Killing's Reward

by Andrew Wareham

  “Sure now, and that will be of benefit to us all, Mr Heythorne. More work can only be a good thing for the town. I am sure that I will be able to recommend carters to you and no doubt to put some bright young fellows in your direction.”

  Samuel, forewarned, smiled his best.

  “I had hoped you might do so, sir. It is always well to have men who are vouched for by a respected local figure. There may be a question of purchasing or leasing land for the digging of sand. Obviously, my man will identify locations when he arrives.”

  “Farming land, no doubt, Mr Heythorne, and these agricultural gentlemen often unwilling to assist in the general progress of mankind. I do not doubt, sir, that I shall be able to assist you in the persuasion of these gentlemen to see reason. Do you just inform me of their names, sir, and I am sure all will soon be made well.”

  Samuel had been strictly instructed to make no mention of payment to Mr Malone. All was to be done between friends. Nick had been very clear that he would perhaps do a favour or two for Mr Malone at another time, that he had in fact performed the odd little service for him in the past.

  “You see, Mr Samuel, we are both of us benefactors to humanity, offering certain valuable services entirely gratis. The ignoble considerations of mere lucre are not to be permitted to obtrude.”

  Samuel was not stupid, merely sheltered from the cruder realities of existence. It seemed to him that the ‘valuable services’ could not be lawful and might well be violent. Was it so, then it was nothing for him to be aware of – he had been carefully brought up to be ignorant of such matters and it was wise to remain so.

  “Again, Mr Malone, you are very good to me and to my family, as I am aware, you long have been.”

  Samuel was sure that by making the statement he was informing Mr Malone that he was under obligation to him and was aware of the fact and would respond properly when the need arose for him to offer a favour in his turn.

  “I have been pleased to assist my very good friends, Mr Heythorne, and have no doubt at all we shall continue in amity for many years to come. Have you any plans beyond glass, sir?”

  They discussed canals, aware that there was at least one such in the building not too far to the north of them.

  “What is your opinion of the turnpike, Mr Malone?”

  “Practical on the flat lands, Mr Heythorne. I might have me doubts about trying to set a pike over the moors, and it could be difficult to build through the clays and muds of a river bottom. Where it makes sense, then there may be much to say for the turnpike, but I doubt it makes sense everywhere.”

  Samuel was forced to accept the logic of his analysis.

  “Better to consider the canal, sir.”

  “So I think, Mr Heythorne.”

  An hour and they parted, sufficiently pleased with each other that they were sure they could work together for their mutual benefit.

  “Mr Malone is a powerful man, Mother. A strong man and possessed of authority. One might be well-advised never to cross him.”

  “I am glad you understand this, Samuel. I have done so but once, and that deliberately to establish in his mind that I had inherited your father’s place. He is the holder of forty-nine per centum of the mine established on what was once his country cottage and little farm. As the mine has grown, so the land has all been taken over by the pithead. We have the majority holding. This is not generally known and Mr Malone’s people run the pit, and every quarter, precisely every three months, they remit our share of the profit, together with tolerably exact accounting. It keeps us close.”

  “Has he never begged to buy us out?”

  “No. That is not his way. We might not wish to sell and it could create ill-feeling. He does his possible to remain on good terms with all. He must never lose, you see – he is the Upright Man and cannot afford to be held cheap. If he offered to buy and we refused, then it would be war. We probably would not refuse, because he would have to make a generous offer for not wishing to be seen to profiteer from a widow lady.”

  It was all very complicated.

  “Was my father…”

  Samuel did not finish the question.

  “For a short time. Your Uncle Abe was for many years and your father assisted him. It might have been said that your father was a man of blood, Samuel. He was a fine man and kindness itself to me, and to his children, as you may vaguely remember, but he could be rigorous in his dealings with others.”

  He wondered just what that might mean; then he wondered whether he truly wished to know.

  “We are somewhat isolated out at Thornehills, do you not think, Mother? I saw a placard while I was in Stoke, making mention of a race meeting to be held just outside Stone. I was thinking of going along myself, just to see what it was like and perhaps to meet a few people.”

  Josie could not marshal arguments to say he should not enjoy so innocuous a pleasure, but she could not think him wise to go. Her husband had been dead for more than a decade, time and to spare for local worthies to choose to visit her, if they had wished. Thornehills was one of the largest houses in the area and the Heythornes were known to be among the richest of families. If the County chose not to visit, then it was for reasons that seemed good to them. The family was in fact ostracised – it seemed likely that Samuel must learn the hard way. She did suggest he might be unwise to offer an intrusion into local society.

  “We are not of the birth the local people might approve of, Samuel. Your grandfather is only recently dead and was no more than a yeoman farmer. His two elder sons are less than that, are no more than smallholders living comfortably in their cottages and pottering on their few acres. The youngest son has taken the inheritance, for your grandfather writing his Will to that effect, knowing him to be far the more able than his elders. The young man is, I understand, the most go-ahead of farmers and is earning a respectable competence – but he is no uncle for a gentleman to acknowledge. His sisters, your paternal aunts, have all wed into the local farming community – good girls with fine families, but not our sort at all. And not the sort the County will wish to know of.”

  This was difficult to comprehend. Samuel had little knowledge of the gradations of society and of the rigour with which small distinctions were enforced. The more precariously a local family clung to its gentility, the less they were inclined to speak to those unfortunates who were subordinate to them, particularly if they were richer.

  “We do own land, Mother, and far more than many of the local folk.”

  “Five thousand acres, a small part of it farming land down in the dale, the bulk sheep walk and simple waste on the moors. We have planted much to blackthorn, for the sloe crop which is so valuable to the distilleries. We have, of course, the two pits as well on Thornehills’ land. Our estate is large, but it is not rich in agricultural terms. The Land accounts for less than a thousand pounds of our income, not a fifth part of the amount we place in our pockets each year. People like Squire Rowlands expect to earn four fifths and more from their rents and only a small amount from their capital, all of which is safely locked away in the Funds to earn a steady three per centum.”

  “Three per centum, Mother? Surely that is shockingly low!”

  She smiled her pride in his immediate comprehension of the unwisdom of holding Consols.

  “Terribly, my son! Our investments are worth far more than that. The pits return more than ten per centum at the moment, with every prospect that this may rise over time. The pottery trade is expanding and demanding more fuel every year, and there are small iron foundries which may grow, and your glassworks to come. The distilleries are facing competition these days but still provide a steady five per centum. Gin is not what it was, I fear. Our own bottles may well provide a substantial increase in our profits, and we might well sell to our competitors.”

  Samuel could see some logic in that.

  “Might we be well-advised to sell out of the distilleries, ma’am? If their profitability is falling, then we might make more by producing
bottles only. There will be few other glass men to hand for a while and we could find money in that single field.”

  “I had not considered it, my son. You may well have a point. I would suggest we establish the glass cone and then see what happens. We have no guarantee that we will be able to produce at all – we do not know the sand is the right sort, for example.”

  It was a fair argument, he had to admit.

  “I am inclined still to ride across to the races, Mother, just to discover if I may be welcome… If not, I shall not be taken by surprise. My birth does not, as you say, make me part of the squirearchy. I suspect my father’s occupation and habits may also disqualify me. Would you agree, Mother?”

  She shrugged – he was old enough to play the man’s part, he must be prepared to face the put downs which were part of a man’s life.

  “Keep your temper, Samuel. Do not be offended by the slights that little men may offer you. The Rowlands will greet you, if they are present – they are too much obliged to us not to. I doubt Mr Malone will be there, for he does not court the public eye. I much suspect that no other man from the County will notice you, even if they do recognise you. Many of the younger people, those of your age more or less, will not know you, of course. Do not seek to introduce yourself to them – allow them to take the initiative, if they will.”

  “Should I go armed, do you think? Nick has told me that the wise man never rides out with empty pockets.”

  “Not visibly, my son. You do not wish to be identified as your father’s son! I might suggest a visit to Nick, however, and a discussion of the topic of the concealed pistol.”

  Samuel noticed the reference to pistols and his father. One day he would discover more, when he knew exactly what questions to ask, and of whom.

  “Ah! The course of wisdom, Mr Heythorne! I myself never venture out of doors except I am properly equipped for all weathers, as one might say! We might be wise to purchase new for you, sir. I retain some of your father’s armoury, of course – I could never discard any memento of that kind and wise gentleman! I shall speak to your lady mother – we might consider a venture as far as Derby, or perhaps to Chester, both cities where the finest of gunsmiths may be discovered.”

  The trip to Chester was agreed to be easier, the highways better for being on flatter land. They ventured out on horseback just two days later, expecting to be two nights away, the distance too great to be done in less and still leave hours for an inspection of the stores.

  “The highwayman is still not unknown, Mr Heythorne, though rarer than in past times, of a certainty. Such being the case, a pair of pistols to the saddles, sir.”

  Nick had trained Samuel in the use of a pistol and he was a competent shot.

  “Your father was a fine hand with the weapon, sir, but you are better than most. Always remember the deep inbreath and slow exhalation and gentle caress of the trigger, with the eyes wide open, of course.”

  They rode north and west wholly undisturbed by anything other than the English rain, sweeping in from the Irish Sea to the north, as it did so very often.

  “A wet country, Nick.”

  “It is indeed so, sir. I hear tell that some amount of cotton cloth is being spun and woven to the north in Lancashire for benefitting from the moisture in the air. The raw fibre is brought from the Sugar Islands, I am told, where they have too few by way of ordinary working men to perform the tasks.”

  “Slave country, I am told, Nick.”

  “Precisely, sir. Anathema to the freeborn Englishman.”

  It occurred to Samuel that the slaveholders must, in the nature of things, be ‘freeborn Englishmen’. There might just be the faintest tinge of hypocrisy, he suspected.

  The town of Chester was old and handsome, rich and able to spend on the upkeep of ancient buildings and to keep up their white walls and black painted woodwork.

  “Handsome, Mr Nick.”

  “Very much so, Mr Heythorne. We should go to Bridge Street, I believe. We may find an inn there as well as at least one gunsmith.”

  The shop was there, as Nick remembered. Fortunately, the proprietor did not remember Nick.

  “Pocket pistols, sir? Single or double barrels?”

  “Double and firing off the one trigger, perhaps, sir?”

  Nick made the suggestion very tentatively, having seen such a weapon only once in his career.

  “An over and under, pistol, sir. I have a pair which I constructed some three years ago, in the expectation that they would sell quickly. I was wrong, it would seem. I took them from a pair I saw in London when I was no more than a journeyman, working there to improve my skills.”

  The gunsmith produced a case from one of his cupboards.

  “Two barrels and a single lock, the pan having two touchholes. A slightly larger pan than normal, you will note, gentlemen. The barrels are of just a half-inch in calibre, to reduce the kick. I have tested the piece, naturally, and it is true to fifteen feet and shows only a slight variation from line at twenty. At thirty, I must confess, accuracy has gone by the board. Pocket pistols, by their nature, are to be used only at close proximity to the target. I have a little range behind the shop, gentlemen?”

  They followed the smith and watched as he loaded and primed both pistols and then aimed at a man-sized target covered in white cloth to show the shots.

  At fifteen feet, he put four holes into the chest area.

  “Would you wish to try, gentlemen?”

  Samuel loaded competently and set the pistols to the half-cock as was correct.

  “You have the range, sir.”

  Following Nick’s teaching, Samuel stood square to the target, both eyes open, arm slightly crooked. He matched the smith’s shooting.

  Nick followed and clustered his four rounds into the space of a penny piece, the holes overlapping.

  “Two and two, sir. Very fine pistols. Straight shooting pieces. What price had you in mind, sir?”

  “Eighteen pounds for the pair, sir.”

  The original price had been twenty-five but the smith had a feeling he should be kind to the older gentleman. He did not know who he might be and had a suspicion he might prefer to remain ignorant.

  “Half-inch ball is not quite so easily come by, sir. May we purchase an amount from you?”

  That was well possible and again at a very reasonable price.

  “I have powder flasks made up for the pistols, sir. Each will dispense the precisely correct load.”

  Samuel thought it could be very useful.

  They wandered back into the shop and looked around while the smith made up his packages. Samuel spotted an unusual pistol tucked away in a display case at the rear.

  “What is that, sir?”

  “A German carbine which was sold to me last year A curiosity in essence. A barrel of fifteen inches, which is long for a pistol, and a wooden holster that may be attached as a stock. It may thus either be a long gun or a short. It is of a very large calibre, a little more than an inch. I wonder, in fact, if it might not have been designed as a dragon, a pistol that fires buckshot and sometimes to be seen in use by the cavalry of Austria.”

  Nick was fascinated by the weapon and insisted on buying it.

  “I sometimes make long journeys, sir, and would much like to carry this piece. Were I to venture again into the wilder lands of Ireland or Scotland, then it might well be, as they say, worth its weight in gold!”

  The smith gravely agreed. Both lands were unsettled and the lone rider might be said to take his life in his hands.

  Samuel was much impressed by the gunsmith and his wide knowledge of his trade.

  “I shall bring my younger brother to you next year, sir. He wishes to go out of the country to make his fortune and will require to be properly equipped for the purpose. I suspect he will go to the Virginias first, sir, and then as the whim takes him.”

  “A crossbelt with six pistols and a concealed double-barrel besides, sir. I recommend this to any man travelling across the wild
ocean. As well, a long hunting rifle of no more than one third of an inch calibre and a heavy fowling piece which will fire ball or shot quite equally. Just fifty yards down the road to the left, you will find a sword-cutlers that I can recommend. Mr Jackson’s establishment. He carries a number of blades designed particularly for the young man going to America. Short and broad in the blade and to be used for the camp as much as for fighting. Your brother will be well advised to take a look at Mr Jackson’s stock. He also carries military pattern officers’ swords, of course.”

  Nick shook his head, suggested they were generally of more use on the parade ground than in far countries.

  The smith agreed, and thought that the day of the sword as a fighting weapon was very nearly past.

  “The cutlass and the sabre, sir, have their place, but the musket and pistol, and, of course, the great gun have made the arme blanche more a thing of the past.”

  They agreed gravely but accepted that tradition demanded the gentleman must carry his blade.

  Returning to the inn, they deposited their packages and wandered out again to inspect the town and its people.

  “Why so rich a town, Nick?”

  “Ah, Mr Heythorne, a good question. One that reminds me of your good father in its perception. The county is one of the wealthiest, sir. A thriving agriculture and a sea-borne trade combined with the salt mines, bring in a degree of riches. Add to that, the county is well-placed for a passing trade. There are merchants hereabouts who trade much into Wales, sending wagons and even pack trains into the small towns of the hills and mountains. In return, Welsh sheep in particular, and hill ponies and lesser products. There is even a trickle of gold, so they say, from one or two tiny mines hidden in the mountains. You will see the roofs here are rarely of thatch. The blue stone is Welsh slate, cut in their mountains and sent down to the sea and then brought up the River Dee.”

  Samuel was fascinated. Trade was a wonderful thing, and he wondered how he might take a greater part in it.

  “There seem to be very many people here for a smallish town, Mr Nick.”