‘I have heard Father’s men singing it as they weigh anchor. The music does not appear to have any words attached, so I doubt the music itself can be risqué.’
‘Quite right. Shall I ask them to be quiet, and then announce you?’
‘Don’t you dare. I will just tinkle a little and see what happens.’
Charlotte played the tune quietly, and began to feel more confident. Some of the men joined in the chorus in a half-hearted way. She finished the piece to a loud round of applause.
‘More, more,’ shouted some of the guests.
‘Can you hear them? Your public demands more,’ laughed William.
‘This is all your fault,’ hissed Charlotte gaily.
‘May I suggest you do the same piece, but louder? Let them join in and we will take it from there.’
Charlotte raised her hands over the keyboard and waited until the noise subsided. The only sound now was the low murmur of the older ladies gossiping. Charlotte brought her hands down with a crash and began playing. The guests listened as she played the introduction, and upon reaching the chorus, all the men burst into song. Propriety demanded that the version they sang was fit for ladies.
Charlotte raised her head as she played the final notes, to see her father and George entering the room. George appeared very happy and her father slightly smug.
Turning to George, Donald Nicholson shook hands with him and thanked him for a pleasant evening. Sarah rose from her chair, moved to the pianoforte, and informed Charlotte that they were about to leave.
William walked Charlotte to the coach, kissed her hand, and said he hoped that they would meet again soon.
Charlotte climbed into the coach, wrapped herself in her cloak, and settled down to try to sleep during the journey home. If she could not sleep, she intended to pretend to be asleep. She expected her mother to chastise her for playing such a tune and she did not want her thoughts ruined by complaints.
Her mother climbed into the coach beside her and made a comment about the inappropriateness of the music.
‘They joined in, and they knew the words,’ said Charlotte in her own defence, and promptly closed her eyes to signal that she did not wish to speak again.
She heard Henry give a grunt and made a mental note to have a word with him for being so rude, and not shaking William’s hand in farewell. He just climbed into the carriage, made a gruff noise as if to say he, too, wanted to be left alone, and closed his eyes.
She brushed her hair a few more times and decided that she must have reached one hundred.
Was George’s attraction fading in the light of Williams’s arrival? William didn’t have a company of his own but would he inherit King and Son, and how long would she wait? George had the money, position and power now, which was what she wanted. She also wanted to leave home and control her own life, but she knew this would never happen unless she married. If she married George, she was confident that she could control him and perhaps have an input into the running of the company. If George died early, the company and the house would be hers.
If she married William (she assumed she could persuade him that marriage was the best thing for him), he would always be second fiddle until his father retired, or died. Did she wish to wait so long for control and power?
William was more exciting than his father, but he was unable to offer security and the standard of living to which Charlotte was accustomed, or rather, the standard of living to which she considered that she was entitled.
She lay in bed with her feet placed on the hot spot left by the warming pan. How best could she find out William’s plans for his future?
If William returned to the Navy, perhaps eventually he would be promoted to admiral, or even knighted, which would mean that she would be Lady Charlotte. The title had a very pleasant sound. She whispered ‘Lady Charlotte’ to her ceiling. Of course they would have to live in London, as Liverpool would be too small for a knight and his lady.
He might be killed in action, or worse, wounded, and could not go back to sea, what would he do then?
Her mind wove scenario after scenario as she composed herself for sleep.
Chapter Eleven
The Abolitionists
William spent days strolling around Liverpool, and down to the small pier near the old ‘lither’ pool (a tidal area at the entrance to the dock), after which Liverpool was named. He marvelled at the dock, over ninety years old and still being used. It was a great invention, the first of its kind in the world, allowing ships to be worked without waiting for the right tide. At high tide the dock gates opened, and ships moved in and out. After the gates were closed, the ships in the dock could be loaded or unloaded without any consideration of the tide. Before the dock was built, ships anchored in the river and were unloaded into barges. The barges would then be rowed ashore for final unloading, which was an uneconomical way of working.
The temperature had been dropping each day, which brought the only advantage in cold weather, the smell of the city’s sewage was minimised.
The wind off the river chilled him to the bone, even though he wore a full uniform and his boat-cloak. He could have stayed in the inn, but found it easier to think while walking, and the cold wind kept him focused. He stood at the small pier and watched the river traffic.
He could go cap-in-hand to his father, or he could return to London and visit the Admiralty in the hope of being appointed to a ship. The first option was impossible if he was to stand on his principles of not being involved in the slave trade. His father would never allow him to stop the company’s trade to Africa.
The anchored ships, waiting in the river to enter the dock, swung to the tide. Perhaps he could approach each captain of the waiting ships for a berth. This option was not pleasant, as he would be admitting that he had failed.
Daylight faded as flakes of snow melted on his face. He pulled out his watch. Only three-thirty. The heavy snow clouds had shut out what little daylight was left. He started back towards the Pen and Wig. To stand around any longer in such weather was foolish.
The snow fell faster as he climbed the short muddy embankment from the pier. Suddenly his feet slipped, and he stumbled. Just in time he threw his hands forward to break his fall, and to protect his clothes from the muddy ground.
‘Damn and blast,’ he muttered, his arms straining to keep from falling face down.
A voice from the top of the embankment stuttered, ‘Allow m… me to assist.’
William gently pushed himself upright in an effort to spare his clothes, and saw a small man shuffling from leg to leg while offering his hand.
William clasped the stranger’s hand and pulled in a measured way, not wishing to pull the man down on top of him. The stranger pulled back while digging his heels into the mud.
‘Thank you, Sir, I am much obliged for your help.’
‘M… my pleasure, Lieutenant King,’ stuttered the small man.
‘How do you know my name, Sir?’ asked William suspiciously.
‘L… let m… me introduce myself. My name is Owen Johnston and I attended your father’s dinner the other evening, where I m… met you, but at a distance. We did not speak. You and your father appeared to be having a disagreement, and I did not wish to intrude.’
William scrutinised the man and tried to remember the face, and the possibility of seeing him at his father’s house.
Owen returned the scrutiny and said, ‘I am staying at the Pen and Wig. May I offer you a hot drink in this inclement weather? I understand that you are also staying there.’
‘Although I am grateful for your help, I do not remember meeting you, nor informing you that I am resident at the Pen and Wig. Have you made enquiries about me?’
The tone of William’s voice was the same as he used to a defaulter at sea. It indicated that he would not stand for any nonsense, and that he was suspicious of his benefactor.
‘Lieutenant, be assured I have not made enquiries about you. The information about you residing
at the Pen and Wig has been given to me by a mutual acquaintance, and I assumed it a convenient place to offer you a hot drink.’
‘Which mutual acquaintance would that be, Mr Johnston? I only arrived in Liverpool a few days ago, and have spoken to no one, other than the people at my father’s house. I fail to see how we could have a mutual acquaintance who would be aware at which inn I reside.’
‘My dear Sir, I do apologise, I have not made myself clear. The gentleman who informed me that you reside at the Pen and Wig is Mr Thomas Clarkson.’
‘Do you know Thomas?’ enquired William in a more cordial tone.
‘I have that honour. Mr Clarkson and myself have had a few dealings in the past.’
‘My apologies, Mr Johnston, I fear that I have misjudged you. It’s just that it appeared unusual to meet someone just at the moment I needed help, who also knew of my private arrangements.’
‘I quite understand, but actually I was out searching for you. I have a few matters of business to discuss, if you are interested.’
‘Business?’
‘I beg your forebearance. I wish to be comfortable when we discuss what I have in mind. This inclement weather is not fit for anybody.’
William noticed that Owen Johnston’s stutter and physical agitation had left him. His speech was normal and he spoke in a much stronger voice.
The two men increased their speed in a mutual desire to be out of the cold. As they rounded the corner, they saw the warm glow of lights from the inn. The ground was slippery with the thickening snow, which brought a hush over the streets, even silencing the rattle of iron coach wheels over cobbles. Only the tinkle of the horses’ bridles gave warning of an approaching vehicle. They pushed through the outer door of the Pen and Wig to be met by warm air, and the aroma of food and beer. As they shed their cloaks, snow clinging to their shoes melted into a puddle of dirty water.
Johnston turned to William. ‘May I suggest we repair to my sitting room? It is very private and we can talk in peace over a hot drink, or perhaps something stronger?’
‘A capital idea,’ replied William. ‘Perhaps I will have a small brandy to take the chill from my bones. I foolishly stayed out too long, and should have anticipated the snow.’
‘Waiter! I would like brandy, and some hot tea, sent to my sitting room.’
‘Yes, Sir!’ answered the waiter, and hurried away.
‘May I call you William, Lieutenant?’
‘Please do, and I have just remembered you from the dinner at father’s house. You did not join in the toast when I first entered the room. I think my father made a toast to the African trade.’
‘Correct, William. Please follow me.’ The sitting room was part of a small suite, with a door connecting to a bedroom. ‘This is where I reside when I am in Liverpool.’
William walked over to the large fire and thrust his hands towards the heat, rubbing them together to encourage circulation. ‘What kind of business are you in, Mr Johnston?’
‘My family’s company, in Manchester, supplies the goods for trade to the slavers on the African coast.’
‘What! Without those goods the slavers would find it difficult to trade for slaves.’
‘A fact of which I am aware, William, but I cannot change the world in a day. When I realised the connection between our pots and pans and the misery of the African, I tried to persuade the family to change. I wanted them to refuse to sell the goods to people like your father and Donald Nicholson. Unfortunately, I am in the same boat as you. My family will not stop selling to slavers. I think we have a lot in common.’
‘So it appears.’
‘I and a few others have decided to open our own trading and shipping company, to prove we can make a profit in the Americas without resorting to the African trade. We intend to ship the same goods my family make and to offer an agency agreement for other suppliers, and to make a good profit. We plan to return with goods that have been produced by honest labour. We will search out suppliers of crops that have been produced without the use of slaves.’
A knock on the door stopped their conversation. A servant arrived with a tray containing hot tea, a bottle of brandy, and a row of six glasses.
‘Put them on the table please, we will attend to ourselves,’ said Owen as he extracted a coin from his pocket for the servant’s trouble.
‘Thank yee, Sir.’
Owen indicated the tray with his hand. ‘Help yourself, William.’
William moved to the table and poured himself a measure of brandy. ‘Can I pour one for you?’
‘No, thank you, I will make my own tea. I like to be exact when I pour the milk.’
William held the glass as he leaned on the mantel above the fire. This position allowed him to appreciate the warmth from the fire with the warmth of the brandy. He watched Owen make his tea in a very neat and precise manner, and waited for his host to renew their discussion.
Owen placed his cup on a small table alongside a chair near the fire.
‘Where was I? Oh Yes. My associates and I intend to show that a ready profit can be made from the buying and selling of inanimate objects between England and the Americas, without recourse to the trade in human flesh.’
‘An admirable thought, but how do you propose to carry out this venture?’
‘We have the resources, and we have a contact in the Americas, but what we don’t have is an honest ship’s captain to act for us. He must be of like mind to us, and not tempted by an easy profit, whether it be by the slave trade, or buying the product of slavery.’
‘Have you found such a man?’
‘My business associates and I have been seeking the right man for some time. We believe the slavery bill will pass through Parliament within the next two years. By Christmas 1807 we should be able to push through the anti-slavery bill with a majority. We have Prime Minister Pitt on our side, and our support in Parliament has grown. We lost the last vote by a very small majority. We believe we can be the first to trade from Liverpool without the help of slavery, which means we will have a lead on the likes of Nicholson and, I am sorry to say, your father.’
‘May I ask who your associates are?’
‘You may, and it is my intention to introduce you to them within the hour, which is why I was keen to find you this afternoon.’
William moved slowly to the window to consider what he had heard. Was there a chance for him to be appointed as one of the officers on this new vessel? He moved the edge of the curtain and peered out over a white world. The snow was heavy. The dirty smoked-stained buildings, with their dark grey-slated roofs, were changed to virginal white. The city’s scars were hidden under a blanket of snow.
He glanced down and saw a carriage stop in front of the inn and the driver quickly jump from the coach. Three men climbed out and made their way into the inn. Only the tops of their hats were visible, but somehow they seemed familiar. William let the curtain fall, and turned to see Owen lighting the oil lamps around the room.
Owen lit the last one and said, ‘I usually sit in semi-darkness, because I like to think on days like this, until the servant comes to light the lamps. My friends will be here any minute and I don’t wish us to be disturbed.’
‘I will go,’ William said, placing his glass on the table, ‘as I do not wish to intrude on your meeting. Thank you for your help this afternoon, and for the brandy. Perhaps while you are here I will be able to return the hospitality. I will be here for another two or three days.’
‘But William…’ said Owen as a steady tap-tap on the door of the sitting room drew their attention. ‘This will be my associates. Please stay a while, I would like them to meet you.’ Owen hurried to open the door.
‘Gentlemen, please come in. It is so nice to see you again.’
William watched Thomas Clarkson enter the room followed by William Roscoe and on his arm, Edward Rushton.
‘William, we meet again,’ said Thomas in a jovial manner as he extended his hand.
‘Thomas,’
replied William with a genuine smile, ‘it is a pleasure to see you again.’
‘You remember William Roscoe and Edward Rushton?’
‘I do indeed, my pleasure to see you both, gentlemen.’
Roscoe helped Edward to a seat before shaking hands with William. ‘Lieutenant,’ he said, giving a slight nod of his head.
Thomas, standing before the fire, flicked his coat tails to allow the heat to warm his back, and said, ‘William, will you not join us? We would value your advice on certain matters.’
‘My advice? I doubt if I could advise such gentlemen as you.’
‘Do not underestimate yourself, my dear fellow. Will you stay?’
‘If that is your wish,’ said William, sitting in a chair not too near the fire, yet close enough to still benefit from the heat. He did not want to appear to be forward.
Owen spoke first. ‘I have found the vessel I believe would be right for our venture. She is a French-built brig, the L’Harmonie, which was captured by our Navy. I purchased her from the Admiralty marshall. She has a copper bottom for protection against tropical worm and has been renamed the Albatross.’
‘Is the name to imply we are birds of a feather, Owen?’ laughed Thomas.
‘Thomas,’ continued Owen, ‘Samuel Coleridge wrote a poem a few years ago about an ancient mariner and an albatross. The mariner killed the bird and had to suffer the consequences to himself, his crew and his ship. He felt he was under a curse but was eventually redeemed by his recognition and love of all of God’s creation. Our hope is that we will be redeemed by our recognition that the black man, too, is part of God’s creation, and that same God will grant our venture success as we turn our backs on the despicable trade.’
‘Excellent, excellent,’ responded Thomas, ‘well said.’
‘Edward and I have found backers. We have enough money to fit her out, plus we will be able to pay for a crew. We have yet to find officers, but I believe we should leave the crewing to her captain. He will know what is best for his ship.
‘Now, Gentlemen, I think it is about time we enlightened our guest, Lieutenant King.’
Triangle Trade Page 11
