have anything to say on the issue of Emancipation, or indeed anything else at all, will very soon discover the error of his ways when Mr Robertson is elected!”

  Henry put a thousand in the campaign chest and pledged himself to raise more as the necessity arose, informing Mr Johnson that he was honoured to represent certain interests in London and New York who intended to invest heavily in shipping, and perhaps in banking, in the state, provided conditions remained favourable to enterprise.

  “Our prosperity is borne upon the back of cotton and sugar, Mr Johnson, and we must have as governor a gentleman who recognises that fact and will devote himself to increasing our wealth. If, indeed, sir, over the forthcoming years, our governor should discover himself to be embarrassed by the expenses of office, his hard labours tending to impoverish him, then I am sure we shall be able to assist him. All right-thinking gentlemen should stand together, I believe.”

  Henry refused a third refill for his glass, despite the heat of the morning that made a little refreshment essential. He started to make his farewells then had a seeming afterthought.

  “The electorate, Mr Johnson, consists I presume of adult males of appropriate financial standing?”

  “White males who are property owners and tax-payers, sir.”

  “White – just how white does one need to be, sir?”

  “Well, I do declare, sir, that is an interesting question! One that might bear investigation in every parish, one might suggest. It might be as well to pursue the matter at some length, sir, and I shall have no hesitation in bringing it to the attention of our legislators! We certainly do not wish to discover our political processes becoming contaminated by the interference of the wrong sort.”

  Henry was quite satisfied with his morning and left to inspect the acreage that had been bought on the Algiers side of town for the boatyard. He had observed carefully in Liverpool, knew that he must have deep water close to the riverside, flat land behind it and access to an all-weather road if his yard was to prosper. Fortunately, the young man sent from New York had known his business and all was well. Eighty acres, more or less, already fenced and drained but otherwise untouched. The river bank was several feet high, suggesting that the water was within reason deep, would require relatively little dredging.

  There was no excuse to remain in the South, every reason to make his way speedily to New York where he could set all in motion for his prosperous future to become an actuality. He booked his ticket for the next day, taking the fastest coastal schooner he could find, eight days at most to cover the distance of some seventeen hundred miles, rushing headlong upon his fate for lack of a practical alternative – he was not the sort, he told himself, to flee to the wild places of the world to escape his destiny, tempting though his brother’s example might be. Thinking on the matter, his brother’s fate might just have been slightly worse than that awaiting him… probably.

  Mr Chard was delighted to welcome Henry back to the bosom of his family. Not a term that appealed to Henry as he surveyed the bosom that was to become the centrepiece of his own domestic bliss.

  “Thank you, Judge. You received my letters from England, I trust? I have the documents with me. It became necessary to conduct business in New Orleans for our English partners, matters that would not wait upon my convenience, hence my delay in returning, sir.”

  The trained legal brain inspected the contracts minutely, could not fault them. He had not expected to find flaws, he had investigated the Roberts Ironfounders’ past as thoroughly as he could at a distance, had found them to be of universally good repute. The heavy mortars that had been ordered by the War Department for coastal forts had started to arrive, exactly to time, and first test firings had shown them to be wholly sound and precisely to specification. The firm was trustworthy.

  “Very well, Mr Star, the funds will be released for the yard at the beginning of next week and construction of the slips will commence within two months, I trust. The first hulls should be built within a twelvemonth and the engines should be installed as well. It is our intent that the first of our steamers will be working the great waters within a year of today’s date! Your business with our partners in England, did it relate to the yard?”

  Henry shook his head, let it be seen that it was a matter that should not be discussed in public. The judge winked acknowledgement.

  “Excellent, sir. It remains only, perhaps, to set a date for my entry into the felicity of matrimony, provided, that is, that Miss Chard is still of a mind to wed with me.”

  Miss Chard was still of such a mind, very much so, it seemed.

  Propriety demanded that the engaged couple should not be permitted to meet alone and intimacy was thus restricted to a decorous kiss on her cheek, though it was clear that she was very willing to enter into much closer embrace. The honeymoon promised to be most enthusiastic, Henry feared; he wondered if his heart would bear the strain.

  A week later Judge Chard begged a few minutes of Henry’s time, dragging him away from the prospect of another morning’s shopping in the company of his prospective bride and her mama. They would still be able to make a morning visit to a matron of their acquaintance, they assured him. He had been shown off relentlessly, the son of Lord Star, to the mother, and the trophy husband she had never truly expected to the daughter. It was part of the price, and he had no choice but pay it.

  “Mr Star, may I make you known to Mr John Quillerson? He is one of Lord Andrews’ retainers and has been busy here settling English farmers on land in our state. He has now been requested to turn his mind to more political matters, in which you also have some interest, I believe.”

  A few words made it clear that Mr Quillerson was to busy himself with the anti-Emancipationists in New York. He hoped to avail himself of the good offices of Colonel Miller, already known to him, and he had been informed that he had access to an account held in the new merchant bank that Mostyn’s had recently established in New York.

  “It is important, I think, Mr Star, to ensure that I do not tread on your toes. We would look rather foolish if we were both to speak to the one editor or political figure.”

  “Or judge,” Chard archly interposed.

  Both men took note of Chard’s reminder. The judge would quite like to share in any blessings flowing from Mostyn’s hands.

  “It has occurred to me, Mr Star, and you, sir, being an eminent jurist of the state, would no doubt have a valuable opinion to offer, that we might wish to enter into discussion with some of New York’s divines.”

  They had not considered that possibility. A pulpit or two would very likely be extremely useful for whipping up public support, if it could only be arranged. An hour’s discussion, the floating of a few names, and they decided that this would have to be Mr Chard’s task – he had the eminence to meet the most senior cler
ical figures on a basis of equality and would be able to sound them out tactfully and in absolute confidence. Obviously, there would be no question of him charging a fee for such a service, but his inevitable expenses would be covered, thoroughly.

  “It is your intention to set up house in New Orleans, I presume, Mr Star?”

  “It is, Mrs Chard. There can, I fear, be no alternative for the next several years. All of my business interests lie there and demand my daily attention. As well, if I am eventually to embrace a political existence, which is a possibility to be explored, then I must build a base of influence in and around New Orleans. It may be possible, with the introduction of steam to the River, to consider the establishment of a plantation and great house some miles to the north of the city, in the more salubrious, higher lands. A better place, as I am sure you would agree, for the status and well-being of a family.”

  New Orleans was not the healthiest of towns – Yellow Fever, malaria, cholera and various spotted fevers visited regularly, though seeming to affect the poor more than the wealthy. It was generally agreed that the rich tended to be descended from the European and English aristocracy and came therefore from healthier stock than the gutter dwellers could claim; that they also often had access to sewers was less commented upon.

  Miss Chard had little to say on the matter, other than that she would, of course, remain at her husband’s side, duty and inclination confirming her in such a course.

  The wedding was to be a very public affair, a long service promised in the largest of the Episcopalian churches. Henry enquired of the denomination, it being unfamiliar to him, discovered it to be the Church of England in proper American guise, the name modified but the habits unchanging. The church was respectable, its preachers men of sober, honest appearance and speech, in public at least; it would be apt to its congregation.