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

by Andrew Wareham

  “That is why I came to you, my lord.”

  “Quite right too, Sir Charles! A difficult matter and one that requires us all to act together for the best interests of the whole community. I think, Sir Charles, that we should visit with Mr Hunt and inform him of the unfortunate, and we are sure unfounded, rumours circulating. We might well suggest that he could wish to purchase a few acres of land and a cottage at some distance from here, and set this young gentleman up with his wife and a hundred or two of sovereigns in his pocket to live in prosperous silence. The young man was mistaken in what he saw and the conclusions he reached – an honest misunderstanding for which he must not suffer, I believe.”

  Sir Charles, unwilling to compound a felony on his own initiative, was very happy to follow Tom’s lead – he had not wanted to create a scandal, had been frightened to hush it all up himself. They appointed a meeting at the Hunts for the next morning.

  “So, Mr Hunt, that is how matters stand at the moment – we have this young man who is liable to go off half-cocked, having misunderstood the little he saw, I have no doubt, and that at a time when there is more than enough unrest in the countryside as it is. The best possible course, I suggest, is to set this young man up in a small place of his own, sufficient to keep a wife and family, and, preferably at some little distance from here. I believe you are considering marriage yourself, sir, and the last thing you want is some nasty unfounded scandal circulating in the neighbourhood.”

  “Can we not simply persuade the young man to be silent, my lord? I really can see little reason to pay off a troublemaker.”

  Tom raised an eyebrow, shook his head.

  “Threats would not be wise, I feel, Mr Hunt, not at the present juncture – even if thoroughly intimidated it would only need an evening in the beer house, a pint too many, and he could start talking, particularly if he remains single and unable to see any future for himself. I am certainly not willing to see him stood before a court on a dubious charge and transported to keep his mouth shut, so he must be removed in a kindlier fashion.”

  “A hundred good arable acres and a cottage will cost at least two thousand pounds, my lord!”

  “An accusation of murder will cost a damn sight more, Mr Hunt!”

  Sir Charles nodded in the background, his sole contribution to the discussion. Hunt capitulated.

  “We have a few acres in Derbyshire, my lord, came to us from a great-aunt who died a couple of years ago, a maiden lady who had inherited and had never been near the land, living near Huntingdon as she did. I have seen it – the better part of three hundred acres, mostly hillside but with a pair of arable fields south-facing on a gentler slope, and a good size farmhouse and yard. Originally, I think, the property was far larger, but it was split up between a dozen cousins – she having the greatest claim. If the young man knew sheep then he could make a very respectable living from the holding.”

  “Sir Charles?”

  “His father runs a few sheep on a single hillside – he must know sufficient for the purpose – he would need a few sovereigns in his pocket as well, of course, to set himself up with his new wife.”

  “Fifty?”

  “Two hundred!”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Tom came away dissatisfied with Mr Hunt – the man lacked grace, he would undoubtedly bear a grudge and would be difficult to work with in future, a thorough nuisance because he was next great in consequence to Tom in the whole of this part of the County and better known than him towards Cambridgeshire. When next they needed to confer on a local problem Tom would have to give way to him or face enduring hostility – and he would be unable to choose the issue, might well have to accept a very unpleasant outcome. On top of that, he was now the acknowledged patron of Sir Charles Latimer – a man he would far rather have kept at a distasteful distance. Had he had Verity’s advice he would certainly have achieved a far better result!

  “Sir Charles, will you speak to the young man and the father of his lady friend or would it be better if I had a word with your tenant, make for an easier relationship for you in future?”

  Sir Charles thought that that would be an excellent idea – his tenant, Rawlins, had far too high an opinion of himself as it was, might actually try to chaffer with him, beat out a bargain of some sort, but he would knuckle down in front of my lord, he was sure.

  “Beg pardon, me lord, but are you sayin’ to me that I should give my Bet to the likes of Sam Potter? Third son, never a bloody ‘ope of bein’ more than a labourer, and probably in Botany bloody Bay at that! Bright enough young feller, no question of that, but not a bloody ‘ope for a future!”

  “He has just come into three hundred acres, freehold, in Derbyshire, Mr Rawlins, with a good size farmhouse and buildings and a few sheep running already. He will also have a couple of hundred in his pocket, sufficient to make a start.”

  “How, my lord?”

  “Talk to your Bet, Mr Rawlins. I understand that the two together saw something that was much better kept a secret.”

  “Blackmail? I’ll have no truck with that, my lord, and neither will my girl!”

  “The opposite, Mr Rawlins – he came forward to the proper authorities to say what he had seen and has been asked to keep quiet. He saw half enough to bring a felon to court, sufficient to make a scandal, too little to gain a conviction. We have enough trouble in the area already – we want no outbreaks of rioting and rick-burning here!”

  They called Bet to the parlour, opened for the rarest of visitors. Tom glanced quickly at her belly, was relieved to see it was flat.

  “I have been speaking to your father, Miss Rawlins, suggesting that he should allow your marriage to Sam Potter, if it is your wish. I have explained that Sam has come into some land and can become a very respectable farmer in his own right. He would wish to discover the how and the why of it from your lips.”

  She blushed and admitted to her father that she had been seeing Sam on the sly, despite him absolutely forbidding her to have anything to do with him, but, it went without saying, nothing had happened between them, nothing at all! She explained what they had seen when Mr Hunt had died and how they had been frightened to come forward at the time, indeed she had not known that Sam had intended ever to speak up. Rawlins grunted, sent her off without other comment.

  “Not enough, is it, my lord? You know and I know that young Mr Hunt was to blame for some of ‘is brother’s death, but no judge would ever send ‘im down for it, but ‘e won’t want it shouted about, even so. You’d better send Sam to see me, if so be ‘e wants to, that is, acos I’m damned sure my Bet ‘as been seein’ young Johnny Cox this last few weeks and I reckons ‘e’ll know about that too. Better man for ‘er, too, ‘e’ll walk into ‘is old man’s tenancy, five ‘undred good acres and close to ‘ome.”

  “I will speak to him, Mr Rawlins, and let him make up his own mind whether he wants to make an offer for Bet. Whilst he goes there will be no problem, because a woman’s evidence would never stand in court, would never be called, in fact.”

  Sam Potter was very happy to take the freehold in Derbyshire, was happier still to leave Bet Rawlins behind, was deplorably frank in saying so.

  “Begging your pardon, me lord, but I ain’t fixin’ to ‘ave ‘er as a missus, any’ow – she been like the old village donkey since she were twelve, me lord, every bugger’s ‘ad a ride! Skirts on that gal is round ‘er neck more than ‘er ankles, I reckons, me lord. They tells I Johnny Cox be sniffin’ round ‘er the while – good luck to ‘im, says I, ‘e ain’t got no more sense than ‘e were born with and ‘e won’t know no better than wed ‘er, and old Rawlins thinks the sun do shine out of ‘is Bet’s arsehole, won’t ‘ear a word against ‘er, so they’ll cobble that up nice and tight betwixt ‘em and good luck to ‘em all! Where’s Derbyshire, me lord, and ‘ow do I get there and ‘ow soon can I go?”

  “It will take a month for the lawyers to write out the deeds in your name, Mr Potter, and my Mr Quillerson will arrange for tick
ets on the stagecoaches to take you Matlock – in fact, I suspect it will be a carrier’s wagon for the last leg, I doubt there is a stage route all the way. You will find it difficult farming without a wife, I think.”

  Potter grinned, shook his head.

  “Shan’t be without a wife, me lord, or so I thinks. Old Dunmore, the smith in Burton, ‘e’s always been a friend of my dad’s and ‘is girl Prue’s about a couple of years younger nor me and I always ‘ave fancied ‘er, and she do like me, I reckons, but I didn’t ‘ave nowt to offer ‘er before. Now I ‘ave and I reckons as ‘ow I shall pay ‘em a visit just as soon as you ‘ave gone, my lord, tell ‘em the news like, and see what comes up.”

  Tom smiled in his turn. “I wish you luck, Mr Potter. Good-bye!”

  Robert sat in Judy’s front parlour, comfortable in an armchair, watching in fascination as she fed her large, blond baby boy, laughing at the grasping hands flapping at her breast and at the grunting and gurgling accompanying each mouthful.

  “Greedy little man”, his mother chided, “as bad as your father for grabbing a handful!”

  “Do you wish to stay in London, Judy? Would you not rather bring Patrick Thomas up in the countryside?”

  “Where, Bobby?”

  “Somewhere on the road to the north, Barnet or thereabouts, perhaps, well away from Town where the air is fresher and the water clean. A house and a couple of acres of gardens for him to play in, a paddock for his pony, and all close enough to the turnpike for me to visit easily and often. London is not a healthy city, I fear, there is typhoid every year now and the way things are going, there will be another Great Plague at any time – I would rather you were away from the risk.”

  “What of your lady wife, Bobby, is she to stay in London?”

  “The house at Higham Ferrers will be ready next summer and she will move into that for the hot months at least – there is less fear of contagion in winter. She thinks she may be with child, by the way, all the more reason to locate in a healthier place.”

  Judy nodded thoughtfully, called for the nursery maid, handed Patrick over to be changed and laid down to sleep.

  “And you would never realise, Bobby-me-dear, just how much easier life is with a girl to do the hard work of it and to wake at night and another to do the cooking and cleaning. I could grow to like it as a lady of leisure! Sure, and you’re in the right of it, I believe, Town smells – night-soil and decay and corruption, me dear, the whiff forever in me nostrils, it’s a dirty place. Close to a town but not in it I would like to go, but, and this to be the one stipulation, there must be a bookshop, and preferably a Circulating Library as well, for I will never be without the books again, and there are still so many I have never read, and no time to read them all, each and every one of them!”

  “Within three months, my love, my word on it!”

  Robert left, on his way into the City, to Threadneedle Street, to be exact, to an appointment with a Senior Clerk in the Bank of England. A Senior Clerk, he gathered, was a very important gentleman in the Bank’s terminology, one very close to the policy-makers and to government itself – he would have intimate links with the Treasury.

  Mr Fanshawe made him welcome, sat him in a ladderback chair in his office – a Turkey carpet, three windows, pictures on the wall, a large gleaming mahogany desk, almost bare – all of the signs of a very senior man indeed.

  “Mr Andrews, I begged the honour of your company today in the hope that you might be able to assist the Bank, and, in fact, the Treasury, in a certain, shall we say, ‘ticklish’ matter. It is one that must remain wholly confidential, to be vouchsafed only to the highest-ranking officers of your banks. I believe you have a role in Goldsmids Bank and are very close to Mr Mostyn’s new enterprise, and have some influence upon their owners?”

  Dirty business, it seemed, the Bank not wishing to be involved openly and willing, presumably, to pay for discretion.

  “As you will know, Mr Fanshawe, the family is closely related to them both – Mr Mostyn is my good-father and Mr Goldsmid stands in the same relationship to my uncle, Lord Rothwell, heir to the Marquis of Grafham, as well as being an associate of my father for many years. I have been so fortunate as to be invited into their chambers to learn a little of the practices of merchant banking at its highest level – a fascinating occupation, as, again, you must be well aware.”

  Fanshawe nodded, rested his elbows on his desk, steepled his fingers.

  “Greece, Mr Andrews, and South America, are both of some interest to government at the moment – are you at all familiar with either?”

  “The Ottoman Empire and the Spanish – friendly powers, or at least not overt enemies of England, sir.”

  “The Ottomans are in decay, and it is a question of who shall succeed them, Mr Andrews. Was their empire to remain intact and fall under the control of another power, then our interests in India could well be compromised. A Russian Empire with a foothold on the Mediterranean would be a most undesirable neighbour whilst the Austrians could also be a nuisance. Was Persia to succeed to much or all of the Ottoman’s lands then the map of the world would seem very different, and much less friendly!”

  “Then, sir, a fragmentation of the Ottoman Empire would be very much in England’s interest – commencing with independence for Greece and following with the whole of the Balkans.”

  Fanshawe smiled his approbation of Robert’s quick understanding, waited for more.

  “His Britannic Majesty’s Government could not possibly offer overt support to rebels against their lawful overlords – that would be casus belli I am sure. But it is quite impossible for government to interfere in the commercial activities of firms that happen to be established in London.”

  “Precisely, Mr Andrews!”

  “And South America, sir?”

  “The Spanish are too weak to hold the great bulk of the continent, Mr Andrews, their colonies will be independent before long whatever happens – it is a question of whether they have a legacy of gratitude to England or to the United States. They are not the richest of states, but their trade will be of value and really should be aimed in our direction.”

  “That is very clear, Mr Fanshawe – what do you propose, sir?”

  “The Treasury would be very pleased to see commercial loans made to certain specified rebel groups, and would, clandestinely, one might say, offer ‘insurance’ on them. The funds themselves would be supplied in the form of Treasury Bills and Consols, predominantly the latter.”

  Robert raised a supercilious eyebrow – the Treasury proposed that Goldsmids and Mostyn should lend money, probably in gold coin, whilst themselves offering debt carrying low rates of interest and to be repaid in the very long term – Consols were typically of twenty-five years.

  “There is still a substantial premium of gold on notes, Mr Fanshawe, and one could hardly offer paper to foreign, underground, subversives.”

  “Of course, that would have to be taken into account, Mr Andrews, but one would expect a certain degree of patriotism to manifest itself, especially amongst those newly come to England.”

  To Robert that translated as a very thinly disguised proposal to squeeze the Jews because they were always vulnerable, could always be treated as aliens.

  “Thank you for your proposal, Mr Fanshawe, but I rather doubt that I will feel able to present this to my principals. I shall, indeed, be more inclined to recommend them to transfer their activities to the safer environment of New York – government there seems less inimical to Jewish interests.”

  Robert rose and bowed politely, about to take his leave.

  “Do sit down, Mr Andrews! I was, as you will appreciate, under instructions to say those last words, much against my wishes. If you would care to indulge yourself in a cup of tea? I would wish to report to my principals – I shall not be very long, sir.”

  Fanshawe left the room, either to actually consult with his superiors or to save his own face by making it appear so. Robert cared very little which, merely
hoped he would come back with an acceptable compromise as a direct conflict with the Bank, and hence the government, would be a very undesirable outcome.

  A very junior young man appeared and produced tea, taking some pains not to meet Robert’s eye and so attracting his attention.

  “I say! It’s Jenks, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you since Harrow – I had not known you had joined the Bank.”

  “Yes, Mr Andrews, I spent my terms at Oxford and then my father suffered some reverses on the Exchange and it became necessary for me to take up an occupation.”

  Jenks was a third son, Robert recalled, had fully intended to live an idler’s life as a man about Town – his father’s allowance would have been ample for his needs. He had sneered at those who felt that work was in any way desirable, was in fact in at all tolerable for a gentleman, and now he was forced to a position that he must regard as humiliating, at best. Life still had its little pleasures, Robert reflected as he prepared himself to repay a number of insults.

  “How unfortunate, Jenks – I shall bear you in mind if we should discover the need to increase our staff, we quite often have places available at a lesser level of responsibility though carrying a respectable income.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Fanshawe returned, a tiny smile of triumph permitted to quirk his lips.

  “I am instructed to apologise for any misunderstanding, Mr Andrews, and am further to inform you that a loan of one hundred thousands in gold would be met by paper to the tune of one hundred and thirty-five thousands, thus to cover the premium and to allow for a reasonable profit when the bonds were sold on.”

  “I think my principals would be inclined to look favourably on such a proposal, Mr Fanshawe. I shall make it to them today, sir, would expect to speak to you again within the week.”

  Later in the week, Robert outlined the Bank’s suggestions to the two bankers, he thought a little extra delay might be beneficial, might worry Fanshawe. Although in competition the bankers were also related, cousins of a sort, and were used to working together to finance very large loans and could protect each other to an extent.