Tuppenny Times

by Beryl Kingston

  ‘We have weathered a twelvemonth, you see, and no marriage,’ Mr Teshmaker said, when they dined with him that autumn.

  ‘The debts mount,’ Johnnie observed. ‘He had another three demands this very morning, and one from a moneylender.’

  ‘’Tis my opinion he’s a-working himself up to ask her,’ Billy said. ‘That blue coat was bought for a purpose.’ Now that he was turned twenty-one and had a dress allowance from his mother, he knew from experience that new clothes were one of the easiest ways to dazzle the ladies.

  How much they have changed, Cosmo thought, remembering the skinny boys they’d been when they first started work five years ago. Now they were tall and handsome, each in his own particular way, Billy stocky and open-faced and sandy-haired, Johnnie slim and brooding and dark, and each had a new air about him these days, Billy’s assured and ebullient, Johnnie’s assured and mysterious. They had let their hair grow long and wore it in the new romantic style, with strands brushed forward to frame their foreheads, and they dressed well, like gentlemen of business.

  ‘Have you spoken to your mother yet, Mr John, concerning your plan to extend our trade?’

  ‘No,’ Johnnie said, scowling slightly. ‘’Tain’t a conversation to be rushed, Mr Teshmaker.’ He wanted to be sure that he had every last detail carefully worked out before he committed himself.

  ‘No indeed,’ Cosmo hastened to agree. ‘Christmas might be an appropriate time perhaps?’

  ‘Perhaps, if he don’t dominate her attentions.’

  ‘Or propose to her in the meantime,’ Billy said.

  But the autumn passed without proposal, as far as they were aware. Which was hardly to be wondered at, for their mother was busier than ever and when she wasn’t working she was visiting Rattlesden.

  In September news came through that Napoleon had crossed the River Neiman on June 23rd with an army of 450,000 men and invaded Russia unopposed and just as he’d planned.

  Johnnie read every word of all the reports, avidly and half in awe of Napoleon’s daring, but Billy and his army of friends paid very little attention to it. Having discovered the pulling power of good clothes, they were far too busy flirting with as many young ladies as they could. And when they weren’t flirting, they were drinking themselves silly. In their opinion Wellington’s victory at Salamanca which was reported a few weeks later was considerably more important. ‘Pulverized the enemy, so he did, damme,’ Billy said proudly. ‘Can’t beat the British infantry.’

  But although the French had suffered heavy losses, there were deaths on the British side too and among them was Captain Fortescue of the Duke of Clarence’s Light Dragoons.

  Calverley was far more upset by the news than he admitted. To impress Billy and Johnnie he pretended to shrug it off. ‘You have to expect losses in the army, damme if you don’t. That’s war, me dears.’ But he grew heavy-eyed with the tears he hadn’t shed and as soon as he could, he retired to Goosegogs for a week to recover, drinking himself insensible every night and running up another enormous bill he knew he couldn’t pay.

  Now barely a day passed without some news from Spain or Russia, and as it was very good news for the Allies and worse and worse for Napoleon it sold at speed. Nan was so busy she was out of the house by six every morning and rarely returned to it before eight at night. But Calverley comforted himself for her absence with the thought that all this activity was making her richer and richer, which would be bound to benefit him in the long run.

  In November, they heard of a terrible battle at a place called Borodino,, and read that the Emperor had marched his Grand Army into Moscow. But it turned out to be a hollow victory, for he found tthe city deserted, the population having left their homes and taken their food and disappeared into the countryside. On the night after his invasion, a handful of guerillas returned under cover of darkness and set fire to the place. By morning more than half the city was in flames.

  ‘What courage!’ Londoners said, looking at their own city with affection. ‘To burn down your own homes rather than hand them to an enemy. What courage!’

  By the end of that star-crossed year the Russian campaign was over. Of the 450,000 men who’d crossed the Nieman that summer a mere 20,000 came limping home, starving and frost-bitten and totally defeated, beaten by the ferocity of the Russian winter, for which they were neither clothed nor prepared, and the anger of the Russian people who would rather destroy their homeland and everything upon it than allow an enemy to occupy it.

  London had very little sympathy for their suffering. ‘Serve ’em right,’ people said to one another. ‘They should a’ know’d better than ter go a-tangling with the Russkies.’

  It was a cold winter in London too, even though it didn’t snow, but just before Christmas news came through from Spain that the French had been defeated there too.

  ‘We’ve a deal to celebrate, I’m thinking,’ Calverley said to Nan as she snuggled down inside the warm bedclothes late one December evening. ‘How if we were to …’

  ‘I intend to celebrate Christmas in the new style this year,’ she told him, ‘like the Duchess of York. We will all go down to Bury so we shall, for we can’t expect the baby to travel to London, and we’ll give presents to one another on Christmas morning before we go to church, just like she does. ’Tis a capital idea, don’t ’ee think so?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, agreeing because he had to, although he was inwardly quailing at the thought of how much it would cost him. ‘I can think of another capital idea, my charmer.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said, snuffing out the candle. ‘What shall I give to little Jimmy?’

  She enjoyed her preparations for this new-style Christmas. Buying presents had always been a pleasure to her, so the chance to give something to every single member of her household was a great excitement. And the boys were delighted at the thought that they were to have four whole days away from work in the company of their sister and her baby and dear old James.

  They arrived in Angel Hill laden with parcels so early on Christmas morning that only Bessie was up and about to receive them. They couldn’t wait to give their presents. Breakfast could be taken later, could it not, Billy said. First things first. And he was up the stairs two at a time to call his mother, who met them on the second landing, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

  ‘Fie on you both,’ she scolded them happily. ‘Your sister en’t arrived yet. Nor Mr Leigh. Nor Mr Hopkins neither, for he must conduct his Christmas service before he may ride over. So you must just bide your souls in patience, you bad boys!’

  ‘We brought Annie a necklace of little coloured beads,’ Johnnie said, kissing her, ‘and a rag doll for baby Jimmy.’

  ‘What do ’ee say we take the chaise and drive out to meet her?’ Billy said.

  ‘Now?’ Nan said, amazed at their energy. ‘At this hour?’

  ‘Why not?’ Johnnie said. ‘We ain’t seen our Annie for months and months, have we Billy?’ And he called down the stairwell. ‘Bring the chaise, Thiss.’

  So the chaise was brought and the two of them donned their greatcoats and hats again, and clambered aboard, laughing and talking.

  ‘Back for breakfast!’ Billy called as the roan began to trot. ‘What’ve we got? I’ve a monstrous appetite!’

  ‘Oh, what a blessing mum, to have our dear boys here for your new Christmas,’ Bessie said, waving to them until they were out of sight.

  And a splendid Christmas it was, the giving of gifts being an innovation they all enjoyed. Calverley produced a ring for Nan, set with turquoise and pearls, and gave it to her with an intensity it was hard for her to ignore. She put it on the middle finger of her right hand and thanked him with a kiss, but she was aware that both her sons were watching her closely, and she was glad that at least they had the good sense not to comment.

  Rather to her surprise it was Johnnie who had brought the most imaginative presents. Besides the necklace and the rag doll, he produced a fringed shawl from Sicily for Bessie, whic
h made her look extremely fine, and a straw hat for Thiss, which made him look happily foolish, and two fine water-colours for his mother, which had to be hung in the place of honour immediately, once they’d decided where the place of honour was. And he spent most of Christmas day crawling about the drawing-room carpet with his nephew.

  Watching him, Nan wondered if she had ever really known this son of hers. He had always been such a secretive, withdrawn child and now here he was romping with the baby as happily as any two-year-old. But she noticed that he was still withdrawn among adults. When Billy went racketting off with his friends, he stayed at home to read or work on his notes. But she even found his taciturnity endearing these days. It reminded her of William Henry whose quietness had been an outward sign of his dependability, although she hadn’t understood it at the time.

  From time to time during their four-day holiday they took tea alone together and talked about the firm as if they were business associates and not mother and son. She told him how aggravating it had been to have the rent or purchase of new shops blocked by ‘that wretch Sir Osmond,’ and remembered the times when they had walked through the streets of Mayfair together, selling The Times for tuppence. And on the fourth day he told her about his plans for expansion.

  ‘We should open a newsagent’s shop in every town that Mr Chaplin serves,’ he said eagerly, ‘with papers delivered daily on his coaches. It could easily be done, Mama. I have worked it all out.’

  ‘Have you indeed,’ she said, rather tartly, for she wasn’t sure she approved of his interest, ‘and have you negotiated for the new premises, too? They could run into hundreds, I hope you realize.

  ‘Two hundred and forty-two, to be precise.’

  She laughed out loud at this. ‘What a fellow you are!’ she said, and now there was admiration in her tone. ‘And how long would it take to set up this mighty enterprise?’

  This was a question he hadn’t expected. ‘I couldn’t say for certain, Mama,’ he admitted. ‘A lot would depend upon the availability of properties and the speed of our lawyers. Mr Teshmaker would be most useful in this respect, I’m sure. I could work out an estimation for you, if you wished.’

  ‘Aye,’ she said, warmed by his honesty. ‘Pray do so. ’Tis the sort of business I enjoy. When could you start?’

  ‘This very afternoon,’ he said eagerly.

  She laughed at him again. ‘Finish your holiday first,’ she told him. ‘And have another piece of shortbread.’

  He began his estimation as soon as he got back to Chelsea, and by February he had worked out what he called ‘a plan of campaign’, breaking down the whole operation according to coach routes.

  Nan read it with approval and close attention, and when she’d absorbed all the information in it, she made her decision. ‘Begin with the Portsmouth route,’ she said. ‘We already have shops in Petersfield and Portsmouth. Now see if you can open them in Esher, Cobham, Guildford, Godalming, Liphook, and Portsea Island.’

  ‘They will be trading before the summer,’ he told her solemnly. ‘You have my word on it.’

  Actually it took him a great deal longer than he’d expected. The shops in Guildford and Godalming were open by the beginning of July, just in time to sell the news of the Great British victory at Victoria, Esher was ready in October when Annie announced that she was expecting again, but negotiations for the Portsea Island shop took such a long time, they were only just completed in December when news of another and even greater victory arrived.

  The British and Portuguese had fought a decisive battle against the French and their Spanish allies at a place called Nive. Sixty thousand troops took the field on either side and by the end of the day thirteen thousand of them were dead. But Wellington had been declared the victor. Now, so all the newspapers agreed, there was no doubt that the British would win the war. It was only a matter of time. ‘Your second baby could well be born in peacetime,’ Nan wrote to Annie, for the child was due at the end of January.

  The entertainments arranged in London to celebrate the victory were truly sumptuous, with firework displays in Hyde Park and St James’ Park, and balls and masques in which the costumes grew more costly and fantastic by the day. Not to be outdone, the theatres planned elaborate fantasies too.

  The Theatre Royal in the Haymarket promised ‘an evening of delectation the most wondrous to behold, with dazzling transformations and effects and all newly written for the occasion.’ So naturally Calverley bought two tickets for one of the side-boxes in the dress circle so that he and Nan could join in the festivities. Or to be more accurate, he pledged that he would pay for the tickets when he came to collect them that evening, for he had no money in hand until Mr Chaplin paid his wages later that afternoon.

  It turned out to be an extraordinary evening. But it began terrifyingly.

  He had just collected his most-needed wages from Mr Chaplin at the Swan with Two Necks and was strolling through the crowds in Milk Street heading towards the river and home, when he was suddenly seized from behind and dragged backwards into an evil-smelling alley.

  It was done so quickly and with such expertise he had no time to call out or fight back. One minute he was walking and whistling, swinging his gold-topped cane in his usual jaunty way, the next the cane was being twisted from his grasp and held hard across his throat, blocking his windpipe. A dark face grinned diabolically six inches in front of his eyes, ‘Mr Calverley Leigh, sir,’ it mocked. ‘If I ain’t mistook. Friend a’ Mr Ebenezer Weingarten, wot ‘as the rare misfortune a’ doin’ business wiv ’ee, Mr Calverley Leigh, sir.’

  Rough fingers were frisking his pockets and there was a strong smell of stale urine emanating from the dank walls behind him. ‘What do you want?’ he said, speaking as haughtily as he could, and struggling to dislodge the cane from his throat. But he knew what the ruffian wanted, there was no need to ask.

  ‘Little matter ‘a six hundred smackers, guvnor,’ another voice said behind him, and the cane was jerked most painfully against his throat.

  ‘Tell your master he shall have it at the very first opportunity.’

  ‘Oh my eye,’ Dark Face mocked. ‘We got a prime cove ’ere, boys. The very first oppertunity, eh, what? This ’ere’s yer oppertunity Mr Calverley Leigh, sir. We’re the ones wot makes oppertunities, Mr Calverley Leigh sir, out the kindness of our ’earts.’

  Another face leered out of the darkness into Calverley’s diminished line of vision. This one had lost most of its teeth except for two isolated, dark-brown stumps and had one eye covered by a triangular black patch. ‘Give ’im a wherrit across the chops, eh Charlie?’ it said hopefully, raising a huge fist.

  ‘Not if he comes dahn wiv the derbies,’ Dark Face said, ‘which seein’ he’s a-got the oppertunity I’m a-certain ’e’ll oblige. Wot’s ’ee got there, Jerry?’

  ‘Four sovereigns an’ twenty crowns.’

  ‘Well, that ain’t a deal, considerin’,’ Dark Face said. ‘You’ll ’ave ter do better’n that won’t yer, Mr Calverley Leigh sir, otherwise we shall ’ave ter visit you again, as I might say.’

  A black hand was dangling his purse on the end of a knobbed stick. ‘’Tis for Mr Weingarten,’ Calverley said coldly, ‘so be certain I shall tell him to expect it.’

  ‘Oh my eye,’ Dark Face said, ‘wot a suspicious cast a’ mind we’ve got, Mr Calverley Leigh. Whap ’im one Jerry, fer bein’ a suspicious cove.’ And then a fist landed in his stomach like a sledge hammer, winding him and draining all the strength from his legs, so that he fell in a heap, gasping and retching. And the dangling purse was caught in a flying hand, and they were gone, taking purse and cane, in a flurry of heavy boots and stinking rags.

  For a few seconds he lay where he had fallen, pulling air painfully into his lungs and struggling not to be sick. Deuce take it, he thought, as waves of nausea tugged upwards from his bruised stomach, I’ve come to a parlous state if I’m to be set upon by heavies. I shall have to pay old Weingarten off somehow or other. Or cut and run.<
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  In the meantime there was a theatre to visit. And Nan to court. Perhaps if he caught her in a happy moment she would settle some of his bills. Oh, there was always hope. Deuce take it, I do need a brandy.

  It took him some time to find a landlord who would allow him to run up a bill for the liquor he needed, but eventually he found succour of a sort in a low tavern beside the Thames, where he washed his face and hands, and brushed his clothes and made himself presentable enough for the Haymarket, although how he would pay for the tickets he had no idea.

  Fortunately the theatre was filled beyond capacity and Nan had already bought their tickets. There was such a crush in the foyer that it took him more than ten minutes to move from the entrance to the auditorium and stand beside her. She was surrounded by a horde of her friends and acquaintances all talking at once and saying how wonderful it was for Britain to have won such a victory. They were all dressed to the nines and sweating with excitement and heavily perfumed, so the smell in that small enclosed space was enough to bring tears to the eyes but the atmosphere was charged with emotion as well as perfume and a good deal of that emotion was already happily erotic. In the press of so many bodies, what was more natural and easy than to kiss and fondle? he thought, catching his amorous Nan to his side, relieved that she was too excited to notice any change in him.

  Inside the theatre it was better and worse, for there the heat from so many bodies had already accumulated to such a stifling degree that necks and bosoms were turkey-red and fans were constantly a-flutter. But here in the intimacy of plushy darkness, kisses could linger and hands explore further, so excitement and enjoyment increased, and the terror and pain of that dark alley receded.

  ‘’Twill be a good evening, I fancy,’ Calverley murmured into his beloved’s neck. ‘How if you were to crown all by agreeing to marry me?’