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

by Andrew Wareham

  “Please do, my Lord. Lady Verity and I will be very pleased to welcome you.”

  Melport turned to Major Hunt and Tom broached the matter of scholarships to the Head Master. The payment of eighty pounds a year for a pair of day boys who would add nothing to his costs was warmly welcomed and a tentative suggestion was made that he might, perhaps, consider an exhibition or bursary at one of the Cambridge colleges – too many lads who might have benefited from their terms had not gone up, to their loss, and to that of the country as a whole, he ventured to suggest. Tom’s opinion of the man rose – beneath the pompous bluster there was a degree of concern for the well-being of his charges.

  The ceremony was fortunately short, over in a bare hour, the boys marched off to church before a half-day holiday, the platform party to their tea with the mayor. Tom was introduced to a score of worthies, promptly forgetting them all; he recognised the silversmith and exchanged a few words with him, spent more time with the pair of ironmasters who had been judged sufficiently well-washed to be allowed inclusion in the festivity. Mr Paston and Mr Kennedy were both delighted to meet him – they knew of Roberts as one of the most go-ahead firms in their trade and were anxious to discuss steel with him – charcoal was in increasingly short supply, as he knew – should they go into steel, smaller quantities and higher value, did he think?

  “No, gentlemen – Kettering is distant from the manufacturers of machinery who would buy steel; your customers would be unwilling to come to you. Better to stick with good cast iron using coke. That demands a canal, of course, linking across to the River Nene which itself connects to the canal network and Birmingham and the pits there. Is it possible, do you know?”

  It was technically feasible, would require no great run of locks, but to finance a canal now, after the great collapse, was almost an impossibility; what banker would wish to hold debt in any waterway, and what would his depositors say if he did?

  “Good questions, gentlemen. Have you spoken to Mr Telford?”

  They had not, they would do so, giving Sir Thomas’ name, with his kind permission.

  Another expense – he would have to take shares if the project went forward; it might be necessary to have a word with Clapperley to discover what he had in the way of interesting speculations that would give very high returns. If Verity was with child – and he did so hope she might be, he found – then there was even more need to become richer, to make that possible barony into a certainty. And what of his former mistress, Mary Amberley, who he had fathered a son with in St Helens. Mary who was now using the assumed name, Mary Burley, and the child were well provided for, but the boy would have a claim on his father, Tom mused. Perhaps a message to Michael, who seemed a discreet sort of man, a much safer one than Clapperley, to make enquiries would be a good idea. There was no end to his responsibilities, he supposed, now that he had started to accept them.

  Lord Melport’s voice jolted Tom out of his thoughts.

  “I judged it better to make a call in person, Sir Thomas, rather than delegate the matter to the Sheriff’s Office, because I wish to beg more of your time than is normal. There is a fear of invasion, Sir Thomas, a certainty that it will be attempted in Ireland, a probability that the French wish to cross the Channel. If the navy does not stop their fleet – an unlikely event, I believe, but one that must be considered – then the regular regiments of the Home Establishment will be very hard-pressed to defend the country. Too many of our soldiers lie in the Indies, East and West, or in garrison in Ireland; too few experienced men remain in England. The militia is to be expanded, Northamptonshire will raise a second battalion of seven or eight hundred men to serve full-time, but there must also be local volunteers who will drill for a few hours of each week and will come to arms in time of our great need. I can supply you with five hundred muskets and powder and ball, Sir Thomas, to be kept safe in the town lock-ups except when at exercise; I would like you to raise as many men in their companies in the local towns and villages – not Kettering itself, mayor and burgesses will serve there – but in the country areas. You will be Colonel of the Volunteers, Sir Thomas, if you will accept the duty.”

  A pretty title, Tom thought, and a much less handsome cost – he would have to provide uniforms, pouches, knapsacks, boots, probably side-arms for his officers, possibly horses as well; he would have to feed them of a Sunday afternoon, bread and cheese and a quart at the local beer-house at minimum. Somehow he would have to find – and pay – experienced ex-sergeants of the line to work as drill-instructors; not an easy task as enlistment in the ranks was for life, terminated on injury, sickness or desertion, none of which provided the most reliable of men. There would be a bounty, no doubt, but it would not be large and he would probably have to supplement it. He had to do it if he was not to be cast into the outer darkness.

  “I would be honoured to serve, my Lord. It occurs to me that Major Hunt would be an ideal second, able to organise and administer even if he felt his constitution would not allow him to venture into the field. With your permission I will make the request of him, my Lord.”

  “By all means, Sir Thomas; I understand that in similar cases half-pay officers have been restored to full-pay and I will do my best to ensure that is so for him, in recognition of his service and sacrifice. I believe that in Kent and Sussex, where invasion is to be most feared, efforts have already been made to raise additional men under such officers, armed with their own fowling pieces to act as irregulars on the American pattern, to scout and to ambush small parties of the enemy and make their nights fearful.”

  “The little I heard in America, my Lord, suggests that may be the best use of our people. Put them into line to trade volleys and they will not stand against regulars; set them in platoons of a dozen or a score behind hedgerows, in spinneys, holding a river bank close to a bridge and they will be able to kill from ambush and make a fast march away before reinforcements come against them. A week of ambush and run and they could leave the French with the bulk of their cavalry unhorsed, their gun-teams decimated, their forage wagons burnt. Locals will do little against infantry of the line, my Lord, but properly used they could leave them without food or reserves of powder and ball, with too few cavalry to support them and with silenced artillery. Practically applied, they could be of great value; used in the same way as regulars, they will die to no purpose. I would wish to be assured that they will not be recruited simply to die, my Lord.”

  “So would I, Sir Thomas, but they will come under military command – and I have no understanding of our generals’ minds.”

  The point had been made, on both sides. Tom was left to pray that there would be no invasion, that he was not to bring his tenants and followers to be massacred for no purpose at all; he had no choice, he had to accept the task.

  “I will make an immediate start, my Lord. Has any consideration been given to uniforms?”

  “Not scarlet, Sir Thomas. Other than that, you have a free hand. I would recommend a single colour of coat and trousers and a minimum of display – not, for example, pipe-clayed cross-belts. They must be recognisably in a uniform so that they will not be shot as civilians if they are taken.”

  “Plain and simple, my Lord, possibly a pheasant feather in their hats, though certainly not a chicken! Perhaps a grey-goose for tradition’s sake.”

  Melport glanced wonderingly at Tom, a Lancashire man, he understood.

  “A south-country song, that, Sir Thomas – ‘we’ll all march together / for the grey-goose feather / and the land where the grey-goose flies’. They sang that at Agincourt, I am told.”

  “We will need a victory of like proportions if the French invade, my Lord!”

  They did the civil, feeding the Lord Lieutenant and his single secretary, introducing him to the dogs, who thankfully behaved themselves, and then taking him to see the new drainage works in process.

  “Most impressive, Sir Thomas – and I am very glad to see you are making use of some of the labourers displaced by the enclos
ures, sir. They are an increasing worry over the whole county. The single men amongst them can be pushed towards the new Militia Battalion, of course, the drawing of the lottery for their names ‘encouraged’ to come up with the right individuals, but too many of them are creating a problem of vagrancy and poaching. Strictly in confidence, Sir Thomas, the reaction of too many of the magistrates has been to call for the noose – and I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to hang a man simply for being inconvenient to his betters! As well, Sir Thomas, assuming the man is gone, then we are left with wife and children, the Poor Law to feed them instead of their natural provider – whether we hang him or send him to the navy, which is the fate of the great majority of those given capital sentences, as you know, we still have the burden to bear.”

  “I know, my Lord. I have tried to encourage my people to emigrate, to go to Bristol or Liverpool and the States or Canada, offering to pay their journey and keep – but few have left. Some have gone to the pits around Birmingham, but too few. I do not know what to do for them.”

  “I fear that a hard winter will solve the problem, Sir Thomas – but I do not like to see them die of cold and starvation, even so.”

  “We cannot feed the industrial towns as it stands, my Lord – there is not always a loaf of bread to be found in the shops, and the price of that bread has quadrupled in the last ten years. Even with wheat from the States and dried fish from Canada we have been hard-pressed to feed our colliers – where I was paying one farthing a pound for potatoes, now my man tells me it is three. We must enclose, because that more than doubles the amount we can send to market – and that means we must push Commoners off of their lands. Unless they can be found work locally, they must go. A canal will help greatly to maintain the iron industry – and it is too expensive an undertaking for me alone, I am afraid.”

  “Of course – but if, say, invitations were made for subscriptions to shares, backed by your name, then I have no doubt many people would be encouraged to take part.”

  “I shall speak to my banker, my Lord. It may not be possible this year, but I will see what may be done.”

  ”I am sure it would be much appreciated, Sir Thomas. What is this I hear, by the way, of one of your late tenants – I assume him to be no longer a holder of your lands – something of tigers and fairies and the fires of the Inquisition?”

  “Hammet, my Lord, who until recently had the lease of the fields we are walking on. It is a complicated story, and, relating to madness as it does, it is almost impossible to understand rationally, but, as I have learnt…”

  The secretary, younger son of a gentleman from the south of the county and hoping to make a way into politics, was fascinated.

  “Do you think he really saw them, Sir Thomas? Is it possible?”

  “Few things are impossible, Mr Archer, but I must confess I have my doubts in this case. A flock of finches – golds and scarlets flashing in the sun – perhaps, but I am inclined to suspect he did not see fairies. And, as for tigers, well!”

  “Yes, Sir Thomas, I have to admit that for a sheep farmer they are unlikely pets.”

  “Have you given any thought to bringing in the local parson, Sir Thomas, to bless the fields and perhaps make all well again?”

  “Well, no, my Lord, I must confess that had not occurred to me. Our Parson Nobbs is rather ancient to be traipsing over the hills here; he is talking of a young curate, perhaps we should wait until that gentleman arrives.”

  Tom was rather proud of his tact at this point – it would have been counter-productive, he believed, to have called the Lord Lieutenant a superstitious old woman, or even to have implied it.

  “I must go north, Verry, to confer with Clapperley and Martin; the past week has brought nothing other than extra expenditure, I am afraid. Some of the safe investments must be put to speculation unless I am to sell up a colliery or two before the market is at its best. I shall need to release cash next year to the canal and to this damned nonsense of Volunteers, and I know not what else may be discovered for me! As well, more rationally, there will be the enclosures towards Thrapston which will need paying for. Nothing to worry about, our heads will remain well above water, but it will cost a lot more than I had planned for.”

  “How long will you be away, Thomas?”

  “A week or thereabouts. Will you come?”

  “No, I should not, I believe – Mama will be back from London later this week, and there will be all to do for Anne’s wedding. Also, I have no great wish to bump about in a post-chaise, Nurse telling me that I may expect to feel queasy of a morning before too many weeks are passed.”

  He grinned, proud of himself, happy for her.

  “A man’s part is much easier in this business of producing children, I believe, ma’am! Feel free to commit us to any sensible expenditure for the wedding, of course.”

  He left her quietly fuming over his generous offer – just what was ‘sensible’ supposed to mean?

  “Mr Clapperley, ten thousands to be put to grow as rapidly as may be – I am beset by demands for cash, sir – a battalion of Volunteers, no less, from the Lord Lieutenant, a short canal – no more than a local river to be given locks and a weir, fortunately, to make it usable – an enclosure of the Marquis’ estate. This is still buying time, not when I would wish to sell, not a twelvemonth before the boom may be expected to take off.”

  “Six months, I would venture, Sir Thomas. Government is spending heavily at the moment. Cloth for uniforms, muskets and swords and bayonets, cannon, shipbuilding – all of the needs of war – and not just for our own forces. I believe much is destined to be sent to our allies in Europe and the Mediterranean.”

  “Good. We need the orders. I shall tell Frederick Mason to be ready to expand again.”

  “Very wise, sir. You will not be best pleased, however, Sir Thomas, to hear that I probably cannot meet your demand to use another ten thousands as you would wish. The Corporation will not be building for at least another year, probably two or three; Mrs Morris is feeling the pinch – gambling flourishes less in straitened times; there are fewer speculative ventures generally. The only real openings are in the African trade – and I know your feelings there, Sir Thomas.”

  “I am opposed to slavery, certainly, Mr Clapperley, yet I know that it is big in Liverpool still and I have through Roberts provided the roofs of more than one sugar refinery, and sugar lives off the backs of slaves – so I cannot claim my hands to be clean. What is available?”

  “A Mr Thompson has three brigs running out of Liverpool and a fourth from Chepstow, down on the Severn Valley. He lost a fifth last year, simply disappeared on the Passage – fever killing all of the crew most likely, possibly pirated and the cargo taken to the States or to Brazil; then his bank closed its doors and he dropped a cool five thousands in deposits. He was able to pay his debts but he cannot finance his cargo and sailings this year. Eight thousands will enable him to sail, to be one of the very few to bring a cargo into Jamaica this year; he will pay fifty per centum of his net, his books open to me, and I would expect that to be not less than six thousands in your pocket, Sir Thomas. The remaining two thousands I could put to use with Murphy, the only Irish ironfounder in Lancashire, who has considerable difficulties in raising funds because of that fact. He has contracts for iron cooking pots and hoes, prongs, picks and shovels to go to a merchant in Barbados – plantation wares – and, again, lost his working capital when his banker defaulted last year. He believes he can pay thirty per cent this year and next.”

  It was ten times the return that Roberts could offer – risky and dirty but useful in his present circumstances; he told himself that it was exceptional, he could get out in a couple of years and wash his hands of the slave trade, be clean again.

  “Do it, Mr Clapperley. War makes demands on us all, and if an invasion is threatened, then we must do what we can, how we can.”

  “Yes, Sir Thomas.” Clapperley made no further comment, pointedly. “There are Fencibles, rather than
Volunteers, recruiting hereabouts, sir, though I understand they may be called upon for service in Ireland if the need arises as well.”

  “Part-trained, poorly disciplined, irregulars – God help the Irish, Mr Clapperley!”

  “Will they be particularly ferocious, Sir Thomas?”

  “They will murder, rape and loot uncontrollably, Mr Clapperley! Useless for fighting, hopeless in battle, but very good at butchery of the innocent. I heard enough in America, and saw a little in the Sugar Islands, to know what will happen when you set men loose with weapons in their hands and no control over them. Soldiers without discipline are not soldiers, Mr Clapperley, they are animals.”

  “I trust you will be able to discipline your battalion of Volunteers, Sir Thomas.”

  “Impossible, Mr Clapperley. They will train on a Sunday afternoon, learn to hold their flintlocks and pose in front of the girls and swagger more or less in step. If I am very lucky in my sergeants they may come to hold their muskets steady and horizontal and fire all together. They will be country boys mostly, should be able to keep in cover and fire from ambush. Against artillery or charging cavalry, they will break and run; faced with volley-firing infantry of the line, they will die. The American irregulars generally fought in their forests and did very well there; in the open field it was the French infantry who did the work, I am told.”

  “Then, sir, lacking forests as we do, what is the use of them?”

  “None, Mr Clapperley, but I suspect that they will serve the needs of politicians in Parliament – another two hundred thousand men under arms – British heroes all who will smite the invader and terrify the foe. If there should be an invasion, which God forbid, then either there will be a resounding victory, redounding to the credit of the far-sighted men who built up our forces, or there will be an absolute defeat which the politicians will flee, the meanwhile admiring how bravely our men fought and died whilst they negotiated the terms of surrender. In either case the politicians will come out on top – even if only on top of a pile of dead bodies.”