“So it should, my lord. I have been thinking, these last weeks, that I might prefer not to purchase an estate when I return. I might rather take a seven year lease on some lands, with a respectable house, of course. You have a vast estate in Scotland and three lesser in England, I believe. Were I to rent one from you, it would keep the money in the family and enable me to play at lord of the manor to my heart’s content. Needless to say, I would be an improving tenant.”
“The rental from the one could be put to work on the other three, sir, greatly to young George’s eventual advantage.”
“He will inherit from me, of course, my lord, but the sooner the land is brought back into condition, the better.”
They shook on the agreement, so advantageous to both.
“I do not know which of the English estates will be best for you, sir.”
“The nearest to a good railway line to London, I suspect, my lord.”
“I shall make it my first business in London to discover which that may be, sir.”
Southern Star blew her steam siren, as had become tradition, and slowly pulled away from the Bund. Magnus took Ellen’s arm as they stood on deck, waving to her father and drinking in the sights for possibly the last time.
“Farewell to the sinful city, Magnus.”
“Even so, my love. It looks a fine spectacle from mid-stream – the tall white buildings, the bustle of trams and wagons and rickshaws and carts at their feet – rich and busily making itself wealthier. Goodbye to the prosperous merchants and to the starving beggars; to the churches and the opium dens; to the luxurious hotels and the rat-ridden tenements.”
It was not a goodbye to China as the liner would call at Hong Kong. It was the end, Magnus suspected of a chapter of his life.
Nearly two months later, they stood at the rail again, Southern Star taking the tide up Southampton Water, the New Forest to their left and the claylands of the Hampshire Basin stretching across to the east.
“That is the Hamble River – full of yachts and little pleasure craft. Ahead of us, the New Docks and the biggest passenger port in England – although Liverpool might argue that.”
They had passed through Spithead, able to see into Portsmouth, almost empty of big ships, presumably out on training evolutions in the Channel or North Sea. There was no war in the offing that Magnus knew, although it was always possible that France was playing up again and needed the presence of the fleet in the channel as a warning.
A minimum of formalities and they made their way to the Docks Station where they waited for the staff to appear. The purser had promised to shepherd them through Customs and past any officious clerks who might have heard too much of the Yellow Peril.
A train drew out but there would be another inside half an hour. A short delay mattered very little.
The column of menials appeared and were placed into line at the end of the platform where the third class carriage would pull up. A mound of baggage was placed next to them. A few minutes and a train backed into the station and came to rest.
The purser’s senior mate ushered the Chinese into their carriage and a porter put Reserved stickers onto either end so that they would not be bothered by any other passengers when they stopped at Winchester and Surbiton on the way to Waterloo.
The purser himself assured Magnus that he had sent a telegram to my lord’s lawyers, as he had been advised. They would be waiting at the terminus.
Magnus made his thanks and found a pair of big white five pound notes which disappeared into the purser’s jacket as he bowed. The purser himself was well-off, would scorn to take tips, but his juniors – ill-paid until they finally climbed the ladder to their own ship – would share my lord’s benison most gratefully.
The boat trains took some ninety minutes to reach Waterloo, just time for a lunch in the dining car, an advantage of that particular journey. Magnus sat with Ellen and listened to the conversations around them, entertained to hear that the train was full of bloody Chinks – the speaker, who had come off a Cape boat, had seen them at the Docks and did not know what the world was coming to.
Magnus grinned and addressed his wife loudly.
“I hear, my lady, that the Boxers have sent assassins to England as a last revenge after their great defeat. The word in Peking was that they had it in mind to blow up Buckingham Palace.”
She choked on her tea, suppressed a laugh.
“I heard the same from the amah – and you know they hear everything, my lord! She said they had been given their orders by the mandarins who were obeying the Dowager Empress in person!”
Magnus glanced around, saw the gentleman to be returning to his compartment and whispered that they could expect banner headlines in next morning’s gutter press.
“The Daily Mail will be screaming the Yellow Peril again.”
The train pulled into Waterloo and they stepped out and walked the few yards to the barrier, first-class carriages being at the front. A youth was waiting, dressed in a poorly cut black suit under a bowler hat; he was peering surreptitiously at a photograph in his hand, spotted the couple and double-checked that they were the right pair.
“Excuse me, my lord, my lady. Captain the Earl of Calvine, sir?”
“Yes, I am he.”
“I have a motor cab waiting, my lord. I am to escort you to your house, my lord. There is a wagon for baggage and another for the servants, my lord. I am from Murdle, Phipps and Pratt, your solicitors-at-law, my lord.”
“Thank you, please lead the way.”
There was a small crowd outside the platform, waiting for the passengers from the boat train.
“Who are those people with the cameras?”
“Newspapers, my lord. They meet the boat trains and take photographs of the important passengers. For the society pages in the newspapers and the magazines, my lord – the Tatler and such. Your faces will be in them this weekend – ‘the Earl and Lady Calvine returning from China with their infant son, Lord Eskdale’.”
The youth did not mention the half-crowns in his pocket from informing them who he was waiting for.
“Are there people interested to read such stuff?”
“Oh, yes, my lord. They sell thousands of copies – especially since your name was in the papers for the Taku Forts and Tientsin.”
Magnus was not entirely certain that he liked the idea of being famous – it seemed an ill-bred sort of thing. He delayed a while for Fong to marshal the ranks of the servants and lead them off the platform in an obedient crocodile, laden down with trunks and cases.
“I have told the drivers where to go, my lord.”
“You have been most efficient, it would seem, young man.”
Magnus dipped his hand into his pocket again, reduced the boy to open-mouthed gratitude, two months’ salary tucked into his pocket.
“Shall we go?”
The taxicab shuddered into gear and pottered away, faster than a horse-drawn growler but smelly. There had been almost no petrol cars in Shanghai and this was the first trip for both. Magnus was inclined to approve – it was the way of the future, he suspected.
“We might wish to purchase a ‘motor car’ – for such I believe them to be called – for ourselves, my lady.”
“For yourself, no doubt, my lord. I shall be content with the horse, thank you.”
Had they not been in public, with its need for formality, she would have been more forthright in her expression of her opinion.
She glanced across at the senior nursery maid, carrying the baby and frozen in terror, saw she had a supporter there.
“You can see Calvine House across the little square here, my lady.”
Magnus pointed to the mansion – not huge but containing perhaps twenty bedrooms and four storeys tall – larger than the other houses surrounding it.
“It has been painted anew, my dear. Long overdue! I wonder if it is all for show or whether the painters have been let loose inside.”
“Do you fear they may have spoiled your c
hildhood home, my lord?”
“No! Definitely not! The old place had become disgracefully rundown. My poor brother had become so ashamed of the state of the decoration that he was moved to consider a rich marriage – a great sacrifice, as you might appreciate.”
“A martyr to duty, in fact, my lord.”
“Precisely. A very strange sort, my brother. I am glad you never met him – you might have found it difficult to be polite. I always did, I know.”
A footman came to the door and held it open for his master, begging his pardon that there was almost no staff in the house.
“Go to the back door, man. You will find a first instalment of servants there.”
“Yes, my lord. There’s a fire in the front withdrawing room, my lord.”
“What of the nursery?”
“One there, my lady, what we was told there must be. Upstairs maid, what we only got one of, dealt with it. Waiting to take you up, so she is, my lady.”
Fong appeared in the hallway within twenty minutes, properly dressed and in command of his household.
“Beg pardon, my lord. Lee is to be found in the dressing room and my lady’s maids are in their proper places. The cooks have entered the kitchen, my lord. I believe it is not of the nature they are used to, my lord.”
“It will not be, Fong. I shall arrange for builders to enter as soon as possible and for the purchase of cookware. It will take a while, but we shall soon have a proper workplace for them. I have not yet designated a workroom for my own use, Fong. Please decide where is best. I would expect the lawyers to visit this afternoon. I shall report to the Admiralty tomorrow, and will require the proper uniform for the purpose.”
Mr Pratt, senior partner and grandson of the founder of the chambers, arrived at two o’clock, carrying a leather briefcase. He wore a tall top hat and was dressed in a black frockcoat, dourly old-fashioned, as was appropriate for a solicitor. He was in his thirties but had assumed the mannerisms of a greybeard. Magnus suspected he might take snuff.
“My lord, welcome back to England. I am glad to greet you on your assumption of your duties as Earl.”
“Thank you, Mr Pratt. Will you be seated, sir?”
Mr Pratt gravely accepted the offered chair across a large table from Magnus.
“Now, my lord, I must beg for your signature to a number of documents relating to the probate and to your assumption of the entailed lands.”
The lawyer produced more than a score of sheets of thick foolscap. Magnus duly signed in the spaces pointed out to him, enquiring first what form he should use.
“For most, my lord, ‘Leven’ will suffice. Occasionally, I shall show you where, your full style is more correct.”
Half an hour passed, fruitfully, in the lawyer’s opinion.
“Now, my lord. Finances. I believe you may be relieved to discover that you are in better frame than might have been anticipated, my lord. Sir Charles Blantyre has cleared every debt and purchased the mortgages granted on your lands, my lord. The effect is that you have inherited no debts.”
Magnus nodded – his father-in-law had hinted at the time of his marriage that he would find himself clear when he returned home.
“I must be the first Earl of Calvine to be in that fortunate condition for many a generation, Mr Pratt.”
“I suspect that may be true, my lord. To continue. The sum of slightly more than ten thousand pounds was remitted to my care last year, as you will know, my lord. I was given specific instructions to use the money for the betterment of your estates, particularly for the repair and rebuilding of tied housing. There are six hundred and ten tied cottages on the estates, my lord, of which no fewer than one hundred were found beyond repair and are to be demolished and replaced new. That has accounted for a little less than five thousand pounds. For the remainder, it has been a matter of patching tiled roofs and replacing thatch, primarily. Some four thousand pounds has been spent thus. There remains one thousand which is being used variously for the digging of deeper and safer wells and for the replacement of sanitary facilities. It might be thought desirable to devote the sum of one thousand pounds per annum to the upkeep of the properties, my lord.”
“If possible, I shall do so, Mr Pratt.”
“Very good, my lord. Now, my lord, your income from rents and from holdings of Consols and other securities and from extraneous sources. The total is some seven thousand pounds per annum, my lord. Not a small income, necessarily, but needing to stretch to the upkeep of the Town House and the Great House in Scotland and manor houses on the three English estates. Your father was in the habit of keeping the London and Scottish houses open the year round, and fully staffed, and to open the Yorkshire house during the shooting season and the Leicestershire place during the hunting months. This was not inexpensive, my lord.”
“It cannot have been, Mr Pratt. I presume there are hunters eating their heads off in the Leicestershire stables the year round?”
“Fifteen of them, my lord.”
“Sell them. Close the stables. Reduce the house to bare maintenance. The same for the Yorkshire place. The third is in Berkshire, is it not? I have never been to any of them.”
“A little west of Reading, my lord. I too have never visited the property but it is a profitable agricultural holding with a moderate house.”
“Excellent. I believe Sir Charles – who is soon to return to England – will wish to rent the estate. It is close enough to London for him.”
“Very good, my lord. The effect will be to reduce your outgoings very significantly. What of Scotland, my lord?”
“I must visit there in the near future. My intent is that the estate should break even – the whole of its income should be spent on improvement.”
“And the London house must be kept up, my lord – you will expect to dwell here for much of the year.”
“Just so, Mr Pratt. My lady has an income secured to her – and not small – and will wish to cover some of the outgoings, I believe.”
“Then, my lord, I believe it to be the case that you will find it possible to live inside your income, and possibly to put an amount away.”
That was a novel concept to both – the Earls of Calvine were not known for financial regularity.
They ignored Magnus’ income as a post captain – that was so small as to barely cover the cost of uniforms.
“Robes, my lord.”
“What of them?”
“You will wish to assume your seat in the House of Lords and that means you must refurbish the robes for the purpose. I have ventured to place them in the care of your tailor – Gieves, that is – to bring them up to scratch, my lord.”
As a naval officer, Magnus had little choice than to patronise Gieves. Uniforms must be properly made by the sole expert in the field, unless one was so very poor as to use one of the little backstreet men in Portsmouth. Few officers were reduced to that expedient, though many midshipmen had no other choice.
“I presume I must take my seat – though I suspect I shall have little to say in the august assembly. I must find sponsors to walk at my side when I am introduced, must I not?”
“The Admiralty will see to that, my lord. There are naval peers who will be available for the purpose.”
“I see. What else must I know, Mr Pratt?”
“The coronation of the new King, my lord. It is set for June and you will be present, naturally.”
“I am not personally acquainted with Dirty Bertie, Mr Pratt. Obviously, I have met him, but I doubt he would remember my face.”
“Irrelevant, my lord. You hold a senior earldom, though politically insignificant, and have a role to play.”
It all sounded very unpleasant. Magnus wondered if he might not seek an early foreign posting. That, of course, depended on his remaining an active naval officer. He would take no decision until he had made his number at the Admiralty and discovered what was planned for him.
“Admiral Fisher has the Mediterranean Fleet still, I believe?”
>
“He has, my lord. He is expected to return to England next year and will become Commander-in-Chief, Portsmouth under current plans. Second Naval Lord as well, it is said, the two commonly going together. Unless the Beresford camp makes a comeback, then he will become First Naval Lord within the next few years.”
“Charlie B is on the outside, is he?”
“He has not lost yet, my lord, but it is generally believed that he has been a little too extreme, too violent in the expression of his views. One understands that it runs in his family, my lord, the tendency to become a degree unrestrained in middle age. I believe that Admiral Fisher is in the ascendant.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Mr Pratt. Is there more for us today?”
“I had intended to broach the question of staff for the London house, my lord, but I see you have dealt with that matter.”
“I owed a debt of loyalty to my people in Shanghai, Mr Pratt. They would not have been able to find another master there and the bulk have come with me and will remain in my service for life.”
“That is very good of you, my lord. No doubt they will settle into London ways – ours is a cosmopolitan city and the King is a man of vast tolerance, one who displays respect for all races. Well, most, anyway. He has no great love for Americans, I am told and small kindness for Russia as present constituted – a barbarian state, one understands.”
“It is, Mr Pratt. I have more respect for the gentleman on hearing that.”
The following morning saw Magnus primped out in frockcoat and bicorne to report to the Admiralty. He had sent a cable from Southern Star’s last port of call at Gibraltar and was expected, he presumed.
The porters had his name written in their ledger and found no difficulty in allowing him inside.
“The First Naval Lord will see you, my lord, if you will wait.”
Magnus had never met Admiral Kerr, had seen him at a distance, no more. He knew of him as a devout Catholic and as at odds with Jacky Fisher, though having no patience with Charlie B and his pouting tantrums and generally lax way of life. He had no expectation of an easy interview with the gentleman.
04 Peking Nightmares (The Earl’s Other Son Series, #4) Page 26
