Victorian Dawn (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 12)

by Andrew Wareham

  “A stern measure, Captain Burleigh. Knowing that he was an elder of his chapel, one may comprehend why, but, really, I am hardly able to approve; it does not smack of Christian charity as I know it. To resume, sir. Miss Mary Amberley simply disappeared and no trace could be found of her. Advertisements were placed in the Birmingham newspapers, but she was not there to read them. We were at a stand for some little time.”

  Captain Burleigh could understand that; he wished the lawyers might have remained at a stand for far longer. The Amberleys had been shopkeepers and their estate would be of little interest to him. Courtesy demanded that he make a reply.

  “She was in any case long dead by then, sir. My mother perished soon after my return from the Waterloo campaign; I returned barely in time to be with her. It was then that she told me of her name, and of Lord Andrews, my previously unknown father. You will observe my state of prosperity, sir, which derives from him, and appreciate that I have nothing other than gratitude to him; I was not aware of the fact, but he had bought my commission and paid me a very respectable allowance that I had believed to come from my mother’s comfortable income. He had as well in fact purchased her a house, in her name, and arranged for her monthly stipend to appear to derive from a dead husband’s Will.”

  “That, sir, I discovered recently, to my most pleasant amaze; few men display such delicacy of mind, or accept their responsibilities in such a way. I would say that I continued to make enquiries rather than permit the estate to resume to the Crown, as would otherwise have been the case. It came to my attention that the eldest Mrs Amberley, mother of the four, had married out of Corfe and I visited there, thinking perhaps to unearth a cousin; in passing I discovered the existence of Mrs Mary Burley who had retired to the village with her young son, and was able to trace her back to Lancashire. The coincidence of Burley and Amberley struck me and two days in St Helens brought me to a maidservant who had been in service to her and that in turn took me to Martins Bank. When I explained that I was holding a quite considerable sum of money which was to be transmitted to the heir of her body then the bank was able to confirm my suspicions – Mrs Mary Burley was indeed the missing Mary Amberley, and heiress to the Amberley family.”

  “That is very pleasing, of course, Mr Huggins, but I, and more importantly, my wife, would be upset was this to become public knowledge.”

  “Naturally, sir, and I can assure you that there is no reason at all for anything to be said, or written, in the public domain. As executors to the Wills, sir, we had taken it upon ourselves to sell all of the assets of the Amberley family, which included three houses and the apothecary’s and provisions shops which made up the business, thus avoiding many costs. There were cash holdings as well, the gentlemen being of a thrifty turn, and there is the sum of twelve thousand, two hundred and eighty pounds to be paid to you. I have deducted all of my costs and fees at source, sir, and so that is the net amount which is to be paid into your account. I require only your signature in seven separate places on the various documents and all can go ahead and the actual cash may be transferred; it will be in your possession within one week, sir.”

  “That is a vast sum of money, Mr Huggins. One could purchase a square mile of best arable land for that.”

  “One could indeed, sir. Whether that is the best possible usage of the sum may be debated, of course. Land prices may well fall within a very few years, or so it seems to me.”

  “The Corn Laws, sir? They must go, and the prosperity of arable farming must die with them. As a Poor Law Commissioner I find the effect of forcing up the price of bread wholly intolerable; as a landowner I am pulled in the opposite direction of course. I doubt I shall buy more wheat land.”

  Captain Burleigh took what seemed to him to be a wiser course, purchasing instead some three hundred acres of very poor scrub land on the edge of the Purbeck Hills and close to his existing estate. He had spent out less than two thousand pounds on the purchase and had then employed four labourers to grub up the gorse and brambles and seed the land with good grasses; he was running a small herd of beef cattle for the while and would eventually, he intended, use the better soil for potatoes and turnips and beans and then expand into hogs and the production of hams and bacon for the growing towns. His sons, he believed, would be grateful to him.

  More than half of the legacy remained in his hands, invested for the while by his banker on his behalf and earning him a respectable thirty-five pounds on each thousand. He had been tempted to put the cash into railway shares, which offered a return twice and thrice as great – a level of profit that was difficult to resist. He was a level-headed gentleman, however, and could not believe that such returns could be sustained; they smacked of the boom before a crash and he preferred not to be a part of that event.

  He had made a nod in the direction of charity, following the example of his father who had endowed the free day-school that educated the labourers’ children, giving them a basic literacy and numeracy that the willing could build upon. Over the years a number of local children had been able to enter apprenticeships or sign articles that enabled them to better their condition in life, the costs being met by scholarships contributed by local worthies; another one hundred was added to that fund. Thomas was much in favour of the school, for it enabled the brightest local children to escape the poverty of the Land and create a future for themselves rather than remain frustrated and making trouble in the villages. He wished that it might have been possible to send just a few of the outstanding off to a University, but that was out of the question in England; they would have been too much out of their place to survive.

  The headmaster, Mr English, had been a Red in his day, Thomas knew. Now, older and with a family to support, he was merely advanced in his views and was regarded with tolerant affection by all those who recognised the benefits his school offered. Lord Paynton, the Dowager’s brother, was one who still regarded the school with distaste and Mr English with abhorrence, but the majority of the squirearchy contributed their five or ten pounds a year quite willingly. The foolish affair of the ‘Tolpuddle Martyrs’, as the newspapers insisted on calling them, had only reinforced the view that a modicum of education could have averted a great deal of popular upset; the younger farm labourers still supported the idea of a Trades Union, but none would be found so foolish as to be persuaded to sign an illegal oath.

  When he returned home he found that his groom had brought the mail in from the receiving office in Poole, a twice-weekly trip taking the whole of a morning and a thorough nuisance in winter. Town dwellers could actually receive deliveries at their houses, but for those in the countryside the post was far less convenient. There was a letter from the Dowager Lady Andrews, always welcome; she wrote three or four times a year, amusingly and with great kindliness. Now she told him that she and her daughter were to overwinter in Dorset, in a little house she had rented in Weymouth; she hoped they would be able to meet. She would be away in London for the Christmas festivities but would be available to him in November.

  “Have we anything arranged for the month of November, my dear?” He showed his wife the letter, giving her no sign of his inward entertainment. She knew that her Thomas was a son of the late lord, and that the Dowager was in a way his step-mother, but if the words were not actually said then that reality did not exist, or so she believed. It did not matter what his birth was, she told herself, but her conventional upbringing argued that it was in fact of great importance, which was another good reason for burying the whole question.

  “We have no engagements at the moment, but of course, invitations to dinner are generally for a few days distant and November is five months away. A week towards the beginning of the month, before the weather becomes too inclement and the lanes impassable, would be an excellent idea. We should hold a dinner party ourselves, I think, bringing the neighbourhood to entertain her ladyship. There are several who are more than bucolic squires, I believe, though we will be forced to invite one or two who are less than e
ducated in recognition of their place in the County. It is very difficult, Thomas, to determine just who may be sat down in the company of a lady of such keen wits as hers!”

  “I am sure she will be good, my dear! Miss Verity also has the best of company manners, a very well trained young lady; she will not laugh until the last of them has departed.”

  Mrs Burleigh did not approve of young ladies who possessed excessive intellectual powers; it was not seemly that a maiden should be either witty or wise.

  “Of course, sir, the question will arise of what should be done in the event of the King’s death. That cannot be long delayed, I believe.”

  The better people of the country, and those who wished to be seen as such, would be forced to observe mourning solemnity for at least a month; no dinner parties in that time.

  King William, more commonly known as Silly Billy, solved the problem for them, dying in June, although this provided a practical difficulty because the hot weather demanded few of the normal delays in putting the body away. In winter the funeral could have taken place a fortnight or more after the death, but it was felt that the atmosphere of the Abbey would not have been improved by such a long wait in summer. Luckily, His Majesty had been in poor health, obviously failing, for some months and much of the preparation had been done in advance.

  It was impossible to invite foreign royalty to the funeral, but they could come to the Coronation, if they wished. The young Queen was almost unknown in the country and a good procession with Bourbons and Hapsburgs and Romanoffs to gawp at would serve to bring out the crowds and introduce her to them; it was a pity that India was so far distant – some rich black men would have provided an excellent talking point.

  First though, the government had to deal with the encumbrances in Queen Victoria’s wake. The Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, set about that task with grim amusement. He sought an immediate audience with the young Queen, saw her the day after Silly Billy’s death and affected some surprise to discover Mr Conroy in her company.

  “You are aware, Your Majesty, that the Prime Minister of the day is obliged to inform the Crown of his doings, and that is has been the habit to meet at least weekly. Such meetings are confidential, though it has always been the case that the sovereign will be accompanied by such advisers or other companions as he or she may desire. One would, for example, always expect at least one of Ladies in Waiting, but I am at a slight loss to discover the function of the gentleman stood at your side, ma’am.”

  The Queen had long detested Mr Conroy and had been forewarned that she would be given the opportunity to remove him from her Court in circumstances in which he could make no protest.

  “Mr Conroy has acted as our mentor, my lord. We believe that having ascended the throne, we no longer require his assistance. We would wish him to surrender all of his functions, including stewardship of our family funds, and retire to take a rest from his long exertions in our service.”

  Lord Melbourne bowed and looked expectantly at Mr Conroy; to object would have been to commit lese-majeste and must result in his rapid committal to the Tower where there would be no legal action in this enlightened age, but he would be told, humiliatingly, that he was a silly man who must go home and cease to annoy his betters. Conroy bowed, almost in a daze, and left the chamber and the palace, to be accosted outside the gates by a carefully organised party of bailiffs who served him a number of writs and summonses and informed him that he was in debt for many thousands of pounds following the failure of his Irish gold mine.

  “If it is your desire, Your Majesty, then Mr Conroy may be formally dismissed and forbidden entry to any of your dwellings. It would be appropriate, in the eyes of the public, to grant him a minor honour – a baronetcy would be tidiest, for a knighthood should be bestowed from your hands in person and you will hardly wish to see him again. He has let it be known, ma’am, that he expects a very substantial grant-in-aid as a reward for his services. I propose that he should receive not a penny. There will be an accounting demanded of those personal funds which he has taken into his stewardship, ma’am. It will take a little time to remove him wholly from London, but I see no reason why he should enter your presence again.”

  “We concur, my lord.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. You will be aware, Your Majesty, that you have the right to see all government and particularly Cabinet papers, as, of course, have I. I am commonly presented with more than a thousand sheets of close-written quarto each week – quite impossible! It is my habit therefore to demand that every paper shall be accompanied by a summary, and it often takes all of my days simply to read them! If it is your wish, ma’am, and wholly at your decision, then it could be arranged for a copy of these summaries to be sent to you every day so that you may, again wholly at your discretion, call for the whole set of such papers as interest you. It was my habit to give a verbal briefing each week to the late king and you will make your own wishes felt regarding that practice. I, and all of your ministers, are wholly at your service, ma’am.”

  Victoria was young and had been very poorly educated, deliberately so as to render her unable to attempt to take control of her government. Mr Conroy had been permitted to continue in his machinations because they had served the interests of successive governments, which had preferred that royalty should become properly insignificant in the actual rule of the country. It was not forgotten that George III had lost America through a headstrong refusal to negotiate a settlement which the Americans had made clear they would welcome; no future monarch was to be permitted the power to act so foolishly.

  Faced with the prospect of spending all of her days at a desk, surrounded by mountains of paper growing ever taller as she fell farther and farther behind, she grasped at the prospect of reading only summaries. Lord Melbourne assured her she was wise in the kindest, most avuncular fashion; he had already arranged that she was to receive a precis of everything, significant and trivial, to read and form her opinion.

  Lord Melbourne returned to Downing Street conscious of a good day’s work well done; he informed his particular cronies in government that all had gone according to plan. Two days later his senior private secretary informed him that Mr Conroy had begged to meet him, had been most insistent on his need to do so.

  “Damn his impertinence, Cavendish! He is to be granted a baronetcy and will receive nothing else. Nothing, sir! Inform him as well that I shall be most distressed to discover that he has spoken out of turn. Have a word with one or two of our friends in the newspapers, if you would be so good; just a whisper that Mr Conroy has been asked a number of questions about his dealings with the finances of his royal acquaintance and that he has shown unwilling to give answers. Advise them as well that they might wish to look into the financial affairs of the Irish Gold Mines company.”

  The scribblers discovered that Mr Conroy was now a villain. They liked criminals in high places for providing them with excellent headlines and happily proceeded to damn Conroy without trial. He disappeared from public sight, was thought to have fled to his estates where he hid away in seclusion. He discovered, he believed, the opportunity to rise again when the unfortunate Lady Flora Hastings was rumoured to be pregnant by him. The poor lady had been taken by a tumour which had caused her to swell; she had been on bad terms with the new Queen, who made incautious animadversions on her morals, and possibly in unwise contact with Conroy – whatever the facts, she was pregnant by no man and Victoria’s derogatory comments were seen as spite, and used by Conroy to suggest that he had been right, that the Queen was incapable of governing herself and that he should be reinstated as advisor and possibly made regent. Lord Melbourne disabused him of his latest delusion and packed him off again, this time to remain in obscurity.

  “Highly satisfactory, Robert! Lord Melbourne is very pleased with the part the family played in putting Conroy into the Gold Mines collapse; it made his task much the easier. There is a whisper that I may look for some slight promotion in fact, having been so very useful in thi
s business. I am not at all certain that I wish to take a greater responsibility for local affairs in the country as a whole, however. There is a move to investigate the possibilities of rejuvenating the old town councils, giving them a real function, especially where they do not currently exist. Damned hard labour and probably thoroughly unrewarding. The trouble is still that benighted fool Bonaparte! It would make more sense to give real power to the Lords Lieutenant, to make them the local arm of the Crown with taxpayers’ money to spend; but Bonaparte had his Prefects who extended the iron grip of his dictatorship across his Empire and we cannot have an institution even superficially similar. So some poor gentleman will have the opportunity to make his name by creating something to be known as ‘Local Government’; it ain’t going to be me, Robert!”

  “Second in the War ministry would be more attractive, I suspect, James.”

  “Much! There is useful work to be done in that field. Equally, I would enjoy a post with the Board of Trade, but I doubt that can be possible, because the family is too active in business for the voting public to be entirely happy with my impartiality. On that topic, how do your railways progress, brother?”

  “Remarkably well, James! We have nearly eighty miles of track under construction; six small branch lines between busy towns, connecting them to Liverpool and Manchester and the main lines to London and Birmingham. They will all be completed this year and will be immediately active; there are mills and mines by the score wishing to end their dependence on the canals.”

  “Why? It was the canals that created their industry, was it not?”

  Robert laughed and agreed, said it was very much a paradox.

  “The canals made transport of bulky goods possible, practical at least. As a result, literally hundreds of mills and mines came into existence, and put so much traffic into barges that the canals became blocked by the sheer numbers of bottoms trying to pass through. Go north, James, with your eyes open, and you will see a tail of barges waiting at every lock, queuing for their turn, often waiting half a day to pass through. There is even a shortage of water sometimes, caused by so much being passed downhill every time the lock gates open; steam engines have been installed at some of the chains of locks to pump water back uphill to holding ponds so that the canal does not quite literally dry up! I am told that twenty miles a day is not uncommon now for the barges while they used to travel fifty or sixty. And a canal is expensive to dig; it is no simple task to make one wider or even to put another to run by its side. Railways, now, we lay double-tracked as a matter of course, and in the biggest and busiest towns I hear that four lines abreast are not uncommon!”