Born To Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

Frederick Mason called on the major on Friday evening, was ushered into his sitting room just in time to see the rear end of a young lady disappearing through the far door. She had very good, long legs he noticed, they being almost wholly uncovered. Not much use calling upon the major to lay down the moral law! He outlined his problem quickly and concisely, joined the major in his laughter.

  “My experience, Mr Mason, has been that most boys know nothing about the pox. They have heard silly stories, swapped ignorant accounts of the ‘turn green and drop off’ variety, but for actual knowledge, they have none. Was I to meet Mr Joseph, man-to-man, I could enlighten his ignorance, explain why there is a problem and what he should do. You are never wholly safe, of course, but the use of common sense will go a long way. Never make casual, indiscriminate connections, especially when the alcohol is in; keep to one’s own peculiar if possible; if not, pay at the most expensive houses. Best of all, get married and stay at home! Luckily, the boy will not be going to Oxford – I am told that the few whores there are around the town, those most patronised by the students, are positive reservoirs of every disease known to mankind. Would you wish me to speak to the lad?”

  Frederick made the arrangements. He included Fraser in the meeting, suspecting that he would benefit as well.

  Rumour spread through St Helens, a quiet comment rather than any great scandal, came inevitably to the ears of the Stars, reached the mansion and Lord Star in person. He set in train his own investigations and came rapidly to the conclusion that it would do the boy no great harm. He mentioned the matter obliquely in one of his letters to Tom, received the reply that he was not at all surprised coupled with the request that he should keep his eye open, make sure the lad did not fall into bad company. It was all a part of growing up, and for those who grew up wealthy, quite the normal thing. After all, the Prince Regent, the Fountainhead of Britannic Honour, was renowned as a whore-monger, indeed was famed for little else – what could be expected of his loyal subjects?

  Joe Star was less sanguine – he still occasionally read his Bible, and it was his daughter that Joseph was going to marry. To be practical though, she would probably benefit from going to the bed of an experienced man rather than a fumbling boy – but he would make good and sure that he talked with the lad’s doctor before any wedding service came off.

  Summer was spent – by Verity – in anxious planning for the house party in September; the guest list had been amended to include the Yonges, it being essential to introduce Miss Yonge into the community of the Andrews clan. It necessitated a little reordering of the housekeeping, but they had kept two bedrooms unoccupied, just in case, and rapidly converted Alec Fraser’s rooms into another guest suite, covering the extra numbers very conveniently.

  Miss Robinson appeared and showed herself to be very efficient and, importantly, to be of a sufficiently conciliatory manner to avoid treading on the toes of cook, housekeeper and butler; unfortunately, in Verity’s opinion, she was also a rather attractive, well-built young lady, with hazel eyes and generous locks of wavy dark brown hair; a potential source of trouble in the whole area, attracting the eye of every unattached man. Sympathetic enquiry disclosed a betrothal to a soldier, a captain who had not come home from the retreat to Corunna early in the Spanish War; it was a familiar enough tale. Reverend Harker was of an age with her, it might be an idea… her Thomas was safe enough, she had no doubt, but it made simple good sense to remove any possibility of a lapse, of a careless moment’s foolishness – there was no sense, after all, in asking for trouble!

  Book Three: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter Nine

  The house party was a success, achieving all that Verity had wanted from it, which was mostly a set of invitations, actual and potential, to other such gatherings. Charlotte would remain on display throughout the winter months, would be kept in the eye of those who might be supposed to be interested.

  They had dined well, visited the local sights and ridden out to inspect the drainage along the River Nene - the long, slow process only partially complete still and a source of great interest to the agriculturalists, half of whom could have done it better, the rest openly willing to learn. They had talked politics and touched obliquely on the future of the Party in these troubled times, considering the need for the leadership to remain or be placed into ‘safe hands’. None of them would say that the Earl of Liverpool was inadequate for the job, none would offer unqualified support, none could really say who would be better.

  Lord Dartrey fell in Verity’s estimation when he insisted that the real need was for a leader who could make a return to the ‘old stability’, to bring the ordinary people back into a proper subservience to their betters so that they could lead more comfortable lives, as had been the case since time immemorial. They would soon forget about this revolutionary nonsense if they were given proper leadership by caring guardians, and one should always remember that to spare the rod was to spoil the child and one should treat the lower orders as no more than the erring children they actually were. Asked whether the new industry had not made fundamental changes, he replied, simply, that nothing could – the Laws of God and Man were immutable.

  “Well, Mama?”

  “Yes, my dear!”

  “Do you think we should ask him whether he feels it appropriate for pirates to become peers, ma’am? Or is there perhaps some immutable law that makes allowances for such an eventuality?”

  “I am sure he would respond that young maidens should not have been over-educated to the extent where they understand the meaning of such words. Girls have better things to do with their brains than think with them, after all!”

  They retired, Dartrey’s name expunged from the list of possible husbands – they did not need a social reformer or an enthusiast – Heaven preserve them from the latter! They did, however, demand a gentleman who recognised the existence of modernity with emotion other than disgust.

  They farewelled their guests and set to planning their excursion to Sussex in the following month, to Haslemere for the wedding, Miss Yonge, very properly, to be married from her parish church. There had been some consideration given to a London wedding, but the family preferred to bolster its local standing. Nuptials attended by two peers of the realm, newly created barons, would attract little attention in the Metropolis, particularly out of the Season. In rural Sussex the occasion would be an Event, one that would do much for the status of the Yonge family in the County and which would significantly improve Mr Charles Yonge’s standing as a prospective husband for a daughter of the wealthy – there was much to be said for aristocratic connections.

  Quillerson looked up from his accounts, having completed his report on the month’s doings.

  “Do you remember one time estate farmer, Hammet, my lord? The loony we had put away soon after you came here?”

  “Fairies and tigers! Who could forget him, Quillerson?”

  “A bill for his funeral, my lord, which we promised to pay all those years ago.”

  “Cover it, of course. I had expected him to be gone long since, had not thought of him in donkey’s years.”

  Quillerson laughed, said that my lord had been permanently in Hammet’s thoughts.

  “I am told that never a day went by but he said that he would have his vengeance on you, my lord. He died, in fact, bringing his long-made plan into effect.”

  “I had thought that he was held in close custody, could not escape.”

  “He could not, my lord, but being mad, was unaware of the fact, unfortunately for him. He had grown more docile with age, fatter for lack of exercise as well, I am told, and was let out to walk on an upper balcony on the third floor to take the air every day. It would seem he had come by the notion that he had discovered the fairies’ secret of flight and used some of his food to bribe another of the inmates to make a commotion at one end of the balcony to draw his guardians off while he climbed the high balustrade. They saw him standing there, arms outstretched and
triumphant, poor fellow, crying, so they said, ‘Ha, ha! Let Andrews beware now, for I shall swoop upon him!’.”

  “Oh dear! I presume he had not learnt the secrets of flight.”

  “Unfortunately – for him – not, my lord. He dashed out such little brain as he had on the steps leading up to the front doors. Very messy, I am told.”

  “There were no relatives, I believe.”

  “None, my lord – the nearest a cousin of sorts who was thought to have gone to the Americas years since. He certainly ‘went foreign’, but that does not necessarily mean that he travelled further than Northampton, of course.”

  “On the topic of overseas, no word from your son yet? I doubt a letter could have reached us much before last week in any case.”

  “A brief note to his mother, my lord, received yesterday, telling her of his safe arrival and that he was commencing his work. His affectionate duty to me.”

  Tom accepted Quillerson’s uninflected comment at face value, there was nothing he could say; at least the boy had not pocketed the one hundred guineas and disappeared, Tom reflected, better than either of the young Stars. He looked again at the express package he had received in the same bag. An expensive missive, sent by the overland courier from India, a risky journey on horseback through Persia to the Bosphorus then by sea to Marseille and another fast ride to the Channel, the whole accomplished in a bare three months, half the time of the sea journey. It was an unreliable service, due to the casualty rate amongst the well-paid couriers, and the wise correspondent sent a duplicate by the East Indiamen, but the service was used much by government and the richest merchants, and by naval captains with ill news to break at home it would seem.

  He did not know what to do, went in search of Verity, found her sat with her daughter over stitchery that neither seemed to be enjoying.

  “What in hell do I do about this, Verry?”

  She glanced at his bleak face, nodded Charlotte to leave the room.

  “Embroidery – ‘a ladylike occupation that provides unexceptionable work for hands and mind alike’. I forget what fool wrote that, some man determined to reduce genteel ladies to the status of idiots, I presume! I am glad for any excuse to avoid it, but, foolishly, I made sympathetic noises when the reverend gentleman commented that his altar cloth was threadbare and found myself committed to its replacement!”

  Such a symbol must come from her own hands, Tom appreciated – the Lady of the Manor had obligations that would be scandalous to avoid – she could not hire the job done. She took the letter, her eyes filling in sympathy as she read.

  “Poor, poor lad! Such a choice to have to take, and yet, no choice at all! By being there he had condemned young John to the grave, whatever he did, and it was by no intent of his that he was there in the first instance. His parents must be told that John is dead, though, I think, strongly in fact, that Lady Star need not know any of the details other than that he was discovered dead in the company of Malay pirates – and she may take that to believe that he was their victim. Lord Star, probably, should know all – he may well need to offer Matthew a shoulder to lean on. Face-to-face, Thomas, you must travel north, I believe.” She coughed, looked away, embarrassed. “You may also see young Joseph and discover what mischief he is up to – his letters home are suddenly become bland, anodyne, empty of all information about his actual life. Was he not only fifteen, I should suspect he had found amusement similar to his brother’s!”

  “Judy? I wondered how long it would take you to hear of that, my love! As for Joseph, well… they grow up so fast nowadays… I am sure the world was not like that when I was his age!”

  “I would not wish to hear that he had followed in my brother’s footsteps, Thomas.”

  “I hope and trust that he will not, Verry – but, all things are possible, I am afraid. Major Wolverstone has done me the favour of explaining the realities of existence to Joseph, I am told – he, of course, having had much experience of green young officers. In the nature of things, fathers are old fuddy-duddies but distinguished cavalry officers are to be listened to with great respect!”

  “Is he distinguished, Thomas? He seemed to me to be a very quiet, mild gentleman.”

  “He is – a retiring, courteous, almost shy, young man, but placed on the field of battle he has shown himself on more than one occasion to be quite without fear. At Vitoria I am told that he led his squadron to break a forming rally-square!”

  He explained, as he understood it, that the French, fleeing the battle in defeat, could have been brought together and reorganised so as to retire in good order behind the protection of squares of infantry but Wolverstone had given them no time to form up, had harried them mercilessly as they had attempted to do so. He had been rewarded with his captaincy, without purchase, Regimental not Army rank, an uncommon mark of recognition of valour.

  “And my brother effectively ruined his career. Would not such a gentleman have made a fine general, Thomas?”

  “Probably, but he might never have had the opportunity in peace-time. Commands are commonly handed out for reasons other than military virtue, my dear.”

  She changed the subject – she had no wish to discuss the concepts of grace and favour, knowing that they benefited greatly from her own nexus of family contacts.

  “Will you bring Joseph back here, Thomas, under our eyes?”

  “I doubt the maidservants would thank me, my love – having once started in this course, he will not willingly cease. I will speak to him, and Fraser, and arrange for his allowance to be increased so that he may be set up in his own establishment, young though he is. We need Fraser, it would seem, so he must stay with us and will continue as Joseph’s tutor, though I may suggest that he limits his endeavours to the strictly scientific in future!”

  She shook her head doubtingly, said no more, re-read Matthew Star’s letter to discover when exactly he hoped to be back in England.

  “At least another six months before he returns, he says, Thomas, having an old line-of-battle ship to nurse back to Portsmouth. Why, Thomas, are old, cranky ships still at sea?”

  Tom shrugged.

  “Rothwell told me that half or more of the fleet could hardly have survived another year of war in ’14 – we had been stretched almost beyond endurance. Napoleon was building new with all of the resources of Europe at his command, and able to order his naval yards to lay down keels with no concern for payment, whilst we had to buy timber from the Baltic and the States and then convoy it to England slowly and against gold, which was in increasingly short supply. Had the war lasted to this year, he tells me, we would have lost another Trafalgar, for the lack of ships able to fire a broadside. Any ship that could still float at all had to be at sea in the last years of the war, manned haphazard with press and foreigners more than experienced English seamen and able to show a threat but little more. Had the Frogs been more enterprising then they could have broken our blockades quite easily, but it would seem they had convinced themselves that they could not win at sea, and so they stayed home to a great extent.”

  “So… no more wars until we have recovered from this last, which will be many years.”

  “Very many, I trust, my dear – we do not need to throw our treasure away in such endeavours, for they gain us very little and cost far too much.”

  Miss Robinson, busily writing in the corner, nodded quiet agreement.

  Tom travelled north to his painful meeting with Joe Star, able to do or say very little to lessen the anguish his old friend felt.

  “Poor little Johnny! And Matthew, what must he be feeling, Tom? Johnny was always a favourite – a charming boy… spoilt, I suppose, because of it… he could not face a life of work, wanted adventure, silly lad! And Matthew, always the responsible one, the older brother who took the blame and sheltered the younger boys when he was at home, having to be the hand that killed him… Brave man to do it, I don’t know that I could have, Tom, yet it was far the best course for family and John alike, so much better than
a public hanging! And he is in command of a seventy-four now! Young for such a post. I wonder what he will do now, whether he will still want the sea. I can buy him a farm, of course, if that is what he decides.”

  “If not, Joe, then we can arrange for him to take a post at the Admiralty or with one of the Boards or he could become a Member. The family has more than one seat which could be vacated for him if he wished and the Quarringtons have four seats of their own in the Welsh Marches and two of their people are quite decrepit, I know.”

  “It will be his choice, Tom, he can make it when he comes ashore in the New Year. I owe him that, and a lot more. Thomas would not have wished to have gone to his bride’s family with a pirate and traitor brother about to be publicly hanged, and his mother would not have liked that either. Bad enough to lose the lad without that being known of him as well. His brothers who are making their own way in the world can do without the scandal too – the whole family is under an obligation, Tom. It was lucky, in some ways, that it was Matthew who put a quiet end to his career, though I doubt that poor Matt feels so!”

  Joe was silent a moment, tears running down his cheeks, staring out of his window at the view across the plain to the Welsh mountains.

  “Better to keep it quiet for another month, Tom – the news can be known after Thomas’ wedding, otherwise we would need to delay the affair for six months’ mourning, and I had rather not do that, harsh though it may sound. His mother will not be upset for I shall tell her that I had to verify the news when first it came to me and she knows too little of the world to realise that I could not do so in less than a year… Where next, Tom? Down to St Helens to confront your son?”

  They laughed, shook heads together, glad to turn the conversation to bawdy, to banish tragedy for a few minutes.

  “Fraser first, Joe – give him a roasting, but not too hot, he’s too damned good at his job!”