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

by Andrew Wareham

  “Where do you wish to be wed, Jane? Will it be convenient to go to your home for the ceremony?”

  “I would prefer, Sir Thomas, to be wed from this house, if it could be arranged – I do not especially wish to be in the company of my new Mama, if it may be avoided.”

  Verity nodded, it would not upset the convenances.

  “I really cannot imagine what can have come over Papa, Sir Thomas. Nor merely to be marrying the daughter of a very small squire but one who I have never regarded as normally handsome, her figure quite outlandish, almost deformed one might say, so out of proportionately large as she is at the top!”

  Tom kept a straight face, but with difficulty.

  Book Two: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter 9

  The Earl and Countess of Bridlington arrived, in state, a new travelling chariot tailed by three lesser chaises, each with four horses, the whole procession led by a pair of outriders carrying pistols and carbine. Tom, deeply appreciative, counted four drivers, each with a second man at his side, fowling piece or old blunderbuss at his feet, two maids and a valet scurrying to assist lord and lady to dismount, and an anomalous, lugubrious, skin and bone, black-clad forty year old who seemed to have no function other than to stand and observe all. Later enquiry disclosed the man in black to be the earl’s steward, brought along to oversee the efforts of the staff and to command the household for the month by the sea at Weymouth.

  “Fourteen servants, Thomas, and us to have the pleasure of sleeping and feeding them for three days. Mrs Beckwith is less than enthralled by the prospect, one understands!”

  “There is room in the stableyard, fortunately, I did not think I would come to be grateful for Rockingham’s stupidity! And a space in the coach house for the new carriage – have you ever seen the like, Verry?”

  “Cinderella’s coach! Gilt and kid-leather and satin squabs, the wheels picked out in blue, gold-leaf on the coat of arms! His wedding gift, one understands. She tells me that she is delighted by it – so considerate of her comfort, her dear Briddy!”

  “’Briddy’?”

  “Just so, Thomas!”

  “You do realise that I shall have to bite my tongue every time I speak to the man?”

  “I thought you might.”

  She grinned her satisfaction, turned back to business.

  “They can only stay three days, there being a ball in Weymouth which they really must attend, there may be royalty present!”

  “Three days of him?”

  “Dinner at the House tomorrow, other than that he will be easy to entertain – he is an enthusiastic agriculturalist, will ask for nothing better than an inspection of our latest drains and of the dung cart. My sister will be equally easy for me – she will not rise before eleven and will then spend at least two hours making herself presentable; a brief walk on the lawns and then she will retire to change for dinner, another two hours minimally. An evening of chat and scandal and then heigh-ho and to bed! A simple life.”

  “I see that she is putting on some weight, definitely increasing?”

  “She is quite certain, believes herself to be some four months gone, due in November or late in October. She is also, however, growing somewhat stout – a life of appetite and indolence having its inevitable result.”

  Verity giggled happily, having regained her figure all but an extra inch all round, and quite pleased with her new shape, as was Tom.

  “The team, the horses, were I presume bought specially for the purpose?”

  “Matched greys, probably from the same stud, or perhaps from Astley’s Circus – they seem as fitted for the showground as the open road. Peculiar, one of my sister’s few talents lies in her ability to ride, and her judgement of a horse – and I would have said these were peacocky, more show than substance, from my slight knowledge of the animals. She, however, is not renowned for her taste, quite possibly prefers a flash appearance to a solid reality - no doubt having that in common with her husband.”

  Tom made no reply – he knew too little of horses and too much of his wife to wish to involve himself in the topic.

  “I presume you have displayed Robert, my dear?”

  “Of course – he is all that a baby should be, I believe – big, fair-haired, blue-eyed and a boy – strong and, touching wood, healthy.”

  Both knew that the first twelve months were the most hazardous, even for the well-fed babies of the rich, perhaps as many as one in ten failing to see their first birthday; for the poor, of course, the figure was at least one quarter, commonly doubling by the fifth year. They comforted themselves with the knowledge that the average covered very wide variations – where the parents were sickly or too closely related over too many marriages the children tended not to survive – everyone knew of the example of poor Queen Anne who lost fourteen in a row – but healthy, wealthy parents saw very few, often none, of their brood in tiny coffins. The Stars, as an example, had lost none, and they had certainly placed many hostages to fortune.

  Bridlington reminded Tom of nothing so much as an old mother hen, flapping and scurrying around his wife as he did, attentive to her every whim, trying indeed to anticipate her least desire, to save her any effort of thought or demand, apologising for some imagined inadequacy in every sentence he uttered. Tom gained the impression that he was thoroughly enjoying debasing himself, playing the role of the servant; he wondered whether he begged her to take a cane to him in the privacy of their bedchamber! The world was full of nasty little men, he mused, or perhaps he had been unlucky to come across Clapperley and Chawleigh and now Bridlington. He wondered again just what Chawleigh was up to and whether he would be caught. If Chawleigh was taken up and at risk of hanging then he might well, despite his reputation for probity, talk long and loud, naming too many names to save his own life; if he was engaged in mere criminality, no great problem, but if he was actively a traitor then a barony would become very unlikely for any of his associates, and Tom wanted his son to become Lord Andrews and possibly make himself Viscount St Helens. It was a concern, the more because he could not work out just what he might be doing. Not to worry, one thing at a time; he turned his attention back to Bridlington who was coming to the end of a long and thoroughly boring account of a run he had had with the Quorn some years before, five miles, apparently, described hedge by hedge in loving detail.

  “Of course, Bridlington, I don’t ride to hounds myself – the American War, you know – but I rather envy you your experience. This is not a sporting man’s estate, I am afraid, nothing more than a little rough shooting – we don’t have your moors, all of our land is down to the plough or carries sheep and, just lately, a small herd of beef cattle.”

  Bridlington evinced considerable interest, begged that he might be shown over the estate on the following days, then broke into reminiscences of pigeon shooting on an estate much like this and how he had brought home more than a hundred birds in eight hours, to the amaze of his host of the day.

  “Never seen shootin’ like it, Thomas, so he said, haw, haw!”

  Tom debated taking him down to the pistol range, decided against it, better to let the little fellow feel superior.

  “You know something about coal, do ye not, Sir Thomas?”

  “Why, yes, as an ironmaster I must, I believe, my Lord.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know that one made iron from coal, still, ‘live and learn’, you know.”

  That, Tom decided, was wholly unanswerable, he simply smiled and tried to look interested.

  “Man came to my agent, last week, some grimy sort of manufacturing type, not like you at all, Sir Thomas, ‘thee’ and ‘tha’’ and all that. Cutting the story short, he said there was coal on the hillside at the back of the park, offered to buy the land. When my man said we never sold land he offered to pay a rent for it. Then he said he would give so much a ton for all he mined there. I told the agent to send him away, come back next month, after I had talked with you. What do you think I ought t
o do, Sir Thomas?”

  “Nothing for the while, my Lord.” It was instructive to note that Bridlington had returned to formal terms when talking business, Tom made a note of the habit. “With your permission, I will write to my people in St Helens and have them send a mining man to your estate to make a survey. At a guess, and it is no more than that, the coal on your land is very attractive and so is likely to be good steam rather than household, possibly anthracite even, and worth more than the ordinary run, and in a thick, flat-lying seam, easy to mine. Is there a canal nearby?”

  “Crosses my land – I made them pay for the privilege, too!”

  “I suspect they will pay a lot more when this mine comes in, if you decide to allow it, my Lord – you might well be looking at a couple of thousands a year, or more.”

  Bridlington made an elaborate display of unconcern – two thousands one way or the other meant very little to him, he implied – but he made no objection to Tom writing his letter.

  Lady Bridlington came down to dinner formally gowned, as was only polite, and wearing a diamond necklace somewhat larger and much more expensive than Verity’s; she made note of the brooch Verity was wearing – they knew she would possess a bigger one next time they saw her.

  “I shall not indulge in a competition, Thomas, because that is a form of vulgarity that does not appeal, but I shall wear the pearls tomorrow evening!”

  “And she will wear a double string next month, no doubt. As you say, a form of vulgarity – but, if it is your wish, one that you could occasionally indulge in – your colouring would suit emeralds admirably well, I believe. When we visit them, as I fear we will have to, next year, we might consider a full parure?”

  “So we might, but not next year – more suitable for a matron somewhat longer in the tooth than I. Eventually, certainly, Thomas, but for the while a pendant stone and ring, say.”

  “I believe them to be less commonly available than other stones – when next I am in London I shall beg Bridge to look out for a pair of gems of rare quality coming on the market.”

  The cavalcade left early on the Thursday morning, bound for a stopover in Oxford and then hoping to make Salisbury for the following night, Weymouth triumphantly on Saturday. The bulk of the village was lining the main road, the tactful doffing their hats and cheering, the most of them simply open-mouthed in amaze and asking whether the horses did tricks, at Christmas. Bridlington, pleased and touched by Thomas’ tact in arranging so courteous a farewell, stood in his carriage and bowed left and right in acknowledgement, much to the crowd’s pleasure.

  Tom, who had had no part in the village’s presence, smiled his best and bowed his farewells from horseback, having accompanied them in courtesy for the first couple of miles.

  Tom returned to the estate office, still bemused.

  “Quillerson! Did you?”

  “Not me, Sir Thomas – the word went round, you know how it does in villages, and the people just downed tools and came out to see the show. I don’t think most of them had believed the stories coming out of the stables; Wilkins was not very impressed by the team of greys and made his opinions very clear and the word went round that they were fit more for the fairground than the highway and people wanted to see them.”

  “Ah well, my lord was not aware that he was the best thing since the last time the raree show came through, and what he does not know will not grieve him, I trust. He’s gone for a year or two, anyway! Out of sight, out of mind!” Tom shook his head and laughed, regretting that Verity had not been with him – she would have loved it! “Are we ready in all ways for the possible enclosure of the Grafham lands, Quillerson?”

  The bailiff produced a large folder and pulled out a mass of documents, some of them brittle with age, browned, ink faded but just legible.

  “Dating from the age of James First and Sixth, Sir Thomas, the oldest of these – a charter of sorts allowing the Lord of Thingdon Manor the right to set fish traps along the River Nene and take eels from the ponds, altogether to the tune of some eight bushel baskets of dried fish for winter feeding; there is no mention of these rights being in any way shared. Another, later, charter permits the taking of two dozens of wild geese and thirty of ducks by gun or net, effectively, by implication of the wording, exclusive and forbidding any other the right to kill them, which is of some importance. More recently there is the right to cut reeds for thatching four cottages in a year and for three men to cut withies all year round for basket-making, that to be their living. As well, and much less important as they serve only as a confirmation, there are more than a hundred receipts for payment of dues by cottagers who have fished various of the ponds over the years, those effectively admitting that they are hiring the right from Thingdon Manor.”

  Tom nodded, peering at the ornately decorated script of the older documents.

  “How do these translate in terms of land?”

  “The normal way, sir, is to take the annual value of the rights and treat them as rental income. I have calculated that their total value is some one hundred and eighty pounds per annum, at today’s prices. Wet land, newly enclosed and not yet improved, would rent at five shillings per acre, at most, so, theoretically, this might translate into seven hundred and twenty acres. In practice, the commissioners may be expected to discount the future worth of the land at a formula they will devise to suit the case, and we may expect half of that amount and mostly of the worst land needing most drainage. It will not be a honey-fall, Sir Thomas.”

  “So be it. We will, of course, buy any land that is offered. You will work very closely with the Marquis’ man and cooperate in every possible way, Quillerson.”

  “Certainly, Sir Thomas, Mr Parker as well, I presume?”

  “Not to the extent that you jeopardise the Grafham interests, Quillerson – there is to be more of give and take when it comes to the Parker estate. What of Major Hunt, has he any expectations of the enclosure, do you know?”

  “Slight, Sir Thomas – he has rights of rod and line only, recreational fishing as it were, along one bank of the River Nene for a mile or so, may well end up with exactly the same rights confirmed and nothing more. Where there may be a problem, in fact, most definitely will be, no question of ‘may’ at all, sir, lies in cottagers’ rights on the wet lands – at least a hundred families believe they have rights to take eels and carp and perch and pike from various parts and half of them habitually trap a wild goose or two each year, a meal at Christmas and feathers and bone to use or sell on. The leg bones especially make knitting needles and skewers and awls for working leather and some of the very skilled menfolk make quite a few pence each year from selling them to the shops in Kettering – a man with deft hands could pay dame-school for all of his children from the geese. I am sure that these ‘rights’ are based on custom alone – none given by charter or deed and none that could be shown to have existed ‘since time immemorial’ as the law demands, and, as I pointed out, our charters read as if they were exclusive. As a result the cottagers stand to lose everything at enclosure.”

  “Bad luck, I am afraid, Quillerson – I cannot make any commitment that will be binding on the other proprietors of the Enclosure, and I cannot see either the Marquis or Mr Parker being tender of rights that are not only unproven but also quite possibly unlawful.”

  “The manufactury for boots, Sir Thomas, will be expanding production within weeks, I understand – was I to be able to offer work there it might be of use in reducing the outrage.”

  “The Finedon Commoners have first claim there, Quillerson, but with that proviso, yes, you could do so. What of contracts, have you any word there?”

  Quillerson smiled and nodded, implying that all was well, the Northamptonshire Militia had been obedient and, courtesy of the Marquis, the expansion of the Royal Marines was being catered for – there was little need to say these things out loud, after all. A number of gentlemen from the ranks of the Volunteers had shown an interest in the new enterprise and had furnished manager and ove
rmen between them as well as providing the few skilled workers who would be required in the first instance – everything was being done in the proper way, the virtuous receiving their rewards on Earth just in case Heaven proved disobliging.

  “All is well in our world then, Quillerson.”

  “In the local compass, sir, yes.”

  “We shall not need these charters again after the enclosure goes through, I believe?”

  Quillerson nodded, said that their use would be over.

  “Preserve them, if you would be so good – bind them in leather perhaps? Keep them as heirlooms of the estate, relics of the age that is no more.”

  Quillerson, a modernist, could not see why, but made a note that the master’s orders should be carried out.

  “What of the smallholders’ award close to the village, has the quarryman proved it out yet?”

  “He came to me the day before yesterday, Sir Thomas; he says he would have to sink shafts to determine just how deep an overlay of spoil there is and what the thickness of the ironstone deposit is precisely, but at first glance and bearing in mind his local knowledge, he would say there is a workable quarry there.”

  Tom nodded, made a brief note.

  “What is the local market for ploughshares and wagon furniture and harrows and such things, Quillerson?”

  “I have no idea, sir. What, precisely, do you mean by the term ‘market’, sir?”

  A quick lesson in business terminology followed as they ensured that they were talking about the same concepts and Quillerson pledged himself to discover the call for wrought iron in the area.