Privilege Preserved (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  What of the locality, the bigwigs invited as neighbours, inevitably seated on the bride’s side? He craned his neck, peering towards the rear of the church, trying not to be too obvious when he was supposed to be composing his mind solemnly before the service, thinking only the most pious of thoughts.

  Minor gentry, better-off professionals, naval and army officers retired to half pay, all with their wives, one familiar face amongst them, catching his eye and smiling uncertainly, beaming as he grinned back. Captain Thomas Burley and his lady were local landowners and it probably would have seemed out of the ordinary, a cause of offence, if they had not accepted the card sent to them. A potential problem, perhaps, but not of insurmountable stature.

  “Joe,” he murmured to his groomsman, “third back row, on the other side, does he look familiar to you?”

  Lord Star glanced across, looked a second time, fought for a straight face.

  “More of your chickens coming home to roost, Tom! Is his name Thomas, as well?”

  Tom nodded as the organ ceased its Handelian muttering and swelled into the Telemann his bride had ordered.

  She strode long-legged down the aisle, tall and inelegant – white lace was not her style but her mother had insisted – smiling quietly, aware of the figure she cut and caring not at all.

  The reverend, a poor curate holding for a pluralist dean from Bridport, made a business-like job of the service, all done and dusted inside half an hour, to the pleasure of bride and groom equally. He opened his eyes wide in surprise as Tom slipped him a bank note as he signed the Parish Register. A note was rarely for less than ten pounds, he knew, and that was two months of his stipend; he began to regret that he had not added an extra hymn or two, made more of a performance for so open-handed a gentleman’s benefit. Gervase, who had observed Tom’s action, made a mental note to point out that such generosity was both unnecessary and unwise, encouraging as it did a servant of God to become spendthrift; had he seen the paper to be for fifty pounds he would have been outraged.

  The wedding breakfast was undoubtedly more lavish than Gervase would have countenanced, but his parents were both aware of the demands of wider society than he frequented, were not prepared to offer boiled beef and potatoes to their contemporaries. Tom ate, drank a little, and smiled politely at the speeches and presented his bride with a pair of ruby earrings and a matching bracelet and brooch that had, the knowledgeable estimated, set him back a cool three thousands. Miss Frances had married very sensibly the bulk of her kinfolk concluded.

  James had arrived barely an hour before the service, spoke to his father for the first time as he made his congratulations and gave his own presents.

  “Spoils of war, sir, and not, as you can see, exactly the sort of thing to grace my own apparel! I hope, ma’am, that the star ruby will match my father’s bride gift. I would wish, Father, if you think it right, to give the other sapphire ring to Lord Star – he has been kindness itself to the four of us in our growing years.”

  Frances was almost overwhelmed – the poor lad was hardly a man yet was shouldering his burdens as well as any she had ever met. She made her thanks, wondered aloud whether the pin should made into a brooch or a pendant stone, the better to be appreciated by the many who would envy her when she wore it, which she most definitely would and often.

  “I do not really know what to call you. Mr Andrews or James, which would be more appropriate?”

  “Either, ma’am, whichever makes you the more comfortable. I have the same problem, of course, for the only step-mama I have ever heard of was in Cinderella, which is not the best of, what’s the word, precedents, that’s it!”

  “And you certainly do not have ugly sisters, sir!”

  The family laughed and eased James across to Lord Star, plainly and tidily dressed as always. He inspected the ring, showed it to Amelia, slipped it onto a finger, decided that he liked it and wondered why he had never bought one for himself.

  “Why, thank you, James! And the ring fits on my right hand, do you see, and will not leave it, a magnificent stone. Lady Star will be envious indeed, and I suspect will not be displeased when I find her a match for it, if I can, for I doubt I have ever seen a better.”

  He made a mental note – young James was not the dullard he had seemed to be, slow, perhaps, but not stupid as such. It was a beautiful stone and placed him under a massive obligation, which could not be met simply financially.

  Bride and groom circulated correctly and quite soon came into the company of Thomas Burley.

  “Captain Burley, a pleasure, sir! I do not believe I have met your lady?”

  The presentation was made, his young wife, rural bred daughter of the squirearchy and ten years and more his junior, trying not to be seen to stare at the two faces, so similar, and at Lord Andrews’ three sons, who could almost have been mistaken for her husband’s brothers. Her husband was obviously acquainted with his lordship, but he had never mentioned aristocratic connections to her…

  Frances, having taken one swift glance, also did not stare and very rapidly drew the young lady into conversation, leaving Tom to call his sons to him.

  “Robert, you know of Captain Thomas Burley, do you not.”

  “I do, sir, and I am glad to meet you, Captain Burley.” They shook hands, cautiously, and sized each up before Robert nodded and introduced his younger brothers and then glanced across the room. “I think I should also make you known to Mr Miller, an American gentleman, sir.”

  James and Joseph discovered their mouths to be hanging open, closed them embarrassedly. Charlie elbowed her husband’s ribs, he having given way to unseemly mirth, and made her own, slightly frosty, greetings to the unknown military gentleman and his wife.

  The ladies of the party rapidly let it be known in the room that Lord Andrews was himself of Dorsetshire extraction and had wondered if he might not have had distant cousins still remaining in the County. The Payntons all expressed their satisfaction – it made him almost one of them, a part of the West Country.

  Robert judged the time was right to tell his father of his plans for James’ future. Being on the back foot, so to speak, the Old Man would be less likely to voice any objections he might have.

  “If, and only if, you can absolutely promise that he will never become Prime Minister, then, yes, I can see some value in the proposal. I doubt he will become renowned for his oratory, no Charles James Fox he, yet a quiet voice speaking good sense in the Commons would be of advantage to us all. He will live in Town, of course, as you do, Robert, so will be much more in your company than mine. Will you be able to guide him, do you think?”

  Robert nodded; he had always guided his young brother.

  “Probably, sir, he has never been a wilful lad and can be expected to be proud of the opportunity to be useful to the family, for he had thought his life to be at an end, that he would never be more than a burden. What of his allowance, sir?”

  “Payable out of the Thingdon coffers would be best – an income from his lands rather than from manufactures will be more acceptable to most of the Party. He should at least be made free for his lifetime of Lutterworth so that he has a ‘place in the country’. He has his five hundred a year by birthright, but will need more to keep his end up in Town. Best to have a house of his own, which we can buy and staff for him, paying the housekeeping as well, and what, another fifteen hundred besides?”

  “Comfortable enough, I think, Father. I will make the arrangements, sir – you have other business to take care of the while!”

  Tom made no comment, joined Frances who had just come downstairs dressed and ready to leave the wedding party to the serious drinking that was so much a part of the age.

  They travelled post to Poole, changed horses and then on as far as Christchurch where an aged uncle had vacated his house for them – the old man was a widower and childless and had accepted Lord Paynton’s offer of a suite of rooms in his heir’s seat for his declining years. His housekeeper was to remain with a reduced s
taff to keep the property in order and was on hand to look to the newly-weds’ comfort, and led them to their rooms and then to a light meal, sensibly chosen in the expectation that they had feasted earlier.

  Tom rubbed his back, aching from the bouncing in the post-chaise, the ‘yellow bounder’, light and speedy and no friend to the travellers’ comfort.

  “A long day, my dear! It would seem that road builders have yet to reach the wilds of Dorset!”

  “An excuse to avoid my brother’s company, and very welcome as such, sir. We will never be able to make our way through the mud of winter, cannot reasonably be expected to venture the journey before next summer, and I am sure that we can find some very good excuse to have to be in Lancashire then.”

  She stood from the supper table, said she would seek her chamber.

  “I imagine, sir, that you will join me there after an appropriate delay?”

  “I would certainly wish to, my dear. The length and propriety of the delay will be out of my hands, of course – Brown will give me my orders!”

  “No doubt my Grover will collude with him. She has been a gold mine of advice and hints for the last few days!”

  Frances had never taken a man to her bed, though she had wondered once or twice if it might not be a good idea – she would discover now, she expected, whether it was all that it was cracked up to be. Thomas, she was sure, would be as considerate under the sheets as he had been in all of his other dealings with her; she hoped she would not disappoint him.

  In the event both woke up smiling.

  What to do with James for the next few months? It would take time to arrange for a family seat to be vacated for him in one of the rotten boroughs – they would not want to contest a real election for a County seat.

  Robert had few ideas but knew he must find something for the boy – young man! He must get used to treating him with an adult’s respect, difficult though the concept was. He needed to acquaint himself with the new lands of industry in the north if he was to be their spokesman in the House – perhaps a few weeks with Matthew and Charlie?

  The proposal was agreeable to all three. Matthew particularly thought he could be useful to James with his naval experience of disfiguring wounds to offer.

  They arranged that James would travel north by way of Thingdon Hall, easy stages and a rest part way. He was still not robust enough to face a week of unbroken bouncing and he should make himself known as he now was at the Hall and particularly at Lutterworth as well.

  “It will give me time to organise your accommodation as well, Brother,” Charlie told him. “Possibly in Papa’s new house towards St Helens, or in one of the hotels in Liverpool, rather than be cramped up in our little place.”

  Three menservants in his entourage were the problem – they had to be properly housed and there simply was not room in the quarters of Charlie’s eight bedroom villa. The middle order of people did not expect to employ so many males and it would not be wise to put them next door to the maidservants.

  James had it all explained to him afterwards, Murphy very patient as always. It seemed very strange to him that Charlie should be of the middle sort of folk, but she had married a younger son, after all, so must have known what she was doing.

  “What must I learn, Murphy, what do I need to know if I am to be of use to the family?”

  “A little and a lot, sir, I am thinking. You are not needing to know how to run a mill or mine or shipyard, so no more than a familiarity, as you might say. If, as might well be, a minister of the government should wish to make a visit to a manufactury then you will be able to show him round and talk knowledgeably to a man who knows nothing himself, but no more than that. On the other hand, you must understand enough about taxes and wages and contracts and munitions of war to army and navy, and law and public order as well, to make your arguments sensibly and clearly. I suspect that it might be as well to write down in notebooks all of the facts and explanations that you are given, sir, so as to be able to have everything to hand when you need it.”

  That made simple sense to James; a good young officer always made a note of his orders and had his Company Books to aid him in running his detachment.

  “Plan it like a campaign, you would say, Murphy?”

  “Just so, sir, words rather than rifle bullets, but all put in the right place, sir.”

  James nodded, he could do that.

  The journey to Thingdon Hall was tiring, and that annoyed him, he had always been fit and uncaring of exertion – a day out on horse or foot had been nothing to him. He was not prepared to be an invalid all his life; he would become strong again, or die trying.

  “I must learn to ride, Murphy. A special saddle and some sort of stirrup, do you think?”

  Murphy had no idea. Wilkins, the head groom, had several.

  “When I were a boy, sir, nobbut a lad, over in the Marquis’ stables where I started like, ‘is lady’s brother, what would have been an uncle by marriage to the present lord, ‘e was a soldier what ‘ad a leg knocked off like what ‘appened to you, sir, and ‘e did ‘ave a saddle made up for him special-like, a bit ‘igher built pommel and cantle so as to ‘old him the better and a bit of a bucket to grab the ‘alf of a leg what ‘e’d still got. Needed a mounting block to get into ‘er, and if so be ‘e’d taken a fall ‘e’d ‘ave bin in trouble, but for hacking about the estate ‘e was good and comfortable, like.”

  “Can I get one made like it, Wilkins?”

  “Waterman in Kettering be the best local saddler, sir. Suppose I was to ride in and see ‘im and tell ‘im what we wanted, then ‘e could come out next day and take the measurements what ‘e needed, sir.”

  “Do it, please, Wilkins.”

  The little man touched his forelock and called to a boy to saddle up for him, was on a cob ten minutes later. If the young master had courage enough to get back on a horse then he would do everything he could for him. Thinking on it, he wasn’t surprised – my lord would not be one to breed a weakling, nor her ladyship, his sainted mother, poor soul. He heaved himself up straight in the saddle, not so easy these days, which was hardly surprising because he’d not see seventy again, after all, but there was no sense to stopping work, not with nobody to look after him, never having got round to marrying, so he might as well go on till he dropped, staying with his horses to the last. He wondered about his second groom, Archibald, he was still not sure he was fit to take over when he went – better have a word with my lord, see what could be done, perhaps Archie could go off with Mr Joseph as his personal groom, he could do that, and they could put on another man to follow after him.

  He reached Waterman’s saddlery still wondering what would be best for his stables, but he showed no doubts as he told the craftsman exactly what he wanted.

  Waterman was busy, he said, was not sure he could take on a special commission, but Wilkins reminded him just who my lord was and very speedily brought him to a sense of his own best interests. He would be at Thingdon Hall next morning, without fail.

  “Three weeks, sir, to build and make her up so she’s right, sir.”

  Wilkins shook his head, said that it was Tuesday now and he would expect to see Waterman not later than next Monday, unless, of course, he preferred to be called uncooperative. There was, he was told, a young man just put up his sign in Higham Ferrers, his business would grow very quickly indeed with my lord’s weight behind him.

  Waterman, grey with fatigue and accompanied by two equally tired journeymen, appeared on the Friday morning, tools in the wagon they had driven in, a polished and apparently perfect saddle in a sheepskin wrapping behind them.

  “If so be as we needs to make any adjustments, Mr Wilkins, we can do ‘em here and now.”

  An old and placid gelding was brought out of its box, stood quietly while the unusual saddle was buckled over its blanket and the bucket stirrup was strapped into place. James was given a hand up onto the block and then mounted awkwardly, right foot first, settled himself as comfortably as he cou
ld, finding that he could hardly grip with his left knee.

  It was difficult, but not impossible. He walked the ancient nag in slow circles for half an hour before Murphy decided he had done enough for one day.

  “I trust the saddle is satisfactory, Mr James.”

  “It is, Waterman, very much so, better than I had hoped for. Mr Quillerson will see to your account in the normal way and I have instructed him to make allowance for the inconvenience we have caused you, sir. Thank you.”

  His father had drummed into him that he could always make demands of the local tradesmen, but he must then pay them well for the privilege.

  He would not be riding to hounds, that was a certainty, and would never manage more than an easy canter, but he would be able to ride out locally, would not have to call for the carriage every time he stirred out of doors at Thingdon or Lutterworth.

  He wondered when he should be seen at Lutterworth – Robert had told him he was to have use of the estate for his lifetime and had hinted that it might become his in freehold if he married and needed a seat for his family. Murphy suggested he should discuss the matter with Mr Quillerson.

  “It would be best if you could delay your visit till later in the year, Mr James, giving the opportunity to Mudge to refurbish as necessary. Miss Fielder must also be considered, of course.”

  James was puzzled, could not see a problem.

  “She could hardly remain in the house when you were in residence, Mr James. The proprieties, you appreciate.”

  “But, she’s old, Mr Quillerson!”

  “She is an unmarried lady, Mr James. I shall suggest to your father that she should be translated to Thingdon Hall, in place of Miss Robinson. No doubt Lady Andrews would benefit from her company.”

  “Mark? Michael Jowitt from the Corresponding Society has been taken up again, charged with sedition and publishing an unlicensed newspaper, though everybody knows that hand-written letters cannot possibly be a newssheet!”