The Pain Of Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  Mr Mostyn and his eldest son, Nathan, now Jonathan for public consumption, attended the launching, invited to view for themselves the latest evidence of English industrial innovation. Neither had seen a steam engine or had heard previously of the possibility of steam ships, or of iron hulls, and they had had obvious reservations – it all sounded rather wild to conservative bankers. They treated Verity as if she were cut glass, fragile and likely to break at the least shock. Tom explained that he had needed to explain to Mostyn why he wished to bring the wedding forward – his first suspicion had, naturally, been that Tom was on the rocks financially and seeking a lifeline, now he felt guilty for harbouring such an uncharitable idea.

  The ship took the water properly and was pulled into her fitting-out berth. The engineer began to raise steam immediately – they had not been prepared to make the launch with her furnace lit. They hoped to be able to turn the paddles before the crowd dispersed.

  Tom and Fraser enjoyed themselves, accepting the congratulations of men who had laid wagers that the ship would sink the instant it felt the water, knowing that a number of them had coppered their bets, making them each-way as it were, by laying money that she would catch fire as soon as they attempted to take her out into the river under power. Boilers had blown, distressingly frequently, under the pressure of attempting to turn locomotive wheels. The pessimists could always hope it might happen again, although, of course, claiming that they did not want, perish the thought, a repeat of the shocking Steam Horse disaster which had occurred soon after Waterloo, killing and maiming scores.

  “I think, Mr Fraser, that it would be as well to make a number of very public trials of the Lady Verity, let them all see that she works. They have a whistle attached to an engine at the works in the Rhondda, blown by the steam, very loud and sounding at five o’clock and half-past and at ten to six, to call the hands to work on time – it can be heard half-way down the valley, they tell me. Perhaps one could be fitted to her, to announce her presence. It could as well be useful in fog, for example, or at night.”

  Black smoke started to curl out of the tall, thin chimney. Fraser muttered unhappily.

  “Something wrong, Mr Fraser?”

  “The normal, my lord – there is white steam amid the black coal smoke – it is impossible to prevent the joints leaking and every white fleck represents wasted power, coke burnt to no purpose. Even using one of Mr Joseph’s lathes we cannot build a piston assembly that is wholly without play. Still, we do what we can with grease and leather packing, and there is much to be said for porridge oats – a few pounds dumped in the boiler and the resulting sludge deposits itself wherever the leaks occur, serving to reduce them to a considerable degree.”

  “Excellent, Mr Fraser, you may be the first person ever to find a justification for porridge! Are we making progress on the matter of steam-coal?”

  They were, Fraser hastened to assure him. They had identified a section of the waterfront that would serve their purpose and happened to be in the ownership of a failed firm of importers of luxury goods from the Sugar Islands, fruits preserved in pitch, very flavoursome but not selling in the current downturn. Negotiations were proceeding on a satisfactory basis, Fraser believed. Captain Star had designed a collier suitable for their needs – no hard task as they had been working the East Coast for two centuries now bringing sea-coals to London. The sole problem lay in the building of Mr Joseph’s crane – the rack-and-pinion method propulsion was showing flaws.

  “Detail, Mr Fraser?”

  “Power, my lord. A light engine pulling a train of cars on a slight gradient works well, but as soon as we increase the loading the cast iron breaks too quickly, both parts rapidly failing. A crane by its very nature demands a high power output to shift weights through a vertical traverse as well as the horizontal – up as well as along, my lord – and breaks down within minutes. Mr Joseph is determined to persevere with his system, but I am inclined to doubt that we will be able to make it work without using far stronger metals.”

  “I shall discuss the matter with the lad, Mr Fraser.”

  The launch took place at ten and the engineer – a steam man from the foundry who had been willing to give the new engine a try – announced himself ready to attempt to turn the paddles by two. Matthew Star and Fraser went aboard with a crew of a dozen well-paid volunteers. Charlotte, protesting, was led ashore, she was not going on the first run her husband-to-be firmly informed her, however much she wished to be part of history in the making.

  They cast off and used boat hooks to push her away from the dockside. The onlookers cheered and the paddles turned very slowly and Matthew took her cautiously out into the stream, head into the current and against the wind, demonstrated that the days of sail were over by manoeuvring confidently where a sailing ship would have been forced to lay to her anchor. He brought her back to the dock, deliberately overshot the berth, called the engine astern and backed her to her mooring bollards, the seamen in the crowd swearing in amazement.

  The editor of the local newspaper made copious notes, wished that he could follow the example of his American counterparts and actually ask Lord Andrews for his comments, but that was quite impossible, would be a gross intrusion into his privacy. He wondered in passing what age Lady Andrews was, she looked drawn and old, he thought. He made his enquiries of those local men who would be seen talking to him, discovered the unknown Mostyns to be father and brother of the bride of the heir to the Andrews title and gathered them to be thought to be very big in the banking world, which suggested that they were providing financial backing for the new steamships, and probably locomotive engines. The Liverpool Mercury would, he decided, come down firmly on the side of progress – no good would result from backing the old agricultural interests, not if the money lay elsewhere. He had heard that Lord Sefton was deeply opposed to steam and, indeed, all things mechanical, but suspected that my lord’s days of power were numbered – he had the crank Thomas Creevey, MP, in his camp and that suggested that he was willing to clasp at any straw in his search for supporters. Better to oppose Lord Sefton, it would pay in the long run, particularly because, in the nature of things, industrialists bought advertising space whilst the aristocracy did not. As for steam boilers exploding, well, tragedy made better copy than happiness – more newspapers would sell for a report of men dying terribly than for the information that the steamboats were running well and according to routine.

  The Andrews string of coaches made its way south and then to London, resembling in Tom’s mind a cortege rather than a joyful bridal procession. The wedding was held properly in Mayfair, Tom having explained to Mostyn that it would not really be practical to take Westminster Abbey or St Paul’s for the occasion, and was very well attended despite its being out of Season – the Grafhams came out in force in respect to Verity. None could tell how it had happened, but the word was out amongst those who should know and any number of veiled farewells were made, Tom’s hand wrung in silent sympathy. It was inevitable, they accepted – servants would make informed guesses and would overhear odd comments and discuss them with their contemporaries when they met on their afternoon off; valets talked to each other, exchanging news of the best new haberdashers or hatters and swapping gossip as well. Nothing could be kept entirely secret in a household of twenty or thirty staff.

  The wedding breakfast was held in Mostyn’s house, newly purchased, in sight of Tom’s in Mount Street and one of the largest in the whole of the West End. It was newly, opulently furnished, not perhaps entirely in the English taste – a little too much of gilt and ostentation was the general opinion, but as a statement of wealth it was very impressive, as was the bride’s father’s gift to the newly-wedded couple – a house and a thousand acres on the southern side of the River Nene, near Higham Ferrers, almost in sight of Thingdon Hall, ‘a country place for the summer months’, he said.

  “Well, sir?”

  “Very well, Robert, though I suspect you may find yourself overpowered by your new
father’s generosity if you are not very careful. Do you wish me to place the estate in Quillerson’s hands?”

  “In the short term, certainly, sir. Do you know the land? Is it enclosed? I have a vague feeling that it contains a large amount of wetland – good for wild-fowling and very little else.”

  Tom shook his head – he had never taken an interest in his southern neighbours; he promised to ride out and see for himself. He waved the newly-weds away, turned back to his host to play the role of the welcome guest for an hour or two longer – courtesy demanded that he must behave correctly, must maintain his smile.

  “Do you return to Northamptonshire tomorrow, my lord?”

  “Three or four days yet, Mr Mostyn. Lady Verity will need to rest before making the journey home.”

  Mostyn glanced across to the seated figure, back rigid, on public display, denying the illness that was increasingly obvious, refusing to be so vulgar as to surrender to mere discomfort in public.

  “She is a brave lady, my lord. My son-in-law has much to be proud of!”

  “True, sir!”

  “Can we meet, tomorrow or the next day, my lord? I need your advice, if it is not an intrusion at this time.”

  “Tomorrow would be very convenient, Mr Mostyn – the world must continue to turn in its course, sir.”

  “The question, my lord, is of the practice in banking in England. Whilst in the city of Liverpool, attending the launch of your new ship, at least a dozen of businessmen introduced themselves and while shaking my hand commented how pleased they were to meet a new banker, there were too few of them in the ‘provinces’, I think they called them. Would it be allowable to open a branch of my bank in Liverpool? Or must each bank be a separate entity, as it were?”

  “There is no limit to the number of branches any bank may have in England, or none that I know of, certainly. I do know that several country banks, such as the Barclays, have opened London offices, especially those that began their trade in Bristol and developed a wish to distance themselves from their origins in the slave trade, and I am sure that some of the London banks have correspondents and actual branches across much of the country. I know as well that there are far too few sources of finance for manufacturers in this country and, while the returns will not be huge, they will be very steady – lending to the cotton industry, for example, appears to be very safe. I would not recommend you to dabble in steam yet – I am doing so because I believe that Robert and Joseph and their sons will profit vastly, eventually, but I really have few hopes of turning a profit myself – it is a very long-term investment, I believe.”

  Mostyn smiled his relief – he had wondered whether he was expected, as a quid pro quo, to put money into steam, something which seemed to him to be an egg unlikely to hatch for many years.

  “My eldest son, Nathan, Jonathan, that is, would be very willing to take on a branch of his own – good experience for him for a few years before he inherits everything. Ah … he will be looking to wed quite soon, my lord – will there be any expectations regarding his wife?”

  “In what way, Mr Mostyn? Religion? None at all. Nationality? Even less! An Englishman is entirely free, you know, sir, provided he has wealth, that is. The sole expectation I have is of an invitation to dance at the wedding, sir!”

  Mostyn, being a banker and thus not wholly unsophisticated, pondered Tom’s words for many hours before deciding that the actual message was that rich Jews were unreservedly welcome in England but that their poorer relatives should not be encouraged to flock to the White Cliffs. He made a mental note that only the brightest and best of the sons of his many cousins should be offered posts in the family firm. To an extent it provided him with a welcome excuse, he had had in the past to find work for young men of very limited talent, often brought to him because they could find nothing for themselves.

  The following week Jonathan was dispatched to Birmingham to walk through the commercial centre, if there was such a thing, and carefully observe the style of the bank buildings there. It would not do to be either over- or under-ostentatious, a new enterprise must fit the expectations of its customers, they must be comfortable when entering the premises, seeing signs neither of profligate waste nor of poverty.

  Verity returned thankfully to her rooms at the Hall, slept in late for a few mornings, finding it less and less attractive to rise, and making her final plans for the family. The children, she soon decided, were accounted for; there was no more to be done for them. Robert wed to his bank; James on the high seas, probably half-way to the Cape by now; Joseph firmly in the grasp of his steam engines, and of some mercenary young lady as well, no doubt; Charlotte in love with an undistinguished younger son – there remained only the problem of Thomas. Despite her words he seemed very likely to fall into reclusive, solitary gloom – so arrangements must be made.

  “Miss Robinson!”

  “My lady – are you uncomfortable, ma’am? Should I fetch the laudanum bottle?”

  “Not in daylight hours, thank you! No, I wish to talk rather seriously with you, to discuss a possible course of action for your future well-being.”

  “Charlotte, please to come in and sit down. There is something I must discuss with you.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Now, we shall deal with this sensibly, I trust, and without vulgar extremes of lamentation! You have possibly noticed that I am somewhat unwell at the moment?”

  “I have, Mama, and had wondered when, if ever, you intended to confide in me.”

  “I am sorry! I thought to save you worry, but perhaps I have only worsened it. To be brief, my love, I have only a very few days left in this world. A cancer, one that killed my grandmother and her sisters, seeming to surface in the females of every second or third generation, you will be relieved to hear. In the nature of things, your father had expected to predecease me and I am worried that he will not know how to go on after I am gone, so it will fall to you to a great extent to look to his welfare, until you are wed, that is. I would like you to keep Miss Robinson with you as a companion for the immediate future – she is well-bred and sensible and might provide a solution to the problem…”

  Charlotte, fighting for composure, tried to understand just what her mother was saying, took a while to respond, finding the whole conversation a little too cold-blooded for her taste, nonetheless trying to be grown-up and practical.

  “Is she not too young, Mama, bearing in mind my father’s years?”

  “No, she is still young enough to bear children safely, I think, but is thoroughly mature in her ways. Did you ever hear the tale of my uncle, Lord Frederick Masters, and of his second wife?”

  Tears dissolved in incredulous laughter.

  “Honestly? Disgusting old man! I had noticed that the lady was much younger than him, and quite well-made, but had put that down to four children in five years, Mama – all of them girls, too! He must be very disappointed, as must she.”

  “I saw her when she was of some seventeen years, before the first girl, and I can assure you, my dear, that the young lady was quite remarkably gifted!”

  “Yes, well, we would not wish to see my father falling into similar temptation, Mama! We can at least protect him from laughter.”

  “Quite right, too! You will look after the dogs, my dear?”

  “Of course!”

  “I would like to think that they remained, perhaps I inherited the desire to run a stud from my grandfather. You may not be aware that he nearly brought the Grafhams to bankruptcy with his horses and that that was why I was permitted, encouraged in fact, to wed your father – his blood was not blue but his bank accounts were most certainly black! The Marchioness was very hard-headed when it came to such matters – you will wish to support her if you can, my dear, I am afraid the burdens of the female side will all fall upon you. You were not intending to wed your captain this year, I believe, so the period of mourning will fall more lightly upon you, a pity that you will not be a political hostess, my dear, you could have d
one so much… I am rambling, I am afraid, the laudanum makes it hard to concentrate. Be kind to Robert’s wife – she is a little younger than you, I believe, and will be on her own for much of the time – show her how to go on in the country, for I am sure she is a city lady, visit her often, do not let her be lonely, especially when she falls pregnant… visit Nurse for me. Will you send for Reverend Harker at the appropriate time, if you please, I must follow the convenances, after all, though I am not convinced that his prayers will be necessary to send me to Heaven … I do not believe I have sinned greatly – indeed I have been boringly virtuous, I suspect. You should send an Express to Joseph, I think, your father will tell you how to go about it. What is today?”

  “Tuesday, ma’am.”

  “Beg him to be here by Saturday, if you would be so good.”

  The lapses in concentration convinced Charlotte of the truth of her mother’s words. She had never been other than precise, had had nothing but contempt for the maunderings of lesser mortals, particularly of those ladies who thought that inconsequential ramblings lent them countenance. She sought out her father.

  “An Express, my dear? It would cost five pounds probably and might take two days. Morton! Please send for Wilkins, if you would be so good.”

  “My lord!”

  “He must surely be coming due for a pension, both of them, I suppose, they have been here longer than me.”

  “What would they do with themselves, Papa? Neither is married so they would retire to a lonely cottage. Where would be the comfort in that, sir, living on their own in their old age?”