Killing's Reward

by Andrew Wareham

  Mr Rowlands smiled and said how delighted he was that Mr Heythorne, his dear old acquaintance, should be remembered in such a way.

  “Mr Martin will place the money to the proper account, sir. I shall beg Nick to speak to young Mr Malone at the White Horse. I expect he will wish to dig deep in his pockets too.”

  Mr Rowlands had no wish to be beholden to the Malones, to any member of their family, yet he needed to raise money, and the more he could weasel from the few of the well-off in the area, the less he must call for by precept. The Poor Rate was resented by all of those who paid it and its collection was not easy – the Bench often had to involve itself. Was he known to have refused a donation, then he would be more than unpopular locally. Had he to call for the services of the Militia to protect his rate-collectors as they visited the local holders, then he would not be loved by the Lord Lieutenant. If, however, he was able to produce, as if by sleight of hand, a new, large and staffed workhouse, all for free in the first instance, then he might even become Sir Frederick Rowlands, knight bachelor and benefactor to his community.

  Not a hereditary title, of course, but not unpleasant, and conveying a little of prestige to his sons.

  “What an excellent idea, ma’am! The greater the donations, the less the rise in taxation must be, and we should all favour that!”

  “Where do you intend to build, Mr Rowlands?”

  “Difficult, ma’am. It must need to be on a patch of waste ground and there is little of that locally which is not steep hillside. The inmates would undoubtedly prefer the location to be in or close to Leek itself, so that they might be within reach of the church and their friends and acquaintances locally.”

  It was understandable, but not of overwhelming importance, she thought.

  “Their wishes are not necessarily the most significant of factors to be considered, sir. I have recently come into a patch, a substantial amount, of waste close to the distillery and on moderately sloping ground. It would be possible to clear the flattest acre and build the workhouse there. The old folk could potter about usefully there, picking up sticks for their fires and perhaps clearing the brushwood and planting vegetables and potatoes and such else as might grow, or putting the land down to blackthorn for sloes.”

  Free land would save another twenty or thirty pounds, and using the labour of the indigent poor, even if only for an hour or two a day, would be of some value. Firewood was not cheap and if they could grow any of their own food, that would be a definite bonus - and the exercise must be good for them, getting them away from idleness at the fireside and into the healthy fresh air. Thinking on it, there was the possibility that some sort of work might be provided in the house itself. Even if it made only pennies, then it would cut the rates to be paid by a little.

  “A most excellent suggestion, ma’am. I am sure you must wish to sit on the Board of Governors, when such is formed.”

  “I might not wish to put myself forward so, Mr Rowlands. Perhaps my good servant, Nick, might be considered in my place?”

  Mr Rowlands could think of little he would like less as he smiled and agreed that to be a truly inspired suggestion.

  “All know Nick, and respect his unique talents, ma’am. We should all be glad to see him occupying a position of responsibility in our community.”

  Chapter Four

  Killing’s Reward

  Section One - AD 1752

  The local builder and carpenter, Arkenthwaite, also known as Chips, thought a workhouse to be a very good thing, said so frequently as he brought his labourers in to start to clear the site and peg out the footings for the building. The newly appointed Board had not gone to the expense of an architect and had merely suggested rough dimensions, fitting into the land available. There was much debate on site as they agreed just how large the building should be.

  The discussion did not degenerate into argument, Nick being present and smiling benignly.

  “There are some sixteen of paupers to be considered currently, Mr Nick. What provision would be right for the future, do you think, sir?”

  “Some will die in the immediate future, Mr Arkenthwaite, yet others might linger on until they were ninety – showing no consideration for the ratepayers, one might add. There could easily be another ten or more. Do you know of the numbers in this vicinity of potential paupers, of those in their latter working years without young family, sir?”

  There could be many, the builder agreed, for a large number of the young folk of the village had drifted away in the past few years, leaving the aged behind them.

  “The government should do something about them, Mr Nick. Traipsing off with no care for their poor parents. They should be obliged to take them with them.”

  Nick agreed that those leaving for the Americas might well do so, but the young men volunteering for the Army, or joining at the behest of the Bench, might not find it so easy and girls going into service would again have problems.

  “Many, however, sir, are going into town, into Stoke, to find work there, and they should accept their responsibilities to the parents who bore them - but they will not and may not be compelled, which is a matter of some shame. It is not in our hands to solve the problem, however. There should be space for four-and-twenty, more perhaps in the female ward than in the male, for the men die younger, or so it seems to me.”

  There were certainly more widows to be seen than bereaved old men, though they could not explain why, but it always had been so.

  “Should we build low on the hillside, Mr Nick, for convenience of the old folk who do not walk so easily these days?”

  “No. There is a flatter section towards the top, and the soil is thin there, over rock, and better to build on. The lower part is more of a coarse clay, lying wet and needing expensive drains around the building if it is not to be intolerably damp. It would cost much each year in fires to drive the wet out and protect the plaster to walls and ceilings. We have deep ditches surrounding the distillery and still the bare walls often drip wet.”

  It would be cheap enough to set in a curving driveway up the hill, with steps in the path at its side, if needs be. The old paupers would have little need to go out and if they were fit to stroll into Leek, then they could manage to climb a small hill at the end of their walk back.

  A little of initiative by the builder saw him quarrying into the hillside and using the native rock to build the walls of the workhouse. It was not the best of stone, perhaps, a little crumbly, and he would have been unwilling to take the structure to a third floor, but it was adequate for their purpose and saved a deal of money.

  They went to the expense of roofing in tile; even though it was fired locally it was not as cheap as thatch but could be expected to last for a century and so paying for itself in the longer run. Added to the economy was the consideration that bright, new red tile showed up most impressive.

  “No expense spared for our local folk, eh, Mr Arkenthwaite?”

  “So it must seem, Mr Nick. It reflects well on the generosity of those who have contributed so open-handedly to meet the needs of the unfortunate of our parish. Four chimneys as well – one to each ward, one for the kitchens and the last for their working and leisure room.”

  That was expensive, Nick reflected, but the existence of a chimney did not predicate that a fire must be lit under it.

  A few days later the carpenter appeared, knuckling his forehead and begging to be told how he must fit out the working room. Nick obliged, pointing out what would go where.

  “To the front here, by the window where there is light, tables with benches where the females may sit with their knitting or lace work, depending on their skills. The most dexterous may even indulge in fine embroidery, for which there is always a sale. The men’s work space will be towards the rear, partitioned off to cut the dust, close to the big doors. There will be no need for your services, Chips, for the men. The masons will lay heavy slabs of hard stone – brought in for the purpose – and there the men may crush bones, the r
esultant dust to be used in the production of fine china in the potteries of Stoke. The supply of crushed bones is always shorter than is wished, it would seem, and the pottery masters will be pleased to buy. The men may contribute much towards their keep. I have spoken to the slaughterhouse masters and there will be a regular delivery of bone to be dried off and then broken down. The labour will be good for the old men, will ensure they remain active, and we may be able to pay them a penny or two a day for their pains, to keep them in tobacco, if they so indulge.”

  They admired Nick’s generosity.

  Crushed bone was in small supply because the dust got into the workers’ lungs and set them to coughing bloody within twelve months. They often seemed to pick up a consumption, too. Bone crushers tended not to live long in the trade. It was normally only performed in prisons or workhouses where the labourers had little choice of occupation.

  Mr Arkenthwaite had one other minor query to raise.

  “Begging your pardon, Mr Nick, but won’t there be rooms for the married couples, sir? Will they have to be separated off after so many years, like?”

  “To be practical, at their age, it will hardly matter if they do not share a bed, Chips. In any case, we cannot afford to build an inn, or even a hotel for them. If they have been so improvident in their working lives that they must go to paupers’ accommodation, then they must accept what is on offer.”

  “Seems ‘ard on they poor old folk, Mr Nick.”

  “So it may be, Chips. No doubt they will be rewarded in Heaven for their tribulations here on Earth.”

  The carpenter thought it wiser to say no more, bearing in mind Nick’s reputation.

  “Is there to be a separate sick house, Mr Nick?”

  Arkenthwaite thought he might quite like the building of it if there was.

  “Lord, no, sir! How will they be nursed if taken away from their natural helpmates? They have their beds and they will lie in them.”

  “Made or unmade, sir. So be it.”

  All was completed in remarkably short time, the building thrown up in a great hurry, but probably none the worse for that, so they said. The Board advertised for the place of Workhouse Master and were pleased to receive immediate applications from a dozen couples, most of them from Leek or parts of Stoke nearer to the village.

  “Eighty pounds and their own kitchen and rooms is evidently an attractive wage, gentlemen.” Nick shook his head regretfully. “It would seem that we offered too much, in error, and we can hardly suggest less now. We will know better next time.”

  The other four Board members joined him in his regrets, but reminded him that the Workhouse was an innovation, they’d had no experience to go by – he must not blame himself.

  “Most of these letters of application are from local men. What do we know of any of them?”

  There was silence for a few seconds, then Mr Malone raised a hand.

  “This man Murgatroyd, Mr Nick, has only been resident these past four years, being by way of a cousin of mine and come across from Ireland. I can vouch for him as a serious-minded man and of a good religion. He will be seen at the parish church twice every Sunday, sir.”

  The post was unanimously awarded to Mr Murgatroyd, none others of the Board having relatives to offer.

  “Should there be a formal opening, my lady? A ceremony with the rector present and offering a blessing and with a feast perhaps to welcome in the new residents?”

  They considered that. It might set a bad precedent.

  “No. Let us simply make a start. Move the old folk in and be done with it. Best we should not make too great a fuss about a waste of hard-earned money, Nick.”

  Nick agreed that she must be right. They had spent a deal of their valuable time on the workhouse and should waste no more of it. The improvident of the village had been catered for and were now properly out of sight and might be forgotten, except when the collector of the Poor Rate came a-knocking on the door. It was time to think of themselves again.

  “Education, Nick – what do you know of it?”

  “Why… very little, my lady. I learned my letters at my mother’s knee, as was only right. My poor father taught me my arithmetic, hoping, I believe, that I would join him in his counting house one day.”

  Josie was interested at this admission. Nick had never mentioned the existence of a father before and she had come, insensibly, to assume him to be a bastard. That he was of lawful parentage, and had a father of some little prosperity, was a surprise.

  “Your father was a merchant, Nick?”

  “He was, my lady, and quite well regarded in the Baltic trade, naval stores and such. He voyaged to Riga twice that I remember while I was a boy. He died, sadly, a few months after my mother and left me alone in the world, though I was able to put a few coins in my pocket, I recall. I was just fifteen when he passed away and far too young to enter into my inheritance, even if that had been possible... I took to the high road and made my way from place to place about our fair country for some few years, before having the great good fortune to settle in Stoke.”

  She asked no more, though she wondered what his father’s name and location might have been. In the naval stores trade, he was probably a Londoner, though possibly a Kentish man. Better she should not discover too much more, perhaps, his death sounding just the least little bit suspicious.

  “Education, Nick, as I was saying. Young Samuel should learn more than I have for him. I do not have the time to tutor him all day, every day, as he needs, so a teacher he must have.”

  “A male tutor will have to be kept at a proper distance from a widow lady, would be inconvenient. Of the female persuasion, I would suggest, my lady. Far wiser a governess who can live in and teach the younger ones as well. Indeed, in time, if I might make so bold as to beg, she might give lessons to my little one, for I fear my own lady has only the merest smattering of her letters.”

  She would be delighted for that to occur, she said. Where there were three already, a fourth would make little difference, and any child of Nick’s must be a prodigy to be cosseted by her family.

  How to find a governess was the next question, for they neither of them had acquaintances with daughters in search of a position.

  “Mr Rowlands might well know of such a body, my lady. He is active in local affairs and will have heard of any genteel lady with too many daughters to establish.”

  She wrote a little letter that afternoon, sending it off with the driver, Pointer, a very subdued fellow in late weeks. He had some sort of scar around his throat, she had noticed, wondered if he might have been fighting when taken in drink perhaps. She would not inquire, preferring him in his less bumptious state and accepting that any man might have a glass too many on occasion.

  Mr Rowlands visited later in the week, happy to inform her that he had spoken with a widow lady known to him in the town of Stone, a poor soul of respectable birth and wed to an unfortunately deceased attorney and the proud parent of eleven daughters and a single son. The two eldest daughters – handsome lasses, both – were some years wed, one to the doctor and the second to an apothecary, and numbers three and four were of an age to take a husband except that the third girl was sadly myopic, required spectacles in her ordinary existence and was less likely to find a partner in life. Miss Rosemary was a bright girl, forever reading and such, and would be well-suited to teach the children and was reconciled to a lowly existence.

  “Then, Mr Rowlands, I beg of you to send her to me. She must live in, of course, and eat at my table, not with the servants, and shall have thirty pounds a year besides, if that will suit her.”

  It was eminently satisfactory, Mr Rowlands did not doubt. The household would be more acceptable to her mother, Mrs Smithers, for having no grown males in it, as Mrs Heythorne must appreciate.

  “Miss Rosemary Smithers will be safe here, Mr Rowlands. My good friend Nick will ensure that we experience no difficulties.”

  Mr Rowlands smiled and departed. Miss Smithers appeared on th
e Monday following, was greeted kindly and made part of the household, her evident terror of coming within Nick’s ambit calmed.

  “A room of your own, Miss Smithers, in the other wing of the old house that was my father’s before he died. Next to it has been turned into a schoolroom while the nursery is the room further along the passage. You are to look to your own room, Miss Smithers, but no other part of the house is your responsibility; you are not to be a servant. The upstairs maid has the schoolroom, under your orders, and the nursery maids will look after themselves, as goes without saying. You will require books and paper and inks, I must imagine. Where should they be purchased?”

  Stoke was a possibility, it transpired, and if not, then either Stafford or Chester would do, though both were at an inconvenient distance.

  “We shall try Stoke first. Pointer will take us into town tomorrow.”

  They returned well-laden with books and papers, pens and ink and with white and coloured chalks besides. The carrier’s cart would bring out a blackboard and easel and the heavier volumes as well as a globe of the world. Miss Smithers had been surprised to discover there was no Holy Bible in the house – and was much disapproving. That had been remedied too, a large, heavy, leather-bound volume as long as the lady’s arm to be set on its own little table at the front of the schoolroom.

  All was in hand to bring Master Samuel up as a country gentleman.

  “His speech, ma’am, must be controlled and modulated so that he may mix with his peers. He is to be more than a local ragamuffin, after all.”

  Josie agreed anxiously, aware that her own speech was occasionally less than perfect in its modulation and begging Miss Smithers to have no hesitation in correcting Samuel.

  “He should be able to mix with any and all when he succeeds to command of his businesses, Miss Smithers. He will be a wealthy young man and must show a degree of well-bred ease that is consonant to his position in life.”

  “Of course, ma’am. Such will be my first concern. Is he to go to school when he is of an age?”