by Sarah Lark
Nora and Simon were in agreement that England in general, and London in particular, was not where they wanted to spend the rest of their lives.
Nora devoured all of the literature about the colonies that she could find, and Simon dreamed of the letters that he’d written for her father regarding Jamaica, Barbados, or Cooper Island. Thomas Reed imported sugar cane, tobacco, and cotton from all parts of the British Empire. He maintained frequent contact with the local growers and, as such, Nora already had her own plan for realizing her desires. All the better, as in England there was perhaps no future for her and Simon … but, if they opened a branch of the Reed business somewhere in the colonies … Currently, Barbados was her dream location.
Even so, she would have settled anywhere where the sun shone daily.
“Here we are … Miss Nora, sir,” Peppers halted the carriage and got ready to open the door for Simon.
“48 Thames Street.”
Beside the entrance to the townhouse there was a golden sign indicating that Mr. Roundbottom’s office was located inside. Simon shut the book with disappointment and stepped out into the rain.
“Thank you very much for the ride, Miss Reed,” he politely parted ways. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Viscount Greenborough,” Nora replied just as courteously. “But do wait in the office until it stops raining. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill on your way back.”
Peppers expressively rolled his eyes. Until now, he had found Nora’s flirtation rather more amusing than worrisome, but if this continued as such, his young mistress was maneuvering her way into a story that could not end happily. Thomas Reed would never allow his daughter to marry a clerk, regardless of whether he, at some point, had carried a title of nobility, or even if he still possessed it.
Simon was tormented by similar thoughts when he finally went back to work. The rain had subsided, but his clothes were still wet and, to make matters worse, the corridor where Mr. Roundbottom had him wait was drafty and cold. Simon was frozen to the core — the persistent cold he had caught that spring in the tiny, vermin-infested room he had rented in London’s East End would torment him for some time to come. It was quite a descent from Greenborough Manor.
Thomas Reed didn’t pay his clerks vast sums, but he also didn’t exploit them. Usually, Simon’s earnings would have sufficed for a small, clean apartment — the older clerks could even support a family with it — modest, but reasonable. However, Simon couldn’t even hope to start a family some day. Unless a miracle happened, he would be forced to work the rest of his life to pay off the debts that his father had accumulated, even though every last piece of the family valuables had already been sold.
The family’s downfall had come as a complete surprise to Simon’s mother, sister, and himself. Of course, the family knew that Lord Greenborough’s finances were not entirely sound. The sale of the seat in Parliament had been debated over many weeks, and Simon had privately come to the conclusion that it could only serve to help the decision-making ability of the House of Lords. His father had but rarely taken his seat, and when he did, it was said that he was able to follow the debates just as little as he could the tirades of his wife. She had never tired of reproaching him for his drinking and extravagance. John Peter Greenborough had been drunk far more often than he’d been sober — but his family had no idea that he had also been trying to resolve his already shaky finances at the card table.
When he finally died — officially from a fall while horseback hunting, although, in fact, he had been too drunk to even stay on the horse at a walking pace — various creditors came forth with their demands. Lady Greenborough sold the parliamentary seat and, in principle, her land and her son’s title went along with it. She parted with her jewelry and silver, mortgaged her house, and then eventually had to sell it. Out of pure mercy, the Codrington family left the Greenboroughs a cottage on the outskirts of the village that still bore their name, but Simon couldn’t earn money there. Meanwhile, his father’s debts also included a dowry for his sister, who had — thank the Lord — been able to marry at least halfway within her social class. Simon’s future, on the other hand, had been destroyed. In his darkest hours, he wondered if the love of Nora — as beautiful as she was wealthy — should be considered a stroke of luck or if it represented yet another test for him to overcome.
Nora Reed was convinced that it would only be a matter of time before their dreams of being together were realized. She had hoped that Thomas Reed would accept Simon with open arms as a son-in-law, but was, at the moment, in no position to be open with her father about her wishes. On the contrary, he would more likely send him away as a dowry hunter. Simon was prepared to work very hard for the realization of his dreams. He was a serious young man who had always wanted an appointment in one of the colonies, and tried to prepare for that as much as possible. Simon was no great rider, hunter, or swordsman. He displayed no particular talents or inclinations towards the amusements of the nobility, even apart from the financial situation of his family, but he was intelligent and highly educated. Simon spoke several languages, was engaging and polite, and, unlike most of his peers, was also good with numbers. In any case, he would have certainly been capable of representing a trading house somewhere overseas. Simon was prepared to work his way up and any arrogance was completely foreign to him. He needed only be given the chance! But would Thomas Reed take that as the reason for his love for Nora? He would probably be rather suspicious that Simon wanted to use his daughter as a springboard for his career.
In any case, Simon doubted that it was appropriate to open up to Thomas Reed so soon. It would be better to wait until he had earned his respect and climbed to a higher position anyway. Nora was just seventeen, and so far, her father had made no arrangements for her to be married. Simon certainly had a few years in which to establish himself enough to perhaps be considered for the son-in-law of the merchant.
If only he knew how!
CHAPTER 2
“What is there for work other than planting sugar cane or tobacco?” Nora asked.
She sat on Lady Wentworth’s chaise lounge and daintily balanced a teacup between her thumb and forefinger. Ever since Queen Anne had made the hot drink popular a few decades ago, it was being served in every upmarket parlor in England. Like most ladies, Nora had stirred in plenty of sugar — much to the pleasure of her hostess, who saw every sweetened cup of tea in England as a contribution towards preserving her wealth.
“Well, tobacco has not proved to be particularly successful,” Lady Wentworth replied patiently.
The questions from the young merchant’s daughter amused her. Nora seemed set on seeing her future in the colonies. Lady Wentworth regretted that her sons were just eight and ten. The young Reed would make a great match, and the fact that she was untitled hardly bothered the woman. After all, her own husband had purchased his title. One no longer needed to be married or extravagantly knighted by the king to belong to the noblemen of England. Although, even the latter was viable for the sugar barons. In exchange for contributions — gifts, supporting the fleet, or other service to the Crown — the king recognized how diligently one worked for the prosperity of the kingdom at the other end of the world …
“Regarding tobacco, Virginia and the other colonies in the New World cultivate a better quality. But sugar cane doesn’t grow as well anywhere as it does on our islands. Of course, one incurs expenses …” Lady Wentworth remembered that she had a merchant’s daughter in front of her. If she raved about how easy it was to cultivate sugar cane in Jamaica, Barbados, and the Virgin Islands, Nora’s father would surely try to drive down the prices. “The slaves alone!”
“Well, we wouldn’t actually keep slaves,” Nora remarked quietly, but honestly. She had even already discussed it with Simon and the two were of the same opinion. “That … that’s unchristian.”
Lady Wentworth, a determined woman in her thirties, whose voluptuous figure was nearly bursting ou
t of her corset and farthingale, let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh, child,” she responded, “you have no idea. But fortunately the church sees it quite realistically: if God hadn’t wanted the blacks to work for us, then he wouldn’t have created them. And when you are overseas for the first time, Miss Reed, you will also be able to see that. The climate is not for white people. Too hot, too humid. None of us can work there long. For the Negroes, however, it’s quite normal. And we treat them well, we feed them and provide them with clothing, they—” Lady Wentworth stopped short. It didn’t seem that much more regarding the well-being of the slaves had come to mind. “The reverend even preaches the Gospel to them!” she finally exclaimed triumphantly, as if that alone were worth an entire lifetime of labor. “Although they don’t always appreciate it; their ways are rife with dreadful rituals, child! If they conjure their old gods … well, it is undoubtedly pleasing to the Lord that we restrict such behavior. But let’s speak of more pleasant things, Miss Reed.” Lady Wentworth reached for a teacake. “Are there perhaps already concrete plans for you to be married at one of our beautiful islands? What does your father have to say about your plans to emigrate?”
Nora didn’t want to discuss the subject. Instead, she tried to return to exploring alternatives.
“How is it for merchants on the island?” she asked.
“There aren’t any … hmm … intermediaries or people such as that,” Lady Wentworth made a dismissive gesture. “At least not enough to mention, child. A few captains import well on their own accord, but otherwise we always negotiate directly with the country of origin.”
Which posed no further difficulty, since most growers maintained one or more residences in England. The Wentworths, for example, were not only in possession of this grand townhouse, but also a country home in Essex. With larger families, there was almost always a male member who’d remained in the mother country and could negotiate with the distributors if the cartel hadn’t already set the same binding fixed prices for everyone.
Nora remained quiet. The lady was right — trading houses were not necessary in Jamaica or Barbados.
“Naturally, there are a few merchants,” Lady Wentworth then added. “Especially on the larger islands, in the cities. Of course, our sort stock up on the most important goods,” with a brief gesture, she took in the valuable furniture in her house, which was equally as fine at the plantation, the paintings on the walls, and not least, her gorgeous housedress, whose voluminous ruffles billowed out over the arm of her chair. “But on the island there are, of course, tailors, bakers, shopkeepers …” Lady Wentworth’s expression betrayed what she thought of this class of people. “Nothing at all like one of your father’s trading houses, of course!” she hastened to add.
Nora suppressed a sigh. These were poor prospects for her and Simon — especially since her lover wasn’t suited to be a baker, tailor, or the industrious owner of a general store. If need be, Nora could imagine herself standing behind the counter and chatting with the women of Kingston or Bridgetown while she presented her wares. But shy, extremely proper Simon? He would retire indignantly at the first really juicy piece of gossip.
Simon took a deep breath as he returned to the venerable offices of Thomas Reed on the northern bank of the Thames. It was rather gloomy, especially in the small rooms where the writers and clerks worked at poorly lit desks. The older employees often found it difficult to decipher the numbers in the company records. The only tall windows with a view of the river were in Thomas Reed’s private office, which had comfortable seating for visitors and customers. Reed appeared to be receiving someone on this day. As he fought his way out of his coat in the corridor outside of Reed’s office, Simon heard the merchant’s booming voice and an equally loud Scottish accent replying.
“God, Reed, now don’t come at me with moral concerns! What we do is moderate; on other islands the rules are much stricter. The Danes are even permitted to burn unruly Negroes alive! Such a thing is, of course, not the way of the upstanding British. But there must be discipline. Even as a slave, Barbados is bearable.” The man speaking laughed. “After all, I would know, having been one myself.”
Simon furrowed his brow. That sounded interesting. He had never heard of white slaves on the islands. And he’d been able to identify the visitor from his crest, which adorned a bag that had been set aside in the corridor: Angus McArrow, Lord of Fennyloch as of recent. Simon remembered that Thomas Reed had arranged for the purchase of the man’s seat in Parliament. Now the Scot, who had a plantation of his own in Barbados, seemed to be returning the gesture. The bag contained a few bottles of the best dark rum, and the mens’ voices sounded as if they had already opened one of them.
“Might I be permitted to go in there now?” Simon nervously asked one of the older office servants, waving the letter of reply he needed to give to Mr. Reed.
The man nodded to him. “Doesn’t sound like they’re trading secrets,” he muttered.
Simon cautiously knocked, which the men inside didn’t hear at first, since Reed had just burst out laughing.
“You, McArrow? A slave in the sugar fields? Among nothing but black men?” he said in disbelief.
“That’s what I’m telling you!”
Simon heard glasses clinking. Apparently, they had been refilled.
“Of course it wasn’t called that at the time; then they said front-line workers. And we weren’t among the Negroes, they only came later. But it amounted to the same thing: I slaved away for five years for one of the first planters, and in the end I received a piece of land in exchange for my work. Many people did the same thing at the time, before they brought blacks to the islands on a large scale. Believe me, many a modern sugar baron today began as a poor wretch. Most won’t confess to it anymore, especially not to their descendants. They were hard times and on your own land it continued that way. Many only did it for a few years until the sugar cane grew and the children were big. Then they were finished. Worked to the death in the truest sense of the phrase. But the grandchildren now behave like kings!”
“That’s interesting,” Reed said. “I had no idea … just a moment, please. Come in!”
Simon’s third knock was finally heard. The young man timidly entered the room and bowed to Mr. Reed and Angus McArrow.
“Milord,” he said politely.
A light went on in McArrow’s bright red face.
“Good day, young man! Simon Green-something, isn’t it? You wrote up my inaugural speech in court, didn’t you? Splendid, just splendid young man! Come, you have a drink, too! You look as if you could use it. What did you do, were you out swimming?” He laughed at his own joke.
Simon’s hair was still wet, and the limp, sagging ruffles on the front of the shirt that he’d so carefully pressed the previous evening created a perfect image of misery.
“You were at Roundbottom’s, Mr. Simon, were you not?” Thomas Reed recalled his order. “But heavens, did you walk in this weather? My boy, you could have taken a hackney!”
Thomas Reed, a tall heavy man with surprisingly sensitive features gave his young clerk a look that was both sympathetic and disapproving. To him, Simon sometimes seemed unable to handle his daily life — he was well-bred, certainly, and a first-rate writer and bookkeeper — but otherwise, there was something off about the way he walked, and he could without doubt do with some new clothes! And not to take a coach when it rains, well it made it look as if Reed wasn’t reasonably paying his people!
Simon lowered his eyes from the indignant glare in Reed’s green eyes. They were as attentive as his daughter Nora’s, but more searching than gentle, and they also weren’t surrounded by smile lines. Nora would certainly develop laugh lines later …
Simon smiled dreamily when he thought about how it would be to watch her age. At some point, white streaks would creep into her amber-golden tresses, as they already had in her father’s thick hair. And he would continue to love her …
“What are you staring at, Simon? Do you have th
e response letter from Mr. Roundbottom? What are you waiting for? Hand it over!” Thomas Reed held out his hand.
“Take a sip first!” McArrow comforted him and handed Simon, much to his dismay, an entire glass of tantalising smelling amber-colored liquid. Rum from Barbados — undoubtedly excellent. But Simon couldn’t drink with Thomas Reed as if they were equals! And during work hours at that. He hesitated and fumbled around for the letter. He had kept it in the innermost pocket of his coat, to protect it from the rain.
Thomas Reed took the letter and solved Simon’s dilemma with a slight inclination of his head towards McArrow and the glass that he held out for Simon. Of course, it was not proper to offer his clerk a drink, but he didn’t want to displease the Scot. Simon took a small sip. He felt warmth penetrate his body as the strong, almost sweet-tasting drink ran down his throat. Very rich, very good, and with a smoother flavor than rum typically possessed.
“Could almost pass for brandy, don’t you think?” McArrow asked, looking for praise. “It’s from my plantation. A special brewing process, we—”
“None of that, tell me again about your strange method of land acquisition, McArrow,” Reed interrupted. Much to the delight of Simon, who found the “enslavement” of the Scots substantially more interesting than the production of rum. “Is it still being done?”
“Wage slavery?” McArrow asked, reaching for his own glass again. “Well, there isn’t much to tell. It was usually pretty fair; the planters really weren’t such bad men. Naturally, they took what they could get. It was not easy, those five years on the plantation. Although, I was lucky. After three years, the first Negroes came, and then I could train and supervise, which wasn’t quite such hard work as at the start. And I was also fortunate with the plantation owner. He gave me good land and two slaves, and allowed me to sell my harvest along with his. Only in the beginning, of course, and now I have more land than he does — or rather, than his sons. Unfortunately, they’re not very good and so now I’ve also had to step in with the parliamentary seat. The young Drews are driving their father’s life’s work into bankruptcy.”
