The Pain Of Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 4)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Perhaps, my lord – I suspect he is too wild a young man to take to the schoolroom. That he would go to the Americas is almost a certainty, but I do not see him settling to be a dominie, my lord. Hunting, trapping for furs, prospecting for gold, any of those, and all very useful, my lord. As it stands he is quite likely to go to Botany Bay instead, for he has little respect for the law, especially as regards the ownership of game.”

  “White made some mention of others in like case?”

  “There are four discharged soldiers and two sailors in Finedon, my lord, and not all of them settled back in their old lives.”

  Tom was aware of the problem – it had even been discussed in the Lords on one of the rare occasions he had taken his seat. Young men, and some old enough to know better, who had served for years and become used to an unsettled existence and found it hard indeed to fit into the agricultural life and almost impossible to take the discipline of the factory or foundry. One case that had been detailed was of a ship’s boy, sent to sea at age ten in the first year of the first war and put on land to fend for himself after the Hundred Days. Twenty-three years before the mast and totally unable to exist on land as his own master, and with no living family to fall back on, this nearly middle-aged man had ended up on a transportation ship, which was where his case had come to light, though he had still been sent away and was now in the hell of the convict colonies, a poor reward for his sacrifice. There were literally thousands, possibly tens of thousands, potentially in like case.

  “Put the word around, Quillerson, that there will be a passage and a few pounds for single men as well who wish to go with our people but have no desire to farm. Are there any unmarried girls who might wish to go as Dame of a small school? Young women whose man died in the war, as an example?”

  Quillerson knew of several girls whose men would not be coming home again, but was less than certain that they would, or should, be willing to go away to the Americas. He had heard that far more men than women were going overseas, so it seemed reasonable that they would soon find husbands, if that was what they wanted, even so, it was a daring step to take and one that might single him out for a degree of justified censure in the local community. His lordship, however, demanded that it should be done, and his wishes were not lightly to be gainsaid, and, in any event, he knew that he would not disobey an order, he had never yet done so and was too set in his ways to change now.

  “I will pass the word, my lord – there are some young ladies in the village who could teach school as well as perhaps keep a small store and run poultry and even, possibly, make the cheese in a small dairy. Three or four, living together, my lord, would be more respectable, more easily accepted, perhaps.”

  The family moved to Town for the Season, occupying Mount Street with a minimum of fuss, the resident staff waiting for them, all in order, and finding the salvers on the hall table to be mounded in cards and invitations from the early migrants and the few who lived more or less permanently in the capital, mostly because of their place in or under the government.

  “All of the names one expected, Thomas, and one or two surprises. The Fakenhams, for example, Whigs from forever and not obvious candidates for intimacy with the Grafhams and Andrews … Well-to-do rather than rich, I had thought, their daughters not out yet in any case and only son not yet sixteen. Why?”

  Tom shook his head, he had no idea, had never heard of the family.

  “Where are they from, Verry?”

  “They live in North Wales, I believe, and have three of smaller places in the Home Counties, a couple of farms on each, a few hundreds in rentals. No obvious reason to wish to know us from the point of view of the Land.”

  “I will speak to Michael in the morning – if he does not know the answer already it will take him a very few days to discover!”

  She nodded, having expected that response, pulled another card out and waved it at him.

  “The Stars, Thomas, informing us of their presence in their newly acquired residence approximately one hundred yards along the street from us!”

  “Thus confirming by their proximity the relationship between us, as far as Society is aware. Excellent! A morning visit tomorrow?”

  “Most certainly, my lord!”

  The Fakenhams were explained next day – they were cousins to Lord Langton, connected to Mrs Elizabeth Star and anxious therefore to be known to her new relatives.

  “Though I have to say, Lord Andrews, that I had never met them myself before the wedding where they quite fell upon my shoulders – perhaps one of the very few undesirable consequences of my marriage, my lord!”

  She smiled happily at her husband, he returning an affectionate glance, moving to her side very possessively, his father observing benignly.

  “A good marriage, Tom – she is a lovely girl, as gentle and kind as one could hope to meet in a month of Sundays. I am very pleased with her, and with Thomas for his sense in finding her. The Fakenhams, by the way, own a substantial part of the mountains in their area – valueless in the normal way, a few sheep, I doubt they would see a penny an acre in rents over all, but there is a vast hill of slate, good, fine-grained blue roofing slate, the best there is. A quarry or mine, whichever it would be, and a road to the nearest deep-water port, and they would be well on the way to riches, but the initial outlay would not be small…”

  “Goldsmids?”

  “They would need a recommendation, I suspect – there is little in their background to suggest commercial expertise, they are not the most obvious of business people. They will need to hire managers for the whole affair, I am sure, but they will not simply sell out to an existing mining man – ‘never sell one’s land, my dear’.”

  “Wise, to an extent, Joe – they will do far better in the long run, keeping the land themselves, provided they don’t go bust in the first years while they are learning. Can you name a manager for them?”

  “None of my boys, I am afraid, Tom.”

  “Hire another Scotsman then, there seems to be a plentiful supply of them.”

  It confirmed Tom in his belief that Robert was right – the country needed more money, more gold, if all of the opportunities were to be turned into thriving businesses making work for the great numbers of people that now existed, the population rising every year. He wondered why it was – for centuries the population had been the same, growing a bit and then cut back by plague or famine, essentially static, but now there were more bodies demanding food and work every year. There was no choice, the country had to change – more mines must be opened, more manufacturies built, more houses for the workers. Emigration would serve to an extent, must take place, but it could only be a partial palliative. He said as much to Joe, received complete agreement.

  “I have bought out a dozen small farmers down on the flat lands, Tom, a thousand or so acres in parcels three or four miles away from the nearest towns. This year and next the fields will produce a crop of sorts and return a few pounds, but within ten years they will be covered with houses and furnaces and paying me ten times as much. There will be no farms left in the whole of the lowlands of Lancashire within twenty years, Tom!”

  “Provided there is money enough to fund the building, Joe – this damned war is still like to break the country two years after its end. At least the government is, for once, aware of what is going on; the new sovereigns will be circulating from next year and the Bank of England is to expand its issue of notes, backed by the Exchequer. There will still be a shortage of small coin, though – there’s just not enough silver and copper circulating for the people’s needs, I am told it can be hell’s own job to make change in a small shop.”

  Neither man could speak from personal experience, being unable to remember when last they had actually stood inside any sort of shop or paid in cash.

  “We need more Goldsmids, Tom, more banks, anyway.”

  “Robert assures me they will come, Jews inevitably, because the Gentile bankers don’t have to move, they can stay
in their own countries in safety. Only the Jews have to run to save their skins and their fortunes.”

  “Bad luck for them, but good for us. A pity they will all end up in London, we could do with a few in Liverpool or Manchester. It’s not good for the country, Tom, all of the money in London, away from the mills and manufacturies and out of contact with them.”

  Tom agreed, but could see no way of changing things. London was a cancer, sapping the vitality of the whole nation, the tail wagging the dog, government and City removed from the heart of the country, but it was established. Short of another Great Fire there was nothing to be done about the Great Wen – it would continue its parasitic growth.

  The ladies had been comparing social diaries, establishing just which balls and parties would be graced by their presence, it having been agreed that the Andrews were to stand as sponsors to the Stars in their first Season, to shepherd them into Society and ensure that they did not in error fall into the hands of the Whigs. Verity announced the fruits of their labours just as there was a bustle at the front doors.

  “Too much activity for a simple morning caller, Lord Star,” Lady Star announced. “That sounds remarkably like baggage, a trunk being dropped in the hall. Are we expecting house guests, my lord?”

  As she hoped, not wishing to discover that her lord had issued invitations without informing her, they were not.

  The door to the morning room opened, the butler, hired for the Season and hoping to become a fixture of the mansion, bowing and ushering in the visitor.

  “Captain Matthew Star, my lords and ladies!”

  Captain Star entered, tall and lean, tanned and weather-beaten in a faded uniform, older than his years, smiling slowly, clasping his father’s hand crushingly, seeking reassurance that he was still welcome, relieved to be greeted warmly indeed. He turned to his mother and then to the Andrews family, meeting Charlotte for the first time since she had grown up and clearly approving of all that he saw. A flush rose in her cheeks as she exchanged a few words with him and established that he would be remaining in London for the Season and that, depending on his tailor, they would certainly meet again at the Cavendishes ball the following week. Verity observed and swore, very quietly, to herself.

  “Third son, heir to twenty thousands at most, needing to make his own way in life, not what is wanted. Thomas will not see any problem, no support there!”

  Conversation with her daughter later did nothing to settle her mind. Her naïve girl was very pleased to have met Captain Star, knew that his family must make him even more acceptable to her mother, made it quite clear that she had, for the first time, met a man who was very interesting to her.

  “He will have to make his own way in the world, my love, will inherit very little as third son.”

  A minor matter, easily brushed aside, captains had half-pay, did they not?

  In the space of a month all of her plans had failed, it seemed. Robert intending to marry outside of the Upper Ten Thousand, a long way beyond its boundaries in fact, and now Charlotte, if she could not be turned aside, planning to marry a mere gentleman. She sat, clutching her stomach at a sudden, sharp pain – her age, she presumed, such things were to be expected, though she had been feeling very tired recently, still, with the amount of work on her plate that was hardly surprising.

  Robert sat in Goldsmid’s private office, reading and slowly assimilating a loan document in front of him, trying to pick out what was important, what was merest legal formula.

  “Trading to the Levant, a cargo to be loaded at Alexandria and brought to the Pool of London. Ivory, spices overland from the east, gold dust from the south – a huge quantity of gold dust, in fact, some twenty thousand Troy ounces.”

  “Brought by caravan across the desert from the mines of the south – where, exactly, we do not know. It comes pure to about eighty parts, is refined further in London, which is where the main profit arises.”

  “A substantial risk, Mr Goldsmid? Will not the Barbary pirates become aware of this business and seek to take the ship?”

  “There is some protection from the rulers of Egypt, some from the Sublime Porte itself, some from the Emperor of Morocco. They all have an interest in the trade, but there is a risk, and hence a very high profit, and, of course, a concomitant rate of interest.”

  “So, sir, an annual loan, to be repaid in full at the end of the trading season with an expectation that it will be offered again each year. An interest rate of twenty-one per centum this year, rates to be determined according to market conditions each season.”

  “Far more profitable than lending to the mines or iron works of the north country, as you will appreciate, Mr Andrews.”

  Robert nodded – while cash was short then the lenders could pick and choose as they wished, and the demands of the manufacturies would come very low down the list, would be met only where there were other considerations of political or social advantage attached.

  “We must bring more capital into this country, Mr Goldsmid. Only a greater supply of loans will suffice to meet this problem.”

  “My cousin, Mr Ignaz, for example, Mr Andrews?”

  “I think so, sir.” Robert grinned, commented that he had discussed the matter with his parents, his father supporting the idea strongly, his mother needing more persuasion. “A point that has occurred to me, Mr Goldsmid, is that of names. There is a feeling against Jews in parts of our society, as you must know, and it has seemed to me for some time that a simple change of name, an Anglicisation, as it were, might do some good. Because there might be a foreign accent as well, perhaps a Scots name? The northerners are known to be barbarous in their speech, after all!”

  Goldsmid reluctantly admitted that it might be possible for newcomers to use an English name, though he could not see that he himself, for example, would be wise to make a change.

  “I agree, sir – your name is known and respected, but if Mr Ignaz, for example, became Mr Iain, say, what’s a Scots sounding name? Say Mostyn, Mr Iain Mostyn of some place north of the Highland line, then he would find it easier to settle in the City. All of those who counted would be well aware of his origins, but the common ruck might be better satisfied, less likely to riot.”

  It was probable, Goldsmid felt and he would broach the matter with Mr Ignaz, who was coming on a visit to London in only a few days time, bringing some of his family with him.

  “Will I be able to meet the gentleman, Mr Goldsmid? From all that you have said I think it would be an interesting experience for both of us.”

  “He would be very pleased to meet you, Mr Andrews. Your father as well, perhaps?”

  Robert confirmed that his father, in Town for the Season would be only too happy to meet Mr Ignaz. They might well have matters to discuss.

  “You might wish to meet Mr Ignaz’ daughter, perhaps, Mr Andrews?”

  “I would very much like to do so, sir, as would my father, and my mother might well be persuaded.”

  Verity took a great deal of persuasion before permitting the ‘Mostyn’ family members to be invited of a morning. She was much relieved when they arrived to discover none of them to be hook-nosed or swarthy, took particular note of the daughter, Miriam, the only girl in the family, saw her to be quite fair, slender but fully grown, and seemingly intelligent, her blue eyes alert and observant. A few questions, delicately phrased, showed that all of the family spoke fluent but not necessarily wholly correct English. She observed them to be dressed ‘foreign’, the men not in English black and white, mother and daughter neither following the fashion of low-cut, straight dresses in silk or, for the unwed, best muslins. All wore too much jewellery for current English tastes, though she envied the elder lady her diamonds, stones large enough to be named. They could, however, be brought into line with proper standards easily enough, she could do that herself, if she should wish to.

  The family left after a correct half an hour, refreshments offered and taken, Tom accompanying them back to the Goldsmids.

  “Than
k you for visiting us, Mr Mostyn. Will you be retaining the name, by the way?”

  “It would be your advice that we should, my lord? It would better be, do you think?”

  “If you are to remain in England, your children to be English, their children to attend our schools, or their grandchildren, anyway, then it will be better to have a name that is not immediately foreign – it will be easier if you fit in. There will in any case be no overt attacks made upon you, but there will always be those who like to pick out anyone who is different, especially if they are richer than them.”

  “Do you think it is wise to come to England, my lord?”

  “You must go somewhere, Mr Mostyn; all of my information says that the German states are unsafe for Jews now. France is possible, though the Catholic Church is strong there at the moment; the Italian states are certainly a possibility from your point of view, many of them are making a point of distancing themselves from the Vatican; America is open to you - but England is the richest country in the world now, and has probably the greatest need of capital, and must therefore be the most profitable. In England, as well, the government will offer a welcome and will ensure that you are protected, and, as Mr Goldsmid will tell you, honoured – his eldest son will be made baron in three or four months from now, and he has not been asked to pay for the privilege!”

  Mostyn had not heard that, was impressed. Jews had occasionally been ennobled in the Germanies and this had always made them targets for the next generation of princelings, had made them stand out whilst conferring very little of status or privilege. In England, he had been told, every peer sat in the House of Lords and could be heard by government, was necessarily possessed of some power.

  “Just so, Mr Mostyn! Every lord, like every other man who can fee a lawyer, has the protection of the Courts. No title, once given, can be arbitrarily withdrawn – indeed, short of actual, publicly proven, treason, I doubt it is possible to take away a title – I have never heard of it happening. Provided you are not found with a gun in your hand and the King in your sights you are quite safe, sir!”