The Vice Of Virtue (A Poor Man At The Gate Series Book 10)

by Andrew Wareham

  She was an attractive girl – intelligent and handsome and, judging by her actions, seeking his protection. It would have been easy for her to have discovered the plot, and to have killed her sister, but only after the two important deaths had occurred; then a precarious power would have been hers. She had chosen to save his life, probably having weighed up the odds very carefully; he wondered if she had subtly nudged her sister into her fatal action, removing her only competitor.

  Clearly, her survival now depended on him - he was the sole powerful foreigner within her reach.

  She would certainly bring a massive dowry with her and trading opportunities as well. Against that, to marry an Indian woman, be she never so much a princess, would be to put him beyond the pale – English society would be closed to him, both in Bombay and in England itself. When he returned to British shores, a very rich man, he would be able to buy an estate - and his family would be ostracised by the County. Marriage into the merchant classes would be possible, but the higher levels of Society would be forever closed to his descendants – ‘a touch of the tar brush, my dear’. But, if he was eventually to settle down in the United States or in Canada, far away from the trade routes of John Company, then who would know or care?

  "A lady of the Rajah's family who wed with a foreigner must surely expect resentment, possibly active hostility?"

  “Some, certainly, particularly amongst those of a religious bent – but there would be many who could see the advantage to my young brother in such a marriage.”

  “When your brother comes of age and takes his throne as his own man, then I must leave Amravati, and would wish to sell up and go away from Bombay, to leave India entirely.”

  “Your wife and children at your side?”

  “Always!”

  “’Whither thou goest, so go I’, my lord.”

  “The Book of Ruth, I believe – you have a familiarity with the Bible?”

  “Slight, my lord, but it may become greater.”

  Conversion to Christianity would make life far easier, and was a trivial enough matter.

  “So be it. I am lonely, and thou art beautiful and would make my world a place of joy again. Wilt thou become my wife, Rani Indira?”

  “I will, Sahib Wolverstone, now and evermore.”

  “We will not be able to live in England – an Indian lady would not be an acceptable wife. It would, however, be very easy to buy a large estate in America and there fit in without difficulty, our children to be wholly a part of society, to have wealth and power as befits their heritage.”

  “The decision is yours, my lord.”

  “Then we shall make arrangements for our wedding. What must I do to satisfy your people?”

  “You must do nothing, my lord – for I am princess to them and they will do as I jolly well tell them or regret it very quickly indeed!”

  He bowed, suggested that he kneel down to her. She did not appreciate what she supposed was an example of English humour.

  “I shall instruct the Chief Eunuch to confer with you, my lord. He has discussed my best course with me, and has, to an extent, showed me the way to go. He has always had an affection for me – poor man who can never have a family of his own – and warned me that I must leave with you, that we could not remain part of this land – and that is the price to be paid. He wished, in fact, to act as go-between, marriage-broker that is, but I chose to use this opportunity to be more English in my ways.”

  “I shall be pleased to talk with him, because I believe I must also offer him my thanks for my life.”

  “It was his duty - but he might have chosen to join the assassins, my lord.”

  “So he might, and I am glad he did not. Having chosen to be more English in your ways, Indira, you should know that my given name is Francis. In private it is right that you should use it.”

  She nodded, reluctantly – it would not be an easy thing to do.

  “I must go… Francis. I would expect the news of the terrible tragedy in my sister’s rooms to be brought to me soon and I must be present to be amazed and appalled.”

  “You must indeed, my dear. I presume you will not be able to see me for some days, but please ask the Chief Eunuch to come to me as soon as he properly can. I am aware that your customs utterly forbid it, but I should dearly like to hold you in my arms now – and would wish for our marriage to come about very soon.”

  She left smiling, disappearing through the small hallways used only by the servants and consequently quite invisible.

  Wailing and howls of misery destroyed the silence of the night less than an hour later and the news of another disaster spread quickly through the palace.

  Within minutes, it seemed, every servant knew that there had been a most shocking occurrence in the young Rani’s household and that the cooks had, most reprehensibly, allowed spoiled meat to contaminate a meal, fatally poisoning all who had partaken.

  Wolverstone heard the whole tale at breakfast, making suitable little noises of horror and amazement.

  “Most shocking, Sahib Wolverstone! Her own doctor is to inspect all of her foodstuffs most thoroughly before they are to be consumed and the cooks also to do the very same! Slackness and carelessness of the very worst degree, sir!”

  Wolverstone had not expected such a reaction – he should have, he realised. Food poisoning was always a risk and the kitchens must be alert to it – there would be an inquiry into how it could have come about.

  “Will the cooks be dismissed, do you believe?”

  “All have already been strangled, Sahib Wolverstone, as is only right and proper. They were despatched at dawn, all of the servants to watch approvingly, despising so negligent an approach to their duties!”

  “And their families?”

  “Driven out in shame, Sahib!”

  Quick thought told Wolverstone there was nothing he could do – to offer charity to the families would be to bring attention to himself. Why should he care what happened to the women and children of bad servants… unless he knew that their treatment was unjust and had a guilty conscience?

  “A pity, for I doubt that the children at least bear any blame.”

  His bearer shrugged his incomprehension – what had blame to do with the whole business?

  “What of the doctor?”

  “He fled in the night, sahib, disappearing most stealthily before thought was taken to him.”

  That was simple common sense when it was considered – doctors who lost royal patients often found absence to be the wiser course.

  The Chief Eunuch begged audience of him next day, funeral pyres all tidied and the palace back, it seemed, to normal.

  “The matter of the Rani Indira, Sahib – a young lady of rare quality, as you most obviously appreciate. If I might be so indiscreet as to comment in private, Sahib, she is far the best of the daughters, as well as the last living!”

  “She is an attractive young lady, sir. By birth she is, of course, much my superior, though I am an English gentleman born. Am I right in assuming that our marriage would have your support, sir?”

  “It is not for me to judge on such matters, Sahib. I can say that I think she might achieve happiness, and that would please me. As well, it would create more of tranquillity here was she to leave. Importantly for the young Rajah, the children could not be seen as possible heirs, being of mongrel blood."

  Wolverstone winced - it was not only in England that they would find prejudice, it seemed.

  The gap between English sahib and Indian of any rank was so great that more could not be said on personal matters.

  “Held separately from the Treasury, lord, and under my lock and key, is the sum set to one side to dower the two Ranis. It is my proposal that the whole amount should come to the husband of my lady. This may be done because there was to be a substantial holding of land placed into the hands of the husband, and that would not be appropriate for you, sir, because you will leave India on a day soon after the Rajah comes into his own.”

&nb
sp; “That makes good sense, sir. In England it is the custom now for much of a young lady’s dowry to be legally assigned to her as income for her lifetime and inheritance for the younger children.”

  “If I may venture to comment, Sahib, it is a very foolish man who allows any woman to possess money. It can only be to have a most demoralising effect upon the poor female in question!”

  A settlement could wait until they had left India, it seemed.

  “A part of the dowry will naturally be used for the purchase of appropriate comforts for the lady wife – gemstones, silks and other fripperies of a feminine nature which the wise man does not inquire into!”

  Wolverstone indicated his whole-hearted agreement.

  “There will remain a matter of some five lakhs of rupees to be placed in your hands, Sahib Wolverstone. You will wish to make customary gifts to family and major functionaries – that I can do for you as you will not know what is proper for each – but more than four lakhs will remain to be disposed of. Some must be kept here, as you will be obliged to maintain a correct state – employing an extravagant number of servants and spending lavishly – but I would say that three lakhs could go to Mr Mostyn’s Bank and thus to England.”

  Three lakhs of rupees, valued at par with the American dollar for some strange historical reason, and amounting to a little more than sixty-two thousand pounds sterling. A respectable sum, by any definition. Probably best sent immediately to London for investment there; he must discuss the matter with David Mostyn.

  “What of the actual procedure for the wedding, sir? If it is to be recognised as legal in England then it really should take place in a Christian place of worship which can issue a binding certificate. I do not know how an English court would regard a wedding that took place in some other faith, apart from the Jewish, which is accepted, I believe.”

  The concept of legal certification was new to the Chief Eunuch and had to be considered in some detail.

  “It is tidier for purposes of inheritance, sir – only a child of a duly certificated marriage may be regarded as legitimate and with a claim upon the estate. Was I not lawfully married according to British Statute then, for example, the children of my brother might make a claim to the whole of my wealth on my death.”

  “Outrageous, Sahib Wolverstone! What right has any lawyer to poke his interfering nose into the business of a private man?”

  “Lawyers make their own rights, sir.”

  “Not in this state, Sahib Wolverstone!”

  A brief disquisition on the foolishness of giving power to lawyers was followed by agreement that the marriage must be given formal status, which meant it must take place in a church in Bombay.

  “I shall make the arrangements, utilising the services of Mr Mostyn.”

  They agreed that the cathedral might not be the most appropriate location, nor yet should the bishop be approached to officiate.

  “English custom, sir, would be for the marriage to take place with little outward pomp, inasmuch that the bride is in mourning for the recent death of a close relative.”

  “I have been told that the English are great friends to hypocrisy, Sahib Wolverstone. My lady may practice the art at an early stage!”

  Wolverstone inscribed a rare letter home to his parents, thinking it a courtesy to inform them that he had taken another bride. It was his first contact since telling them of the deaths of his children and then his wife. Great distances and the long delays, a year between writing and receiving a reply in the ordinary way of things, meant that ties with ‘Home’ could become very tenuous.

  It was easily possible that both could be dead by now – they would be well into their sixties – and the missive would be received by his brother, an attorney-at-law and Clerk to the Magistrates and respectably tedious from a very early age. In such a case he would expect no reply at all.

  He wondered how my lord might respond to his own notification of the slightly scandalous marriage, but he discovered he cared very little – ten thousand miles distance lent a certain detachment as well.

  The storm winds eased towards dawn and it became clear that the bulk of the storm had passed east of them, possibly dissipating its strength on the Florida mainland.

  Grace led the survivors in prayer with the first light. Her husband and his brother and both her sons knelt with her; the tutor, Mr Blake, sat cradling an injured, probably broken arm; one of the nursemaids stood properly at the rear. The other nursemaid and Beaver, the valet, had disappeared, had presumably drowned. Scott, the banker, wept disconsolately, his wife not to be seen; the Vanderbilts tried to comfort him while the Greek merchant, Stavros, stood well apart from the religious ceremony.

  It was Stavros who looked out over the sand dune into the light growing in the east and who called out that the ship was gone, washed away.

  A few minutes and they saw a single boat cast up a short distance along the beach.

  “The sailor said there would be water barrels, Henry. We should fetch them as soon as we can.”

  The two Stars walked as quickly as they could through the sand, discovered two small barrels of water, a few gallons, and a pair of closed lockers containing dry biscuit and thickly wrapped ship’s cheese. The bottom of the boat was smashed, well beyond any repair they could make.

  They brought the supplies back – sufficient for a few days for the whole party, though not of the quality they were used to.

  Grace pointed silently to the west, a mile or two across the sea, to a reef or very low sandbar. The hull of the capsized ship could just be seen; specks on the waves might have been floating bodies.

  “There are no boats in sight, husband.”

  They were presumably the sole survivors.

  “These are busy waters, my dear. A few days and shipping will return. We have but to survive a short while and rescue will come to us. We should collect wood for a fire, to signal for attention when the time comes.”

  Henry looked about him, assessed their island for the first time. It was barren – no trees and very little even by way of grass. There were a few pools of rainwater, visibly shrinking as they drained into the sand. There was a small amount of driftwood to be seen along the shoreline.

  Vanderbilt was peering to the north-east, said that he could see a small tower, he thought, a lighthouse perhaps.

  “There was a light built on the Dry Tortugas some five years ago. It should not be hard to attract the attention of the keepers.”

  Stavros sat and scowled; he was in close company of Lukas Star, and he dared not kill him, not if he was to survive himself. He had two pistols, with no certainty that the powder was dry – it could not be done. He had been a merchant in a good way of business, one of the many Greek families long since converted to Islam and profiting from Ottoman rule though hated by the bulk of the Orthodox Greeks. When the Egyptian army had been slaughtered following the Battle of Navarino and half of Greece had been liberated, Stavros had sent his family to safety, he had thought, while he got out more slowly with their portable wealth. They had been caught on the road by Greek guerrillas, a band led, he was later told, by Lukas Star; none of his kin had survived while he had reached Malta with fifty tea-chests of opium and twenty thousand silver Maria Theresas. He had fled the Mediterranean after his children’s deaths had been confirmed, had taken his money and opium to New York where he had set up in trade again. The traffic in Anatolian opium was perfectly legal and he had sold openly to the many apothecaries who had queued up to buy from him. After a few months it had been suggested to him that he should pay protection to Tammany Hall but he had preferred to take his business elsewhere; he had not admitted to being Muslim in New York and feared that if Catholic Tammany Hall should find him out then he would die very quickly indeed.

  They had no shelter and the clouds were clearing; a very few days, possibly only hours for the children, and they would die.

  Stavros joined the Stars.

  “We should break up the boat, I think. The wood to be
put in the sun to dry, to make fire when we see sails. We burn the wood, wet seaweed on top of hot fire, there will be smoke.”

  It was a good suggestion, one they immediately acted upon.

  “There will be a boat from the lighthouse as soon as the sea is calmer, Mr Stavros. They will try to reach the wreck and see if there may be survivors. We may attract their attention then.”

  “Sir William will no doubt appreciate that there is very little to be done. We lack the money, sir, to approach the task in any thorough way.”

  Mayor and aldermen nodded their solemn agreement – the council’s funds would barely stretch to cover the most urgent necessities and the bill for provisions for the Workhouse was long overdue as well. The problems of the lowest-lying alleys by the River must wait on another year, or very likely decade.

  Sir William had not expected any other result, but he, due to the location of his shipyard, could not turn a blind eye and wanted there to be a full record of demands to correct the evil and protests at his peers’ obstinacy.

  “I must accept, gentlemen, that we are faced with obstacles to taking action, but I am obliged to request again that we might give thought, for example, to a Private Act to create a Statutory Body to amend the perceived nuisances. Such a body would have powers of taxation and could raise its own funds.”

  The taxes would bear directly upon the burgesses here assembled, and they knew it – he was wasting his breath.

  “I would remind you all that great pools of commercial and human waste are to be seen lying in the lower streets at high tide, draining away on the ebb only to flow back again as the tide changes. There are slaughterhouses and tanneries as well as brickworks and metal refineries along the river banks, and all discharge filth directly into the stream. Every well within a quarter of a mile of the River is contaminated; the water tainted to taste. Many doctors are now convinced that impure water is harmful to human health, and besides that, the smell in summer is unpleasant in the extreme.”