“All of the decisions will have to wait for Mr Robert to return, Quillerson, which will not be for a month or two yet, but you can go ahead with the plans, I think.”
Tom glanced across to Joe Star, sitting on his horse quietly, half a grin on his face. “I think that Mr Mostyn may have been misled by his agent, Joe? Someone has sold him a pup here!”
“Just what I was thinking, Tom – if he coughed up more than a couple of thousand for this, he was robbed! And I would bet that he paid through the nose, trying to impress his new son!”
“Could be interesting to see just how he will react, Joe. Will he go to law or take his losses or hire a couple of hard men to get his money back in blood?”
Mostyn, who had not seen the property, responded vigorously to the tactfully expressed letter from Tom, posting up to the Midlands, accepting Tom’s hospitality with some surprise. He had not expected to stay in a nobleman’s seat; that was not the place of the Jew, however rich, in the Germanies. An hour’s inspection and he sat with Tom and Joe in the estate office at the Hall.
“I have been robbed, my lords! More importantly, I have been treated as a fool, a town-bred dunce! If this story gets around, circulates, you would say, then I shall seem a very poor man of business, will find that my bank will be less well regarded. I know what I would have done in Hamburg, of course – smiled and said ‘thank you’ to the Junker gentleman responsible, for I would not have dared do otherwise. What can I do here, my lords?”
They shook their heads, said that, with their support, he could do whatever he wished – go to law, perhaps, but better to take more informal action. Who had he purchased from? What did he know of the gentleman’s circumstances, for it was rare for land to be sold except on death. Almost certainly the previous owner had been in financial trouble, quite possibly might still be, for to sell one’s land was a disgrace, a last resort. It might, therefore, be possible to buy up some of his debts, or at minimum encourage a creditor to press for immediate payment, or discover some other means of embarrassing the rogue financially.
“I shall talk to my man in London, Mr Michael, who is a lawyer with, shall we say, interesting sources of information available to him – I believe him to be not unknown in government circles. He will be able to discover the best means of attracting the attention of Sir Dudley Winters.”
“Should I place my legal business in Mr Michael’s hands, my lord?”
“They are very safe hands, Mr Mostyn, and by doing so you will show government that you have no secrets from them.”
Mostyn returned a month later, begging another night’s lodging, apologising for his presumption, if it was such.
“My son’s father? Presumption, sir? Nonsense! You are always welcome inside these doors, by right of your relationship, ignoring the claims of friendship which also exist. Come into my library, we can be comfortable and undisturbed there while Morton sees to your man and sets the housekeeper to work.”
Morton smiled thankfully – it was the first time his master had joked him since the funeral; he signed to his underlings to busy themselves.
“Sir Dudley, I presume, Mr Mostyn?”
“That is the correct address, my lord? Not ‘Sir Winters’?”
“No, ‘sir’ always takes a first name, whether it be knight or baronet.”
“Thank you – it is these small points which trip one up so easily, show up the foreigner. Yes, my lord, Sir Dudley has ‘seen the error of his ways’ – is that correct?”
“It is. What did you do, Mr Mostyn?”
“He was, foolish man, deeply indebted to a member of my religion, not, one would add, a particularly salubrious advertisement for my people! A money-lender and, I strongly suspect, a criminal, dwelling in a very low area in the east of London – a rookery, I believe it to be called. I visited him, this so-called ‘banker’, in company with three bodyguards supplied by Mr Michael and spoke to him, rather sternly in the end, and bought out the whole of Sir Dudley’s indebtedness, paying a fair and honest rate of interest, not the fifteen per cent per month, compounding, that he had been charged! Though, of course, Sir Dudley, when he saw my writ, believed himself to be under demand for the whole of the original agreement. He also has mortgages on his lands, all that was not under entail, had made his borrowing to pay the interest outstanding on the more legitimate debt – how he expected to go on next year I do not understand! Be that as it may, he sold all to me, for the price of one guinea, myself to clear the mortgages, obviously enough. The result is that I now possess another eight hundred acres of best wheat land, having paid much less than the going rate and sent a trusted agent to walk the acres first. They will compensate me for the original loss, and possibly a little more besides.”
“Well done, sir! I should imagine that Michael will allow the story to leak out, very discreetly, so that it may be known that cheating you is possible, as it is for every honest man, but very unwise. How do you intend to manage your acres, Mr Mostyn?”
“May I beg of the services of your Mr Quillerson, my lord? Before too many years are past I shall build a house and create a place of retirement for the family.”
“A seat, in fact, Mr Mostyn. You will be very welcome in the neighbourhood, another source of stability and wealth.”
Mostyn was intelligent, immediately inquired why there was a need for ‘stability’, wealth was obviously always welcome. Tom explained the problems being faced in the countryside, of the short-term effects of enclosure which had driven so many people out of work, and of the growing movement into sheep in many areas – industry in the north demanded more and more raw wool so the price of fleeces was rising steadily.
“The rule, roughly, Mr Mostyn, is that for every one man employed on a sheep farm there are three in beef and five or six in wheat. Where a half a dozen farmers in a locality turn their fields to sheep a whole village can die, and I am told that that is not an infrequent occurrence on the Downs through Sussex and Hampshire and Wiltshire and not unknown in the higher ground of this county. The changes must come, the people of this country cannot be fed without enclosure, the looms cannot turn without wool, but the farm labourers and the old Commoners and yeomen do not like them – they riot and burn ricks every year, but there is no political organisation behind them, fortunately. In the towns, at the moment, there is a downturn in trade which has resulted in many a manufactury closing its doors. Add to that the soldiers and sailors coming home from the long wars and there is a mass of men without work, and with no food and no way of buying any. The Poor Law hardly works in the new towns and there is little by way of charity where there is neither church nor chapel – more riots, more crime, and there is more of politics in the towns where they are more wide-awake.”
Tom shrugged at the end of his recital, commented that it sounded worse than it was because, despite the hardships, there was no will to revolution for some strange reason. He expected that they would muddle through.
“The government does not help, of course, though why I am surprised by that, I do not know! Liverpool is a clever enough man, can hold the different interests in his party together, is a better leader than any current alternative, but he has to give room in his Cabinet to fools such as Sidmouth – a hanging and flogging brute of a Prussian, if ever one was! He, more than any other cause, is the reason why Robert will not engage in a political career – he would be ashamed to stand at his side.”
“What will solve this problem, my lord?”
“Trade, Mr Mostyn. When the ordinary people get food in their bellies again, and can look to a future for their children, the chance of a better life for their young, then the country will quieten miraculously. None of my enterprises have been permitted to sack workers – we have sold our product below cost on occasion rather close down. In a couple of years when things get better there will be a steady, loyal workforce who remember that they owe me a little of gratitude and I will have a great mass of skilled men and women able to produce quality. Another reason for
steam ships and iron hulls, Mr Mostyn, they keep my furnaces busier than they would otherwise be.”
“So, my lord, you are as a father to your people, there in bad times as well as good.”
“If you wish, sir – remembering though that children are sometimes a disappointment, and very often a surprise.”
“Quillerson, what, if anything, do you know of Sir Dudley Winters? Has he any particular claim to notice in the county?”
“Very little north of the river, my lord, but he has a number of friends in Bedfordshire, I understand. Apparently he has the ear of Prince William Henry, indeed he may have become impoverished as a direct result of that intimacy – expensive company, the princes, or so I am told.”
“Nothing to worry about there, then – the princes are renowned for their ability to discard acquaintances who run short of the ready – ‘bleed them dry and then drop them’ is their motto, it appears. Has Sir Dudley any family?”
“One son, two daughters, schoolgirls, the son a lieutenant in the navy – commissioned at the earliest possible age, influence, of course, His Royal Highness is good for something, but not quite in time to make his fortune from prize-money. The daughters, I am told, are neither of them handsome nor like to grow up into even passably good-looking young ladies, so they have small chance of mending the family fortunes, my lord.”
“So, decay is the only prospect there, it would seem.”
“Very much so, my lord – the entail, my informant tells me, was not amended at the time of enclosure and effectively includes only the Home Farm and a small park. Sir Dudley’s income was almost exclusively from the sold wheat lands, the better part of twelve hundreds per annum which is now lost to him. I suspect that his only course will be to persuade his son to agree to break the entail and then sell up. The house and park might be attractive to a rich merchant, or banker, say.”
“Noted, Quillerson – I shall inform Mr Mostyn when the happy event seems likely. Keep your ear to the ground, if you would be so good.”
Joseph returned to Wigan at the end of a month. He had spent the four weeks doing his very best to support his father, without knowing how to go about the task – he was much happier with machinery than with people, was embarrassed by overt grief, had wanted only to sit in a corner and quietly weep before going back to his workshop. He did his best, but felt it was an inadequate performance – Robert would have done so much better, he believed. He had a long talk with his father after dinner on the night before he left, ended the evening wondering what he should have said. He took the question to Charlotte.
“There is nothing to say, Joseph. I know that if Matthew were to die then there would be no words that would console me and believe our father to feel exactly the same. The only thing I can hope is that he will find another companion – I know that Mama ordered him to marry again and I trust that he will – he should not spend the next twenty years alone. Mama, I know, thought that Miss Robinson might be suitable, but I wonder if he might not do better for the family by looking about him during the Season next year.”
It was too practical for Joseph – he could not yet distance himself from the sentiment of the tragedy and in any case could not imagine marrying for other than affection.
“What of your steam engines, Joseph – have you discussed them with Papa?”
Joseph nodded glumly.
“Tell me!”
“Rack and pinion will not work, Charlie.’ Joseph’s nickname for Charlotte. ‘Iron is not strong enough for the purpose. The theory is very good, but the engineering fails! So, we have to try something else. Papa wants me to work on the maritime engines, and I shall do that for a while, until we have one that is reliable, and then the Stars want me to design a steam engine for their mills, much bigger, able to turn all of their belts like a waterwheel – they lost a week’s production in the drought last summer, worse five years ago. But, there is nothing new in the ideas for these, Charlie, any good engineer could do them!”
She did not really understand, supposed that he wanted to be known as an inventor, and he could not express himself in words, was in any case quite unprepared to say that steam was romantic, presented an artistic challenge – anybody knew what artists were!
Miss Robinson joined them, requesting information on the precise relationship of Reverend Harker to the family. She had to write a letter to him, of thanks for his services to Lady Verity and at her funeral and she needed to know just what degree of formality was appropriate, how she should express my lord’s gratitude.
“A connection, Miss Robinson, not close. His mother was sister to the first wife of Lord Frederick Masters. He is not a Masters’ cousin as such, but the family would certainly expect to shake hands on a first introduction.”
All was clear – they were entitled to more than a common bow in passing but would be surprised to receive frequent invitations to dine. A formal letter with no concessions to the relationship but equally with no hint of a brusque dismissal, to be written on best notepaper, the most expensive cream-laid. What about the form of address – the Reverend had held military rank, should it be used?
“No. His personal preference is to be followed here, and he is no longer a soldier, he states, he is a man of peace. I think it is allowable to make this concession, Miss Robinson, even though he is gazetted a captain for the whole of his life.”
It was all very difficult, and absolutely essential, there must be no error, no failure to meet the demands of courtesy; rules were rules and standards must be conformed to, or they were no longer standards at all.
Joseph did not fully understand, but then, it was women’s business to know these things, was one of the reasons why a wife was essential to any man of affairs. It occurred to him that Charlie seemed somewhat standoffish in her attitude to Miss Robinson, as if there was little liking there, which might be awkward if the Old Man followed Mama’s instructions and took her to wife. In a sudden, deep – for him – insight, he speculated if that might not be the problem, jealousy on Charlie’s part. He wondered if he should say something, and then he wondered what he would say if he did – it would be presumptuous, surely, on the part of her little brother, better he should not. Satisfied that he was doing his duty, Joseph allowed Locke to put him into the post-chaise and set off back to problems he did understand – iron was so much kinder to the emotions.
Tom’s man on the ground in India, Major Wolverstone, leant back in his bath, the sweat of two months on the road – more strictly on the tracks of the hills – oozing from his pores. Two young attendants gigglingly assisted him to relax – there was much to be said for life in the merchant community in India, he thought.
He had prospected the hills in the immediate hinterland and had found untouched coal seams within the first week, more and on usable rivers almost every day it seemed. It made sense, of course, the coldest months here hardly demanded heating in the houses and huts of town or village, certainly did not justify the expense and inconvenience of fireplace and stoves and chimneys, simple wood fires were sufficient, so there had been no demand for coal. Purchasing the land had been a more complex matter, had been effectively impossible, the technicalities of traditional ownership being such that alienation of acres required an act of government, and John Company was unlikely to afford Roberts such consideration. Very long leases, patterned after English law, were easier to attain – John Company had no objections there, however much a competitor Roberts might be they were English and the law was theirs to use - and he had signed contracts on his office table allowing ninety-nine years exclusive access, renewable at will, for a down payment of a few hundreds in gold and an annual peppercorn rent. The local people could continue to cultivate the surface, while it was convenient, and could, the landowners had assured him, be dispossessed at his will, they were only peasants, ryots, lower beings of no account; they would then supply the labour he needed, would be thankful to earn the few pence he need pay them. He had had a few doubts about the business, but he
was dealing with their traditional leaders and they must know what was and was not normal in India, he was not there to enforce alien ways of life upon them.
He rose, reluctantly, from his bath, put on a light silk robe and went through to his desk – work before pleasure, and he had all of the arrangements to order. Barker must be given precise instructions and would then be able to perform the donkey work, which was all his sort was really fit for.
The notes he had made were almost sufficient in themselves, he was pleased to see, although they had been scrawled hurriedly at the end of busy days. He must have a wharf built at the river below the first mine he intended to open; there must be barges made specifically for coals; a coking oven to be constructed according to the drawings he had brought with him from St Helens and a letter sent overland demanding that the young gentleman who was to take charge should set sail on the next ship. The furnace must come next, together with the rolling mill and puddling ovens – local men could work them, ironsmiths’ skills were a long way from unknown here. Finally, they would build workshops where they could construct steam engines – there was already one Boulton and Watt engine in the dockyard, brought in pieces from England and used to pump out the dry dock, and Barker was certain he could sell more, locally made, far cheaper and with the manufacturers to hand for repairs and maintenance.
Work finished and evening was drawing in, for he had ridden in early in the morning and then sat at his desk through the heat of the day, refusing to surrender to the long midday break, a habit he considered slovenly. He retired to his private quarters and a light meal and a bottle of pale ale and the ministrations of the girls waiting for him – it had never been like this in the Mess.
The Pain Of Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 4) Page 8
