It seemed very strange to her; she believed the distinction between master and man to be clear and of divine origin. What had smiles to do with the affair?
Judge Chard was in decay; it was indisputable. The old man was soon to breathe his last. He was tired, weak, unsteady on his feet – not that he attempted to walk more than a pace or two at a time. His memory was failing as well; he had never been a keen master of jurisprudence, having been appointed to the bench by political jobbery, but he was now displaying less than ordinary powers of perception. His hands shook as he fumbled with the papers of his Will, sat in his study in the company of Henry and of a bottle of French brandy, ‘an indulgence for an old man’.
“I have left an income to my wife, for her lifetime, and she is to have possession of this house, Mr Star. All in trust so that the reversion may not be alienated; the capital and property will become yours. The remainder of my estate will fall directly to you, sir. I do not believe that women should be given free access to wealth; it is not natural that they should be, and it is certainly so that a wife should not have independence of her appointed lord and master. The sums involved, Mr Star, may surprise you, but I have made a number of acquaintances in the word of finance who have often found themselves able to put me in the way of a sure speculation. There have been litigants as well who have wished to express their appreciation of a decision handed down to them – but enough said of that! I am no Midas, am not hugely rich, but I believe I am more comfortable than most.”
He handed a list of his financial assets to Henry.
“Shareholdings and sleeping partnerships in many of the biggest banks in New York; part-ownership of three houses in the China trade; a loan earning ten per cent with a firm unknown to me, Smith and Associates… correction, a loan entitling you to ten per cent of their net income in perpetuity. What are they, to finance themselves in so strange a fashion, Judge?”
The old man tittered.
“They wanted me to take a partnership, but not likely, sir! I am too wily an old bird to be caught that way!”
He smirked and triumphantly refilled his glass, losing the thread of his explanation.
“But, what are they, sir?”
“Oh… did I not say? Blackbirders, Mr Star! Running out of Cuba, I believe, and into the cays of Florida. Good money! I see twenty thousand a year on a loan of eighty!”
Henry dropped his head in his hands. He had just managed to clear himself of his overt ownership of a respectable plantation, for not wanting further involvement with slavery; now he was to become entangled with a disreputable gang of near-pirates who were smuggling slaves into the States contrary to the laws of almost every civilised nation on the Atlantic seaboard.
He knew better than to think that he could simply sell out on inheritance – one did not escape from people such as these. He could, perhaps, take himself off to the Federal authorities and very openly tell them all he had discovered of the inheritance that was to be his; an honest man might well do so. But that would be to lose the eighty thousand dollars and the twenty-five percent it was returning, and it would make him an informer and the target of a knife in the back in his early future. Federal employees were just as susceptible to bribes as any other man – a fact that he knew to be true – and his name would not remain secret for as long as a month after the first arrests were made.
All he could do would be to stand publicly at the Judge’s funeral as his son by marriage and then place the standard announcements in the major newspapers; he must publish that he was the Judge’s heir and that all creditors of the estate must contact him while debtors were invited hopefully to make payments to him. He must expect Smith and Associates to come knocking on his door soon after, possibly to demand another loan to display his bona fides.
“What do you believe to be the total of your estate, Judge?”
“With the farm land – can’t remember the name of the place, somewhere up the river – then we are looking at one hundred thousand dollars in assets and an income of more than forty thousand from the partnerships and such. That is separate from the provision for my wife, of course, Mr Star. The past few years have been very profitable. In part, of course, because I could plunge quite deeply on credit, due to your name being seen as guaranty of my solvency!”
The old man was proud of his ingenuity, it seemed; that he had acted criminally appeared not to have occur to him.
“I have seen your father’s Will, my dear. He has left your mother provided for and the remainder of his estate to me. He has made no bequest to you.”
“But, how should he, sir? It is the duty of the husband to succour his wife and none should come between them, including the fortunate lady’s papa!”
Henry did not like it, nonetheless. At the back of his mind was the knowledge that he had entered the marriage with every intention of treating it as a matter of the merest convenience; that he had been brought by accident almost, and by loyalty to his children, to honour the contract was, he knew as a certainty, little more than surprising happenstance.
Stavros left his new house in one of the more respectable quarters of New Orleans and started his walk to his office in the downtown area, close to the docks as was appropriate for an importer. He always walked the twenty minutes, even when it was raining, for enjoying the exercise and the sights of his adopted city. He left his wife of two years sat in the kitchen, overseeing the nursery maid as she changed and bathed their little boy. He had a business and a family and a life as a respected member of his new community; he attended church every Sunday, as a good Episcopalian should, but only the once for too much enthusiasm caused eyebrows to raise. He was a Muslim no longer; his father had made a mistake in converting and he had now remedied that error.
He was, for the first time in many years, happy in his life.
The office was busy, his three clerks arriving an hour before he habitually did, and there was a small pile of papers on his desk. He sat down to them, scanning the figures very quickly – sums were sums in any language – and reading the text less comfortably, still not wholly at home with written English.
“Pierre, what is this from Caracas?”
Pierre rose from his own desk and ran swiftly to his master’s side; he was Creole, obviously of mixed race but free and forced to earn his own living. He was proud to be a free man, as went without saying, but just occasionally, when he worried about his next wage packet, he wondered if life might not be a little easier in some respects for the bonded.
“Our agent, sir, suggesting that we might wish to consider a load of copra. The oil is in increasing use in America, sir, and may be sold north at some profit. It would never be a huge money maker, sir, but could well be reliable, a few hundred dollars a month, every month. I would recommend it, sir. Always better to have more than one source of profit, sir.”
The great bulk of Stavros’ trade was in brimstone, volcanic sulphur, a major component of gunpowder and always in high demand.
“That makes very good sense, Pierre. The figures seem sensible. Go ahead with it. I doubt it can be possible to use the ships we generally charter, of course – the brimstone dust must contaminate any other cargo. Take the copra under your wing, and if it is successful then we shall pay you another twenty a month in six months from now.”
Most junior clerks in the city received no more than twenty a month in total. Pierre was delighted; both of his children would go to school.
Later in the day Pierre reported that there had been a Mexican at the door, begging to speak to the master and refusing to say why. He had chased him off.
Stavros agreed that had been the correct course of action; he could not imagine what any Mexican wanted with him, or why he should be in New Orleans at all.
“Deserters from the Army, sir, what run across the border and drift along the coast until they reach the big city. Three or four hundred, so they say, sir, in New Orleans. A few were taken prisoner in the war with Texas; most of them died, sir, mostly for no
t being fed in their camps, but they’s some here. Mostly, they’s begging for a living, sir, for never having learned a trade; not much use for farmhands in the South, sir.”
Stavros wondered why a Mexican soldier should want to see him.
“Did he name me?”
“Not by name, sir, but he said he knew you as the one with the man Lukas, who was in the little books.”
Luke Star returning to haunt him; that could become annoying. Stavros kept a pistol in his desk; he transferred it to a pocket before he left the office.
He was not surprised to be accosted at the first crossing, barely a hundred yards down the road; a short, skinny, smelly peasant of a Mexican.
“Senor!”
“What do you want?”
“Dollars. You shoot Lukas. I see. You pay me.”
Much as he had expected. Simple blackmail. The question was just how simple. Easy enough to find out.
“I do not carry much money. I can give five dollars now. You can buy food and a room. Come back tomorrow, at midday. You understand?”
“Si.”
“How much?”
The Mexican stared appraisingly, trying to work out just what he should ask for; he had first imagined he might try for the huge sum of one hundred dollars, now, the process easier than he had expected, the man obviously frightened, he decided to raise the stakes.
He waved an open hand.
“Five hundred!”
“That is very much! I give you five hundred, you must get on a ship. I will watch you go.”
“You pay!”
“I will pay. Come back here, to this place, at twelve.”
“I come.”
Stavros made his way home, enjoyed his dinner and his evening with his family, slept easily, carefree. In the morning he appeared at his business and then announced that he must attend an appointment. Twenty minutes later saw him in the offices of the Parish Attorney, begging a confidential meeting. He was known as an associate of Henry Star and was given immediate attention.
“Blackmail, sir. You will be aware that I was in the company of Lukas Star in the months before he died?”
The Parish Attorney knew that to be so; the tale was famous.
“You may not be aware that Mr Star shot a Mexican sergeant out of hand for having shown a white flag and then ambushing the men who went to take his surrender. An understandable action, but one that you will appreciate to have been unlawful.”
“Nasty, Mr Stavros. I cannot believe that he would have come to court for the action, but it would leave a bad taste in the mouth of many. How does this relate to your blackmail, sir?”
The Parish Attorney was if anything relieved; he had expected to be asked to cover up something very unpleasant, not the mere killing of a Mexican or two. This whole business now sounded intriguing.
“There is a Mexican man who was a soldier and is now here in New Orleans. I am to give him five hundred dollars or he will seek to blacken the name of Lukas Star, and mine for having been at his side.”
“Will he now? We can very soon see to that, Mr Stavros!”
A word with a Lieutenant of Police and the order given to a sergeant and three constables to accompany Mr Stavros, out of uniform, two to stroll along the sidewalk behind him at a small distance, one to watch from across the road, the sergeant himself to be idling a few yards to the front, just along from the crossroads.
Stavros made his way down the road at just a minute before noon, looking about him for the Mexican and doing his very best to appear both furtive and frightened; it was not easy for he was more inclined to laugh at so amateurish a fool.
The Mexican was waiting in an alley, stepped out expectantly, exultant; his fortune was made, and so easily!
Stavros halted a couple of paces distant, pointed to the Mexican and called out to the policemen as they ran in.
“That’s him! Watch him! He has something under his vest!”
There was a lump showing, its nature concealed by his clothing.
“Back lads!”
The sergeant shouted and pulled a revolving pistol, one of the new cap-and-ball Colts, Stavros noticed.
“Stop! Hands up!”
The Mexican took hold of the hidden item, quite possibly to show that it was the half of a loaf of bread. The sergeant shot him four times.
They examined the body and the onlookers began to laugh; a dozen passers-by had seen the whole thing and had themselves thought the Mexican was pulling knife or gun. Most were happy to make a statement to that effect.
“Don’t matter, anyways, mister. Just another stupid bloody Mex, and they’s too many of them already!”
Stavros agreed gravely. Life was good to him in his new country; he was glad he had become an American.
Book Twelve: A Poor Man
at the Gate Series
Chapter Four
“There is, they tell, me reason in all things, but we are becoming a fraction less than entirely rational in our production of infants my dear!”
Robert inspected the latest pair of boys with rueful amusement; names were becoming a problem, and future occupations were a real worry.
Portions on marriage for the four girls would be expensive, but could be found; he was already putting the funds away for them and each would be worth at least twenty thousand pounds in her bridal bed. For the boys, however, provision was less simple.
The eldest, Thomas, was easiest; he was the heir and must succeed to his father’s dignities and, depending in fact on his own interests and abilities, would become active in the field of politics or remain as an agricultural backwoods peer. He would wed properly, his bride selected for him unless he was very strong-minded in his protests, and would produce the next generation, all according to standard practice. The next seven were more difficult.
One or more to the Army; that was no problem, but should it be as a lounger in the Brigade of Guards, spending the family money and doing very little else, or as a true soldier, and in the latter case, in what regiment? The County regiment was always eligible, but the Northamptonshires were an undistinguished unit of the Line, the 65th, and wholly lacking in prestige; the second son of a viscount must aim higher than that, thought it would be acceptable for those lower down the family tree. Any of them, of course, could be bought a commission in the cavalry, which would be expensive and far less professional but made the family more visible.
Younger sons who wished to become soldiers would be pushed into working battalions of the Line, to spend their years in India and Africa and fairly much to earn their living; they would have their allowances, and not ungenerous, but they would be expected to become true soldiers. But the second son might always, through accident or disease, become the heir, and it would be most inconvenient if he were to be in Bombay or Cape Town or Quebec when the call arose; he had to remain in England at least until his elder brother had produced a son of his own. If the second boy was to go for a soldier then he must be pointed in the correct direction; better if he were not to don a scarlet coat, but it was difficult to determine what else he might do, other than be a lounger about Town.
For those who did not wish to become military men, there was always the Church – though not for the second son - but that meant the provision of a living; St Helens’ son could not be a mere curate. If the estates had no vacant living then one must be purchased, in an appropriate location; one would hardly wish the young gentleman to become rector of a parish in the back slums of London! Alternatively, there was the Law, a sufficiently genteel profession for a nobleman’s son to pursue; that would mean an allowance paid for many years until the income from briefs grew sufficient to live on. A barrister might be well into his thirties before he achieved financial independence, and his hand would be in his father’s pocket until that joyous day arrived.
The junior cadets of the family could be encouraged to enter the world of the City, of business. The great banks and the largest of the merchant houses trading with India and China might
well welcome a young man with useful connections, and there were always the Companies of Merchant Adventurers – John Company itself; the Hudson’s Bay people; the West Africa Company. All of the old established entities would happily provide a place for a man whose father was listened to in Westminster.
But the problem arose of those who would not be properly pigeon-holed. Some, like Robert’s brother Joseph, would go their own way, with greater or less success; others might be compared to Lord Frederick Masters, lacking a little between the ears and not truly fit to be let out into the wide world on their own. An income of a few hundreds and rooms in Town might get them out from underfoot, but they could well make a public nuisance of themselves there, racking up debts and keeping dubious company. Trying to find a discreet place for such youths was a problem, though if need arose they could always be sent overseas to find adventure, a cheque sent out at intervals to keep them in distant, sunny climes. The real difficulty arose with those who created a public scandal, of course, and with eight sons there was always a possibility that one would develop undesirable habits… Large families were disproportionately awkward for a busy father to handle; among other things, he had to recognise each one of them and address them by the correct name!
The eldest were at school already, and he supposed that the others must follow; thinking back to his own schooldays he was not entirely sure that it was the most desirable way of educating a boy of any intelligence. The prime aim of the great schools was to ensure that only utterly conventionally-minded youths left their grasp. Independent thought was thrashed out of the boys, as was any desire to actually use their brains, if they possessed such things; ‘clever’ was an insult in those schools. There were alternatives, of course; possibly fewer than one half of boys from the aristocratic houses went away to school still, though the habit was growing.
Victorian Dawn (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 12) Page 8
