The Iron Master

by Jean Stubbs

  Toby knocked upon the door and called softly, ‘Are you awake, love?’

  A muffled voice answered that it thought so.

  ‘There is a gentleman come to see you, Lottie!’

  The voice said wearily that it would be down very soon, and sighed.

  ‘Very soon?’ cried Toby joyously. ‘Is that the welcome you give to your brother William, who has come all the way from Lancashire in the Royal Mail?’

  The voice gave first a shriek, and then a sob. Bare feet pattered across bare boards. The door swung open, and Charlotte — great and clumsy with child — was crying and laughing in William’s arms, while Toby stood triumphantly to one side as though he had organised the entire reunion.

  ‘Come now, Lottie,’ said William, patting her thin shoulders, ‘stop all this weeping and wrap up warm. You must take care, so near your time.’

  ‘Aye, so she should,’ said Toby heartily. ‘You will breakfast with her, Will? Then I shall leave you both to wag your tongues in peace. I have an appointment at the coffee-house. You are staying with us, Will?’

  ‘Nay,’ William replied uncertainly, torn between his fear of unknown lodgings and the obvious drawbacks of Lock-yard. ‘Nay, I have an address given me by a barber in Covent Garden. I would not trouble you.’

  ‘Oh, fiddle!’ cried Toby impatiently. ‘You can sleep on the parlour sofa and we shall all be merry. Wine for supper, Lottie, and a feast from the bakehouse to celebrate our meeting!’

  Then Charlotte added her entreaties, and looked so pitiful with her swollen belly and childlike face that William agreed and thanked them; while Toby clapped him on the back, and shouted downstairs for the girl to make breakfast; and Charlotte changed her nightshift for a pale blue morning gown, and pinned up her fair hair in a jaunty knot.

  It was one of the strangest meals William had ever eaten. The slattern who waited upon them fetched out an old heel of cheese from a side-cupboard, and a misshapen loaf from the basement kitchen. Charlotte discovered the butter in a dish beneath the sofa, and picked out the best of the crockery on the landing. Now the initial delight and surprise were fading she was embarrassed, and kept stealing little looks at William to see what he thought of her ménage. But he tactfully busied himself getting the parlour fire to draw, which it did at last though the chimney clearly needed sweeping. Alone, they sat down at the round table, and Charlotte poured his tea and drank hers, and for a while they were silent. An expression on her face told him that she was about to voice an unpleasant truth. He hoped it did not concern his uninvited presence, for he was now so tired that he could have lain down on the scuffed carpet and slept like a dog. Charlotte began directly.

  ‘You see why I cannot ask Mamma to stay, do you not?’ she asked.

  ‘I can see,’ replied William, unable to soften the statement without lying, ‘that it would be difficult on all sides.’

  ‘Did Mamma send you?’

  Revived momentarily by the tea, he said, ‘No, Lottie. I came upon some business, but I can tell you of that another time. It is not important, except to me of course.’

  She observed him closely, but he ate his second breakfast unmoved.

  Suddenly she cried tearfully, ‘I am very much afraid I shall die. And I need her. But she and my father were harsh to Toby, and ordered him away from Millbridge when they saw him. And they mislike him.’

  ‘They misliked the secrecy, and the elopement,’ said William gently.

  ‘But it was the only way,’ said Charlotte, despairing and yet defiant, ‘they would never have consented to our marriage else.’

  She had always been indifferent even to the dearest opinion, once her mind was made up.

  Again there was silence between them.

  ‘Great-aunt Tib, and Aunt Phoebe, and Agnes and Sally all send their love and many gifts for yourself and the infant,’ said William cheerfully.

  Her expression changed from determination to the utmost tenderness.

  ‘Oh, how is Aunt Tib? Does she still scold Aunt Phoebe? And Agnes, how is her rheumatism? And is Sally courting yet? Oh, and have the Misses Whitehead filled my teaching post at the Academy in Millbridge?’

  ‘The ladies of Thornton House pursue their course in life unchanged, save for your presence, Lottie, which lightened them considerably. I believe the Academy for Young Ladies will contrive to manage without another teacher. One feels your learning was too much for the Misses Whitehead! They would rather their female charges tatted and tattled than studied ancient languages!’

  Charlotte laughed, and struck her hands together with pleasure, as she used to do in their childhood.

  ‘How long you were away, Willie,’ she said, and then sighed and looked pensively at a hole in the tablecloth.

  He failed to conceal a tremendous yawn, and she suddenly saw how weary he was of travelling and emotion.

  ‘Come,’ she said affectionately, ‘there is a bed in the other room upstairs, though the room is not yet furnished. You shall sleep until dinner. Why, you are quite wore out!’

  He woke to find the winter afternoon well advanced. The room was dimly lit, due to an old coverlet being hung across the window for a curtain, and bitterly cold. But Charlotte had come softly in while he was asleep, and endeavoured to make it more comfortable for him. Delectably, up the well of the staircase, overcoming the smells of mice and mould, drifted the odours of cooking. He could hear Toby’s voice in the parlour, Charlotte’s answering laugh, the scolding of the slut in the scullery, and a hollow mewing outside his door. He descried a candlestick in the gloom, with a tinder-box laid conveniently alongside, and struck a light. His suit had been brushed, sponged and laid ready. A clean shirt had been fetched from his bag. On a note pinned to the sleeve Charlotte had written, in that elegant script favoured by Dorcas and herself, ‘Dearest Willie I am so happy you have come to see us, and Toby likes you very much … ’

  ‘Damn his eyes!’ William commented, but had to smile.

  ‘ … We dine at four o’clock, so the girl will bring you hot water at a half after three. Pray join us for a glass of sherry, sir, in the parlour! Y’ loving sister Lottie.’

  He flicked open the silver pair-case of his watch and peered at its ivory dial. Five o’clock. For a moment he was dumbfounded to think he had overslept. Then he smiled and shook his head. In the Longe household time would not be held of much account. An hour or so mattered little, and they could have called him if they were ready and waiting. Now the insistent mewing caught his attention. He threw aside the bedcovers and opened his door. Outside stood a copper can of lukewarm water and his top-boots newly polished. And inside one boot, vainly trying to extricate itself, one brave black kitten. He shook it carefully out and watched it negotiate the stairs. Then made a rapid toilet in his fireless room, and joined the company in the parlour.

  He was relieved to find his presence obviously beneficial. An attempt had been made to tidy the house. Instead of slipping out to a tavern with his boon companions, Toby had chosen to preside at his dinner-table and honour his brother-in-law. And though the meal was late, even by London reckoning, the food was good and plentiful. Both Charlotte and Toby greeted William effusively. The local bakehouse had furnished a veritable banquet, and Charlotte and her cook had also contributed to the feast. There was a jug of home-made pea soup, a dish of soused herrings, a rump of boiled beef with dumplings under it, a roast fowl, a raised pigeon pie, a currant tart and a blancmange, and two sorts of over-ripe cheese, with almonds, raisins and apples to follow. Toby had brought in several bottles of claret, a bottle of port and a bottle of rum, plus the ingredients for a hot punch which he planned to mix in William’s wash-basin.

  ‘Had it been summer,’ said Charlotte wistfully, ‘we should have took you to Sadler’s Wells, where there is entertainment from afternoon to night. Else sailed down the river and supped at Vauxhall.’

  ‘But as it is not summer,’ said Toby, pouring sherry into three large tumblers, none of which matched, ‘we shall sit b
y the fire and talk. Besides, there is a fog outside as thick as Lottie’s soup. We are not far from the river, and the Fleet runs just to the east of us. So we suffer at this time of year from mists — and from miasmas.’

  ‘Why, Lottie, you must have worked all the while I slept,’ said William tenderly, admiring the preparations as he sipped his sherry. ‘I would not for the world you had so tired yourself. But for the soup especially, I thank you.’

  She made a pretty fluttered gesture of the hands.

  ‘I hope I have got the receipt aright. But Betty used to make it for us, near Christmastime, when we were children. And I watched her while I conjugated my Latin verbs. Indeed, I marked the ingredients by means of the conjugations!’

  ‘It is a clever head,’ said Toby fondly, ‘and do not fear, Brother Will, that I shall let it rust for lack of use, nor spend its powers upon the paltry tasks of housekeeping and shirt-sewing!’ William could see good evidence of this, and smiled polite agreement, ‘No, no. I respect intellect in a woman. So let us drink to the three most important people on this august occasion.’ He raised his tumbler. ‘First to Brother William who has come to make all well between the two families,’ and his tawny eyes gleamed gold, to let William know that he was not impressed by this excuse of London business. ‘Secondly, to my wife, professionally known by the initials C.S.L., whose work will be honoured long after her beauty has gone to dust! Lastly to the infant who is shortly to take its place among us. If he be a son he is right welcome. If a daughter, then thrice welcome, for good women bless the house that they adorn.’

  ‘Amen to that, Toby!’ cried William.

  ‘And now to dinner, for it is nigh on six o’clock and I am famished,’ said Toby, and helped them all to soup.

  There were lengthy pauses between dishes while the servant washed up, but Toby was a fervent conversationalist and a generous wine-pourer, and William well-versed in discussion, so two leisurely hours passed before they reached the stage of tea-drinking. By this time Toby had taken the government apart (which William did not mind very much), attacked the Constitution (a more troublesome idea), and was now espousing open revolution. At this William held up his hand in protest, but spoke less heatedly than he felt because of Charlotte, who was looking anxiously from one man to the other.

  ‘Why, Toby, you had a taste of revolution here but five years since,’ said William lightly. ‘Did the Gordon riots not cure you of a fondness for civil war?’

  ‘What? An ignorant rabble running after a madman, crying No Popery? Religious quibblers? Pox on them! Nay, Will, I do not speak of people’s prejudice but of people’s rights. The majority of folk are ruled and worked and robbed by a handful of rich and powerful men. And this new age of coal and iron and steam engine — aye, wait a bit, I know your interests! You shall have your turn, by and by — this age of mills and sweated labour will make rich men richer, and poor men poorer still. You must have seen that for yourself in Birmingham. I saw it in Preston. Aye, and took the trouble to look at Manchester where I discovered such a hell of want and misery as I had not seen before … ’

  ‘Then take trouble to look but a mile away,’ said William angrily, ‘and you shall find stews as dirty as any in the north.’

  ‘You are right, Will. And one hellish stew is no better than another. We should wipe them all out. They have hells in the back streets of Paris — but that is another story. The French monarchy is stirring a cauldron that is like to boil over upon them, but we English are content to be exploited … ’

  ‘Oh, the French!’ cried William scornfully. ‘A nation of lick-spittles and time-servers. They snap at our heels like a pack of vicious dogs. I care not whether they have a revolution or no. They are a scrubby nation.’

  ‘So speaks the man who has never — I dare say — so much as crossed the Channel to meet them!’

  ‘My reading is as wide as yours, sir,’ cried William, stung by this truth. ‘I am no ignoramus, mouthing opinion without a fact to prove it I dare swear you congratulate yourself upon shocking me with ideas hitherto unknown to me, and would like me to gape with admiration at your daring. But each morning my master, Bartholomew Scholes, would read the papers at breakfast and open up discussion with us all, family, friends and apprentices. So I have heard your arguments before and still think little of them! And when you speak of revolution, sir, you talk from the exalted view of a safe spectator. I have fought some private wars, sir, owing to my Quaker connections. England takes her religious quibblers seriously, and there were those who misliked the Scholes apprentices — whether they shared the Quaker faith or no. Had you been brutally waylaid, as I have, and fought until you were all blood and bruises — and then been beaten when you crawled home, for fighting! — you would not speak so freely of civil war. It is not battled on printing presses with paper and ink, sir!’

  Charlotte sat white and still, her hands knotted in her lap. But Toby laughed and said he loved a good argument, and that they should open another bottle of wine. Then both men remembered the silent girl and her burden, and endeavoured to soften the conversation.

  ‘Now, Will, I have a bone to pick with you,’ said Toby gaily. ‘I hinted broadly at your sister’s new profession, and you did not so much as turn a hair. I had expected a better response from you.’

  ‘I seldom respond as I am bidden,’ said William, with dry pleasantry.

  ‘There you are like your sister. For I thought her simply a pretty, gentle creature when first we met at Thornton House. Then I discovered the steel beneath the lace, the iron beneath the velvet. Did I not, my Lord Chief Justice?’ Kissing her hands in turn. Which smoothed out Charlotte’s forehead and made her smile again. ‘Yes, our Lottie has the makings of a first-rate pamphleteer. I am already bringing her into the publishing side of the business. In fact, I have a capital notion for a new gazette and, given a year or two, Lottie shall edit it. There are quite a few lady writers hereabouts, are there not, Lottie? An odd but fascinating assortment! You shall meet some of them, Will. But Lottie has a cool head, a warm heart and a sharp pen, and that combination is as rare as diamonds in our business.’

  William guessed that this show of pride and affection was for his benefit, but that it was also the truth. He forgave the one because of the other.

  ‘We corresponded for a year together,’ Toby continued, giving his wife’s hands a playful little shake, ‘and someday when I have money to spare, instead of always owing, we shall publish our letters as an example of love’s growth from friendship. They are none of your mawkish rubbish. No miss’s moonshine. But a titanic struggle, Will, and so I tell you!’ And he turned to William with such charm and candour that the young man comprehended why his sister lived in a ruin with a ranter. ‘Do not imagine that I took a mean advantage of Lottie’s youth and innocence. I fought for my freedom like a lion, fought long and ardently. But she would have her way. You see before you an extremely happy fellow who was married in spite of himself!’

  They were all very pleasant together after this speech, and as the evening was now getting late Lottie made fresh tea, and they supped off the remains of their dinner. Then retired at last, and William, who had enjoyed no more than a few hours’ rest in three days, fell at once into a slumber so deep that it triumphed over the putrid odours of Lock-yard and the night-noise of a city. No scurrying rat could rouse him from this sleep, nor even the most tenacious bed-bug bite him to consciousness.

  *

  The day after William’s arrival Charlotte felt poorly and lay abed. Toby reported her to be somewhat low in spirits, and catching up a copper can with a hinged lid he suggested they take a walk to St James’s Park, where they could buy milk fresh from the cows that grazed there.

  ‘For myself I mind not,’ he said carelessly, striding out into the turbulence of Fleet Street. ‘I take milk but rarely — in coffee or tea. So what matter if it is somewhat sour, or mixed with water? But Lottie is a country lass, and bewails her lack.’

  ‘But where could people
keep a cow here?’ William asked of the maze of tenements.

  ‘Oh, they could not. But in many places near the city we have cowsheds, some of them underground, which are like to your mills, brother — dark, unclean factories employing their workers from youth onwards. The delights of fresh air and sweet grass are unknown there. The animals are milked until they can give no more, and then cast out to die. But the cow has one final use — she can be slaughtered for her meat and hide! So St James’s Park is the answer, unless we take advantage of that she-ass there.’

  The small grey donkey had caused a traffic stoppage along the Strand, though people, carts and wagons were beginning to move round her. She stood patiently while her owner squatted on his stool, squirting her milk into a pail, ignoring the trouble he had made.

  ‘No, I think not,’ said Toby. ‘Her coat is something scabby. Oh, but look there, Will, at that fashionable she-ass!’

  The lady in the sedan chair was regretting her toilette, which must have cost her maid and hairdresser hours of fabrication. Face, neck and bosom were painted white, lips and cheeks vividly rouged, a black star was placed cunningly upon one cheekbone, a black heart by her mouth. The lawn fichu swathing her shoulders was immense, and above all towered a vast white powdered wig raggedly cut so that the lady looked as though she had been severely shocked. Immobilised by the ass, she was the object of scornful eyes and mocking remarks, and William marvelled again at the frank rudeness of the London populace. They called, they mimicked, they caterwauled. The lady lifted a little fan to screen herself, but it was the hedgehog wig which entertained them and this reared over the pretty ivory sticks, unabashed.