Working for the Roberts firms as an expert in the field of marine insurance, occasionally investigating a shipwreck, sometimes giving advice on the design of a new steamship, sitting in committees with pilots and lighthouse keepers - he might have a busy life, but just how tedious might it be? He could imagine himself white-bearded and full of honours and pompous platitudes, possibly surrounded by grandchildren; he was not at all sure he could face the prospect.
He must think, and in the meanwhile perform this little commission.
What was the best route to take?
Harwich to Rotterdam might be wise - he could charter a fast boat to cross the North Sea privately, more reliable than a packet from Dover to Calais, and less visible. The French authorities knew of him and might well wish to observe his activities, but he had never attracted attention in the Low Countries. This particular journey was wholly innocent, but why take any chances?
There would be passenger traffic on the Rhine, that was a certainty. It would be more comfortable to hire his own barge or schooner or whatever they called them there, no doubt. Thereafter, horseback to Prague - he was sure that could be arranged and it would be quicker than a coach, and he would be able to change his route more easily if he wished.
Returning, he would place himself in the hands of the banking system - his charge's comfort could more easily be assured that way and he would be in the way of information. If there should be an outbreak of disorder in any town on their way then they would expect to hear in time to change direction with a minimum of fuss. From all he had heard rioting and unrest was increasingly common across the Germanies as the forces of repression tried to return the people to the ways of the eighteenth century and to stamp out every memory of the Napoleonic rhetoric of freedom. Riding on his own he could effectively ignore street uprisings, a few miles cross-country and he could be clear, but with a young lady in his charge and travelling by carriage, he would need be more careful, or so he assumed.
Hood had little experience of genteel young ladies - they tended not to proliferate in his old trade - and assumed Lady Margaret would be a mere hothouse flower needing protection from the cold winds of reality. It was the way of the world as he understood it.
He opened the double-locked cupboard in his little house, thoughtfully examined his personal armoury. He would carry his pocket-pistols as a matter of course but should really have something extra, just in case of trouble on the road. He took out a holstered pair of double-barrelled ten-gauge percussion pistols - four heavy rounds that would knock a horse down at ten paces, sufficient to deal with most highwaymen. As an afterthought he selected a short-barrelled lady's pistol, designed to slip into a reticule or even the pocket of a cloak; almost certainly unnecessary, but one had as well be doubly sure in these uncertain times.
"Have you heard of Captain Swing, my lord?"
Robert had, vaguely; the name surfaced whenever the agricultural poor was in the mood for riot and general disorder.
"Normally leads to rick-burning, does it not? If the peasants are up then any leader they discover takes the pseudonym. I presume the first of the name intended to swing the landlords in his noose. Do you know its origins?"
Thynne believed the name had been about in Norfolk since Cromwell's day, possibly earlier elsewhere.
"There was a set of people called 'Levellers', my lord, in the years before the Restoration. They had some desire for every man to have his four acres and a cow - I think that was their catchword. Cromwell would have none of them, or so I understand, and set his Ironsides upon them, but the ideas surface again every once in a while."
"I presume this is one of those times."
"It is, my lord. Out of nowhere the name is on the lips of the yokels from Dorset to Yorkshire and many places in between. There have been instances of disorder in almost every agricultural county in England."
"And Wales and Scotland?"
"Not that I have been informed of, my lord. In Wales there is work within two days' walk for every man - the coal to the South, slate in the North of the Principality. Scotland has fewer people, I am told, and a long habit of emigration, and there is coal in the Lowlands - again, work for the bulk of those in need."
"Ireland, we may ignore. The Paddies are always up in arms about something."
"True indeed, my lord. They do seem to make a great deal of noise rather than starving quietly and politely. There is no accounting for the vagaries of the national character, it would seem."
Robert was not in the habit of tolerating sarcasm from his inferiors, but it would be an inconvenience to replace Thynne, would take several months during which time he would have to run his estate himself. He contented himself with a scowl.
"Would it be fair to say that the further the hinds are distant from any other source of employment, the greater their discontent?"
"I believe so, my lord."
"Has there been trouble locally?"
"Not immediately, my lord. The people in Burton are still too much cowed, I believe. The putting down of the Blackfaces and the hangings are still sufficiently fresh in local memories. In Finedon we have a little of work and we have been able to fill an emigrant ship this year. It is not entirely popular, sending the young men West, for they never come back again, but it removes their hungry bellies. There has been trouble in the countryside to the north of Kettering and I am told there will be more; there is no work there and no help from the landlords."
"Is there word of unrest from Lutterworth?"
"None, my lord - the pork meat enterprise is growing every year, selling more and more of its products to London and Birmingham and employing more of women and boys especially. There are pork pie makers springing up in every town and village within twenty miles, I am told, and all able to sell their wares, there being so many people and so little of good food in the land. As well, my lord, there is coal in Leicestershire now, and in Nottinghamshire. Work for those who will go to it, and houses better than the generality of farmers’ tied cottages. Besides that, my lord, Mr James has a good name on the estate, willing always to dip his hand into his pocket for any man who has come upon hard times through illness or accident, through no fault of his own, but very unsympathetic to the undeserving - the idle and the drinker need not come to him, to the approval of all of the womenfolk and most of the men. His lady as well is always busy as she should be, looking to the maintenance of the elderly especially; no old man who has outlived his wife and whose children have moved away is left in squalor on their estate."
"I had not realised that he was so conscientious a landlord, Mr Thynne. It is pleasing that he should be, enhancing the family name - it becomes known, I believe in the wider compass. The Lord Lieutenant of the County will be aware of his virtues and he will pass the word to the Lord Chancellor's office and so it will be heard of in Westminster, where he is a Public Man already. It all helps."
"It does, my lord. I mentioned the disturbances because it seems to some that there may be a directing influence, a single voice or a National Committee seeking to create a revolution amongst the poorest. It is a substantial coincidence that the name of Captain Swing should simultaneously spring to the lips of the unlettered and ignorant in rural shires separated by two hundreds of miles."
The spectre of the educated reds was always at the back of their minds, the fear of revolution never quite absent.
"Have we any suspicions of troublemakers in this area, Mr Thynne?"
"There is a Corresponding Society in Kettering, my lord, meeting every month to discuss political issues that should be exclusively in the ambit of their betters. They receive letters, from London, and them no more than tailors and shopkeepers!"
"Was the Franchise to be extended, so that they had a vote, then perhaps they would be inclined to limit themselves to petitioning Parliament and badgering their Member of the Lower House. Give them a legitimate voice and they might be content to simply let it be heard."
"Give them an inch, my lord, and
they will demand a mile! The next thing, they will be demanding democracy!"
"That will never come in England, Mr Thynne."
The power of the landed proprietors and the rich industrialists together would ensure that the political system would be run for their benefit - there might well be a veneer of reform and popularity, but the reality would never alter.
Thynne nodded his agreement - the Great Unwashed should never be given the political power that they would not know how to wield - it would be bad for them.
"It is my intention to channel the estate's business away from known agitators, my lord. If they wish to institute the guillotine then they can do so using other people's money."
"No! Absolutely not, sir! The exact opposite, if anything. A man who is putting an extra ten shillings in his pocket every week for selling to us is far less likely to call the mob down upon our heads. Killing the goose that lays the golden eggs is never a wise idea, Mr Thynne!"
"It smacks of bribery, my lord."
"Yes... that is just what it is, of course, though politely disguised, as is only right. I had far rather bribe a man this week than hang him next. That, after all, is the very nature of politics."
Thynne supposed that he was no more than a rural hick - he had not appreciated the nature and the arts of government.
"So, my lord, I am to identify the reds and then to ensure that they are well-fed, at the estate's cost."
"When did you last see a fat man hang, Mr Thynne? It is only the skinny who dangle from the gallows!"
"Shakespeare said much the same, my lord - 'a lean and hungry look', if I remember. My last captain had a great respect for the Bard, my lord,” he explained, apologising for his knowledge, “was given to staging plays, to entertain the crew, the midshipmen to take the female roles, much to the amusement of all!"
"I have a vague memory from Harrow, Mr Thynne - I was occasionally threatened with Shakespeare there, but I was generally successful in avoiding him."
Thynne seemed inclined to suggest that the aristocracy were always privileged beyond the ordinary run of folk.
"Would it be wise to make a listing of the names of the most notorious of local reds, for future reference, my lord?"
Robert sat back a minute or two, weighing up the advantages of such a course.
"Discreetly, perhaps, Mr Thynne. Was we, for example, to discover that a certain local divine was using his services in his chapel to spout sedition, then we might be inclined to set an informer amongst his flock. I have no love for the gentleman: the Marquis' valet, Mr Crow, still hears the occasional catcall of abuse in the distance after nearly thirty years on the estate, and him a grandfather now!"
"Methodies may be anxious to emancipate the slaves from their shackles, my lord, but they do not seem to wish to live next door to them!"
"An annoying set of people, Mr Thynne. Mostly industrious and well-washed, but inclined too much to enthusiasm for my taste, and very pious - I wonder if Church of England and Ranters must share the same Heaven? The thought of Eternity cheek by jowl with them is not appealing!"
Thynne was inclined to be shocked - such speculations were not entirely free from heresy, he feared.
"I am sure that it is not given to mortal man to know the answer to such questions, my lord!"
"Remind me to ask the vicar, Mr Thynne. I may be forced into his company and will need to find something to talk about."
"Yes, my lord.” It was time to turn the subject, Thynne cast about him for another issue. “We must, while I think of it, make allowance for another groom, my lord, and build another set of boxes, probably in their own yard. We shall soon require six ponies for the children, my lord, and then another pair in three or four years from now."
Robert laughed helplessly, instructed him to make the arrangements.
"Twins! Not fewer than a dozen children, possibly a score! Ridiculous!"
Thynne said nothing - it certainly seemed excessive; he was glad he would not have to keep so many from his income.
"I am, by the way, soon to wed, my lord, a childhood friend from my own village. I am sure the Home Farmhouse will be better for a wife. I have, as instructed, procured rapeseed, my lord, sufficient to sow the Thirty-Acre field. I am forced to point out that I am in process of investigating the market for lamp oil, and find it to be somewhat disquieting. The manufacture of coke and coal gas, my lord, produces a substantial amount of waste tarry oil; this is now being refined to produce a lamp oil. It is smelly, and burns less clearly than rapeseed oil, but it comes in at one quarter of the price. I fear that we shall not replace our wheat fields with rapeseed, my lord."
"We are just too far from any large town to set up a brewery, are we not?"
"We are, my lord, and the chapels are all Temperance, most actively so. This is no place for brewing or distilling, my lord. The Watney and Whitbread families are building very large breweries in London and many other well-populated southern towns, but there is none planned for this part of the land."
"Horses and beef it must be, and wheat enough for local needs, fodder crops to fill the fields. It will not pay, Mr Thynne. Farming will go backwards within a very few years. We think we have too many people now - in twenty years, as soon as the Corn Laws go, we shall have ten times as many as can be found work!"
"The Board of Trade, Mr Andrews, is much exercised by the wreck of the paddle-steamer in Southampton Water."
James raised an eyebrow to his informant, the younger brother of his own secretary, Mr Baker, and employed precariously as a junior in the Board’s office, paid monthly from the petty cash it seemed.
“There is word of unsafe practice in the engine-room, Mr Andrews, of criminal negligence at best. There are now so many small steamers carrying passengers on the Thames that there is some thought being given to regulation. Passengers have drowned, slipping from wet stairs as they attempt to board their ferry; there have been collisions in conditions of near-darkness; steam pipes have fractured and scalded the unfortunate. The decks of the ferries are completely open, as you know, sir, so as to cram more aboard, and it is the habit of many to crowd as close as they can to the boiler and funnel, for the warmth – and that is not without risks. Fares as well are falling as competition grows, so the owners are more likely to cut corners. An example of misconduct elsewhere is causing some disquiet, sir.”
James fumbled in his pocket for a shilling – half a day’s pay for the boy; he changed his mind as he did so, this could be important for the family. He pulled out his purse, found a sovereign instead.
“I would be very pleased to hear more on this subject, sir.”
James sat to his desk, wrote a slow, carefully considered note to Sir William Rumpage, begging the favour of a few words at his convenience. It would not be appropriate to state in writing that he had inside information that Sir William should be aware of, but he was sure that he was quick enough in his perceptions to realise that such must be the case.
Sir William was knocking on his door next morning, listened to him thoughtfully.
“Have you ever been to Old Swan Stairs, Mr Andrews? Not so far from London Bridge. It is a major picking-up and setting-down point for the steamers, and with some expectation that larger craft will soon be travelling directly to France from there or close-to.”
James had never travelled on one of the steamers.
“Better you should not, with respect, sir! I am unwilling to cause you offence, Mr Andrews, but you would be well-advised not to attempt the slippery stairs in the company of a hundred or more clerks hurrying to or from the City!”
“Can I see?”
They took James’ town carriage slowly down to the river. It was a bad day for travel, the cloud low and no wind so that the smoke haze was forced down to the streets, the resulting fog cutting visibility to less than a hundred paces at noon, a deep brown or even black sludge seeming to settle in their throats.
“Worse every year, Sir William!”
“Much, sir, an
d with no prospect of amelioration. More breweries and another copper smelter working this year within sight of our yard. New brickworks open every month, the pace of house-building is so rapid. There are stationary steam engines on every wharf and powering cranes and derricks in the warehouses. The amount of smoke thrown up over the Thames, and effluents cast into it, increases at a growing rate, sir. Add to that a half of a million, at least, of domestic coal fires burning every day of the winter, and we shall soon live in perpetual night, sir!”
They stood at a distance from the steps, watched five steamers in a row pull up and push against the landing stage. None tied up and the passengers stepped, or jumped, across an open space from ship to shore, timing their movements with the confidence of long habit. The stairs down to the river, nearly twenty feet at that stage of the tide, were nearly vertical, more of a slippery, muddy, greasy ladder than a staircase.
“Quiet time of day, Mr Andrews. When the offices close between six and eight o’clock of the evening then there might be five hundred men descending those steps every minute.”
“How do they not all break their necks or all fall in and drown?”
“Some do, sir, but most are pretty nimble, I suspect. Not a game for an older man though, sir.”
“Nor for a cripple, Sir William!”
“Over there, Mr Andrews, do you see on the steamer furthest to the left? The man in naked state?”
There was a youngish fellow, dressed in baggy trousers and an undershirt only, hatless as well, the only man in sight whose head was uncovered.
“Disgraceful! Is he perhaps an escapee from an asylum?”
“No, sir, far more likely that he is the engineer, come on deck from the heat of his boiler-room. Ah, yes, sir – if you observe, you will note that he is relieving himself into the river, partly obscured by the paddle-wheel box.”
“But, is that not a very shocking thing to do?”
“No ladies present, sir, not on a ferry, sir. No respectable female would climb the steps in skirts, sir.”
A Parade Of Virtue (A Poor Man At The Gate Series Book 9) Page 21
