The Vice Of Virtue (A Poor Man At The Gate Series Book 10)

by Andrew Wareham

  The purser bowed low to them.

  “Welcome aboard, ma’am, gentlemen! Only one half of our cabins are taken on this voyage, the time of year being what it is, but I can assure you good people, that we have a full crew of cooks and stewards, so that your every wish may be instantly met! We have, as an innovation to be discovered on none of our competitors, lady stewards to attend to the children!”

  Henry, used to obsequious service, smiled briefly, made an appropriate comment; Luke was impressed. Mrs Star, however, was inclined to have doubts about any young lady of a sea-faring persuasion; she would be careful to discover all that they might teach her little boys.

  “Only one half of the cabins taken, sir. How many other passengers are there?”

  “Five, Mr Star. A younger son of Commodore Vanderbilt, and his lady, who I have no doubt you will be glad to greet! A banker, Mr Scott, and his wife, to join a branch in New Orleans – a director, one understands. Also Mr Stavros, a gentleman from Greece and well-known as a merchant; he again is to build a business in New Orleans – importing directly from the Levant, one understands.”

  “Mr Stavros is not in company?”

  “I am told that he was bereaved some few years ago, in Greece, and left his homeland to rebuild his life in America. He is not an old man, but has experienced deep tragedy, poor gentleman!”

  “Why did the purser make reference to ‘the time of year’, husband?”

  “There is the occasional hurricane down south, my dear. The Caribbean, as you know, can be a stormy sea. For ships that venture far out into the ocean the hurricane can be a dreadful experience, but for coastal traffic, rarely three or four hours of steaming from a safe harbour, the risk is very slight. I would not have brought you and the children aboard was I not convinced that there is slight cause for worry. We are aboard the most modern of ships with sidewheel propulsion as well as a full suit of sails and must expect very little hazard.”

  Grace’s worries were allayed – Henry’s judgement could be trusted.

  The five Stars ate in the first-class saloon; tutor, valet and nursemaids were fed in third, in the company of the other white domestics on board; a few black servants slept and ate elsewhere, out of sight.

  The Vanderbilts ate at their own table, though exchanging nods with the Stars, recognising them as equal in rank, if not quite in status. The banker, Scott, sat with the lonely Greek gentleman, endeavouring to make polite conversation with him.

  “Have you been long in America, Mr Stavros?”

  “Two years almost, sir. I fled my homeland after the massacres that followed Navarino. I started a business in New York, importing goods with which I was familiar, and have recently been persuaded to sell out and start up in New Orleans where, I understand, there is no competitor.”

  Scott was alert to the undertones; the ‘persuasion’ might well have been rather vigorous. He wondered just what Stavros traded in; they would be at least two weeks on the voyage, time and to spare to find out and discover whether he might wish to recruit him as a customer of his bank.

  “The purser tells me we are in distinguished company, Mr Stavros. Members of the Vanderbilt family and Mr Star, the New Orleans shipbuilder and businessman, and his wife and brother. Their two sons are with them, as well – handsome lads, both.”

  “Strong boys, sir. My three all died, and their sister…”

  Scott made appropriate murmurs, knowing that there was nothing sensible to be said. His wife was inclined to offer sympathy, but he hushed her – it was better to say nothing.

  The meal was long – excellent in quality but of too many courses for the boys. The children became a little restive – not noisy or obtrusive in any way, they were far too well brought up for that, knew they must never cause upset in public – and showed themselves to be bored.

  “It might be better for them to eat in their cabin, Henry. They are very young for public display.”

  “True, my dear. Dinner at least should be taken out of sight. The less formal meals might perhaps be a different matter – I should like to eat with the boys while I can. At breakfast and luncheon one may be a little less bound by convention.”

  Henry spoke with the purser, received agreement that the rules of dining might be relaxed during the daylight hours.

  They came to luncheon next day, the family together, the boys with a pulp-backed book apiece – a penny-dreadful in lurid colours. Both could read and the comic-books were designed for the semi-literate adult, were within reason suitable for them.

  “They contain nothing of indecency, my dear!” Henry responded to Grace’s distaste. “They are perhaps of more appeal to the lower sort of people, but they are not written to offend. They claim, besides, to deal with the doings of the boys’ uncle!”

  Marcus dropped his book as they left the saloon, turned back to fetch it, discovered that the foreign gentleman, Mr Stavros, had picked it up, was staring at the cover.”

  “Excuse me, sir, but that is my book which I let fall. Thank you for picking it up, sir.”

  Stavros managed a smile and held the book out to him.

  “It is a book about the man Lukas Star, it says.”

  “Yes, sir. Though they have spelt the name wrong. My uncle is really called Mr Luke Star. That is him stood next to my papa.”

  “Is it now. Thank you, my boy. You are very kind to tell me so!”

  The widowed gentleman returned to his cabin, opened his travelling trunk thoughtfully, took out and loaded a pair of short-barrel pistols, one for each coat pocket. Then he sat to think, muttering to himself occasionally.

  “No sense to die myself… but that murdering kafir dog… I know him now!”

  Rothwell wrote to his father, informing of his intent to make an offer to Miss Massingham, daughter to my lord - who was very rich - and possessed of only the one brother, and him a weakling.

  The Marquis was insufficiently a part of the world, had heard nothing of the family or of son or daughter, wrote his heartfelt congratulations and wishes for a happy union. He expressed his intention of coming to Town to join the celebrations. He rode across to the Hall to convey the pleasing information to Robert, who was more au fait with the latest gossip and on-dits, the word coming to him from the Dowager and Mrs James Andrews.

  "Massingham? Hmm… do you know the family, sir?"

  The Marquis obviously did not, but he could detect from Robert's manner that this was an unfortunate lacuna.

  "Tell me, my lord."

  Robert did, trying for a modicum of tact for, if the offer had been made, then it was impossible for a gentleman to draw back from the contract.

  "The lady's father is a drunkard, sir. He has habitually kept company with the looser members of the King's set. He is very rich, of course, and has been able to retain the bulk of his wealth, which is unusual in that company - he seems to be of some intelligence even if of no moral stature at all. His wife's name has been associated with numbers of gentlemen from the same group - a fact of which he is both aware and unconcerned. His son is generally regarded as half-witted; I have met him and believe that to be a generous assessment. The young man was withdrawn from Eton at the age of fourteen, having made but a fleeting acquaintance with the College, it would seem; sufficient for him to have been found undesirable. He has since lived in his own household, his father having little delight in his company and his mother apparently unaware of his existence; he surrounds himself with prize-fighters and young boys of low birth and disgusting habits, most of which he shares, though some, I am reliably informed, he prefers to watch."

  The Marquis was taken aback, recovered sufficiently to presume that he was not married, that there would be no heir in the male line.

  "The name will die with him, sir. The estate, left by Will, provided that the marriage settlements are sufficiently astute, will descend to the daughter."

  Robert deliberately said no more at that point.

  "Tell me the worst, Robert. What do you know of her?"


  "Directly, nothing - it is fair to assume that she is a virtuous maiden. One is reliably informed that her mother has ordered her to behave chastely whilst unwed, on the understanding that as a young matron she will have licence to indulge herself as and how she will. One presumes she will have been told to take care that her firstborn son belongs to her husband."

  "How pleasing! Does Rothwell know any of this?"

  "I think not - 'there are none so blind...'"

  "'As those who will not see'. Thank you, Robert. There is nothing to be done, other than hope, I presume."

  "Advise Rothwell to take her on a protracted honeymoon - perhaps a visit to your lands at the Cape. He will be able to keep her to his own bed for the twelvemonth that way and hopefully ensure that the firstborn will be his."

  "God spare me from love matches!"

  "Amen!"

  “I must amend Rothwell’s income – he will never make do on his own fifteen hundred.”

  “He may, my lord. She will not!”

  Sir William was delighted to escort Joseph around his sea-coal establishment on the banks of the Thames; it was, he believed, the most modern of its sort in the country, and therefore in the whole world.

  “The steam colliers, one thousand tonners – larger, as we know is, not yet feasible, Mr Joseph – berth at the eastern end of the wharf where they are unloaded by the steam cranes. The cranes are to our own design, sir, from the Southampton yard.”

  Joseph scowled at the cranes. His own first failure had been in the field of lifting gear and he was unhappy to be reminded of that episode.

  “I see you tip directly into wagons on your little railway, Sir William.”

  “Provided there is only the one collier to be worked, yes, sir. When two or even three dock at once then it is not possible – we have too few wagons, and it would cost too much to build more and have them sit idle for most of their days.”

  They followed the short line up to the coal heaps, watched the dozens of busy men shovelling house coals into one-hundredweight sacks.

  “Do you weigh each sack, Sir William?”

  “No, Mr Joseph – it would take far too long. Each sack is filled to the very top and will be very close to the desired weight. We receive few complaints and are generous in our response to them – the ordinary people know we will be honest and make very little attempt to take advantage of us.”

  “What of larger deliveries to businesses; to bakers and such?”

  “Wagon loads are always checked to the nearest pound, sir – never trust a small shopkeeper!”

  Joseph laughed: he had been about to say the same thing.

  “Brickworks and copper refineries and such, Sir William?”

  “Buy by the shipload, sir, making their own contracts, though they occasionally will take a few tons from us when there is a storm at sea or heavy snow in the north. They use steam coal by choice, of course, rather than household.”

  “It is a pity that the coal has to be taken from the yard in horse-drawn wagons – one could do much with railway lines running into every street.”

  “A wonderful idea, sir, but costing far too many millions!”

  “One day, perhaps. The enterprise is profitable, I presume?”

  “Highly, sir, and can only become more so as the demand for household gas rises, for we supply the gas works.”

  “What of coal tar?”

  “Some is used for soap and more is now being refined as lamp oil, Mr Joseph, and a number of gentlemen in the chemical line are examining what else may be done with it. I am told that it may be a rich material in itself. It needs be, sir, for there are many thousands of gallons of the dirty stuff to be got rid of from the coke ovens and the gas works.”

  Joseph made a note that there was a need to examine coal tar.

  “What do you know of explosives, Sir William?”

  “Nothing, Mr Joseph, apart from making up the occasional blasting charge from black powder when I was a navvy.”

  “A pity. We are much exercised by the question of percussion caps, and how to manufacture them on a large scale. Investigation shows us that at the moment they are made in back sheds in tiny batches, for fear of explosions. Indeed, of the makers we have talked to, very few are still in the possession of ten fingers!”

  “Fireworks, Mister Joseph?”

  Joseph scowled, was about to point out that they were discussing serious business, not entertainment for the idle masses, then realised the sense of the question.

  “I know nothing of them, Sir William. Are they made in factories, or are they also the province of the little man?”

  Sir William shrugged – he knew nothing of them either.

  “Was there not a gentleman by the name of Congreve, sir? One who made military rockets?”

  Joseph pledged himself to discover more of the gentleman.

  They parted within reason pleased with each other, both having been able to display their knowledge.

  Joseph now had the problem of discovering an occupation for another twenty of potentially idle days.

  “Horse-racing? There are meetings close to the capital, I believe,” James hopefully offered. “You might wish to escort Miss Markham?”

  “To watch horses run fast for the delectation of gamblers and County ladies?”

  James agreed that horse-racing was of greater interest to the horsey types but pointed out that it was incumbent upon the genteel to have some knowledge of the animals.

  “Essentially, of course, James, horses are very expensive beasts, costing much to buy and rear and keep. To be a fancier of horseflesh is to announce one’s membership of the moneyed set of society.”

  “Well… there is more to it than that, you know, brother. The thoroughbred is a noble animal, after all.”

  “And that cannot be said of all of our aristocracy, of course, James!”

  That was too deep for James; he smiled in acknowledgement of what he was almost sure was a witticism.

  “Do you know of any intention to build new docks along the River, James? At a glance the existing wharves seem very crowded.”

  “East India and West India Companies both have the intention of expanding, I believe. There have been other proposals brought to the House in the form of Private Bills, not all of which have been successful. The problem is that the estuary is somewhat marshy, more on the north than the south, but needing major drainage works wherever is chosen. That inevitably, brother, leads to the need to alter watercourses and to build new – which impinges upon the existing owners and users. Thus to build a set of basins and wharves here may affect the wild-fowl shooting of a squire ten miles distant, much to his irritation, so for a bill to be successful there is a need for government to be at least interested enough to encourage a majority in its favour. I rather fear that our current Prime Minister is inclined to change as little as possible and will not be inclined to support any enterprise that may make things different.”

  “For an intelligent, able and forceful man, His Grace seems too often to be a fool!”

  “He has become a politician.”

  “Have we any holdings of land along the Thames, do you know, James?”

  “Almost none, I think. I know that Robert bought up the decayed wharves to the side of the East India Company’s warehouses at Rotherhithe. They have been talking up an expansion these last ten years – when they finally do they will pay Robert’s price or move elsewhere at huge cost. Other than that, there is the better part of fifty miles of riverside, counting in the various creeks and inlets, and it will not be easy to decide where docks will be built next.”

  Joseph gave up on the notion of speculative land purchases around London – the area was simply too great to pinpoint precise locations without inside knowledge, and he did not know who best to bribe.

  “Brickworks and breweries seem to be the main industries of London, brother. What other activities are to be observed?”

  “Night-soil, I should imagine. Two million peopl
e and very few sewers lead to a substantial haulage problem! As you can smell, I am sure!”

  Joseph considered the problem for a few seconds but could see no obvious industrial solution.

  “No occupation for my days there, I fear, James.”

  “Perhaps you should accompany Miss Markham on some of her shopping expeditions, brother. Have you bought her rings and a bride gift yet?”

  He had not, vaguely supposed that he really should.

  She took him to Rundell and Bridge next day.

  “We have your signet, sir. I believe you will be pleased with it.”

  He was pleased, slipping the ring onto his little finger and admiring his left hand; she was frankly envious.

  “I love emeralds!”

  “That of course solves a problem, ma’am – I could not imagine what might be best as a bride gift. Shall we make a choice? Brooch or necklace, which do you prefer?”

  She was taken aback, had no concept of how much he would consider it appropriate to pay; the young man attending them had no such fears, having been made aware by his principals of the depth of Joseph’s pocket.

  A selection of pieces was laid before them, with apologies that the range was limited but that emeralds were a particularly rare stone on the London market.

  “The bulk come from South America, ma’am, and are disposed of in Spain and Vienna far more than in England.”

  She decided on a stone and Joseph instructed that it should be made up as the centre piece of a necklace, leaving design to the jeweller’s taste. He managed a quiet word in the young man’s ear as he went with him to attend to the account, asked him to discover a pair of earrings to match as a small surprise.

  “You are very generous, Joseph. Thank you!”

  “My pleasure, Lucilla. There is, I believe, very little point to making money except to use it for the benefit of one’s own people. I have no patience with misers, you know!”