“Tin, Mr Mostyn, can be bought from the Malay States, possibly through the new colony at Singapore. It is a most valuable metal and one in short supply the world over.”
More loans, using bank paper rather than coin, which was in short supply for the while, and another ship set off.
David sat long hours over his books, juggling figures and quietly converting long loans into somewhat shorter ventures, as far as the accounts could tell. He quickly developed the banker’s habit of keeping two sets of figures, those for public consumption and the real ones. One typhoon a little out of time or place, a single ship lost, and he would be in trouble, he realised.
Not to worry! He put two thousands in coin aside. One could run a long way on two thousand golden sovereigns.
Lord Castlereagh looked worried, James thought. He was pale-faced and, most rarely, distracted and unable to hold the thread of their conversation.
“Where was I, Mr Andrews? Ah, yes, Metternich and his insistence that all of the states of Europe should support each other against internal unrest. He had the infernal impudence last year to offer a brigade of hussars to assist our troops in the industrial parts! I believe I made the position of His Britannic Majesty entirely clear on the matter! Internal dissension is the affair of each country that experiences it, to be solved in whatever way that land finds appropriate. Where an Emperor chooses to rule over different races and places then he must seek his own salvation when they, inevitably, object. It is not the business of British troops to subjugate Bulgars and Serbs for the benefit of the Austrians! Nor should we bully the Poles to placate their Russian overlords.”
“Then, my lord, you expect our entanglement with Europe to come to an end soon?”
“It must, Mr Andrews. We share no land boundaries with them and are not part of their petty brangling and brawling. Better to leave the Continent to its own affairs and look to our own interests in the Americas and India and Africa and the Antipodes – we need maintain no watch on the Rhine.”
“Quite right too, my lord.”
“Is your brother, Mr Robert Andrews, in Town, do you know, sir?”
“I have not seen him this week, my lord, but I know that Sir Iain Mostyn is staying at Thingdon Hall with my father for a few days and, except in high summer, when one is out of Town the other normally makes a point of being in.”
“I must pay a call on him, I believe.”
James had no knowledge of Castlereagh’s dealings with the bank, quite rightly that was a matter of confidence, but he felt it wise to see his brother first, to forewarn him, to tip him the wink that something was wrong.
“Again, James? I cannot tell you the details, those that I know, but he is experiencing difficulties which are to a very great extent of his own making. Not financial, as such, he is not in shallow waters and close to the rocks, or not at least that I am aware of, but he is behaving in a very regrettable manner. A great pity, for he is an able and in many ways admirable man. I shall do all I can to help him, but I much fear he will not help himself. A piece of advice, brother? Do not attend any bachelor entertainments in his company.”
James grimaced and returned to his own house, and to the ministrations of Sophia, comfortably domestic and in no way scandalous. He could not understand what was the matter with so many of his contemporaries, why they had to seek out complicated forms of vice and amusement – he might, he accepted, be a simple soul, but there was much, he felt, to be said for conventionality in one’s everyday existence.
Robert quickly refreshed his memory of Castlereagh’s dealings with the bank, found, as he had expected, a series of minor transactions, none greater than two thousands for a month, all paid up on time.
“More foolishness, no doubt!”
“A small accommodation, if you would be so good, Mr Andrews, a matter of a thousand, in coin, sir.”
“Of course, my lord. The terms to be as usual?”
“Well… not quite, if you do not mind, Mr Andrews. There have been some extraordinary expenses of late, and, of course, there is a degree of famine in Ireland which has led to a reduction in my incomes there. I have had little alternative to diverting some portion of the wheat harvest to Irish mouths, and my agents inform me that the exportation of cheeses to London is down. A nuisance, but unavoidable, I fear. As a result, I would wish to postpone repayment until the third quarter, sir, when my English rents have all come home.”
Robert agreed instantly, making no show of the reluctance he felt. If Castlereagh was feeling the pinch then his situation could only be expected to worsen. His total income was probably in excess of forty thousands a year. Some part of that would be used up on government business; he would pay his own travelling and keep in Europe, possibly receiving a grant from Parliament when he eventually retired, but all from his own pocket in the short term. His wife was one of the grande dames of Society, entertaining heavily and spending lavishly on clothes, and that would leave him small change from ten thousand a year. Maintaining and staffing houses in the country in Ireland and England and a mansion in London would not be cheap. But he should be able to cover all of the ordinary expenses of his way of life with a comfortable surplus; if he was short of a thousand which he could not repay next quarter, then he was in difficulties, and of a sort that would not simply disappear.
There was no gain to pressing the gentleman to reform and it was too early to talk of mortgages, those must wait until he had failed to make a repayment. It might be possible to discuss matters of interest to the family, however.
“Our shipyard on the Isle of Dogs is to launch one of our largest hulls yet, in just three days from now, my lord. A paddle steamer, of course, and one that we will use around the Channel coast, working from Poole to Portsmouth and then to London. All of the goods of London in one direction, fresh foodstuffs from the countryside in the other. We would be pleased to welcome your presence, my lord.”
Castlereagh was happy to attend the ceremony. He was an intelligent man with an interest in anything new and, besides, wished to keep well-in with his banking acquaintance.
“You have another yard in Liverpool, do you not, Mr Andrews?”
“And a third in Southampton, my lord. Steam is the future around our coasts, it seems. Across the oceans of the world wind-power still has every advantage but in narrow waters there is much to be said for steam.”
“His Majesty might well be interested in such an event, Mr Andrews. Despite his limitations, shall we say, he wishes to be in the forefront of progress, and to see England flourish. His enthusiasm, publicly displayed, might be of some use to the further advance of steam.”
“It would indeed, my lord, and the people in the yard would be so proud to see him there, approving of their efforts.”
“I shall see what can be arranged, Mr Andrews.”
The time was too short to bring his father or Sir Iain, back to London but he could rustle up a respectable platform party from his acquaintance in Town.
He took a cab to the yard.
“So, Mr Rumpage, I shall arrange for a cold collation and wines to be served somewhere.”
“We have a passenger ferry fitting out, Mr Robert, she will be delivered next week, with a saloon for a hundred standing men. She is only to work along the River, bank to bank from the east to the City, so there is little need for seats and none for cabins. But there is space to entertain these folks. And, Mr Robert, they could see the paddle wheels close up and go below decks to look at a boiler. Cold, out of course.”
“Good idea, Mr Rumpage. The King may not be present, I do not know, but there will certainly be some important people.”
“I’ll get the old yard all cleaned up, Mr Robert, ready for any of the nobs, whatever sort they may be.”
“Make a place for families to stand as well, Mr Rumpage. Many of the men in the yard will be pleased to bring their wives and children to see it all, I have no doubt. Your own wife will, obviously, be at your side, sir, as will be mine.”
The chance to see the King, at close quarters, was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Even a rather second-rate king was something well out of the ordinary way of things – the womenfolk would be delighted.
The yard would hold holiday for the morning, they would be back to work as soon after noon as was possible. Daringly, Rumpage decided to pay the men for the six hours, which meant that in justice those who performed the actual launch had to receive double time as they were working while the others watched. He knew he was setting a precedent for future special occasions, but profits were high and the men were loyal and deserved a reward, and the word would very soon spread throughout the whole area, giving Roberts a good name which would come in handy when he needed to recruit more labour. It would be useful if skilled men were to compete to come through their gates.
There was no sense to doing a job by halves he told himself, and he spoke to Millicent’s father at the bakery. When the nobs feasted there would be hot pies and buttered baked potatoes and fresh bread and a couple of barrels of beer on trestles in the fitting-out shed, enough for the families as well.
The morning was dry and sunny, which always helped, tide was high at eleven o’clock, a very convenient hour, and all was prepared. A small stand had been erected close to the slip and comfortable chairs and benches brought in; the necessaries had been thoroughly scrubbed and disinfected with tar oil and all was ready for whatever visitors might appear.
Lord Castlereagh and a cluster of courtiers arrived early and confirmed that Royalty would attend; they inspected the facilities and conveyed their approval that all was well for a short visit. The families gathered on the opposite side of the yard and the launch party fussed nervously about the slipway.
A small procession entered the yard soon after half past ten, a squadron of the Blues attending a large carriage, not a state coach but very highly polished and ostentatious nonetheless, drawing up as close as possible to the stand.
The spectators cheered mightily, deeply pleased at the honour done to them – no other steam yard had been graced by Royalty!
The massive figure, dressed in naval uniform in honour of the occasion, made his way up the three steps and stood for a couple of minutes for the crowd. Robert was presented and he pretended to remember him, very kindly.
“Hah! Heir to Lord Andrews, I believe, sir, and your wife, sir.”
He nodded to Miriam and smiled, recollecting his briefing which had emphasised that she was the daughter of the recently created baronet, Sir Iain Mostyn, a most important figure in the City, a banker. The Royal finances were still rocky and bankers were not to be offended, whether they be Jew or Gentile. He saw the two small boys, twins, he observed and greeted them in the most friendly fashion – he liked children, when he was in a good mood.
The party sat, their attention drawn to the ship, and they waited a very few minutes. It was not yet a convention to make a fuss of naming merchant vessels and all went very quickly. Mr Rumpage, dressed as always in his frockcoat, called to Knocker Dore and he raised his red flag. Each of the chargehands along the slip acknowledged in turn that all was well and then Knocker gave his shout, strangled at birth as he realised that he could not use his normal cry of ‘Get them bastard chocks out!’
The men recognised the choked howl as the signal to go and the sledge-hammers thumped in unison and the hull slid slowly down the greased timbers and into the water, the restraining chains uncoiling with a great clatter and a small wave surging across the Thames. The audience on the stand clapped politely while the crowd hooted and cheered. Twenty minutes and the hull had been pulled into her berth and the mooring ropes made secure. The official party was invited onto the newly completed ferry, stared at the steam engine and paddle wheels for a few minutes and then reached the food and glasses, all essential after an hour’s hard labour in the sun. The King’s collar points were wilting and he was very slightly ruffled, but he was willing to make sacrifices for the benefit of his subjects.
Suitably refreshed and ready to withdraw, His Majesty enquired who the large gentleman in the frockcoat and beaver hat had been, he had seemed to be in charge of proceedings.
“Mr Rumpage, Your Majesty, manager of the yard since its inception. He was in fact also in charge of its building, has been here since it was no more than a mud puddle.”
The King was impressed, he had never spoken to a person who actually built things – the closest he had come to such was his architect. He intimated that he would like to see the gentleman.
Rumpage was brought in, made an untutored but adequate bow, showed himself to be impressed by the honour done to him but not flustered.
“Tell me, Mr Rumper, have you always built ships?”
“No, Your Majesty, I did start in canals.”
“Ah, very good.”
His Majesty had never addressed a canal builder either, felt he should demonstrate his pleasure in so doing. He turned to an equerry, whispered for a few seconds, received assent that his proposal would not be inappropriate. He spoke to Lord Castlereagh, borrowed his dress sword for a moment. The equerry instructed Rumpage to kneel, enquired of his first name, muttered to his master.
A brief touch of the sword and Sir William was instructed to rise, dumbstruck, to the King’s great pleasure. He dearly loved to please his subjects, when he was in a good mood.
The carriage drew up as close as possible and Majesty rolled the few paces to it, bade farewell to all present and left the scene, satisfied with his morning’s work. That was what a king should be, he believed, visible, in contact with his people and with no overwhelming mass of soldiers to keep them at a safe distance, such as a tsar or emperor needed.
“We must do things like this more frequently, we believe.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Have we met Andrews’ son before? The name’s familiar.”
“His brother, Your Majesty, is a member of the Lower House. He was used to be a soldier but lost a leg on campaign in Ceylon.”
“Hah! We remember. Young bugger’s a devil at the card table! Very good sort of man! Don’t see much of the father?”
“First baron, Your Majesty. Married into the Grafhams. Worth more than one million from coal and iron and cotton. He comes up for the Season but does not obtrude, feeling that he is an outsider, I believe. The wife died and he remarried recently, Paynton’s daughter. He is well-liked by those who know him.”
“Good. It makes sense, you know, to get these people to mix with our sort. No revolutions here if the rich won’t support them! Handsome pair of boys, the young man had.”
“A pair of baby girls as well, Your Majesty. The wife is not a young lady to do things by halves, it would seem!”
“They should be invited to one of our dinners, husband and wife. We remember that she is a Jew, do we not?”
“You do, Your Majesty.”
“All the more reason to welcome her. Invite the Archbishop of Canterbury as well and sit him beside her. He won’t like it but he won’t have the balls to refuse!”
“The Andrews’ father, as well, Your Majesty?”
The King was not unintelligent – self-indulgent, foolish, spoilt, bad-tempered and well-poxed, but not stupid.
“And the younger brother. Do the job thoroughly. Make a list of rich merchants and bankers, reasonably well presented, of course, of all sorts, who could be invited to make their bows at a levee. Bring these people to us, best for us and for them as well.”
The King sat back in his well-padded seat, felt in the squab for the brandy flask hidden out of sight of lesser mortals in the street, refreshed his over-taxed brain.
“Where are these coal hills and iron works and cotton mills? Somewhere up north, ain’t it?”
All over the north, the equerry believed.
“Have a word with the right people, a visit in the shooting season, and we can be seen in some of these places. That sort of people will never come to London in all their lives. Best we should go out to them.”
&nbs
p; It was a novel concept, the King to be visible to the ordinary mass of his subjects, but there were points in its favour. The possibility of flight from a revolution had seemed real only two years before and it was wise to calm the country, if possible.
“Sir William! He made you a sir!”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“Not me! I can’t be one of them! I don’t talk proper!”
“No more do I, lass, but that’s what we are. Sir William and Lady Rumpage, it do sound good, don’t it?”
“Mum and dad ain’t going to believe it when we tell ‘em. Them, that is.”
“Best we should walk round there as soon as Mr Robert’s gone and everybody’s back to work. I better ‘ave a look at they in the finishing shop, see if they’s ate up and ready to go.”
Sir William crossed the yard to discover that his foreman had been there before him. All was tidied up, the families ready to go home, all waiting expectantly for him to appear. There was a roar as he came through the big doors, even some hats thrown in the air. He had no idea what to say.
“All right, lads! Time to get back to work!”
Knocker Dore stood commandingly, ushered the men out, a long line passing the new-made knight, each with a grin and a word for him, showing their pride that one of their own people had been recognised.
“They’re all pleased, Sir William, even the sour buggers reckon you deserve it, and the yard, too.”
“Good, make sure and tell ‘em thank you for me, will you. Over the next few days just whisper quietly like as ‘ow you heard the word that the yard’s doin’ well enough for there to be a bonus at Christmas time, nothing huge, a leg of beef and a bottle sort of thing.”
“They’ll like that, Sir William, it’s the thought more than the money of it.”
Across the yard to see Mr Robert and his guests off the premises, just to make sure all went well, no carriages forgotten or that sort of thing.
They were waiting for him, handshakes and congratulations all round, even the lords speaking to him. Millicent was called over as well, stood silent at his side, treasuring every word.
Illusions Of Change (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 6) Page 10