Later still, physically refreshed and relaxed almost to the point of enfeeblement, he returned to his desk, took out his private folders and added to the information there. The coarse fibre, jhuto, was grown along the flatter lands in the valleys near his coal deposits and there were workable stands of hardwoods on the slopes – timber was in very short supply in England and there was a great demand for sacks. He could send shiploads back to England and make a handsome profit, he expected. They would have to wait until the barges were running, but as soon as that was organised he would start to make his own fortune, as my lord had said.
The Major’s personal retainer, Connors, came for orders in the morning, as was his habit, was sent off to take his ease for a week, a short furlough.
“Thank you, sir! A few days of idleness will do us both good, sir. Fourteenth are in barracks, sir, disembarked a fortnight ago, I hear.”
Wolverstone knew several officers in the Fourteenth Hussars, had shared a campaign mess with them in Peninsular days and some of them would still be with the regiment. Would they wish to keep his acquaintance now that he was a civilian and a mere merchant, smeared by Trade? He might well bump into one or two over the next few days – best perhaps to meet by chance and give them the opportunity either to greet him or cut him; he would not look them up.
He had a number of invitations outstanding from the merchant community – he had acknowledged them all, had replied that he was off up-country, would be very pleased to enjoy their hospitality on his return – suggested to Barker that he should pass the word around that the senior manager was back. Like it or not, he was a part of their circle now, must take care to become part of their fraternity. Roberts would need to work with them, would have contracts for them and would hope to sell to them – he must not cause offence by seeming to be too good for their company. Most of them were married and several had daughters needing suitable husbands – that might also assist him to make his fortune, particularly if he was to stay on in India rather than return to England at the end of his ten years. He had been musing over his future for some months now, more particularly in the solitary evenings in his tent up in the hills. There was little for him in England – no inheritance, no close family ties, certainly no acquaintance, no community of affection to ‘go home’ to. He would have remained a soldier, his home the regiment, if he had been able, but they had chased him out of the army; he had concluded that he liked India, the remarkably different way of life certainly, and that he might well be wise to settle here – it would very definitely make him richer.
The officers of the Fourteenth greeted him kindly in the street and in the English Club, but made no attempt to invite him into their mess. In part, of course, it was because they knew that his regiment had put up a very substantial black before Waterloo – details were not readily available but rumour was both imaginative and very well-embellished and Lord Jack Masters had had a reputation amongst those who knew what was what so it was probably something quite disgraceful – but primarily it was the smell of trade that now clung to his coattails and made him unacceptable company to good soldiers. All the more reason not to return to England where the only people he had known were soldiers.
Drake’s Daughter cast off from the wharfside in Bristol, passengers all settled in their shared cabins, cargo stored clean and bilge-free, another group of better-off settlers going west. White leant on the rail, quietly chatting with his bride, pointing across to a floating slum also about to take the tide.
“Half the size of our ship and five times as many aboard, food for four weeks at most, but they expect most of the old and the youngsters to die off in the first fortnight – fevers and cold and hard-lying seeing to them, so there’ll be rations enough for them who live. Ten bob a head their passage costs on one of the coffin-ships, poor sods!”
“Language, Mr White!”
“I am sorry, my dear, but I suspect you will hear worse before we have been many days at sea. We are the lucky ones, not only paid for but with my lord’s influence in the background – no ship-owner will cheat the Iron Master, not if he values his hide! A quick passage in a well-found ship for us, and a welcome waiting when we enter harbour, not just dumped ashore to make our own way without money or any idea or knowledge of what to do next. Young John Quillerson should be there, transport and a bed arranged, and if he should let us down – and from what I know of him that’s a long chalk from being impossible, my dear – we all of us have a few pence in our pockets that will keep us on our feet while we find our own way to new lands.”
“We should give thanks to the Lord for his grace and blessings, husband.”
“We should indeed, wife, but we might also remember Lord Andrews’ name as well – I doubt not there are saved souls on yonder vessel and they will be faring much less well than us.”
Robert returned from honeymoon a week earlier than had been planned – he had attended a reception at the Embassy in Paris and an alert young Secretary had spotted the pair to be in colours, had passed the word to his master who had drawn them to one side.
“You have not heard from Northamptonshire, Mr Andrews?”
“No, my lord.” Robert was alerted by the gravity of expression on the Ambassador’s face. “What should I know, my lord?”
“I am very sorry to tell you, Mr Andrews, but your mother, Lady Verity, passed away last week, some ten days ago now, after what is described as ‘a short illness’. The Gazette has a notice, and the appropriate pages in the press, sir.”
“I had not read any English newssheets, my lord, and we have been out of Paris for most of the month, travelling into the Ardennes, enjoying the countryside. If you will excuse me, my lord, we will withdraw immediately. I expect that we shall leave Paris in a day or two.”
“Of course, Mr Andrews. Please accept my deepest sympathy, sir – I had met your mother on a number of occasions and found her a truly gracious lady!”
It was not practical to leave Paris immediately – there was no great rush because it was obvious that the funeral must be several days past and it made sense to wait on the convenience of the couturiers who still had deliveries to make.
Miriam was dismayed, had expected to use Lady Verity’s knowledge to help her fit into her new life – she knew nothing of any country house, was aware only that the ‘lady of the manor’ was faced with a set of obligations and expectations, all of them, literally, foreign to her. Robert had a sister, a tall, well-made, disobliging sort of girl as far as she could tell – she had had very little to say to her at the wedding although she had stood as a bridesmaid; in any case, she was soon to be wed and would move away with her husband. Robert had shown himself to be courteous and friendly and very gentle, had been reassuring and kind, leading her through a wife’s duties in bed with a restrained enthusiasm that she had found easy to accept and enjoy; she knew that she was far better off that way than a number of past friends had been in their marriages, not all of them arranged. But Robert would hardly know how a woman should conduct herself in her domestic life, and would be away much of the time, pursuing his business interests, so she would be on her own to a very great extent; she wondered if there might be books she could read that would point her in the right direction. Perhaps they would spend most of their days in London – she knew exactly how to go on in a town house and hardly expected to lead an active social life, and Lady Rothwell had already made herself known as a fellow Jewess and one who would very willingly stand her friend, despite the difference in their ages.
For the while there was the question of how she could comfort her lord in his bereavement, and she must quickly discover the proprieties of mourning in England – how to dress, and for how long, particularly.
She would have to face Lord Andrews as well – a huge man, physically, more than a head taller than her, and with a penetrating look to him – he understood her, she was convinced, and she knew nothing of him, and the scars on his face did not help either. How could she express her condolenc
es in such a way as to sound anything other than conventionally insincere? Her own father would be able to give some advice, but she should not really continue to depend upon him, she had a new family now and must learn its new ways.
One source of relief came as soon as they had reached Mount Street – a message from her father, begging to see Robert at his earliest convenience, Robert returning with a huge grin.
“Papa Mostyn is upset, my dear, deeply chagrined, in fact – we cannot go to our new country home by the Nene, certainly not this year, quite possibly not until well through next summer. Your father purchased sight unseen, relying, I quote, on the ‘good faith of an English gentleman’; he will know better in future.”
Her hand rose to her mouth, whether to hide a smile he was unsure. “He was cheated, Mr Andrews?”
“Robbed blind, my dear! The house a broken-down ruin fit only to be burnt, the land wet and probably unhealthy. Quillerson, my father’s land-agent, is taking the drainage in hand and the local builder has moved in while a London architect has taken up residence in Higham Ferrers to supervise all. I gather that with my father’s assistance he has carved a pound of flesh from the seller’s hide – oops! I am sorry, that was not intentional! I meant to say that he has recovered his loss and more besides from the rogue who cheated him and may well become resident in the area himself in later life – he will, of course, be very welcome. If it is convenient to you we are to dine with your parents tomorrow?”
“But… My father said that it would be better that we did not keep in close company with him, that we should visit rarely, should not make a parade of your having a wife who is a Jew.”
“My wife is an Andrews, will be Lady Andrews in the fullness of time, and if any do not like it, then they know exactly what they can do, ma’am! There will be some difficulties – we will not be welcome in much of High Society for the next few years, but in two decades or so, when we bring out marriageable and rich children, then we shall be made welcome, exactly as my own parents were. The Rothwells will be present as well, tomorrow, and one or two of their acquaintance who wish to become known to you and to your father. It is right that any daughter should see her parents as often as possible, and I would not have it otherwise for you, Mrs Andrews. And, whilst I think of it, why have I become ‘Mr Andrews’ since we reached London?”
“I had understood, Robert, that one had to be formal in address before one’s servants?”
“No. In public only – in one’s own house first names are acceptable, indeed to be expected – only the shabby-genteel insist on over-formality. I shall introduce you to the Latimers when we visit my father next week – you will discover just what I mean then. I wish, myself, of course, to talk long with Lord Rothwell – he will be able to tell me much of my father’s condition and it will be well to know just how he is, poor old chap! For me to lose my mother – well, it is the nature of things that one’s parents die, earlier by far than I had ever expected, a loss, but inevitable. For my father – he was older than her by a decade, can never have expected to see her in the ground before him, and I do not know how well he will recover, whether he will ever be the same man.”
She agreed, he had reason to worry, ascribed his frowns of the next few days to that cause alone, being completely unaware of Judy’s existence or condition. Robert had visited her immediately on leaving Mostyn, had found her at home with a book, as he had come to expect, but also with a noticeable protuberance at her waist, which was a surprise.
“Bobby-me-dear! I was so sorry to hear of your mother – you will miss her greatly, fine lady that she was!”
“I shall; it was a pity that you could never meet her. How far are you gone, my dear?”
“Five months, or thereabouts. If you are thinking that you must turn respectable now that you are wed, well, I shall have some company and a memory at least!”
“Now that I am wed I shall see less of you, that must be so, but I shall certainly not be turning respectable, my dear – it would not suit me at all! Will this house do when you have the little one or will you want a bigger place?”
“It will do, me dear, and better nor ever I had hoped for, as well you know!”
“You have made arrangements for a nursery-maid at least, I trust?”
She had refused staff for the house, had said it was not appropriate for her, that she should not be acting like one of the gentry, and he had so far chosen not to insist – now she could see that he had decided what would be best for her. She was inclined to bridle, to make a fight on the point of principle that she alone could see, but she would hurt him if she did, she realised – she surrendered.
“Cook, maid and a girl for the nursery, do the job properly if done it must be, Bobby – I can afford the hundred a year easily, I don’t use one half of the money you put in my way at the moment.”
“Staff are mine to pay, Judy-love. I’ll add a gardener-groom as well, you could use a town shay besides.”
“Luxury for a biddy from the bogs, Bobby!”
“Was I not a lordling then you would be my wife, as well you know, Judy, but I have responsibilities which I cannot refuse, as you know equally. I can at least find a few pence a year for your comfort, the least, and the most, I can manage.”
“Not a lot I can say to that, me lord! Except that ye’re right. You’re wrong on one thing though – I met your mother. Not through any action of mine, her town-coach turned up at the doorstep one bright morning and there she was – ‘I believe you’re Judy’, says she and introduces herself and asks if she can come in. She said she had wanted to meet me before she left – I thought she meant left Town, going back to the Hall, but that wasn’t it, it seems. She said I was a good girl and had helped you grow up no end, and if it came to a falling-out between us then I should go to the office of Mr Michael the lawyer and he would make sure that I came to no harm – I was family, even if it was left-handed, so she said.”
“I suppose I should have expected that, my love. I must go home to my little, lawful wife – you’d like her, Judy, she’s a pleasant, harmless little girl, bright and good-natured and very clever – and it’s a damned nuisance that the country place isn’t fit for living in and she must stay in Town the while. Better far if she could have made her home in the Midlands, but one cannot have everything, and the Lord knows, she has not got much in her life.”
“Guilty, Bobby?”
“Of course, but not to the extent that I will give you up for her, not that!”
James stretched his legs onshore at Cape Town, thankful for the feel of dry land, a week out of confinement, more than a hundred feet to walk in. Even in first class accommodation on the Indiaman there was very little of legroom; he passed four very young men, boys, possibly actually older than him but utterly green, ensigns in the Company’s armies, going out for the first time as well and sharing a tiny hutch in the lowest level of the ship – they had not addressed him, had hardly had the chance to do so and would in any case be chary of speaking to a full Lieutenant in the King’s service, but they seemed pale, unhealthy, thoroughly tired of their imprisonment – he was glad he was not in their case. He touched his hat in response to a passing private soldier’s salute, noted that the garrison kept itself smartly turned out, very well together, but he had heard that they were quite busy with little skirmishes and police actions with the natives out at the borders and that the Dutch colonists were many of them resentful that the Cape was to remain an English possession, having hoped to be returned to their own Mother Country at the end of the wars. Bad luck, but they had chosen the losing side and must pay the price, and there were worse penalties than becoming British citizens, he believed. He turned after a mile or so, made his way back to the hotel where he was staying for the few days the ship remained in port, offloading some cargo and taking on stores for the run across the Indian Ocean. The captain had also said that they would be setting the cannon to their ports – they had been wrapped in canvas and tied up tight to the ship’s sid
es for the long voyage south through the Atlantic, but they might possibly be needed in the eastern seas, he said – there were still a few pirates in Madagascar and working south from Oman and the slave trade was massive in Arab waters, blacks taken literally in tens of thousands every year to the Moslem caliphs and sultans, and slavers were always armed and ready to take a chance if one arose. It would all take a little time and so since the end of the wars the Indiamen stopped a week or two in Cape Town, to the relief of their passengers.
“Lieutenant Andrews! You have been taking exercise, I see, sir! Mama insists that I stay indoors during the heat of the day, the tropical sun so bad for the young lady, she tells me!”
Miss Burns, a young Scottish lady of twenty or so, going out with her mother to ‘visit’ an uncle in Bombay – moderately pretty, not too stupid but inclined to be gushingly silly – typical of the young women of the Fisher Fleet – misses of at least the upper middle classes, of respectable birth, who had not yet landed a husband and were off in pursuit of the lonely bachelors and widowers of the colonies, of the captains and majors in their thirties and forties and merchants in the fifties and sixties who needed a first or second spouse to preside over their comfortable, if unromantic, establishments. A young man, a lieutenant by rank yet travelling in the most expensive of cabins, had attracted immediate attention followed by the very rapid discovery that he was a son of Lord Andrews, the Iron Master, who had wed into the highest ranks of the aristocracy, his millions awarding him respectability. The gentleman was a little younger than the ideal, but was unquestionably a great catch to make and there had been much in the way of careful manoeuvring to achieve a place at his dinner table. Miss Burns had smiled her best but James, forewarned by Michael in London, had been cautious in his responses, had taken pains never to be alone in the young lady’s company, no matter how bright the stars or the luminosity of the wake. He now allowed that the African sun was renowned for burning the skin of the genteel and excused himself to change into more suitable indoor clothing.
The Pain Of Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 4) Page 9
