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

by Andrew Wareham

  “To be called ‘Lady Rumpage’, William! Not something I ever expected in all my life, not anything I could have dreamt of even. And Mr Robert did tell thee that he would have word sent to the Advertiser, for when it comes out on Friday, so everybody in Town will know, or everybody down on the River hereabouts, anyway.”

  “The neighbours will all hear, and the tradesmen, lass. Better keep an eye on the butcher’s bills, he’ll be adding a tanner to ‘is joints for my lady’s kitchen.”

  “The bugger! He will, too. You just watch ‘ow I pull ‘im up short! Oh, I can’t talk like that no more, I got to be proper now, so I don’t let you down!”

  “Good afternoon, ma’am!” Milly made an elaborate curtsey to her mother.

  “What are you about now, our Milly? Did it all go like it ought to ‘ave, down at the yard? Was ‘e there, the King, like?”

  “Was ‘e there! Bloody right, ‘e was, mum! And pleased with what he saw, too. Big, fat old bugger, ‘e is, but got a nice smile, and spoke nice to everyone. Got William to get down on one knee, so he did, and turned him into a knight, there and then! Sir William Rumpage, as ever is! So… that means I’m Lady Rumpage, mum.”

  The last words were added in a very little voice, a small girl not at all sure she had done the right thing.

  “Go on! Honest, you ain’t telling me no fairy tales, is you girl?”

  “Straight, ‘e did, mum. It’ll be in the paper on Friday! Mr Robert was there and some lords and other people, and they all watched and clapped their ‘ands, like as if we was their sort, not ordinary people at all. And they spoke to me and called me ‘my lady’, just like it was for real. And it is, mum, for real, that is.”

  “I’ll get your dad up from the bakehouse. That pleased he’ll be! He always did think nothing was too good for you, gal, and it looks like ‘e was right.”

  Mrs Tye disappeared at the run, leaving Milly stood part way between the counter and the tables.

  “I’ll put the tea pot on, William.”

  “No you bloody won’t, Milly, you sit down!”

  Her next sister, silent audience behind the counter, bustled into the kitchen, could be heard shouting to the youngest, telling her she would never believe it and get her arse downstairs quick-like.

  Sir William pulled a chair out for her, ushered her into it as her father came into the shop.

  “Afternoon, William! Missus says I ain’t going to credit what you got to tell me. You in the pudding club, lass?”

  “Maybe, but that ain’t it, dad! Sir William here, can tell you best.”

  “Did I hear you right?”

  “You did, Mr Tye.”

  The baker made a great effort to show calm, nothing amazing him.

  “More in them steam engines than what I reckoned on, so I must say, Sir William! You still staying in the yard or are you set for bigger things now?”

  “It’s my yard for me, Mr Tye, unless Mr Robert tells me different, acos what he says is law for me, sir!”

  “So it should be, too. You made my Milly into a lady, with his help.”

  “No, sir. She was that already, for me.”

  Lord and Lady Andrews surveyed a large, newly-built brick edifice on the shores of Southampton Water, not far from the Naval Hospital and with its own wharf and substantial boathouse. Saul Mostyn stood beside them, master of the new institution.

  “Ten dormitories, my lord, my lady, on first and second floor. Each to hold twelve beds and with a separate cubicle for senior boy, who will maintain discipline in exchange for small privileges. Eventually there is to be an intake of two dozens of boys each year, they to remain in our care for five years having entered at age six or seven, sent from the baby-minders of the parishes or the foundling hospices of the towns, such as they are.”

  “In the first instance I presume you will take from the streets, Mr Mostyn?”

  “Where possible, my lord. Too often the boys will run away rather than enter any institution. Most will prefer to starve or freeze in the gutter or, far more commonly, to cluster with the gangs in cellars or attics, making a criminal living. They fear the orphanages, my lord, and often with good reason.”

  He was telling them nothing new.

  “The ground floor, and the sheds to side and rear, are the classrooms and workshops where they will learn their letters and some basic skills. Some will expect to go to sea, and they will be taught by ex-sailormen, knots and marine skills, and sailing and rowing in our two small cutters. Others will be sent overseas to the colonies, and they will learn the skills of the land and the basics of the skilled trades – they will be able to work wood well enough to put up a cabin or carpenter table and chairs and will be taught to lay a brick and tile a roof, enough to get by in Canada or even Botany Bay. They will learn as well how to work the land. It is my intention to make contact with local farmers who can make use of extra hands at spring ploughing and sowing and harvest and will teach farming in exchange.”

  Tom and Frances exchanged glances – that farmers would willingly take extra, unpaid labour was very likely. The chance of the average yeoman or tenant teaching the boys to work the land seemed slight. It was worth trying, perhaps – not all men were self-interested, grasping and greedy, not even all farmers.

  “You say that some will be sent to sea, others to the colonies, Mr Mostyn. Will they have a choice?”

  “Not really, my lady, not to say to make the decision themselves. In the nature of things, ma’am, children are not best able to see their own way forwards, as one might expect of an adult. Such decisions are best made by those of a mature judgement who can assess a boy’s aptitudes and point him in the direction to which he is best suited.”

  It was the function of the father to nurture his children, to make adults of them, whether they liked it or not. The Principal of any Institution stood in loco parentis, had the duty, the obligation to guide his charges. He must push them in the right direction, as he saw it after careful deliberation; pandering to the childish likes and dislikes of small boys could do them little good in the long term.

  “Kitchens and dining rooms, Mr Mostyn, also on the ground floor?”

  “No, my lady. Quite separate, in their own block to the rear. You should inspect them, ma’am, they are, in my opinion, rather advanced.”

  They paced to the rear and crossed a stone-flagged quadrangle of some one hundred yards on the side.

  “The drill-square – we have employed an instructor in Prussian Drill and calisthenics who will train the boys every day. They will become fit and healthy in their bodies, ready to tackle any of life’s challenges. They will be able to play ball-games there as well in the free hour of an afternoon.”

  There was a single story block set along the rear of the quadrangle.

  “Ablutions, my lord, my lady. Cold baths, they must not be pampered, after all. A row of water-closets, for cleanliness must be encouraged in all ways. The laundry block, with washing lines under tiled roofs, so that their clothes may always dry thoroughly. And, finally, the kitchens themselves, with a cold room for meats and pantries behind fine mesh doors and windows – no vermin or insects to enter here! Closed stoves for roasting and baking, open ranges for vegetables. A healthy diet is proposed – meat on four days of the week, cheese on three; potatoes and cabbage or peas or beans daily; porridge and toast at breakfast, with a mug of cocoa; bread and butter at noon; another mug of cocoa before lights-out. Tea is said by many to be unhealthy for the growing frame, and coffee is strictly an adult beverage.”

  “And their religious duties, sir?”

  “They will march to the parish church on Sunday, ma’am. A little less than two miles, the exercise will be good for them, both physically and spiritually.”

  “You will live on the premises, Mr Mostyn?”

  “There are cottages, my lord, behind the line of trees, a furlong or so distant, for all of the staff. The Matron has a pair of rooms attached to her sick-bay on the ground floor, and she will take respons
ibility at night. There will be a porter in the lodge at the front door, and the back will be locked at lights-out”

  A wise set of precautions. They approved.

  “You are not married, Mr Mostyn?”

  “No, my lord. I have spoken with my father and he agrees with me that I should delay in establishing my family, possibly for another five years or thereabouts, while I bring the new orphans’ schools into existence.”

  “You are probably wise in that decision, sir. You will be travelling frequently for the next while.”

  “I shall be, ma’am. The college in Liverpool is the next responsibility, as you know, and I think I must go there regularly. It is my hope to use this building as a model, if I can find a piece of land along the coast, in North Wales or towards the fishing village of Fleetwood perhaps.”

  “You would prefer to distance your institution from the town, sir? Would it not be easier if you were close to the yard where steamers are built?”

  It would, Saul admitted, but then there would be other problems to be surmounted.

  “Alcohol, for one, ma’am. If the boys live in town then it will be impossible to isolate them from the Demon.”

  Tom and Frances both noted his choice of words, the term was a favourite of the new Temperance Movement.

  “One point of advice, if I may beg of you, my lord. It has been suggested to me that I should grow a beard, so as to seem older and more authoritarian. Do you consider it wise, my lord?”

  The age was clean-shaven and beards were an affectation of the artistic and sometimes a statement of the religious.

  Tom shook his head, the patriarchal was not needed, he thought.

  “The appearance of a gentleman will always be sufficient, Mr Mostyn.”

  “Totally inadequate, of course, Frances! A tiny drop in a very large ocean. It would need at least one hundred of these institutions to make a difference to the lives of all of those in need.”

  She made a brief calculation, shook her head.

  “Two thousand four hundred boys taken off the streets each year, fewer than twelve thousand in total. You underestimate, Thomas, by a large margin.”

  “It would require a massive fortune to meet the needs of all. The few we will help will cost a pretty penny, sufficient that I worry that Robert may need some persuasion to maintain the expenditure after me.”

  “Lady Brunskill intends to leave much of her wealth in trust to the colleges, Thomas. She has no children and dislikes the offspring of her two brothers, feels no obligation to them at all – ‘very boring little boys and uninteresting as young men’, I quote!”

  “If a large number of others do the same then we may have a solution, but I fear it to be unlikely.”

  “What of the Church, Thomas?”

  “Those who work for the poor are generally no more than curates – sixty pounds a year men barely able to feed themselves. The richer the reverend, the more his wealth tends to cleave to his own pocket! The Church will keep its millions well preserved for posterity; it has better things to do with its money than spend it for the benefit of the needy.”

  “The Church will reform, one day, surely. Too many are aware of its hypocrisy for it to continue in its present ways, Thomas!”

  “The Church is part of our government, my dear, and shares its corruption and worldliness. Any attempt to reform one part of the administration must reflect on every other part. Better far to sweep all under the carpet, making perhaps a show of virtue and achieving a few meaningless changes to much public acclaim. The chameleon to change its skin, but the reality of its body to remain untouched.”

  She feared that he was right, he generally was, she found. She considered the matter for a few seconds and then laughed at herself – how many times in the past she had quietly mocked women whose sole function in life had appeared to be to applaud their husbands’ wisdom! Well, she for one did not believe her husband must always be right, but her habits of thinking seemed to be changing to the extent that she normally agreed with him. She must take care not to become a doormat, although… really… was it that important?

  They reached their apartments in Mount Street and joined Robert at his dinner table, James also present. They saw that he no longer carried a cane and showed only the slightest limp, said nothing though deeply approving, admiring almost, his achievement.

  Tom reflected that the boy would never have grown so strong in ordinary circumstances. He would have lived in his officers mess and would have accepted their habits and ways quite unthinkingly, becoming indistinguishable from a thousand other young, able subalterns. Losing his leg had been the making of him as a man, perhaps, but it was not a panacea he could recommend.

  They shook hands, not having seen each other for nearly a month.

  “Well, James? How is the world treating you? Have you been playing cards with the King lately?”

  James laughed and shook his head.

  “You heard of that, then, sir! I stayed at the Pavilion and I think I may have been the only man wholly sober after the first couple of hours. Winning at any game is not difficult in such circumstances, sir!”

  “Not necessarily a good habit though, James.”

  James nodded, said that the King’s vowels had gone into the fire and Georgie Hanger’s had been returned to him.

  “A large sum?”

  “Fifteen hundred between them, Robert.”

  The banker in Robert winced whilst the political being approved James’ wisdom.

  “There was another twenty five hundred that was safe enough, Robert, and most of that is sat in my account in Kettering.”

  “Well done, brother! That might account for His Majesty’s generosity of spirit down at the Isle of Dogs, I had wondered exactly why he had favoured us to such an extent.”

  “I saw that in the Court Pages, Robert, did not make the connections, mainly, of course, because I did not know just how sensible James had been! I must go down to the yard this week and offer Sir William my congratulations. I wish I might have been there to see his face!”

  “You would have been better entertained by observing his wife, sir!”

  “A pretty and sensible little girl, I thought, Robert. I have only met her the once but she made a very good impression – neither pert nor abashed and so obviously proud of her husband. I shall be surprised if she does not settle into her new place in life, making every effort possible so as not to let her William down.”

  Robert commented that she had been shocked, horrified almost, then so very pleased for his sake.

  “Rather a pity that we have no lady of appropriate position that we could put in her way, to show her how to go on, but in the nature of things we could not visit her except very rarely.”

  That was obviously true. Miriam could not possibly seek her company, though almost of the same age their places would not permit it.

  “Not to worry, they will no doubt come to their own accommodation with their new station. Have you spoken to Sir William since the event?”

  Robert had, reported him to be unchanged in all essentials.

  “The men in the yard seem without exception to be delighted with the honour done to him and, by extension it would seem, to them. The visit by HM was purely fortuitous, but if we possibly can arrange it I would dearly like to see him at every single one of our establishments – the people were so pleased by him.”

  “Why?”

  “God alone knows, sir! I had the gravest of doubts before the event, but the ordinary men and women were delighted to see him close to, and to observe him taking an interest in their work. I suspect that he did more good for us all than would be achieved by taking up a dozen Reds and transporting a hundred Trades Union agitators.”

  Tom could not understand why it should be so – the gentleman was renowned as a perverse, drunken lecher and little else, but if the ordinary folk could find their drab lives transformed by him, then they should roll him out wherever they could.

  “Will you stay
in Town for the Season, sir?”

  “Most of it, I would imagine, Robert. We ought, I think. I presume you will not be prominent this year.”

  “No, sir. Eighteen years from now and we shall bring out the girls, of course, but until then we shall hold back from the company of High Society.”

  Miriam said nothing but knew why they would not be welcome in the ordinary way of things. She had a few acquaintances in the banking community, not all of them Jews, and accepted that she would make no more friends in the first part of her life, or not until her husband succeeded to the title, at which point she might expect to discover any number of boon companions. It was the price she must pay, she knew, in part for the safety of England, even more for the sake of her children who would be accepted to a much greater degree.

  “What do you intend, James?”

  “That was something I wanted to ask you about, sir, and you, ma’am, being that you both know much more about things than I do. I cannot dance, as is obvious, I am sure, so should I be seen at balls or at Almacks?”

  Tom did not know.

  “Frances?”

  “I will speak to Lady Jersey, I think, James. I am not sure what is normally done in your case. More than one gentleman lost a limb at Waterloo, I know, including at least one general officer, and Society must have made some accommodation for them, but what I am not certain, though I am sure that she will.”

  Tom commented to Robert that the Grafhams would be visible, making their bow in their new name.

  “The new Rothwell is still too young to make his entrée, is he not, sir. What do they intend for him?”

  “He will go up to Oxford later this year, all arranged for him. If it works, and they accept it may not, then he will spend his three years there. He is a studious lad and would benefit from good company as well, though whether he will find it there is always questionable. If he finds the atmosphere hostile then he can go up to Edinburgh or, a strong possibility, to Dublin – the scholarship at both is, apparently, superior.”