"Where to, husband? I find I have little love for the West, but if it is your wish to make your life here then be sure that I shall do my duty."
Dick was tired and subject to frequent headaches; he did not feel at his best, but he was sufficiently alert to his wife’s tone of voice to recognise the course of wisdom.
"England, I believe, my dear, though I would be inclined to delay until later in the spring, to avoid the storms of the North Atlantic in winter. I think it might be best to go to Washington and wait a week or two there. It will be the Inauguration early in March and we can take part in the festivities. Then a leisurely return by way of New York - we can perhaps indulge in some shopping there, see some of the sights at least. You have had a very poor holiday in these last weeks, I am afraid, and deserve something better!"
"I shall be glad to return to Dorset, Sir Richard! One is less likely to discover one's husband bleeding in the street there, or so I believe!"
"For that I can only apologise, my dear. I had not expected to be the target of Southern saboteurs. I really should have been more alert!"
"Are they gone now, or must we still keep watch for them?"
"The war is almost over. I cannot imagine that any of them remain active in the North. What, ma'am, would be the point to their continuing in their schemes?"
"Revenge, sir?"
He thought a few moments and was inclined to agree with her.
"They might refer to it as 'honour', rather than simple feud, but you may well be right. There never was any logic to their actions, when all is said and done. Why should they suddenly become sensible in defeat? I must tread carefully, it would seem. Perhaps we would be wiser to take ship from Boston rather than enter the snake pit of New York."
"Plaistow has sat up every night until the streets became quiet and has slept with a pistol in his hand. Perhaps he should continue to do so."
"It might be wiser. I think we should take an early train east, do not you?"
"I shall tell Merrett and Plaistow to pack. I think both are prepared for the instruction. The sheriff, by the way, has sent a message that he would wish to speak with you at your convenience. I should say as well, Sir Richard, that I have some reason to believe that I am with child, or so Merrett assures me. An August baby, so she says - you may appreciate that she has a better idea of such matters than have I!"
Dick expressed his joy, was a little surprised to discover that he was honest in his sentiments; he had wondered just how he would feel about impending fatherhood, and of his own child on this occasion!
The sheriff was glad to see Dick on his feet again, and even more delighted that he intended to leave.
"I'm givin' up on the sheriffing trade, Major Burke. It's a younger man's game, or so I reckon. Come the end of the war and there's goin' to be thousands of men heading West, and the streets here are liable to get that little bit too lively for me. I've recently come into a bit of farming land and I'm to settle down there. Three separate widow ladies been offerin' to bake me an apple pie this week alone, so I don't reckon I shall be short of a family. Just as soon as we can find another man for the job, I'm gone. Which brings me, in a roundabout sort of way, to what I wanted to say, Major."
Dick had wondered if there was a purpose to their meeting.
"That damned man, McKay, and his spouting on about the 'Divine Nature of African Bondage', is gone from the City, and good riddance to him! Thing is, he had an interest in the sawmill outside town, and, so we discover, a distillery as well as a pair of general stores. Him having confessed to a felony, he has been forced to sell out, for next to nothing - it was that or have his neck stretched! We talked it over, the mayor and me and some of the other fellows, and it seems to us that you got a claim on his money, or some of it at least."
Dick instinctively shook his head - he did not want the money, not from that source, and he suspected that they would think the better of him for refusing. He might want to return, one day, or a son of his might pass through - he could benefit still from a good name.
"No, not for me, sheriff. It ain't right to put that sort of money in my pocket, sir! You just reminded me, sir, that there are many widows, and orphans in the nature of things, in the City. What about a school for them, sheriff? The ladies will be short of cash to pay for schooling but the youngsters still need to sit in a classroom. Put the money to building a schoolroom, sir, and paying for a schoolmarm as well."
The sheriff agreed that to be an excellent notion, was annoyed that he had not thought of something similar; he would see the mayor that very afternoon.
They left on the morning train three days later, a committee farewelling them and assuring them that the school, definitely to be built, would carry their names.
"My lady's name, if you would be so good, gentlemen! My name is not one to be associated with learning and good works, I suspect, but hers most definitely is!"
They admired his modesty and waved goodbye as the train pulled out.
"What was that, Sir Richard?"
"There is to be a school built to provide free education to orphans of the war, using money confiscated from McKay. They had thought to give some of the money to me, but I do not believe it is wealth that I want. Better far to place it in the hands of the City, I think."
She was not sure that it was correct to use their money for the benefit of the scaff and raff - it might well be Divine dispensation that certain children should not be educated above their station in life.
"There is a need for the hewers of wood and drawers of water, Sir Richard, and some of the unfortunate must grow up to take those functions. It might not be wise to incite them to discontent by giving them unnecessary learning."
"Not all of the youth of the City will benefit, my dear. There will still be some left to serve their betters."
She heard no sarcasm and accepted his statement as it stood; she knew that mankind was not born equal and could not imagine any reason that it ever should be.
"Will you meet the man Fisk again, Sir Richard? We are to spend some little while in St Louis, I presume?"
"Long enough to walk from one carriage to another, I believe. More particularly to change from this bumping, clattering, crawling conveyance to something more worthy of civilisation!"
The railroad out of Kansas City was not one of the most comfortable and Dick still ached.
The terminus in St Louis was plastered with advertising posters, including many for patent medicines and tonics which Dick glanced at with natural interest. He was a little surprised to note that 'Parsons' Veterans' Cordial' was prominent while Mrs Boswell was not to be seen; he had noticed his own product to be well represented in Washington and wondered, with growing suspicion, just why it was not to be seen further west.
He mentioned his concern to Louise, creating an outburst of indignation as she realised just what he was implying.
"What is to be done, Sir Richard?"
"Nothing, ma'am, for I could never prove a case at law. Smile sweetly, say not a word, and pocket my share of the profits, though wondering by just how much they have been understated!"
"Does this not amount to theft, sir?"
"Yes. I have been out-jockeyed by a master, I fear me. There is a lesson, my dear, that one should not attempt to do business at a distance of thousands of miles. One must be in a position to inspect the books on a daily basis, I fear!"
The train for Chicago was waiting and they carried their bags across but were intercepted by a railway official, a gentleman in a frockcoat rather than the uniform of the lesser mortals.
“No seats, sir, ma’am! Taken by the army, for the purposes of the war. No space for civilian passengers today, sir. Waiting on the battalion to march in now, sir.”
There was no point to argument, though looking across at the office Dick saw several prosperous-looking gentlemen explaining just how important they were and how utterly essential it was that they boarded the train and that it left on time.
“Can yo
u tell me if there are vacancies in any of the hotels, sir? If passengers have been unable to travel then there may be a shortage of rooms.”
There were rooms; the railroad had an arrangement with the largest and best hotels in St Louis, delays due to military traffic being a commonplace. An hour saw them back in familiar surroundings and two hours brought the message that Mr Jim Fisk was downstairs and begged Sir Richard’s company. They left their room immediately, having little alternative.
“A coincidence, husband?”
“Not at all, my dear. A desk clerk bribed to send him a message if any figure known to him shall appear in the hotel. We were seen to eat in his company, faces and names remembered, and a dollar in the clerk’s pocket, possibly more, as a result. For a man on thirty a month, at most, those little commissions are important.”
“Should you not complain to the manager, Sir Richard?”
“I could, and then he would be dismissed from his post and another would replace him and do exactly the same. Hush, now, ma’am!”
They entered the lobby and greeted Mr Fisk with the greatest of pleasure; joined him at a table for coffee. It became obvious that he had business to discuss and Louise withdrew, returning to their room with some pleasure; she could not like the vulgar, underbred, overpowering gentleman.
“Dick, if I may still presume to call you so, how are you? I heard that you had been shot!”
“A lucky one, Jim. In the side rather than through the belly properly. He won’t do it again.”
“I heard that, too!”
St Louis was more civilised than Kansas City, it seemed, and street encounters did not occur; Mr Fisk was rather glad that such was the case. Equally, it provided an opportunity to remind Dick that Jim Fisk knew everything.
“Just a small thing, Dick. The Agricultural Land Trust of Chicago and the North-West is formed now, and is backed by a number of gentlemen of high financial repute. We are looking for names for the letterhead, and an English ‘sir’ will always impress the depositors! Would you do me the great favour of permitting yourself to be named as a director, Dick? No work involved, of course, you being in England, but a nice little annual honorarium for your services!”
“Depositors – how will the Trust operate, Jim?”
“As a savings bank, in effect, Dick. A farmer may save his money for a year or two and establish his name as a safe man and then he will be able perhaps to borrow a few thousand to improve his land by irrigation or to purchase one of the new harvesters or whatever. Tenants who are to buy their acres will place them as guarantee with the Trust, of course, paying the interest and capital on their loan just as they had previously handed over their rent.”
A bad harvest or low prices and the borrower might default, and the land would be taken by the Trust; as for savings – Dick would not wish to put his own cash in the hands of Jim Fisk or his business pals.
He could not easily refuse Fisk’s request – he could be a bad enemy, and he was not too unreliable as a friend.
“My pleasure, Jim!”
“Good, thank you, Dick!”
They did not mention sums of money – not in the lobby of the hotel.
Fisk became slightly ill-at-ease, diffident almost, as if he had a favour to ask and did not like the circumstance. Jim Fisk did favours for other people, placing them in his debt – it was out of his normal way to be asking rather than rather urgently giving.
“This business of titles, Dick… how does a man go about getting one?”
“Well, Jim, being born an Englishman is a good first step! After that the cheapest way of going about the business is to have a father who has a title himself – that is how I came about mine.”
“Being born British is none too difficult a matter, Dick – given a couple of months and I could produce evidence that I was born in Timbuctoo, far less London! Having a father with a title is another thing, however.”
“My father gained his title through being rich and doing a favour to an English family with great influence. You need money, and you must know the right folk; I don’t, I am only starting to become known – it may take twenty or thirty years to get the right set of names behind a man. Titles can always be bought, Jim, that is for sure, but you have to be in with the right people first and normally do some political dirty work as well, or perhaps dig an elder son out of trouble he has foolishly put himself into. It’s not just money, though you can’t do it without the readies. You must be able to place an important somebody under an obligation – and that is difficult to do without being present in London.”
Fisk shrugged – it had been an idea and would have been worth hard cash to him, but it seemed to be impractical.
“Pity – it would have been useful to be Sir Lord Fisk, or whatever – that would have made a good few dollars in Boston and New York!”
“You can always pick up a tame lord in London and bring him over here to potter about and make friends, Jim. Half the peers are flat broke these days – their inheritance is mostly in land and there ain’t any money in farming any more. Pay for a first-class passage across the Atlantic and then put him up in the best places and take him to the racecourse a few times – people will want to talk to him and have him in their houses and he can make all of the contacts you need, and he might be able to pick up a rich wife for himself while he’s at it.”
That seemed a very practical way of doing things and Fisk expressed himself as much obliged to Dick.
“One last thing, Dick – there’s dukes and barons and all sorts – which is top dog?”
“Six hereditary titles, Jim. The lowest is mine, baronet, and that’s not a peerage at all – a bart is no more than an hereditary commoner with no seat in the House of Lords.”
“So that’s why you are Sir Richard rather than Lord Burke?”
“Just that, Jim. Five sorts of lords: baron lowest, then viscount, then earl, followed by marquis – and that’s written marquess in English but people use the French instead – and then duke at the top. That’s excluding Royalty, of course, but they’re different. An earl’s wife is a countess, by the way, and a marquis has a marchioness. Simple enough, in its way. A Prime Minister is given an earldom when he leaves office, except when he’s a complete tit, and successful generals and admirals may get one of the higher ranks, but otherwise than that a new peerage is almost always a barony. Wellington was different, of course, but you don’t get many like him; if Nelson had lived he would probably have ended up at the top as well.”
“So, if I get to pick up a lord in London, I want something better than a baron, you reckon?”
“It don’t matter too much, Jim, as most people won’t realise. The thing is, Jim, that an earl or marquis or duke can normally make his money in England – he can pick up a place under government or be made an ambassador or put his name to use in one of the really big companies, and if he’s that short of cash he can always find a wife from one of the banking families or the richest of the merchant houses. Barons and viscounts don’t find it so easy to sell off the name so you’d have a better chance of bringing one of them across the Atlantic.”
It was all noted, filed away in the ever active brain that hid behind the façade of the jovial fat man.
“They tell me that England is busy in the West, Dick? I hear of your military men buying up the old land grants in Texas and coming to own most of the biggest ranches?”
“So I have been told, Jim. It makes sense, of course – the number of people in England seems to be doubling every twenty years, or something like – the North Country is overflowing! The new industrial towns are bursting at the seams, Jim. And they need food, beef by the thousands of tons each week. A lot of that is going to come from the States, Jim. The way I hear it, the Germans are moving into the wheat lands of the States and the English are going into cattle. Makes sense, of course, because the Canadian Prairies are big for wheat and a hell of a lot of our flour will come from there. That’s one of the reasons why I’m selling out
of Kansas and Missouri, Jim – it ain’t the place for an Englishman any more.”
“So… it’s German money in the North and British in the South, as soon as the war’s over that is. What of the French, Dick?”
“Second rate, Jim – they haven’t got the rich colonies and they lack the influence in Europe. They will be big in the old Turkish Empire, but never big enough for their own desiring. They are never going to punch their weight, or not in their own opinion. If Prussia succeeds in making a country out of Germany, and I think they will, then the French are in real trouble in Europe. For me, I think that France has got nothing to offer except noise, Jim. Their businessmen could all go into bankruptcy given one bad war – I’m damned if I would want one of them on board a firm of mine. Your Agricultural Trust, Jim, needs bankers with money behind them, and I don’t reckon you can rely on the French. Stick with the Germans would be my advice.”
“One last thing, Dick, I would much appreciate it if you was to write a few letters when you get back to London, just telling me what’s going on – a word or two from the hub of the business world, you might say. A fine town for making money, St Louis, but it ain’t exactly at the centre of the universe!”
“Will you be found in St Louis for much longer, Jim?”
“New York makes better sense, Dick. Send any mail care of my bank there, if you would be so kind.”
There was no need to talk of reciprocation. While Dick offered favours to Jim, all would be returned.
“I’m in process of selling out of Parsons and Burke, Jim, but I shall still be selling through the firm.”
“I’ll remember that, Dick.”
“They should have a listing on the New York Exchange by now, Jim. While the price holds I shall be selling down my holdings.”
“Well, Dick, I am sure that the price of a well-respected firm such as that one will stay good and high.”
An Uncertain Peace (The Making of a Man Series, Book 3) Page 12