Killing's Reward

by Andrew Wareham

  “Breakfast and dinner in the great cabin, sir. Pot of tea or coffee and a slice of bread or cake or somesuch around the middle of the day sir. Bottle of wine or a tankard of beer any time you wants it, sir. Should be thirty days, sir, with luck. Washing of your clothes, sir, I can do any time you wants. Heads, sir, at the back of the great cabin for best passengers. Chamber pot in the corner at night, sir. Passengers to use the deck at any time of daylight hours, sir, except the weather ain’t right. All orders to be obeyed, sir. Please not to get in the way of the crew, sir. Not at war, sir, so no fear of battles and there ain’t no pirates left in our waters, so no need to conscript passengers to the defence of the ship, sir.”

  Abraham thought this all to be simple and straightforward, put his hand into his pocket.

  “No, sir, not now. End of the voyage, if you wants to put a guinea in me hand, all well and good, but you are not to be giving tips every time I do my job, sir.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  Abraham made his way to the great cabin, the steward having pointed towards the stern as an indication of where it might be found. He discovered a timber room with a ceiling as high as six feet and a width of thirty feet and a length of twenty. A pair of doors to the rear presumably led to the heads.

  There was a single large table, about twenty feet long and six wide with chairs all around. Table and seats were all firmly fixed to the deck, immoveable. A dozen of easy chairs were scattered in groups of two or three around the cabin. Assuming one easy chair to each passenger, no more than twelve aboard.

  An increase in noise suggested the ship was casting off and Abraham walked out on deck to farewell his native land. He saw Samuel was still on the dock, watching, and shouted and waved to him as the hull eased away from the quayside and a widening strip of water announced their final sundering.

  “Leaving old England for the first time, sir?”

  A pleasant female voice – evidently one of the other passengers. The young woman was a good ten years his senior, in her mid-twenties, he estimated. She wore a wedding ring on her left hand, was dressed as a young matron should be, or so he thought, not being an expert on female clothing.

  “I am, ma’am. Off to make my way overseas. I have never sailed before. My name is Abraham Heythorne, of Thornehills near Stoke.”

  “I am Mrs Amelia Rogers of the Rogers Plantation, not so far from Richmond in Virginia. I had occasion to return to my family home near Wigan, being told by letter that my father had died and my mother was most unwell from the fevers. I arrived too late to see her, I fear. Now, I am to return to my home and to discover all my overseer may have done in my absence. My poor husband fell from his horse last year and struck his head so severely that he is confined to his bed since and may never rise again.”

  Abraham was most sympathetic to the poor lady – such a series of tragedies. They talked idly for a while and he discovered that she was childless as well. An hour and they went below to order their cabins and dress more properly for dinner.

  “Not formal in evening dress, Mr Heythorne, but one cannot wear simple day dress to the table, as you will appreciate.”

  Dark green frockcoat, white shirt and a matching cravat sufficed, he thought, over a pair of dark breeches and well-polished halfboots. He must show as a young gentleman.

  He came to table and was glad he had made the effort. There were only nine passengers, eight of them male, and three dressed like Abraham as gentlemen, four clearly of the merchant sort – prosperous but with no sense of proper apparel. Abraham’s choice of wear showed him to be of the more refined sort – he had established his status in the single evening and the other passengers would know him for what he was, and no doubt would spread the word in the necessarily small circles of gentility in the little town of Richmond.

  To be known as a gentleman would be of some help to Abraham in establishing himself in his new country. His word would be good and he would be assumed to have at least a little of money and influence behind him.

  The meal was edible, being shore-bought food kept warm by the cooks on this first day.

  Mrs Rogers was sat opposite to him, addressed him across the table, the meal being informal in its nature.

  “Make the most of your dinner, Mr Heythorne. The cooks will do their best for us, but after a week or two they become limited in their endeavours. With the best will in the world, there is a limit to all that may be achieved with dried peas and beans and salt beef and pork. They bake their bread and the butter and cheese remains fresh and there are eggs, being a short voyage of thirty days, hopefully, but that is the limit of culinary luxury.”

  “We must accept that they will do their best, ma’am. Let us be thankful we are not facing the six months to India!”

  All at the table agreed with the comment, thought it very sensible from one so young.

  Abraham noticed that all of the men had had their glasses refilled twice already while he dawdled with his original pouring. He spoke a few times to the men on either side of him, confirming that he had just left his parental home and was to seek employment or other profitable activity when he reached the Colonies. They said little in return, no doubt wishing to spend a few days forming an opinion of his character before discussing his future with him.

  They left the table, most of those present drifting across to the easy chairs, a couple retiring to their cabins early. Abraham found himself sat across from Mrs Rogers, quietly talking about Virginia and the prospects there for a young man looking to establish himself.

  There were many possibilities, it seemed. At one extreme, a man with capital could establish his own new plantation – there was still untaken fertile land in the west of the colony. Alternatively, it was possible to set up as merchant or to work for an existing man. It was not uncommon for young men to take a place as an overseer in a plantation for a few years while he learned the ways of planting, she told him.

  “And some few, of course, Mr Heythorne, make their way west to explore the land and search for gold or hunt for furs in the mountains. There are many possibilities. I am to retire now. I bid you good night, Mr Heythorne.”

  Abraham stood and bowed correctly and followed her example a few minutes later.

  He met Mrs Rogers again at the breakfast table and idled at the rail with her for some part of the morning, taking the sea airs and enjoying sailing on a well-found ship. She made interesting conversation, talking well about the colony and planting and its problems and pleasures.

  “The servants are a great nuisance, of course, Mr Heythorne. They are so idle that they have to be chased and chivvied and kept up to the mark or nothing would be done. Our overseer is little better than them, does not know what it is to give a full day’s work from dawn to dusk, is forever wishing to sit with a glass in his hand.”

  “By servants, Mrs Rogers, do you really mean slaves?”

  “Servants in bondage, yes, Mr Heythorne. Shockingly expensive, too! We have sixty of males - bucks, we normally call them – and their women and a great mass of children. I have not counted how many there are of the young – they swarm! Very useful, of course – some will grow to be our own servants and the remainder can be sold away, the lighter-skinned females fetching a good price always. Impossible to plant without servants but they are costly and often awkward – so often falling ill or having accidents through their own carelessness, and then, they do grow old and demand to be kept in idleness in their cabins. It would be better if one could simply put them down, as one might an ancient dog that had passed its time.”

  Abraham thought this to be a little callous but recalled his mother ruing the number of the indigent elderly demanding entrance to the local workhouse and saying much the same. He glanced again at Mrs Rogers, admiring her heart-shaped face and auburn hair and the blue eyes – perhaps a little too harsh and piercing but showing a clever mind, he thought. A pity she was a decade his elder but she was still pleasant to talk with. It would be a tedious long voyage with no
companion to wile away the hours.

  On the third afternoon of the voyage, they rose from the table where they had been enjoying a pot of fresh-brewed tea and a slice of fruit cake, baked that morning and very pleasant as a treat. They walked towards their cabins with the expressed intent of sitting down with a book. Abraham’s cabin was first in the double row of doors on the deck below the great cabin; he was most amazed when Mrs Rogers followed him in and closed the door behind her and proceeded to undo the buttons of her dress.

  “I thought we could find something to do which might be more interesting than reading, Abraham.”

  She had a very good shape, he thought, not having realised quite how large and firm her breasts were.

  “But… what if I leave you with child?”

  “My husband wants a son, an heir, and he is no longer capable of achieving that simple aim, poor man. He will not object to a healthy child. Besides which, he knows that I cannot be expected to spend the remainder of my life chaste and untouched. Enough talk now! I can think of better things to do!”

  Abraham amazed himself with the speed with which he stripped off his clothes. She complimented him, led him to the bed telling him he was well-muscled, a fine upstanding lad.

  By the time they had reached Richmond they had agreed that he would travel with her to the plantation, there to dismiss the existing overseer and take his place. He could spend a year or two learning the trade and assisting her in other ways.

  “You are still young, Abraham. You may go off and make your fortune in a few years.”

  That made very good sense, he thought – he was in no hurry to leave for the hardships of the mountains.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Killing’s Reward

  Section Three - AD 1767

  “So, Mother, Mary seems very happy in the company of her good friend. Between them, they are transforming the grounds of her house and creating a genteel dwelling place which can only reflect on the good taste of our family.”

  Josie was vaguely aware of the possibility of unconventional pairings between females, though such matters were hardly ever discussed. It was clear to her that Samuel had never heard of such a thing. She was not sure she should – or wholly could – enlighten his ignorance. She was also uncertain that she in any way approved of the coupling, if such it was, but felt she could do nothing about it. Perhaps if she ignored it, it might go away.

  The more she considered any possible conversation with Samuel, the less she wished to initiate it. Better far to leave him in ignorance and hope local gossip did not grow too loud, did not actually reach his ears. The agricultural community, in the nature of things, was much more aware of the less polite aspects of nature, and far more inclined to bellow loudly about them. With luck, Samuel would have less to do with farmers over the next few years.

  “A good eventuation, it would seem, Samuel. Mary is happy and we must be pleased for her. How goes the glass cone? Is all well there?”

  Samuel was a little surprised at the abrupt change of topic. He replied that it was very well, and he was considering the construction of a second set of furnaces and cone. They would require supplies of a finer sand, however, if they were to do so.

  “No doubt you can employ a knowing man to search the area, Samuel. Will it be possible to bring barge loads of sand in when the canal is a reality?”

  Samuel accepted it might be so.

  “The great need then is to create the canal, and to ensure it passes close to our location at Palethorpe, Mother. I know there is opposition to the very idea of a canal in the locality. There are arguments that a canal is ‘unnatural’, and the watercourses have been set in place by God and that to alter them is to flout God’s will. How we are to alter this way of thinking, I do not understand.”

  “Perhaps you must discuss the question with the vicar, Samuel. If you come to comprehend the thinking behind the principle, then you may discover how best to counter it.”

  Samuel knew only two ways to change a person’s mind – bribery or brutality. Rational argument never succeeded, particularly with vicars, they espousing irrationality as their trade.

  How did one bribe a vicar? He presumed they would be as vulnerable to money as any other human being, and possibly in smaller amounts, the Church not paying too highly, or so he understood.

  “Do we know the extent of the Living of Leek, Mother?”

  “Not precisely, Samuel. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of four hundred pounds, I suspect.”

  “Small!”

  “Not huge, certainly. The rector however has a plurality of livings. He purchased only five years ago on the death of the Archdeacon who had held several himself. All of the Archdeacon’s livings were sold on his death, as is mandatory, and some few of them – I know not how many – were purchased by a family from Derby, for the benefit of their second son. He has established curates in all except one, as is normal, and resides here, for the vicarage being a most pleasant and large dwelling. I would be surprised if he was not a two thousand pound a year man.”

  Samuel retired to think.

  A man on two thousand a year was not of an insignificant nature. Many a squire existed comfortably on less money. Additionally, he had a family which could pay out the better part of fifteen thousand pounds to create an income for a younger son. That said, they were rich indeed; fifteen thousand pounds was not exactly small change.

  Bribery of this man would not be easy, nor cheap. Bashing him might be a dangerous business, leading to investigation by the Lord Lieutenant’s people. The wealthy tended to look after each other and it was rarely wise to casually brutalise them.

  That reduced Samuel to persuasion, and he was not entirely sure how to go about it.

  He must speak to the rector.

  He sent a note informing the vicar that he intended to do himself the honour of visiting him on Thursday morning, at about ten o’clock, if it might be convenient.

  There was an immediate acceptance – the Reverend Scott would be pleased indeed to see him then.

  Not to ‘meet’ him, but to ‘see’ him – an implication of audience, of senior to junior, which Samuel did not much like.

  Samuel retired to his office, sat many hours considering how best to bend the vicar to his will without resorting to overt coercion or highly expensive bribes.

  Thursday morning saw him knocking on the Rectory door, opened to him by a manservant, no less. A manservant – almost a butler - would cost twenty pounds a year more than a female, was an indication of a degree of wealth in itself.

  “My master is in his study, sir, will be pleased to welcome you there.”

  The Reverend was taller than Samuel and inclined to be portly in his forties. No doubt he would be gross in later life. He smiled in benevolent fashion, showing bad teeth that had seen too much sugar. He was not unhandsome, Samuel supposed, with curly fair hair and blue eyes and a strong chin, but he knew he was unwed and vaguely wondered why it should be so, with his money.

  “Please to take a seat, Mr Heythorne. You are not of my congregation, I know, but that is no reason why we cannot discuss the well-being of our parish.”

  Samuel presumed the vicar took him for a Dissenter, which many businessmen were.

  “I do so agree, Reverend. In these years of change, it behoves us all to work together to assure tranquillity among our people.”

  “Well said, sir.”

  “I am in the way of owning a number of coal mines, and a foundry and have interests in other business, too, notably a glassworks. Such being the case, I am obliged to consider transport for my goods, both inwards and out. I am in the process, vicar, of constructing a trackway along the valley of the Churnet, to join with my existing line down from the Thornehills pit.”

  Reverend Scott was not convinced of the virtues of such innovation, he had to confess.

  “The need for coal grows every year, sir. We must meet the demands of the venturers who provide work for the suddenly growing population of our
parish and the greater county. Canals are becoming a necessity. I am to dig many thousands of tons of coal and burn it to coke and transport it to the potteries which already exist in such numbers. Also, there is iron to be found in the valley. I certainly shall establish a works, Reverend. The question is, where?”

  The Reverend was not stupid.

  “A good question, Mr Heythorne. I know little of iron but must imagine that a ‘works’, as you call it, must be large, dirty, noisy, smoky – an undesirable neighbour.”

  “Precisely, sir. The existence of a canal allows a greater freedom of location for such an enterprise. Without a canal, or indeed a number of such waterways, one may be forced to build at the place where the trackways meet, for the demand for coke may be greater than a single pit can provide. Canals, of course, carry more than a trackway, and more cheaply, very often. A canal along the course of the Churnet and then extending to the Trent, which itself is to be canalised soon, would offer a guarantee that no smelly works would be built in this immediate vicinity.”

  The reverend gentleman could see exactly where the conversation was going and knew he had a choice between supporting the proposed canals or moving out to a more salubrious area. He liked his current dwelling place and had made himself comfortable there…

  “One might wish to preserve the rural beauties of Leek, Mr Heythorne. If a canal is the price, then it must be paid. I shall announce from the pulpit that I have wrestled with my conscience and realise now that the canal has been sent by God to fulfil his Divine purpose, to protect and nurture his human flock. My curates will no doubt agree with me.”

  Curates had no security of tenure, could be put out of their place at their patron’s whim. Samuel had no doubt they would scurry to agree with his conclusions on the vexed topic of canals.

  “How very pleasing, Rector. You will be aware my family has played no little part in the funding of the local workhouse. I have no role in its governance – intentionally – I do not wish to have it said that the policy of so vital an institution might be set according to my financial demands. It is the case, however, that I consider my family to have some responsibility there and I must, as they say, dip my hand into my pocket if the current governors discover the need to expand the premises, as an example.”