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

by Andrew Wareham

  “And Mr Joseph?”

  “Has his own brain and James’ share as well, But I doubt I see any great steadiness in the lad. He is married now, and it is possible that his wife may calm him down, though I never had any great respect for her common-sense. She is one who is more clever than wise, I fear. She will do him no great harm, but I am not convinced she will offer him a lot of good.”

  Judy shrugged; she considered herself to be neither clever nor wise, but was quite content to be intelligent.

  “Charlotte has her son and a strong man as husband. She is very like you, Judy. Except, I fear, that I cannot provide you with the husband that you deserve!”

  “You have given me more than ever I hoped for, Bobby. I am asking for no more, except maybe a sister for young Patrick, and that may or may not come about, my dear!”

  Book Six: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter Nine

  “A note from Mr Farlow, Charlotte, begging me to appoint a time at which he could wait on me with the results of his ‘investigation into the availability of land in the moorland areas of Lancashire and Derbyshire’. Rather pompous, not to speak of ponderous, but I presume it is the lawyer in him.”

  She had not liked the little she had seen of Farlow, suspected that was simply because he was a lawyer so that she was predisposed against him. He certainly seemed to have been diligent in his efforts for them, less than three months having passed since the instructions were given.

  “I shall ask him to come out on Friday, three days notice is amply sufficient. I shall send a groom in with my note so he will receive it today.”

  There was little point to using the postal service, such as it was, for the groom would have had to ride to the Receiving Office in Liverpool to send the letter.

  Farlow was again accompanied by young Mr Clapperley, a youth with a very knowing look about him, Charlotte felt. She would not wish to leave the attorney–to-be alone and unwatched in the company of any of the maids, she thought.

  “In compliance with your esteemed instructions, sir and ma’am, I have discovered those patches of land which are for sale and worth your consideration. I found at an early stage that ownership of land does not convey mineral rights and that miners effectively have access to any property in pursuit of their diggings. Thus it would be necessary to purchase any mine as a separate transaction, probably from a different owner to the land it was situated partly or wholly upon, as a general rule, that is. Occasionally a mine has been opened by the landowner himself, thus coincidentally leading to joint ownership and sale.”

  Farlow produced a map, laid it on the table between them.

  “There are a number of lead mines of differing sizes, most of them small and operated by one or two families and returning a very low annual income, entirely without machinery more complex than a wheelbarrow and using pack-ponies to transport the ores to their small refineries. Some of the mines return a tiny output of silver as well. There is one copper mine, again very small, and five or six that produce zinc. Output from the small mines is declining as they can only follow the surface veins and they are almost exhausted – these mines have been worked since Roman times. It is my opinion, sir and ma’am, that there is little gain in becoming involved with these small producers.”

  “The large producers are a different matter, I presume, Mr Farlow.”

  “They are, Mr Star. But they are generally the property of the traditional local landowner and if not in actual entail, they are nonetheless generally unavailable to sell.”

  “So be it. What of sheepwalks?”

  This was a very different matter and Farlow showed triumphant.

  “Twelve thousand acres, sir, in a single holding and available to you for five thousand pounds, cash, within seven days of today, sir. There are three shepherds in employment and a flock each of six to seven hundreds of ewes. It is past lambing time and they have been sheared, of course, sir, so there is no income this year.”

  Matthew was, rightly, suspicious.

  “My eldest brother, Mr Matthew Star, this year paid three pounds, three shillings and fourpence for his acres of moorland. You have this vast expanse for eight and fourpence! How?”

  “The sponging house, sir, the normal cause. The current owner has been very foolish, he has taken to gambling in dubious company and has found himself faced with a debt of more than four thousand pounds. Silly young man!”

  “The debt is enforceable at law, Mr Farlow?”

  “He wrote his notes of hand, Mr Star, and stated when specifically asked that he had no evidence that he had been cheated. He did say that he won repeatedly while the stakes were low, on four consecutive nights he stood up from the faro table with between one and two hundred sovereigns, gold coin, in his pocket.”

  “Faro? The easiest of all games for the dishonest to rig. What man in his right mind plays faro other than for pennies?”

  “Mr Trenton, for one, sir. He is a landowner of Cheshire, rich acres all under entail and rents not due till Quarter Day in the nature of things. The sheepwalks came into the family from his late mother’s side and, unfortunately for him, were not put into the entail. Faced with the threat of being taken up for debt he disclosed the existence of this asset and has been forced to put it up for sale, though he could probably have come to an accommodation with his creditor if he had not mentioned himself that the sheepwalk could be sold. Be that as it may, he must take the best cash offer he can find and as soon as possible. I have ventured to make the offer, sir, in your name, and he has accepted. I could still repudiate the contract, nothing is signed, but I much doubt you will ever do better, sir.”

  “I don’t like it, Mr Farlow! He won on four nights, you say, and then was persuaded to play higher on the fifth, and, losing, no doubt thought it wise to raise the stakes again to make a comeback. I presume that the brandy bottle came onto the scene as well?”

  “I do not know the details, Mr Star, but would imagine that you are broadly correct.”

  It was a dirty deal. It was twelve thousand acres.

  He caught Charlotte’s eye. She grimaced, then nodded. She was much in favour of honesty, but was greatly predisposed to like the better part of nineteen square miles of even the poorest quality land.

  “Are there any buildings on the land, Mr Farlow?”

  “None in any sort of order, sir. A small farmhouse that has been derelict for half a century at least and is no more than tumbledown walls, and the remains of a pair of small barns in a quite separate location. Obviously, I have driven across the acres, on the sole lane that passes through them. Logic suggests that the remains of farms will be accessible by road, so I would not expect to discover any others.”

  The price of wool had been far lower half a century before; as well the demand for sheep meat had been insignificant for lack of nearby large towns. Times had changed and the land could now bring in a small profit.

  Matthew’s first thoughts were to build a house on the site of the old farm, a place in the country that could be pleasant in summer and which could grow over the years, if his fortunes permitted.

  “Put the contract into writing Mr Farlow. I will have the cash to hand by Tuesday next. The weekend is an inconvenience; we could otherwise have completed earlier. Do you know of any farmers in the area who would be interested to rent the sheepwalks?”

  “It is not normal practice in this area, sir. Most sheep men own their land.”

  It seemed probable that he would have to speak with brother Bob. Something could be arranged between them, an annual income of some two thousands from the fleeces and lambs would give them room to come to a convenient solution.

  Farlow and young Clapperley left, not delaying to take refreshments and so keeping the relationship strictly on a business level. The meeting had taken place at Matthew’s house, less than an hour from St Helen’s so there was no hardship in refusing tea and biscuits.

  “Twelve thousand acres, even of the worst land that i
s no small estate, Charlie!”

  “We should, I believe, inform our respected parents of our good fortune. And my brother Robert. I have no doubt that they will find a use for the knowledge. I suspect, rather strongly, that Papa has plans for our future, Matthew, probably involving some sort of title. He took some amusement from informing me of the elevation of Sir William Rumpage, saying that he was, temporarily, socially your superior although your junior in the business and that that would never do.”

  They agreed to send letters, Charlotte to write to her side, Matthew to his.

  Charlotte mentioned to her father how pleased they were with Mr Farlow – he had said he would be busy in their interests, had mentioned ‘badgering’, which she presumed was some form of local expression for working hard.

  “Should I tell her, Frances? Would she wish to know?”

  “Perhaps you should tell me first, Thomas!”

  He explained the nature of the badger, that it was a rather nasty form of entrapment, though by its very nature only available against those who had made themselves vulnerable to blackmail or who had at minimum behaved foolishly

  “It is, of course, an unpleasant paradox that the victims of this form of extortion are only in the most technical sense innocent parties. Better though that Charlie should not be aware of the background to this transaction – she might be upset. I will have a quiet word with her husband however; he should be warned not to offer too much trust to Farlow. I shall give my special thanks to Clapperley when next I see him, and he will then wish to discover just what his son has been up to, no doubt, which may limit Farlow’s creativity. I ought, really, to wash my hands of them, but they are so damned useful, you know!”

  It occurred to Frances that her husband knew rather a lot about the badger, possibly more than one might expect of the wholly innocent.

  She wondered whether she should mention the fact – it was not impossible that he expected her to have made the connections. Probably he was none too concerned either way.

  Better to leave it, because she was not really worried herself. She remembered an acquaintance of some years before gleefully announcing that sheep were born to be fleeced; it seemed apposite.

  “That is a huge acreage they mention, Thomas. Does it make them great amongst the county landowners?”

  “To an extent, but a large proportion of that land will be high moors, peaks quite possibly, and wholly valueless for agriculture, even for sheep. They might find it possible to plant trees over time, but will gain little else from it. Was I Matthew, I would look to build a house up quite high, sheltered under a hillside or scarp face and with a great expanse of park land behind it, ideal riding country for the children, and for visitors from the County. The lower parts will walk sheep, and the lambs and fleeces will at least pay their way, but this is essentially a gentleman’s estate, not a farmer’s.”

  “He can afford it, I presume?”

  “Half-pay; a very good salary; a share in the profits of the yard; Charlotte’s income to cover much of the housekeeping for the new place; the remnants of his prize-money – he was a successful frigate captain, after all. Matthew is well off and can only get better, provided steam does not fail, and I do not believe that can happen. I understand from Joe as well that he will put as much in his way as he has given to Bob and George, so there will be a few thousands to inherit.”

  “Lord Star is, I presume, a very rich man.”

  “He is. I believe that since we dissolved our direct partnership he has invested very cannily. I think that he owns some very substantial tracts of land in the outskirts of Manchester and Liverpool, taking rents from the better class of people for five and six bedroom villas and modern terraces. I know that he has bought out small farmers whenever he has seen the opportunity – the cotton mills are growing so fast that farms deep in the countryside in one decade are the suburbs of industrial towns in the next, and the land worth ten times as much. From what he has said, I think that he owns stretches of poor quality salt marsh along the banks of the Mersey, where the docks must eventually expand, maybe in his grandchildren’s days. Joe has always been a better businessman than me, and he has, of course, come a lot further than me.”

  “I thought you had been born to a poor fisherman, Thomas. It is difficult to come further than that.”

  “Joe was born to an African freelady in Antigua, his father an English military man, name unknown to me. This not for public consumption, I believe, my dear! His son Thomas is the only member of his family who knows, apart from his lady, of course. I have wondered occasionally whether it might not do Mr Henry Star some good to be made aware of his ancestry, he being a gentleman of New Orleans, but that is not my decision to make.”

  She laughed, it was an appealing prospect. She had heard much of Mr Henry Star, and had liked little of it.

  “Coming back to the point, Thomas, you have no doubts that Matthew can carry his new status as a landowner?”

  “None.”

  “Good… What do you intend to do next?”

  Tom tried to look innocent, to have no plans at all for his daughter and her husband.

  “A knighthood, like Sir William? Or do you intend to reinstate a proper subordination, Sir William to be the junior, Matthew to become a baronet?”

  “Well… Now that you come to mention it, I do feel that Charlie would like a handle to her name and something to pass down to her son.”

  “The new king will wish to make allies in Parliament, so titles will be the more readily available. York will be well-disposed, because he worked with the late Marquis and liked him. What of Clarence, Prince William Henry, next in line after York?”

  “York is not so healthy these days, I am told, is less likely to become our next king. Prince William Henry is a better bet, and he, of course, was a naval man like Matthew and is not very bright – he seems to have no personal political ambitions and will be amenable to his Prime Minister’s command.”

  She agreed that all seemed very possible, the family could very well reap a benefit from the dwindling line of Hanoverians.

  “Have you visited the yard yet, to congratulate Sir William?”

  “Tomorrow. Will you come?”

  “I think I could be useful to his wife, a pleasant girl, you said?”

  “I liked her. Happy in her marriage and really wishing to support her man. She will do well.”

  Lady Rumpage was worried; she was always worried these days. She could not allow herself to be happy-go-lucky nowadays, not as she always had been, because of William’s knighthood. She had to behave correctly now, and she had no idea what correct behaviour encompassed, and she knew that she was ignorant. Luckily, she had caught pregnant and so Sir William was delighted with her and the prospect of their child, but in time he would realise that she was letting him down, or so she feared.

  A carriage drew up in the street; aware of her position, she did not peer out of the window to see who it might be. There was a knock at the door, the downstairs maid answering and then leading a visitor through to the back room where she was sat. She stood anxiously, they did not have visitors in carriages, unless maybe it was the doctor Sir William wanted to consult, just for safety’s sake, although she had told him they had no need to bother, it was not as if she was ill.

  A tall, lanky woman, the better part of twenty years her elder, came into the room.

  “Lady Rumpage? I am Lady Andrews. My husband is visiting at the yard and will be there for hours, so I decided to impose upon you for an armchair and a cup of tea, if you would be so good.”

  The maidservant was sent scurrying to Cook in the kitchen and Frances was ushered into the best chair.

  “I see you are in the family way, ma’am. When will he be born?”

  “About fourteen weeks yet, I think, my lady.”

  The ice was broken and they talked babies for a few minutes before Frances asked how she enjoyed life as a titled lady.

  “I don’t, my lady! I’m forever after
letting meself down, and Sir William. I don’t even know ‘ow to talk proper!”

  “That’s easy enough to deal with, my dear. Hire a tutor – they advertise in the columns of the newspapers. Mr Fraser’s wife found exactly the same problem, and she is well on her way to dealing with it. For the rest, just be yourself! You know your manners and need no more than that to behave properly.”

  They chatted for an hour and then the carriage returned and Frances left, satisfied with her morning’s work. Millicent sent the maid out to get a copy of the local weekly newssheet.

  Lady Andrews was right, there were half a dozen tutors in ‘English and Deportment’, whatever that was supposed to be. Three of them were Masters, it said, Oxons and Cantabs, which she supposed were different sorts. A letter to the editor at his office would put her in contact with the one she chose, it said. She sent her letter that day, picking one of the six at random, and her choice knocked on the door two days later.

  He was a young man, in his mid-twenties, painfully thin, dressed in rusty black, the well-brushed frockcoat an ancient hand-me-down. He spoke with a very la-di-da accent, too much of a good thing really. She thought she could tone it down though, and it was better to learn everything than too little. He would charge five shillings for a two hour session in which he would teach her correct speech as well as improving her vocabulary and informing her how to conduct herself in society. He suggested two lessons a week, was very pleased when she begged for four, starting the next day.

  She asked if he had been a teacher at a school, but he explained that he had taken Holy Orders but had been unable even to find a curacy and for four years had been keeping body and soul together tutoring. It was not a well-paying trade, he said.