Privilege Preserved (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Would government prefer that Mostyns kept clear, sir?”

  “No. Our first thoughts are that it is better that the businessmen of the area should look to London than to Paris or Hamburg or Cologne or Berlin or even St Petersburg for their financial backing. The Emperor in Vienna still has a hankering for the Netherlands, we believe. We want no great European power staring at us across the German Ocean. We cannot conceivably take any official action, Mr Andrews, nor may we be seen to offer support to Mostyns in any expansion of its activities into Europe. Elsewhere in the world, however…”

  Government pressure on the Hudson’s Bay Company in Canada or on John Company in India and China might well be very useful in a few years’ time. Any sensible banker would always invest in the future prosperity of his firm and it might be wise to take a small risk in Belgium in return for a strong certainty in the Far East. The coal mines in Flanders would receive Mostyns’ support, provided they existed, and the promoters of this adventure were not opportunistic felons.

  Correct documentation was a first stage. Next step would be to send a sensible young man across the Channel to walk the fields himself and ask pertinent questions of local attorneys. Only after that might funds be released.

  Book Five: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter Eight

  “Will you go to Ceylon yourself, Major Wolverstone?”

  “Eventually, yes, I must, Mr Benson, but in the first instance I would have little to offer for knowing nothing of tea production. I have sent overland for Roberts to find three young men of ability to become planters, ex-officers of Wellington’s army, I should expect. Foot, of course.”

  Benson murmured agreement; he had seen King’s cavalry regiments and had formed an opinion of their officers.

  “They could be here in half a year, if they take the fastest route, but we should assume they may not reach Trincomalee before December. The lands we are to take to ourselves are already in process of identification, you tell me.”

  “They are, Major. My Chinkee wallah is on his way from Canton, should be at sea by now. He will take charge of the first clearing of the land for the tea gardens. He is to bring several thousands of cuttings for the planting of the bushes themselves, and I have arranged for more to be bought from the few plantations we have to our north.”

  “Good, that sounds excellent, sir. I think I am best employed ensuring that all is organised at our Head Office. We will have to build bungalows at each of our three locations and will need to have one at least of storage go-downs as well, equipped with the appropriate tools. There will be a need for draught animals and riding horses and a cart or two, I should imagine. No doubt your Chinese gentleman will inform me of other needs.”

  Benson agreed, said that he would go down to the area for a visit but he saw little need for both of them to do so.

  “When do you marry, Mr Benson?”

  “Three months hence, Major.”

  It was time for Wolverstone to come to the point.

  Miss Benson was a handsome enough girl and her father had implied that he would be open-handed, but there was a small air of coldness, of calculation, to her that had deterred Wolverstone from actually and finally committing himself. He must do so now, or step back and leave the field clear for any other suitor who might be dredged up in the time remaining before her step-mama entered the house. There were captains in the Company’s army who could well be invited to make their fortunes, one or two of them within reason young and not yet too much pickled.

  It would make business relations rather difficult if Wolverstone did not come up to scratch, an implication that the Bensons did not quite meet up to his standards socially, perhaps.

  “May I offer for your daughter, Mr Benson? We could well be married before you if she will accept me.”

  Benson hid his sigh of relief, he had been increasingly worried that Wolverstone might not meet his expectations, which would have annoyed his wife-to-be and probably have humiliated his daughter. He had been foreseeing an uncomfortable domestic situation, which was not what he had planned to remarry for.

  “I am sure Cynthia will be pleased to speak to you, Major. Shall you call at the house this afternoon?”

  Wolverstone was surprised at Benson’s enthusiasm, had not realised just how welcome a suitor he was. He wondered for a moment whether he might not have done better for himself if he was that great a catch.

  There were still relatively few English gentlemen in India, he knew, apart from the serving officers in the King’s Regiments and they tended to be socially exclusive. There were a few of the Ten Thousand to be found in the very highest reaches of the Company, all middle-aged at least, those amongst them who were single intending to remain that way for good enough reasons. The great bulk of the English and Scots, more of the latter, were tradesmen, merchants, worthy people, no doubt, but not of the sort that made their bow at the Court of St James. Wolverstone had attended a levee as a cornet of cavalry, one of several just sufficiently gently born to be accorded the honour and herded together for the purpose, mainly so that the colonels of their regiments might mention the fact to their less favoured rivals.

  “Yes, Colonel, I insist that all of my officers shall have been seen at St James. I presume you do the same. No? Oh, dear!”

  Wolverstone had overheard such conversations with cynical amusement as a youth. Benefitting now from the side-effects of his colonel’s manoeuvring he could appreciate why it had been done. It was useful to belong to the elite, even if only at the fringes, there were many benefits. Benson was not of the Upper Ten Thousand - quite possibly had not been born part of the next hundred thousand - but he would pay through the nose for his daughter to marry into them.

  A brief call at the office of one of the very few attorneys in Bombay before he visited at the Bensons, his marital plans, and Benson’s, quickly outlined.

  “Ah, yes, Major Wolverstone, you are very wise to take advice, sir!” The attorney had undertaken some business for Roberts, wanted more. “The question of dowry is simply a matter of discussion between you and Mr Benson but inheritance is another matter.” It was a small community and every man knew the other’s business. “Mr Benson is to marry the Bishop’s niece, Miss Peabody, who is herself in line to inherit an estate very large in land but in a poor part of Ireland where rents are pennies only. She is of child-bearing age and one must expect her to produce an heir, and quite possibly other children besides. Assuming she bears a son, then the inheritance of an elder sister from a first marriage becomes a question of some interest, one that could exercise legal minds in Chancery for many years if it came to them, therefore we must ensure that it does not!”

  Wolverstone smiled his patient agreement. He did not like lawyers but suspected he needed this one.

  “There are two courses available, Major Wolverstone. One is to simply demand that a Trust Fund be created immediately with a sufficiently large sum dedicated to it – a method often used in the class of merchants is to allocate a proportion of the firm to it, nominally, the Fund to be a part owner in effect and taking and investing its share of the profits each year. A further, common refinement is to reinvest those profits in the firm itself, all to be disbursed only at the death of the father.”

  That seemed clear enough.

  “Alternatively, a Will may be written in which the daughter is named as recipient of a fixed sum or of a proportion of the firm. Wills may, of course, be changed at a later date, often to the profit of the lawyers on both sides of the ensuing squabble. Therefore I would always recommend the use of a Trust Fund, though it has the disadvantage that the monies eventuating become the property of the lady herself, remaining in Trust generally, and not accruing to the estate of the husband. One could devise a Trust that terminated on the death of its creator, but that could in itself create a degree of uncertainty and would in all probabilities force the dissolution of the firm in order to apportion the funds in cash.”

  �
�I do not see the continuing Trust as a disadvantage, sir. Amongst other things, it makes provision for younger children the easier, they to be beneficiaries on their mother’s demise. I shall urge the creation of a Trust Fund upon Mr Benson, giving him your name, if you are willing, sir.”

  Not surprisingly the attorney was very willing to act in the matter and earn a respectable fee.

  Wolverstone returned to his office, spoke to Benson, who had expected to write his Will upon the event of the two marriages but was easily persuaded that a Trust Fund had much to recommend it, particularly because it kept the family money in his daughter’s hands.

  Miss Benson was obedient to command, and also much relieved.

  She had, in the nature of things, talked about prospective husbands with the three other merchants’ daughters who she met socially and frequently visited. Theirs was an even smaller community and the four were to an extent in competition for the very few eligible gentlemen who existed in Bombay. It was, they all knew, easy enough to find a husband. Company officers, for example, would queue up for the privilege of a rich wife, but a marriage up the social ladder was far from simple to achieve in their remote, commercial colony.

  Amongst the single gentlemen of the merchant community only Major Wolverstone could claim the cachet of gentle birth. In addition, he was known to have been a hero of the wars, his name mentioned with respect for his service at some battle in Spain. It was possible that he could return to London one day, even take a place in Society there, they thought. He was top of the list for all four girls and they competed to dance with him at the few functions where they met. Miss Benson had the richest father, but was not certain she was handsomest of the four and his delay in speaking to her had made her increasingly unsure of herself.

  She dressed in her very best that afternoon, waited anxiously for the Major to be seen at the door.

  He came, shook hands with her father and begged the favour of a word with her, instantly granted, retiring to a back room, an Indian maid with her to preserve the proprieties but unable to understand what was said, or so she believed. The girl in fact spoke good English, but she had sufficient sense not to acquaint her mistress with the fact, listening patiently to the pidgin Hindi she was addressed in. She was a little disappointed that Miss Benson had behaved with absolute propriety as an unmarried girl, but there was a good chance that as a married woman she would take lovers and then pay for her silence.

  “Miss Benson, I have spoken to your father and begged his permission to ask you to become my wife. Financial matters need not concern you, but I can assure you of a way of life at least equal to that you currently enjoy and with expectations for the future. I wish to establish myself and believe that I could be very happy and comfortable in your company. I hope that you would find me a congenial husband, ma’am.”

  She had not expected a romantic declaration, but was a little surprised to be offered something not far from a business deal. Still, the gentleman was the best she could hope for and she had no yearnings for any other. Perhaps romantic love was more to be found in books than in real life. He would do.

  “I shall be very happy to marry you, sir. I believe we will be able to make a good life together.”

  A suitably milk-and-water response she thought.

  He bowed and took her hand, uncertain what he should do next. She debated offering him her lips, decided not, she had no particular desire to be kissed by him, that could wait, from the little she understood, till they were wed.

  She retired, planning her triumph over the other three girls while the gentlemen sat down to business.

  “I have been thinking about the Trust, Major Wolverstone and am sure it is far the best way of going about things. Ten per centum of the Firm to be placed into the Trust with immediate effect upon the marriage taking place. My Will to make provision for my widow, obviously, and sixty parts of the hundred to be the inheritance of my son, if one should eventuate, the remainder, thirty parts, equally between all surviving children, Cynthia included, she thus richest of the girls and younger sons. Should there be no son, then she must inherit in his place, so that the firm may survive.”

  Wolverstone found himself hoping that the Peabody family ran to girl-children.

  Alec Fraser was a busy man, active in foundry, colliery and shipyard, travelling frequently to the works in South Wales as well as to the Isle of Dogs and Mr Rumpage’s yard. It was not unreasonable of him, he thought, to expect a well organised household to come home to, yet only too often he found himself having to play an active role there. His wife was a lovely girl and kindness itself to him, yet she did not come from the order of society that habitually employed servants and she had the greatest of difficulties in obtaining their respect and ordinary obedience.

  Their Cook was third to enjoy the role since their marriage, the first having shown herself to be a friend to the gin bottle and having been peremptorily told to pack her box and be gone. She had left without a character, and that was reasonable enough.

  The second had simply been regularly and increasingly rude to Mrs Fraser, on a final occasion telling her to put the bloody kettle on herself if she wanted tea in mid-morning, ‘she was no more than a jumped-up scullery maid herself and had no business putting on airs and graces and while she was at it she could keep that bloody dog out of the kitchen!’. Cook had not noticed that Alec had come home to say that he had been called away to the London yard and to collect his bags. He heard her voice raised in the basement, listened at the stairs and boxed her ears before ordering her out of the house. Insulting his wife was bad enough but starting on his dog put her well beyond the pale.

  “Ye must put yourself on a firmer footing with the girls, Rosie. Ye are mistress to the house, my love, and they must respect ye as such!”

  Easily said, but she knew she did not speak properly, could not pretend to be a lady, and servants were such snobs.

  A lot of thought and she took care to employ an older woman, one well into her forties, as her third cook, a ‘girl’ who had spent weeks finding a new situation after the death of the elderly spinster who had owned her last kitchen. It would be months at her age, maybe never, if she had to look for another place, and she would do everything possible to keep this last chance. Rosie felt she could take the risk of opening her mind to this one of her staff.

  “Mrs Battersby, that was a very good leg of lamb last night. Mr Fraser was very pleased with it.”

  Battersby had never married but as cook and senior in the house was allowed the courtesy title.

  “’tis none so hard to be a cook wi’ the new closed stove you’ve got ‘ere, ma’am. Not that it’s easy, mind you, but the oven keeps to its ‘otness, don’t get colder nor ‘otter than you wants so long as you keeps ‘alf an eye to it. Miss Tidworth, God bless ‘er soul, she ‘ad no more nor an open range, and that were a bugger, ma’am, begging you pardon for language, that is.”

  “Never mind about a bit of language, Mrs Battersby. It’s not as if I didn’t never hear it before I married Mr Fraser. My dad’s a farmer and there was times ‘e would swear the Devil out of Hell!”

  Mrs Battersby knew exactly what she was saying.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but you didn’t ought to be telling me that. Not that it matters, but the girls might be upset. I can see to them, though, never you mind! Best you should talk like a lady to them, ma’am. Miss Tidworth she was a one for that – any time I went upstairs I ‘ad to talk like ‘er, so, of course, madam, I do actually know exactly how one should speak in front of a gentleman.”

  Mrs Battersby’s accent changed markedly in the last half of the sentence, to the entertainment of both.

  “I don’t yet, Mrs Battersby.”

  “So I ‘ears, ma’am, and you should ought to. I could give ‘ee a bit of ‘elp, maybe, ma’am?”

  “I wish you would, Mrs Battersby, Mr Fraser would be so pleased. And I need to be good, being as ‘ow I let ‘im down so.”

  She poured
out the tale of the miscarriage and of how good Mr Fraser had been at the failure of their hopes and how disappointed she was not to have given him a son as he must have hoped for.

  “A three month miscarriage? Nothin’ out the ordinary in that, ma’am! Most ladies ‘ave that ‘appen to ‘em.” She knew that was not quite the truth but the poor girl needed comforting and her mother was not there to do it. “Truth to tell, from all I ever ‘eard, it don’t ‘ave to be a bad thing. Sometimes, specially with a first, the babe don’t start right and Nature do get rid of it so that it can’t be born all bent and crippled. Next time all will be well, you’ll see, ma’am.”

  That was a new idea, and very welcome.

  “What do I do about telling the girls what to do in the house, Mrs Battersby?”

  “Don’t, ma’am. They knows what they got to do. All you needs do is keep an eye peeled. If so be you should come across a speck of dust, or a table unpolished or a bed not made-up right, then you quietly says so. Let ‘em know you’re disappointed in they. And then you just let me know, too, I’ll sort ‘em out!”

  They employed only a few staff, an upstairs and a downstairs maid and a tweenie and a gardener and a pantry-boy and a skivvy as well as Cook, but that was five hundred pounds a year out of Alec’s fifteen hundred when the housekeeping was thrown in. She had a responsibility to ensure that so much money was spent well, was very relieved that she now had an ally.

  “What should I do, Mrs Battersby, every day?”

  “Read books, you need to know things so as to be able to talk like a sensible lady. Do a bit of embroidery, because ladies do. Pick the flowers for the house, and perhaps dry some for that pot-pourri stuff. Meet up with other ladies what lives round ‘ere, and talk with they. Go down the church come Sundays and you’ll get to talkin’ with ‘em, and there’ll be things what they do for the poor folk and all that what you can get into and what’ll give you and Mr Fraser both a good name.”