“Aye, Mr Heythorne! You are the boss here and will have their jobs in thy hand when the day comes that you reach your majority. Mine as well, for that matter.”
“I assure you, Mr Burkenshawe, I would not wantonly dismiss any man from his place with the pit. Why might I wish to do so?”
“Not to put too fine an edge on the matter, Mr Heythorne, it is not unknown for a young man to wish to show himself to be master. A man who possesses power might be inclined to use it, just to show that he can, you might say.”
“Surely not, sir! What a vile abuse of one’s power that must be!”
“Not all men are of a pleasant nature, sir. Now, sir, to get about our business. Much of our own coal now goes into the coking oven here. Some small amount of the coke we use for our own smithy, which does all of the ironwork we need in our pits, but the bulk is sold on to the users in Stoke. There are foundries and wagon makers there, and two of the new steam engines which pump water out of clay pits used by the potteries. The trouble is, of course, that a coking oven produces coal tar which is a nuisance to be got rid of. We use much of ours for the pit props, soaking them so that they rot far more slowly. For the rest, we burn some, as much as we can, down in the old clay pit behind the distillery, sir. There is gas as well, but it just disappears into the air, sir, blowing off in the winds.”
“A pity we cannot use both tar and gas, to make a profit from them. We should talk to an engineer about them.”
Mr Burkenshawe was certain that was an excellent idea, though he knew of no engineers in the locality.
Samuel ventured underground on a later occasion, having arranged to dress appropriately for the event. Mr Pattisdale, the underground manager, led him personally down into the darkness.
He equipped Samuel with a leather hat, tied under his chin and with a holder for a candle on top.
“Costs a mort of money in candles, so it does, Mr Heythorne. Looking at lanterns, so I have been, burning coal oil distilled from the tar, but I have not got it right yet. One day!”
It seemed to Samuel that they might be better off to hire the services of an engineer, a skilled man who might introduce any number of valuable innovations. He wondered where one could lay hands on such a man.
They walked as much as a hundred yards along the passage leading to the coalface, squeezing up against the side when boys pushed tubs along the wooden trackway that occupied the middle of the adit. The tunnel eventually opened out into the working face, tenanted by a great swarm of bodies, men, women and children all busy winning coal.
“The men, you see, Mr Heythorne, swinging their picks and shovelling the coal behind them to their heaps. Women and the bigger boys loading the tubs and sending them out to the heaps in the yard where the smaller children pick out the dross, of which we find very little in this great seam. We are lucky as well that we have a dry pit with no need to waste money and time on drainage.”
“Almost flat as well, Mr Pattisdale.”
“Rising and falling just a little, like the waves on the sea, Mr Heythorne, but mostly flat. The seam is uncommonly thick and lays almost horizontal in these parts. Off to the left, to the east, it thins a mite and rises a little, but is still eminently workable.”
Samul was fascinated, looking about him at the families labouring together. Most were dressed in little more than rags, presumably not wishing to ruin costly clothing with coal dust. There were any number of grown girls swinging shovels and pushing at tubs, and almost wholly exposed to the air and the limited sight in the dark gallery. He grew uncomfortable at the sight of more than one exposed chest.
“Do the families all work together, Mr Pattisdale?”
“Mostly so, Mr Heythorne. They are paid piece work, earning their money for the tubs of good coal they send out each day. You see each tub has the name chalked on and the children ensure that they are tipped to their proper heaps in the yard for them to sort through. Paid by measure, so they are. Mr Burkenshawe will show thee out in the yard.”
Samuel pulled his eyes away from the feast of delights one well-built young girl was displaying to him, intentionally, he was sure. He had a sufficiency of sense to realise that setting up in a little cottage for the master might be a far easier way of life for a young female. He doubted that he wished to consider such a ménage yet – but it was worth thinking about.
He followed Mr Pattisdale out into the fresh air thinking more about flesh than coal. Mr Burkenshawe was waiting to take him over.
“The tubs, master, are a chaldron in size, using the Newcastle measure rather than the London, the two significantly different. Being as we carry coal only, we can use its weight, which is easier for selling on to our customers, or for the coke ovens. Fifty-three hundredweight, just a fraction over, Mr Heythorne. Five thousand nine hundred and forty pounds weight, almost two and two-thirds of tons. We sell at thruppence ha’penny at the pithead, or more strictly, at the bottom of the trackway where we tip the tubs.”
“Fifteen shillings and sixpence for a tub, just a penny or two less, in fact. What do the colliers get of that, Mr Burkenshawe?”
“Five shillings, Mr Heythorne. A family working together can knock out three tubs in a day. An income in excess of two hundred pounds a year, sir, which might be four times as much as a farm labourer’s family will see.”
It was hard labour, that could not be denied, but the rewards were not to be sneezed at. A hard-working family could achieve some little prosperity.
“As well, Mr Heythorne, we have our own little store. We sell our made bread there and potatoes and greens and mutton and bacon, and reach-me-down clothing for them, all at the lowest prices to be found in the county. They have their cottages as well, at four shillings a week, the rent guaranteed never to rise.”
Hard labour and dangerous, working underground as they did, but far better paid than any farm worker in the whole country. Samuel could see nothing to be ashamed of in owning the pit.
“How does it compare with the potteries, do you know, Mr Burkenshawe?”
“In almost every way better, Mr Heythorne. Our people work down in the darkness, that is the sole drawback to the mining life. We keep the drink away from the pit, sir. We do not permit shebeens to set up outside the gate and we will not let strong waters be carried inside the pit. The potteries are the exact opposite.”
Samuel listened as Burkenshawe explained how some few of the potteries still paid in the bars of public houses, often their own, actively encouraging the men to spend their wages as soon as they received them.
“Then, sir, they all of them push the wives to use their own shops to buy food for the family for the week, on credit against their men’s money. Not like ours, with low prices and good quality; the opposite more common. The workers get into debt and can never get out. No more than slavery, so I say. I doubt the men see as much as a farm labourer gets, time they have been fined for poor work and have their wages cut for bad timekeeping, which they cannot argue against for having no clocks of their own.”
“Do we do the same at Palethorpe, do you know, Mr Burkenshawe?”
“No, sir. Your lady mother do not permit it. She do say as well that the profit she makes is the greater for the men working better.”
Samuel was rather proud of his mother for behaving with such integrity. He had a suspicion, however, that the prime cause of her apparent honesty was that it was more profitable.
Chapter Six
Killing’s Reward
Section Two - AD 1765
London was a strange place.
It was not at all what Samuel had expected.
He was a sensible young man – so he prided himself – and he had not expected the streets to be paved with gold. He was more than a little surprised, however, to find them covered in shit.
A million, at least, of people, with broken-down, mediaeval sewers, all emptying into the Thames contributed. Perhaps two hundred thousand horses with no facilities at all added even more.
London, n
ot to put too fine an edge upon matters, stank.
There were street sweepers and dust collectors, and great mountains of assorted garbage on the outskirts of town that testified to their endeavours, but it was impossible for the pedestrian to keep clean. Samuel observed the brown feet of shoe-less ragamuffin boys with some horror.
That was the other disappointment – London was a poor city. The bulk of its visible population was if anything worse off than the folk to be seen in Stoke. There were more beggars; more cripples; more of the ragged. There was a huge floating mass of the apparently shiftless - unemployed idlers in the streets, scavenging for a living.
Parts of London were rich. There were a few shopping streets that offered nothing but luxury and which were full of the warmly-dressed and wealthy. The merchant quarter, as Samuel thought of it, was overtly prosperous, full of important men and running servants and watchful constables and private guards. It made sense that the rich would look after themselves and Samuel was not surprised to be stopped and have his business enquired after when he walked idly by the premises of the Bank of England.
A pair of large men had appeared at his side as he wandered along the street and had politely asked him why he was there. He was, he supposed, too young to be a businessman, too old for a schoolboy and dressed like neither.
“Beg pardon, sir. My name is Samuel Heythorne and I come from Leek, which is close to Stoke on the Trent, and I am here to look at London for a week or two. I am staying at the Golden Ball Inn at Charing Cross. My guidebook says that I must look at the Bank of England, for being central to the business of the country – but it is not the most handsome of buildings.”
The guard laughed and agreed.
“Does your father have land at Stoke?”
“No, sir, he is long dead. He left me coal mines and a pottery and distilleries for gin which I shall inherit in a few years. For the while, I wish to see the sights of London.”
A rich country-boy come to town – the guard was convinced of Samuel’s bona fides. He felt innocent.
“Are you on your own, Mr Heythorne?”
“This morning, yes, sir. My man is purchasing some stockings and neckcloths for me, such being important in his eyes. Tomorrow, I must attend the tailor again, for a final – I much hope – fitting for breeches and coats and such.”
They laughed, and privately considered him a spoilt brat but harmless and advised him to take a rattler back to his inn rather than walk the less salubrious streets on his route.
Samuel obeyed their instructions and returned in good time to take a late morning snap, a little of bread and cold meats to keep up his strength – he was growing fast, putting on height and chest and shoulders.
His man, Adkins, saw him back with some relief. He had not believed he would come to harm and was sure he must sometimes be let out on his own, but it was a worry, nonetheless.
Adkins had been an officer’s servant, had returned from the wars with his wounded master, bringing him back to his home outside Stone. Once there, his master had taken a turn for the worse and had rapidly died. By rights, Adkins should have packed his bag and made his way to the battalion’s depot, to return to service. In actuality, he had looked about him for another master in the locality, having no wish to put on a red coat again. He had been advised at his local pub to speak to Mr Malone in Stoke; it seemed that many of the better-off local folk kept in contact with Mr Malone and he would know if any needed a personal servant or, ideally, a valet.
Two days after his master’s funeral and Adkins found himself standing hat in hand in front of Mrs Heythorne. He was austerely informed that he was to be both valet and private man to Mr Samuel Heythorne, who was not yet of age and had no experience of the world. He was to keep him out of trouble while not being over-protective. He would be paid one hundred pounds a year, together with his keep and his clothing.
Adkins accepted the job with delight; it sounded almost ideal and the pay rate more than generous. Then Mrs Heythorne sent him to speak to Mr Nick. Adkins came away from the second interview very precisely aware of what would happen to him if young Mr Samuel came to any harm while in his care. He was also given to understand that resignation was not an option. He was there for life, hopefully a long and prosperous existence.
“Should I buy pistols, Mr Nick?”
“No, Adkins. We will gift them to you.”
Open-handed, kindly and deadly – not entirely the sort of employer Adkins had hoped to find. He made the best of it, presenting himself to Samuel with his kindest smile, plastered rictus-like onto his face.
Samuel had been instructed by his mother to listen to Adkins’ advice.
“He has been a soldier, and so knows a little of the world. He is competent as a valet, I believe, and will advise you on dress and how to present yourself. Importantly, he knows how an officer conducts himself in the Mess and in ordinary society. Neither Miss Smithers nor I can tell you that – how should we, as females in a small village?”
Samuel had not considered that his mother might be ignorant about anything.
“Go to London, Samuel, and watch everything and everybody. You are going to discover a new world. The best thing is to keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut!”
Adkins had sent a letter to the Golden Ball Inn, which his master had patronised on their departure for the Germanies some years earlier and which was the only place he knew in London, and had booked rooms and they had left by hired coach on an autumn morning, intending to be two months away.
After one month of seeing the sights, Samuel was becoming bored.
Adkins had expected that and took sensible steps, discussing the locality with the landlord of the Inn and using his guidance to bring in a young miss of guaranteed good health and sufficient experience to contribute to a young man’s necessary education. Samuel very quickly found a new interest in London and its inhabitants.
“Adkins! Nellie tells me that her father worked as a glass blower before his unfortunate death. Do you know anything of glass and how it is made? The distilleries must use much of glass bottles and jugs and such.”
Adkins knew nothing of glass, but he did know to speak to the landlord of the inn.
“Down by the river, Master Samuel. There are several of what they call glass cones, making bottles for the brewing trade, which is big in London. From all the landlord tells me it makes more sense to ship in sand on the Thames barges rather than bring in empty bottles, what break too easy in transport. The landlord says that you might be able to talk to the glasshouse owners and get to look at their premises.”
It used up a week in profitable enquiry and then in actually watching the blowing and annealing of bottles in the cone. The Glasshouse Master, Mr Higgins, was more than willing to discuss his trade with the polite young man who came from far away and could not possibly be competition.
“The trade is not what is was, Mr Heythorne, not as it was when I was your age. The sand is still to hand and no more costly today than it was then, but glass needs a mort of heat, and that means charcoal, and that costs more each year and be less easily come by. Just now I am using charcoal what comes from the Forest of Dean, would you believe! Burned in the Forest and loaded aboard their trows and then sent all the way round the coast by way of Bristol and Land’s End and up the Channel and finally into the Thames to offload on my wharf. Costs more nor twice as much as what I was used to pay, but there be no choice, Mr Heythorne.”
“Could you not use sea-coals, Mr Higgins?”
“They don’t burn so hot as charcoal, sir.”
“But what of coke, Mr Higgins? The cooked form of coal, much like charcoal is the cooked form of wood.”
Mr Higgins had never come across coke, was amazed to hear that iron founders now used it in place of charcoal. He led Samuel down the lane and into the foundry next to the shipyard there, Adkins trailing behind. They spoke to the ironmaster, a member of the vestry, as was Mr Higgins.
“Coke, Mr Higgins?
Why, yes, we ‘ave used coke in place of charcoal these last ten years. I much doubt any in the trade still use charcoal, not in London, Mr Higgins.”
They supposed it was the case that men of different trades never discussed business with each other. Why should they? Glass and iron had little in common, not candidly speaking.
“Yet we both use heat, do we not? Where do you purchase your coke, Mr Parrish?”
From the Newcastle trade, it transpired, brought south on the fleet of coastal colliers that plied the German Ocean.
Mr Higgins was amazed again to find that the new fuel was so easily available in London. He pledged himself to make use of it just as soon as he could arrange for the first load to be delivered.
“It may not cost much less, Mr Heythorne, but I cannot guarantee that there will be any charcoal to hand in five years from now. You have done me a great favour, sir!”
“It is not impossible that you might be able to assist me in future years, Mr Higgins. My father bequeathed four distilleries to me, and the firm has expanded since his death. The supply of bottles is difficult and expensive. Were we to build our own cone, close to our own coalpit, then we would be in the way of saving a deal of money. But, what do we know of glass?”
Mr Higgins came close to falling on Samuel’s shoulders.
“Three sons I have, Mr Heythorne. One to inherit and one well-paid to work the offices and the buying and selling, and the third to have little except to labour on the floor, despite his understanding of the firm. Were I to send young William north to your part of the world, he would have a fine job, no doubt, and you would have the knowledge you need, sir.”
“Could he build a cone and train local men in the skills they will need, Mr Higgins?”
“That he could, Mr Heythorne.”
“My mother is trustee to me until I come of age. She has built the firms up over the years and has a knowledge of business, sir. If she will agree, then William can travel north very soon. If she does not, then I will speak to you again when I reach one-and-twenty years – but I much expect to send you a letter within a few weeks. I believe that the money is to hand to expand our businesses, Mr Higgins, and think we could do well together.”
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