by Sarah Lark
“And is it still going on today?”
Simon blurted out the same question that Reed had already asked. He immediately bit his tongue. It already wasn’t appropriate for him to be at this private conversation between business partners, let alone participating. But Reed listened to McArrow’s reply with just as much interest as his clerk.
“It doesn’t exist much these days,” he said. “If only because no one has any interest in plantations coming about. If the supply becomes too great, then the prices will drop — sorry, Reed, but of course we planters want to keep that from happening. It’s rare to hear of such arrangements, and even when you do, the masters expect at least a seven-year commitment — and people often still end up being exploited. No, no, that was taken care of when the Negroes came. They’re lucky really — we’re good to them, and they don’t work any harder than we did at the time.”
Simon refrained from saying it, but the thought occurred to him that while McArrow had only worked for a few years, they had to toil for their entire lives, without so much as a foot of land to call their own at the end. He would have liked to press McArrow further, but Reed had already signed off the response letter and was now holding it out to Simon. A clear invitation to leave. The letter had to be filed away and the contract be drafted.
Simon thanked McArrow for the rum and left the room, ready to return to his desk. Nevertheless, he listened in on the voices in the next room, and slid out into the corridor when the Scot finally decided to go.
“Mr. McArrow, milord … may I … may I ask you another question?”
“You may ask ten if you’d like, young man!” McArrow laughed, jovially. Simon gathered his courage. “If you would … well, if a young man wanted to … move to the islands, somewhere overseas, Jamaica, Barbados perhaps … well, if you wanted to make something of yourself there … are there really no prospects?” Simon gathered his courage. McArrow looked at the young man searchingly, made a face, and then returned to smiling. “You’re weary of the rain?” he asked sympathetically. “I can understand that, I’ve already had enough of it. But the islands … well, of course you can be hired at one of the plantations. We don’t take on whites as fieldworkers any longer, but we need overseers. I wonder, however, whether you would be appropriate for it? A lad such as yourself; you look as if you’d be blown over by every little breeze!”
Simon blushed. He had never been a very strong man, but the difficulty of the last few months had made him lose even more weight. He ate too little, and the persistent cough had also been draining his strength. But if he were just in a warm place … and surely the planters provided the accommodation to their overseers. The money that he now spent on the insect-infested room in the East End could be spent in food.
“That is perhaps … deceiving, milord,” he explained. “I can work, I—”
“But you don’t look as if you could even swing the whip, laddy!” Simon was startled by the casual tone McArrow adopted when speaking to him, although he understood that as a worker on a plantation, he could not insist on being treated like a gentleman. “And you must do so with the Negroes,” McArrow continued unrepentantly. “If things become really severe, you might even have to hang one. And you couldn’t do that, my boy!”
McArrow had probably wanted to take some of the sting out of his words with a good-natured pat on Simon’s shoulder, but the young nobleman looked at him with confusion: Whipping? Hanging? That sounded a little too much like the work of an executioner!
“No, at most you could do something for the administration. But appointments from the Crown don’t come for free, you have to buy your way in, or at least know someone who knows someone.” McArrow shook his head when he saw Simon’s disappointed expression.
“Of course, you could also try as a seaman,” he finally said. “But I’m just as pessimistic about that. They want strong men, not young lads like yourself. No, you’d do good to stay here and write up your accounts. And maybe another speech for old McArrow! It was splendid, son … almost as if you yourself were a gentleman!”
At that, the planter grabbed his tricorne, considered it a moment, and instead of putting it on top of his voluminous wig, held it stylishly under his arm before stepping into the rain. A carriage with his coat of arms was ready and waiting. The newly minted lord would not get wet.
CHAPTER 3
“It’s no use, we must tell father!” Nora said.
The weather had cleared and it was a perfect fall evening, with the leaves in St. James’s Park already changing color. The light was beginning to fade though, and it had almost been too late when Nora finally recognized the two ladies of her acquaintance energetically chatting away as they approached them on the rather secluded path. She pulled Simon behind a hedge just in time — before Lady Pentwood and her friend caught sight of them.
Nora giggled as they passed, but Simon was worried. He found no adventure in their secret love to be overcome. He unhappily told Nora of his discouraging conversation with McArrow. She was not especially surprised. She added what she had heard from Lady Wentworth.
“McArrow is right,” she then said, shivering; a good reason to nestle up closer to Simon, who had protectively put his arm around her and was kissing her hair. “Of course you can’t beat any Negro! Wouldn’t that be something — what kind of people are these, calling themselves lords, ladies, and gentlemen? I don’t believe that God has made the Negro to grow sugar cane for us. Then he surely would have also sent them to the islands and they wouldn’t have to be brought over from Africa! My father says it’s also quite terrible on the ships. They chain them up!”
Thomas Reed did not participate in the slave trade — even if he did indirectly benefit from black labor. After all, he dealt in sugar, tobacco, and other products from the colonies — and without slaves, there would be no plantations. But people buy and sell, capture them, force them into the hulls of ships, imprison, and beat them, even though a court had never sentenced them. Thomas Reed did not find that compatible with his Christian faith, regardless of whether others shared his opinion.
“But there is no other work,” Simon said dispiritedly.
“Well then we must tell Father that we love each other. You must openly court me and only after that will we find a solution. I am convinced that Father will think of something. If I say that I want to go to the colonies, then he will also make that happen!”
Nora not only had complete confidence in the possibilities, but also in her father’s willingness to fulfill her every wish. She was undoubtedly a spoiled child. After the untimely death of his wife, Thomas Reed had focused all of his love onto her.
“Let’s do it tomorrow! You should buy some flowers … they aren’t so expensive in Cheapside, and if you don’t have the money …”
Simon smiled tenderly at Nora’s practical assertions. If he could not afford romance, she would do without and never complain. She would undoubtedly even be able to pick out her own bridal bouquet. He pulled her closer to him.
“My dear, flowers will not be a problem. But allow me a few more weeks. Maybe there is still a chance with this McArrow. If he decides to stay in London and take part in Parliament, he may need a private clerk. And as such, he could take me with him to Barbados. Moreover, this wretched loan for Samantha’s wedding will be paid off in two months. Then I will have a bit more money. Heavens, Nora, I can’t come to your father in this threadbare suit to court you!
Nora kissed him, laughing. “Darling, I’m not marrying your coat and trousers!”
Simon sighed. Thomas Reed would undoubtedly have a lot to say about a comment like that, but at least he had managed to postpone Nora’s request for a while. At some point, a miracle had to happen. Simon took Nora’s hand and tugged her along to the small lake in the middle of the park, where the fog was already drifting in above the water. The trees cast long shadows.
“I’m going to rent us a boat!” he decided. “It is only a penny, and then I will row you across the lake to t
he islands. We can imagine that it’s our island in the South Seas, the waves breaking on the beach—”
“And we can kiss in peace!” Nora beamed. “That’s a wonderful idea, dear! You can row, can’t you? All lords and viscounts can row, can’t they?”
If he were being honest, Simon’s paddling abilities were limited to a few halfhearted attempts to steer a self-constructed raft across the Greenborough village pond. He had never learned proper rowing techniques, but he made every effort to maneuver his boat at least halfway capably across the lake.
As such, Simon just about kept them from capsizing, but with the exertion, he could hardly suppress his cough, which distressed Nora a great deal.
Of course, nothing improved for the lovers in the coming weeks. On the contrary, the last of the summer gave way to an unpleasant fall, and Simon was chilled to the bone in his damp, unheated room. At least there were continuous, generous fires burning in the chimneys at Thomas Reed’s offices, which were not to be taken for granted. So many clerks in the large trading houses held their plumes with stiff, gloved fingers and then contracted gout. With a sigh of relief, Simon sent his mother the last payment for Samantha’s dowry, but it ultimately brought him no relief. Almost simultaneously, he received a letter from Greenborough in which his mother joyfully reported of Samantha’s pregnancy. She had hoped that with the help of further generous contributions from Simon, they would be able to retrieve the silver candlesticks that had held the baptism candles for every Greenborough descendant to date.
Thus, Simon sent more money — even though Nora had severely reprimanded him for it.
“But they have a right to it, it’s a family heirloom,” he defended his mother and sister. “And we will also benefit from it. When we have children …”
His dark eyes, which had thus far looked rather hopeless on this gray, windy November day, lit up.
Nora sighed and pulled her coat tighter. She had accompanied Simon to the docks, despite the uncertain weather. Thomas Reed had entrusted his clerk with the supervision of a cargo of tobacco arriving from Virginia. The captain of the ship was not considered to be very reliable, so the planter had heartily recommended that Reed carefully check the actual delivery against the freight documents. Simon had faithfully done so, even if his old coat hardly protected him from the rain and wind. It was better for Nora in her fur-lined cloak, but of course, she noticed how Simon froze and grew even more worked up about the demands of his mother and sister.
“If we have children, then they will probably be born in the Virgin Islands, Jamaica, or Barbados!” she considered. “And you don’t really believe that your mother would send her silver candlesticks in time for the baptism candles to be appropriately presented! Oh no, Simon, they are being passed over to the family of the wonderful Samantha, so that the Kensingtons don’t think poorly of Lady Greenborough. And you can’t even afford a coat that doesn’t get soaked through within three minutes! It’s bad enough that you must take responsibility for your father’s debts!”
But Nora hardly understood it, especially since Lord Greenborough’s debtors were in no way men of honor, but bookmakers and gamblers. Nora counseled her beloved without hesitation; they should hold off for two months more and then use the saved money to abscond to one of the colonies. The crooks might have a certain level of influence in England — which Nora was convinced was limited to London — but it certainly didn’t reach all the way to Barbados or Virginia. Simon considered the gambling debts as debts of honor — and a gentleman certainly didn’t turn his back on his obligations to his estate and family. He had made no response to Nora’s frequently repeated remarks on the matter.
“In any case, now you must speak with Father!” the young woman then decided as she linked arms with Simon and discreetly maneuvered him to her carriage. On the way to the docks, he had walked to save the cost of a coach.
Peppers held the door open for them without a word.
“Thank you, Peppers!” Nora never forgot to flash the servant a smile. “Papa will find a solution. And he likes you. He trusts you. It’s already clear from the fact that he has you overseeing the cargo. Who knows, maybe he already suspects something. You must formally ask for my hand now — otherwise we will hardly be able to see each other in the winter.”
Simon nodded acquiescently. With the latter, she was correct, but he was terribly afraid of the talk with her father. If it didn’t go as well as Nora hoped, he would ultimately not only lose his beloved, but probably also his appointment and warm place in the office. A comparably good employer would be nearly impossible to find — Thomas Reed had not even reprimanded him when he had missed two days at the start of the month. Simon tried to ignore his persistent cold, but he had grown so feverish at the time, that he’d barely been able to leave his bed. Of course he’d dragged himself to the office nonetheless, but Reed sent him back home immediately.
“You’re useless like this, boy, you can hardly hold the quill, and I would not know what kind of numbers you’ve just been adding.”
Simon knew to appreciate this incredible generosity — Reed could have just as easily thrown him out and deducted any potential losses caused by his errors from his wages. As such, there were not that many differences between wage slavery on the islands and a normal position in London. Now he could sense, however, that Nora would not allow herself be put off any longer.
“Next week, Simon! This Saturday is the Merchant Association Ball and Papa is distracted — and I also still have to try on the dress and discuss hairstyles … And then those dance lessons — who needs the La Bourgogne in the colonies?”
Nora always acted as if she were uninterested in the balls and receptions attended with her father since, of course, Simon had never been invited. But in reality, she looked forward to them. She loved beautiful dresses and enjoyed practicing the popular dances. Nevertheless, she refrained from any flirtation or dalliance with the young men who filled her dance card. Nora Reed had made her choice — she eagerly awaited the day Simon Greenborough would lead her in a Minuet for the first time. And who knew, perhaps they would dance throughout the year under the palm trees! In London, people spoke of noisy parties in the residencies of sugar cane planters on the islands in the Caribbean Sea.
“But next week there’s nothing, so we’ll have the time to plan the engagement — my father will certainly give a party! And you must change your ways and buy yourself some new things! Listen; if you were just presented to the right people, there are posts in the colonies to be found! Oh, just imagine it, Simon! Looking out of the window and not seeing pouring rain, but bright sunshine!”
Nora nestled up to her lover and took his wildly beating heart as an expression of joy. The failure of his courtship was an impossibility.
Nora enjoyed the Merchant Association Ball, while Simon used his Sunday to try and free himself of his cough entirely. He purchased chamomile flowers and enough firewood to boil tea and partially heat his draughty room. His ill-tempered landlady, Mrs. Paddington, commented on it with spiteful mockery.
“So, is milord now overflowing with wealth? Shall I soon be addressing you by your title once again?”
Simon didn’t bother mentioning that this would have been appropriate, whether poor or rich. She always did it anyway. Admittedly, Lord or Viscount Greenborough sounded more like an insult than a title of honor. The woman had obviously taken great satisfaction in the knowledge that a member of the nobility could descend to the depths of her filthy and unsightly district, which had been cheaply rebuilt after the Great Fire of London.
Simon pulled his bed as close to the chimney as possible and spent the day under his scratchy, damp covers. This didn’t make him feel much better, as the fireplace hadn’t been lit in a long time and it had been even longer since it was swept. The chimney drew poorly and Simon essentially had to choose between cold and smoke. Ultimately, he chose the former. The smoke worsened his cough, and at least the cold didn’t demand payment.
Nora
had decided that Tuesday would be the official day of their engagement. Simon should pay her father a visit after work. Thomas Reed would have already made himself cozy at home, as he usually left before his clerks, who often remained to get the accounts in order by candlelight.
Simon delayed his departure as long as possible. He didn’t want Reed to think for a moment that he had shirked his responsibilities at work that day. But, eventually the last office servant left after having swept the offices, sharpened the quills, and filled the inkwells for the next working day. The young man was also obliged to put out the fires in the chimneys and the candles when the last clerk had finished. Simon could not possibly make him wait any longer by pretending to do important work.
Luckily, it wasn’t raining that day, so Simon could travel to Mayfair by foot. He would have otherwise allowed himself a hackney — it would have been unimaginable to stand before his future father-in-law with a wet, creased jabot. The young man invested the money he’d saved on a beautiful bouquet for Nora, and it nearly afforded him a bit of courage when he finally stood in front of the stately house in the recently developed neighborhood. Reed had had the manor house built a few years earlier. Its facade was divided into three parts by pilasters, the triangular pediment was reminiscent of a Roman temple, and behind it lay a small park. All of this was far more magnificent than Greenborough Manor had ever been. Even in his family’s best times, Simon would never have been a worthy candidate for the hand of the daughter of this house.
Finally, he composed himself and swung the door knocker. The front door was opened almost immediately. The petite, young girl in the neat servant’s uniform seemed to have been awaiting his arrival. She winked at him conspiratorially when he said his name and requested an interview with the head of the household; probably another “confidant” of Nora’s.
