Nouveau Riche (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  “I need information, Mr Michael – an old acquaintance from my American days has surfaced in London. He was a rogue then, may well be a villain now. I, as you know, am respectable, and I wish to remain so; such being the case I need to know just what Mr Bob Chawleigh may be getting up to. He says he runs a ‘club for gentlemen’. Do you think you could discover the details for me?”

  “There will be a letter for you within the week, Sir Thomas.”

  “Excellent – I suspected you would be able to solve my little problem, Mr Michael.”

  A pity to have admitted to Michael that he had been less than respectable in his past – but there was no point to attempting to bluff a lawyer – in any case, it was a known fact that it was impossible for a poor man to become rich without breaking some laws, especially in his early days.

  A couple of days of shopping, Verity happy to descend upon Bond Street and Tom pleased to accompany her and lend her the benefit of his utter ignorance of fashion and modern taste; his wallet was of greater value, however.

  “A gown for the wedding, with all that goes with it, of course, Thomas; a riding habit, for we shall undoubtedly be seen on horseback during the summer months; a dressing gown, for mine is old now and the bunny-rabbit Nurse embroidered on it is hardly suitable for a married lady! Two or three morning-dresses would not come amiss, as well, whilst we are here – for there is no couturier in Kettering, as you may imagine. If, perhaps, I buy some lengths of muslin and cotton and possibly some silks and satins as well, then, if we can find a needle-woman – which should not be impossible – we may run up some perfectly adequate dresses and petticoats and such for country wear.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “How long does it take to travel to India, Thomas?”

  “I do not know, for certain – six months or so, I believe. Jack will expect to reach Bombay in October or November, I think, if that was your concern.”

  “In part – it was consideration of silks that brought the question to mind – they all come from India, do they not?”

  “They do, or from China – but we can hardly set up as East India merchants to bring our own in.”

  “No, we cannot, more’s the pity. I wonder, sometimes, if there is nothing we can do to bring work to the estate, to use the hands of the Commoners rather than chase them away. Setting up as silk merchants is not practical, however.”

  “No, anything we do would have to use local materials and skills if possible. Without a canal it will be impractical to build up the local iron industry – we would have to bring coke in by road, and that, as we have seen, will not work. We could bake local wheat into biscuit for the Army and Navy – but, again, it would have to be transported by road. I can see little that we could do practically.”

  “A pity – they will have to go, it seems.”

  “There is little choice – the land will not support the old population, so they must go into the towns or across the sea. Industry will always be close to coal, and commerce will follow – so our backwards little area will stay that way, unless a new activity can be found.”

  “The Lord Lieutenant will be in Kettering on Thursday, Thomas.”

  Verity folded away the letter she had been slowly reading, with difficulty because her mother, inured to habits of economy, had crossed her lines closely so that she need pay only for a single sheet.

  “Mama says, as near as I can tell, that Anne is worrying about her wedding and wonders if I might not like to ‘talk’ with her about life as a married lady. I cannot imagine what I might be expected to tell her that she could not.”

  “Perhaps your mother might wonder if Bridlington might have any particular amusements with which she might not be familiar – though, if so, she may have a somewhat unflattering impression of me!”

  “Her ideas of you are all of the most positive, sir. She made elliptical enquiries of me when we met after our wedding and I was able to assure her that you had shown me some very new and very enjoyable aspects of adult life. I would add that she said she was pleased and not at all surprised – it was what she had expected of you. What she will expect of Bridlington is less obvious.”

  “Well… I have to admit that I am not myself wholly certain of the exact pleasures to be offered by small boys, and I have no pressing desire to find out. I will say, Verry-love, that when we are blessed with a son, he will not enter the Brigade of Guards – I would prefer that he should not find out either.”

  “From all that Nurse says, Sir Thomas, and she has discussed a few matters with me, as you will imagine, it seems not impossible that you may be blessed with your son – or daughter – before we have been wed a full twelvemonth. It is early days yet, so she tells me, but it is possible that I am increasing – which is, I believe, not entirely surprising, bearing in mind the frequency and enthusiasm you have brought to certain activities, sir!”

  “Well, if you want me to stop, Verry…”

  “That is not, I believe, what I said, sir.” She blushed and grinned, gripping his hand. “I would indeed be somewhat upset if you so much as considered so doing, though Nurse tells me we shall have to drastically curtail such amusements when I grow larger.”

  “In that case, my love, we should build up a surplus, as it were, at an early stage.”

  “So, what do I say to sister Anne, do you suggest, Thomas?”

  “Tell her to squeak and wriggle and cry out loud and cling to her lord, showing equal parts of gratitude and delight, my love – he will think he is the greatest beau since Casanova and will devote many hours to proving the point to her, to the exclusion of any other interests, we must trust. For the rest, whatever novelties he has to show her should be accepted in the spirit they are offered – and on any occasion when she finds him disgusting she can lay back and contemplate the Settlements. She is a healthy and vigorous girl and with a twenty year age gap she should be able to jolly him along to an early heart attack if she devotes her mind to the task.”

  “You are very cynical, Thomas.”

  “Theirs is an arranged marriage – he, I should think, requires an heir, she desires a husband, preferably with wealth. She must play her part. We are lucky – we have no need to act. When your mother intimated that she would smile at a union between us I accepted her suggestion for no reason other than that I thought you were beautiful and intelligent and, as the daughter of a Marquis, would bring great benefits to the family we would create; within a week I found myself in love with you, besotted like the schoolboy I never was and quite happy to make what would be no more than a marriage of convenience to you because it would keep you in my company. To discover, as I rapidly did, that you had feelings for me as well – I could ask for no more of my life; I still cannot. It gives me a degree of sorrow for Lady Anne, but she may well make a second marriage in her thirties, well-off and able to look for love. For the while, as the saying is, ‘she has made her bed…’”

  “’And she must lie in it.’ So be it, Thomas. I felt the same as you, of course – was persuaded by Mama that I should at least consider your pretensions and very rapidly found that you would do very well for me – better than I had ever dreamed of. The Lord Lieutenant, whilst I think of it, comes to Kettering every year, to the Grammar School where he gives a speech and prizes to the boys and then takes tea with the Mayor and the Board of the school. They are all local worthies, from both town and County, and he intimated to my father that he would hope to meet you in their company.”

  “A public occasion, a duty call, in effect, allowing us to meet on neutral ground, as it were. Do you accompany me, my love?”

  “No, not on this occasion – we should take care not to confuse public and social affairs, Thomas. This is his chance to meet you on matters of business, as it were, to weigh you up, see if you meet his standards, measure you as a man without making any commitment. If he likes what he sees, then he can arrange to meet you again, formally, and with the expectation that he will offer and you will accept a place in public life;
if he finds you are not quite the thing, then he need never see you in the rest of your life. It is very difficult for him, poor man - most of his duties are little more than ceremony, he is able to delegate almost all, is expected to, but in this area he has a problem because there is no obvious great man. Generally, every parish or part of the county has its Squire or Lord of the Manor or retired general or whatever, but here there has been no leader available. The Devonshires are not to be seen, will take no part in local affairs; my father is a public man but his duties keep him in London almost the whole year round; the Latimers are forever squabbling and drawing sides, are not the stuff of leadership; Major Hunt is rich but not quite enough of a landowner and Mr Parker is too light, too sporting a man; Mr Rockingham smelt too much of trade but he must hope that you will fit the bill.”

  “Polite, well-washed and sober?”

  “Good God, no, sir! He might mistake you for a lawyer’s clerk, or worse! No, he will look to discover the air of a gentleman in you. He knows that you lack the pedigree, but that is no matter, your grandson will have, and, in any case, we are not Habsburgs, do not look for sixty-four quarterings in every public figure.”

  Tom looked his lack of understanding.

  “Your escutcheon, the coat of arms, is ‘quartered’ for your forebears – so sixty-four quarterings would show that your ancestors back to your great-great-great-great grandparents bore arms. They, of course, claim that every son of a baron, for example, himself carries the title of baron, rather than limiting inheritance to the eldest as we do, and they have, therefore, many more of nobility to choose from, but even so they are ridiculously restrictive and ban many talented figures from government; I doubt that one half of our political leaders of the last century could have risen to prominence in their lands – which is their loss, of course. One might as well point out that Samson and Delilah have very fine pedigrees but are hardly genteel.”

  Delilah had recently come into season and had chosen to celebrate the fact with Samson on the front lawns that morning; they were thankful there had been no callers, the performance having been public, prolonged, noisy and very large.

  “Ah, yes, now that you come to mention it… homes for puppies, do you think to give one to Lady Anne, perhaps?”

  “Certainly not, Thomas! She will have Bridlington.”

  Tom chose to say no more, returned to the Lord Lieutenant.

  “So then, this is to be a perfectly ordinary, fortuitous contact, Verry? Nothing arranged, no significance on either side, merely that I am attending the function out of interest and because of a wish, perhaps, to ensure that the Thingdon Estate returns to its duty in local affairs. Perhaps there should be two - what would one call them, awards, bursaries? That sort of thing, for deserving lads from Finedon and the estate. George Mason told me that his brother won a scholarship to the grammar school in Kent, but that he had to pay for books and clothes for him. Ours will pay the fees and a sum for living expenses as well, a few shillings a week will be sufficient. I could speak to the Head Teacher whilst I was there.”

  “An excellent idea, Thomas – just the sort of thing that gets known in the area and gives us a good name. Call it the ‘Thingdon Award’, not the ‘Andrews’ – it is most important not to be seen to be showing away; our predecessor was a great one for putting his name to everything he did, normally in shining gold capitals, and we should take pains to create a contrast.”

  Tom nodded, made a brief note that he must tell Quillerson of the arrangement, picked up his own letter from the morning’s bag.

  “Did I mention that I met an acquaintance from New York in Bond Street last week? A man by the name of Chawleigh, a small merchant and dealer and agent who was of use when I was there. He has come back to England and set up in Town, running what he called a ‘club for gentlemen’ – I asked our man in London to nose out what he could about Chawleigh’s activities and he tells me that he is quite respectable, the ‘club’ allowing some gambling and providing meals and rooms for gentlemen who have no permanent lodging in Town, much as any other club does. Chawleigh is unorthodox in his affections and many of the young men share his tastes, which is hardly surprising, but there is no whiff of scandal at all; however, Michael believes the club to be no more than a front for his main business – he seems to enjoy an income higher than he should reasonably be earning from such an activity. He will continue to make discreet enquiries.”

  “He could be a nuisance, Thomas, if he tries to keep in contact with you. You will wish to cut the connection, I believe.”

  “I would certainly wish to, my love – but he may have other ideas, and I have to say that we sailed close enough to the wind in New York, Joseph and I, that he could be an embarrassment to us.”

  She was not surprised, had long since concluded that her now reformed husband had been something of a rogue; he must, however, present a whiter than white face now.

  “Should we speak to Papa, do you think, Thomas? He could perhaps bring some pressure to bear.”

  Tom thought briefly, shook his head, frowning, the scar twisting as he pursed his lips.

  “Better not – I would not wish to bring this matter to Dundas’ attention if it can be avoided – he seems to me to be an equally perilous gentleman, possibly more so!”

  “You will not wish to pay this Chawleigh, I presume?”

  “Buy silence? No, it would not work – the threat is always there and such a one will come back time and again for more. No, I shall wait until Michael has discovered just what his nefarious business is and act appropriately then.”

  She wondered just what he would consider ‘appropriate’, then decided that she would prefer to remain ignorant; much better not to be fully informed about all that one’s menfolk got up to, so mama had always said.

  Carefully dressed and delivered in the carriage - Rockingham’s self-awarded coat of arms – those he would have borne when the trivial formality of his ennoblement was concluded – carefully scraped off and the doors revarnished – Sir Thomas strolled into the red-brick hallway of the Grammar School. It was a large, new building and had benefited from the Gothic taste; Tom thought it was ugly, but it had undoubtedly made some builder’s fortune. He was a little distracted, having been debating whether he should have his own coat of arms on the coach, not that they had been determined yet, despite the College of Heralds demanding a whacking great fee from him for the privilege; he did not at first notice the stunted figure of a schoolboy attempting to greet him, apologised very kindly at the lad’s third or fourth attempt to gain his notice.

  “I am Sir Thomas Andrews, young man.”

  “Thank you, sir, welcome to the school, sir.”

  The boy picked up the list he had dropped in the first shock of Tom’s smile, checked the front page and found him on the list of the great to be passed to higher authority rather than ushered to a seat, led him to a formally gowned master at the side.

  “Sir Thomas Andrews, sir.”

  “Welcome, Sir Thomas! Would you come through to the Head Master’s study, Sir Thomas? A select few are gathered there and will process into Hall and the High Table to open proceedings, sir. Please to follow me.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Mr…”

  “Oh! My name is Black, Sir Thomas – a mere, dare one say, a very mere, usher, sir!”

  Tom smiled at the evident witticism, noting the boy, behind Black’s back, rolling his eyes heavenwards at the hundredth repetition of the tired old line.

  The Head Master’s study was large and opulent, as was the man himself, a vast-bellied Scot, as tall as Tom and much wider and dressed in the gown and cap and fur collar of his doctorate, possessed of a booming, theatrical voice and a practised, overwhelming presence. Tom gave a half-bow as he shook the extended hand, quite deliberately turned his head to give the full benefit of the scar and smiled, opening his eyes wide, having found that the combination served to present the greatest possible menace. He did not like big, overbearing men – those who wer
e fortunate to be of greater than average size had an obligation, he believed, not to even accidentally seem to bully smaller people; of course, schoolteachers were in the bullying trade, from all he understood of them; he wondered briefly if they sought the company of boys because they were naturally weakly arrogant or if their personalities became warped by the unending adulation of the adolescent. Not to worry, this one was suitably flattened.

  “Ah, yes… Sir Thomas… Have you met the Lord Lieutenant of Northamptonshire, Sir Thomas? Lord Melport, Sir Thomas Andrews!”

  They shook hands; Melport, a neat, small, tidy gentleman surveyed the flustered Doctor of Letters with a degree of satisfaction - he had noticed, and approved of, the deliberate use of the scar, felt it not ill-mannered to comment.

  “The Americas, I understand, Sir Thomas.”

  “Sugar Islands, my Lord, at sea and without the benefit of a surgeon to hand. A few stitches might well have been of value, I suspect.”

  The Head Master – who had once cut his finger with the carving knife – winced in sympathy.

  “Several of the older boys have given thought to a military career, Sir Thomas,” he said, “and, boys being boys, I do not know whether your badge of courage will make them more or less inclined to war.”

  “Possibly I should stand at Major Hunt’s side, sir,” Tom replied, bowing to the Major, obviously regarded as being too minor to warrant an introduction. “The price of honour can be very high, Doctor MacFarlane, and the boys should be aware that any of them might be called upon to pay it. As for a military career – the country is at war, sir, and I cannot imagine that any young man should not be giving the most serious consideration to the path of honour, and I would expect his teachers to be applauding and strengthening his resolve!”

  “I agree, Sir Thomas,” Melport said, “and I shall be making that very point in my speech in a few minutes. For those who will not for one reason or another seek a commission in Regulars or Militia then service with the volunteers is always possible, and much to be commended. I find I shall be in this part of the county again next week, Sir Thomas – might I break my journey with a call at the Hall, sir, say on Tuesday morning?”