Hugh Kenrick

by Edward Cline

  “Yes, milord,” said the butler brightly. “I shall have his room tidied up and shop for his table myself. There is a list in the kitchen.”

  “And the coach and four need sprucing. Tell the stable and footmen to see to that, too. The front court needs to be swept of leaves and muck. I know that he will be traveling the city on visits, and receiving visitors here.”

  Hulton smiled. “All the silver will be polished, milord.”

  “Uncle will be accompanied by Mr. Curle.”

  Hulton’s eager expression soured. “Oh…”

  “I know that you and he can’t abide each other, Hulton. Father recommends that you defer to Mr. Curle, even though you are both now of equal rank.”

  The butler sighed in concession. “He is senior, milord.”

  “And, in two weeks, I will leave for the holidays. Don’t let Curle needle you. I know that he is wont to play crass tricks on you and tries to get you into trouble. My uncle would discharge you without so much as a hearing, and he would have the right. This is his house. Neither I nor my father would be able to intercede, once he’s done the deed.”

  “I shall endeavor to be a paragon of patience, milord.”

  Hugh smiled. “Would you bring me a plate of something? And some coffee? I have some work to do here before I go to Mr. Worley’s.”

  “Immediately, milord,” said Hulton.

  When he returned a while later with a tray of food and the coffee, Hulton found Hugh at his desk, hard at work copying a sheaf of papers. When he had finished laying out the food on a small side table, he asked, “May I ask, milord, how was the session?”

  “Interesting, Hulton,” said Hugh, putting aside his quill. “It is a great machine, Parliament. For good, or for ill, I have not yet decided.” He turned in his chair and studied Hulton, although the butler was not the subject of his thoughts. “I heard a man there make a speech, and this speech, I believe, was calculated to become a model for artificial divisiveness within the empire. He is a man angling for importance, for he has nothing else to do. He is like a jealous, spinsterish aunt, who, in her incessant, peevish remarks and querulous behavior, aims to stir up animosities within a large and otherwise contented family, so that she may patch together a compact more to her liking.”

  “How was his speech received, milord?”

  “With revolting felicity by many on the benches,” said Hugh. “And I swear that most of the gallery had been hired to add their own thunder to the din.”

  “Which members of our contented family did he rail against, milord?”

  “The colonies.”

  “Oh, yes. The colonies,” said Hulton. “There is a great deal of talk on that subject. I hear it noised in the taverns and other public places.”

  “What are your sentiments, Hulton?” asked Hugh, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “Mine, milord? I have none. I boast the virtue of refraining from expression of an ignorant opinion, when I lack the prerequisite knowledge of a subject. I know little about the colonies, and so I have little to say about them.”

  “A fine rule, Hulton,” said Hugh. “You have a respect for knowledge that the speaker lacked. He has much knowledge of the colonies, yet I believe he lied about them.”

  “Lied, milord?”

  “Yes. Yet, at the same time, while I believe he lied, I believe he is right to worry about them.”

  “Who was the speaker, milord?”

  “Our neighbor at Bucklad House, Sir Henoch.”

  “I see.” Hulton reached down and poured more coffee from a silver pot into Hugh’s cup, and added a spoonful of demerara sugar from a pewter bowl. He handed the cup and saucer to his master. “What do you think Sir Henoch had to gain by such a speech, milord?” he asked.

  Hugh sipped on the coffee. “Nothing for the present,” he said. “He is a shrewd man. To look at him, though, you would not think he could project any affair beyond next day’s breakfast.”

  “Slippery creatures, these politicians, milord,” remarked Hulton. “I am old enough to remember what many were wont to say about the late Earl of Orford, Robert Walpole, that he was a hick and a fribblous noddy. Yet, he commanded for twenty years.”

  Hugh sighed. “Well, I must do some work here, Hulton. Please have a hackney waiting for me in the yard after an hour.”

  “Yes, milord.” Hulton left the room.

  Hugh hurriedly copied the essay he had not been required to present to his fellow pupils by his modern history instructor, and refined some of his remarks on King John and the role of malice in political power. He re-read it quickly, decided that it was novel and unconventional enough for Glorious Swain, then tied the nine pages together between two blank sheets with a red ribbon, and wrote on the top sheet “G. Swain.” He finished the plate of food Hulton had brought him, and left his room to take the waiting hackney to Worley’s office and Lion Key.

  Until eight that evening he inventoried and prepared the cockets and other papers for cargoes to be loaded the next day onto three merchantmen anchored in the Pool of London: hats, muskets, watches, beer, upholstery, and cider for the Busy, bound for Boston; candles, clocks, mirrors, bolts of cloth and silk, millinery, and pickles for the Ariadne, his family’s own schooner, bound for Philadelphia; and paper, carriage wheels, glass, ink, farming tools, furniture, and tallow for the Sparrowhawk, bound for Yorktown.

  For this last vessel, there were some extraordinary items to clear: a printing press, spare parts for it, and several cases of Caslon Type in various sizes. It was not merchandise bought on colonial credit, as was the usual transaction at Worley’s, but goods paid for in specie and cash, including the duties, by a printer in Caxton, Queen Anne County, Virginia. Hugh had counted out the money days before, and entered it into a special account book. Worley sent Hugh this evening with a lighterman to the Sparrowhawk to arrange the shipping with the captain, John Ramshaw, as the captain had expressed a desire to be present when the press was transferred from the wharf to the ship’s hold.

  A swarm of lanterns on the deck of theSparrowhawk lit the bustle and clutter of an enterprise that spent little time at rest. The crew was busy painting, repairing sails, polishing brass, replacing rotted timber, measuring rope. Hugh was not surprised by the number of cannon or guns he saw. Several of them had been removed from their carriages, and carpenter’s mates were intent on fitting new iron to the carriage joints and fixing new sets of tackle to the sides.

  He saw that many merchantmen in the anchorage were similarly occupied. He smiled at the sight, as the lighterman rowed him out to the Sparrowhawk. There were more burning lights in the Pool of London than on either side of the city.

  The captain’s steward appeared with another lantern and escorted Hugh down the main hatch to the cabin. Here John Ramshaw sat at a desk. Present also were two other men, seated in chairs to the side.

  Ramshaw, a man with a wide, hard face and black hair streaked with shots of silver, put his mug of punch aside and scrutinized Hugh through puffs of pipe smoke.

  “Mr. Worley’s man, sir,” said the steward, who then left the cabin.

  “Mr. Worley was too busy to come himself, I presume?” said Ramshaw.

  “Yes, sir,” said Hugh.

  “And you are…?”

  “Hugh Kenrick, sir. I’ve come to set a time for the loading of the press, and to return these.” Hugh opened a leather portfolio and laid before Ramshaw a bundle of papers, which included a special cocket for the press and its accessories, clearance papers for Yorktown, and copies of the Caxton printer’s license and the royal governor’s permission to own and operate a press in the colony of Virginia. The captain examined the papers closely. The cabin was silent, except for the sputtering of its lanterns and the hammering, footfalls, and voices on the deck above. The vessel creaked now and then as she played with her anchor and rode the tide of the Thames.

  Hugh glanced at the two seated men, and saw that they were studying him. He looked around and noted the contents of the cabin. On
Ramshaw’s desk were account books, a quadrant, some papers, the remains of a meal on a plate, an inkstand with quills, and a desk lamp. The lid of a huge chest nearby held an astrolabe, an octant, sandglasses—all new, they seemed to Hugh—and rolled bundles of maps and charts. There were more chests on the other side of the cabin, and a small bookcase. In one tightly packed shelf of books, Hugh espied a copy of Hyperborea.

  Ramshaw finished the last document, put it aside, then reached for a quill and signed the two itemized receipts that had accompanied the papers. He handed one back to Hugh. “What time does Worley’s rouse itself, Mr. Kenrick?”

  “Sun-up, sir,” answered Hugh, putting the receipt into the portfolio.

  “Can he have a lighter ready by seven?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. We’ll be taking on some extra ball and powder about noon, finishing up our repairs by evening, and seeing to some other business. I hope to push off by mid-morning the next day.” He turned and addressed one of his companions. “You’ll stop at the Turk’s Head tomorrow and pick up newspapers that Mr. Stook has been saving for me these past months, won’t you? They should be the Gazette, the Craftsman, and anything else he’s remembered to set aside. Pay him a pound or two for his trouble, and ask him to do the same favor, as we’ll be back in March or April. Take Flitcross with you.”

  “Are they for you or Mr. Barret, sir?” asked the man.

  “Mr. Barret—when I’m through with them.” Ramshaw looked up at Hugh with a caustic smile. “We’ll be bringing those papers aboard without customs clearance, Mr. Kenrick,” he said. “Or has the Customs Board decided to tax hand-me-down news?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, sir,” answered Hugh. He wondered why he was the object of the captain’s bitter sarcasm.

  “I ask that because Mr. Wendel Barret, publisher of the Caxton Courier, will reprint much of that news on his press. I wouldn’t want to see him incur the wrath of the Crown by cheating it of so much lawful revenue.”

  Hugh did not reply.

  Ramshaw said, “Mr. Kenrick, these are my surgeon and bursar, Mr. Iverson and Mr. Haynie.”

  The two men nodded to Hugh, who nodded back.

  “Mr. Kenrick,” said Ramshaw, “how much is Mr. Worley paying his clerks these days?”

  Hugh frowned, startled at the question. “The senior ones, between ten and fifteen pounds per annum, I believe.”

  “You are wearing twenty, at least,” observed Ramshaw, “not including your fine sword.” He paused. “You are a clerk, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you a relative of Mr. Worley’s?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Ah! Then you must have a position at the Admiralty, or the Treasury, or some other such bloodsucking bureau, and your duties collect dust because you are never there to perform them, but for which you are paid nonetheless.” Ramshaw turned to the bursar. “Mr. Haynie, how much does a copying clerk make in government service?”

  The bursar shrugged. “Oh, between fifty and a hundred and fifty a year, I should say, depending on the department and on his sponsor’s connections and his letters of reference. That is in salary only, of course, exclusive of the fees a clerk may charge merchants for doing what he is paid to do.” The bursar looked thoughtful. “Then a clerk could collect somewhere between five hundred and a thousand a year.”

  “That would account for our visitor’s wardrobe,” said Ramshaw. He smiled wickedly at Hugh. “Are you larking at Mr. Worley’s, Mr. Kenrick? Moonlighting for an expensive mistress? Paying off a debt? Subsidizing some amusing vice?”

  “My father paid for my wardrobe, sir,” said Hugh, offended by the man’s insolent taunts, but somehow pleased with the frankness of the interrogation.

  “Oh? And who is your father? The Duke of Richmond?”

  Hugh did not want to answer, for he knew what effect his words would have on the three men. He answered reluctantly, “No, sir. My father is Garnet Kenrick, Baron of Danvers, and brother to the Earl of Danvers. Mr. Worley is his commercial agent.”

  The bursar and surgeon shifted nervously in their chairs. Ramshaw did not move, but simply stared at him. “That would explain the sheen and cut of your cloth, sir,” he said. “Still, you must have a sumptuous salary.”

  “Or at least a custom commissioner’s clerk’s,” mused the surgeon.

  “No, sir,” said Hugh. “I work gratis for Mr. Worley, when I am not in school. I am learning the family business, so that someday I may manage my family’s affairs as well as does my father now.”

  “And your father does know his business,” remarked Ramshaw. He gave Hugh a curious, almost shrewd look, then addressed the bursar. “It would account for our never having traded in a single Dorset lobster pot, would it not, Mr. Haynie?”

  “It would, sir,” replied the bursar after some hesitation.

  Hugh did not grasp the meaning of the cryptic exchange. Ramshaw saw the blank look on his face. “Please forgive my ribaldry, Mr. Kenrick—Oh, how would you prefer to be addressed?”

  Hugh smiled for the first time. “Mr. Kenrick is quite satisfactory, Mr. Ramshaw,” he answered.

  Ramshaw’s eyebrows went up and he grunted once in surprise. “Mr. Kenrick, then. You see, Mr. Kenrick, when I bring the Sparrowhawk up to the Keys, half my time is wasted on wrangling with customs men and other pompous supernumeraries, jockeying for the favors of the lightermen, and paying everyone to waste my time, to boot. This wastage leaves me in an immoderate temper.”

  “Your temper is shared by many other captains, Mr. Ramshaw,” said Hugh. “It is an aspect of commerce with which I have become well acquainted.”

  “And the abuse?”

  “No other captain has equaled the tartness of your tongue, sir.”

  The bursar and surgeon laughed. Ramshaw simply smiled. “I’m sure I’ve never been blessed with such a compliment.” He turned and said to his companions, “Will one of you offer Mr. Kenrick a chair?”

  Iverson and Haynie began to rise, but Hugh waved them down with a hand. “Thank you, but, no. I must be getting back to the Key.”

  Ramshaw gestured to a small cask on a stand near his desk. “Will you at least have a draught of punch, then? It will warm your insides for the ferry back.”

  Hugh nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  Ramshaw found another mug, filled it from the spigot himself, and presented it to Hugh. He picked up his own mug and touched it to his visitor’s. “To your health, sir.”

  “And to yours, sir,” replied Hugh. They tilted their mugs and drank.

  Ramshaw returned to his desk. “Before you go, Mr. Kenrick, I’ve heard talk in town of a new dictionary of the language that has come out. Put together by a Doctor Johnson, working alone. A singular accomplishment, if you’ll pardon the pun. Could you tell me where I might find some copies? I’d like to take a few with me to hawk in Virginia for my own pocket.”

  “I believe it was published by Mr. Strahan, the principal book printer. I have seen it in some bookshops, and plan to purchase a copy of it myself. Grove’s on the Strand, near St. Martin’s Lane, carries it, as does Bigelow’s at Charing Cross, on Cockspur near the Mews Coffeehouse.”

  “How much is being asked for it?”

  “In guineas or in pounds, sir? It is more than the appraised value of my wardrobe, including my sword.”

  Ramshaw grinned. “That’s Attic salt I deserved to have flung into my eyes. Thank you for the information on the dictionary, sir. Will you be attending the loading of the press on the morrow?”

  Hugh set his mug down on the desk. “No, sir. I shall be at school.”

  “Which one? Westminster?”

  Hugh shook his head. “Dr. Comyn’s academy, in Westminster.”

  “Never heard of it, though I’m sure it hasn’t dented your common sense.” Ramshaw rose and extended his hand. “Well, Mr. Kenrick, good evening to you. Convey my regards to Mr. Worley, and tell him I’ll be waiting on the Lion Key stairs at seven.”
He shook Hugh’s hand. “Mr. Haynie, please see our visitor to the deck, would you?”

  When the door closed on Hugh and the bursar, Ramshaw said to Iverson, “He doesn’t know.”

  “About his father and the Lobster Pots?” queried the surgeon. “No, I don’t think he does.”

  “Well, he’ll learn that end of his family’s affairs in time.”

  “There’ll be nothing for him to learn, if this new war saps the smugglers.”

  “No, I don’t think it will tame the business. Swell it, yes. Recall what we unshipped offshore to that new gang in Cornwall last week: redirected tea, tobacco, sugar, maize, and all sorts of French and Dutch spirits. When the French make it riskier to bring those things in regular-like, the prices will go up, and the taxes, too. But there won’t be any drop in want for those things. No, this war will fatten many a smuggler’s goose. Including mine.”

  “That Trott chap in Gwynnford doesn’t need fattening,” chuckled the surgeon as he helped himself at the cask to another mug of punch. “He must be the largest gang leader I’ve laid eyes on, ever. I fully expected his galley to capsize when he stood up in it—or this ship to list when he stepped aboard.”

  Ramshaw laughed. “True, sir. But he’s a good man, leading a gang of good men. Skelly’s successors. He was so overjoyed to hear that Jack had come out of that Braddock business near Duquesne alive that he gave me twenty pounds to buy him a gift. ‘He reads,’ he said to me. ‘Get him something to read.’ He couldn’t think what. So I’ve decided that Jack will acquaint himself with Dr. Johnson. I’ll make up the difference in price, if there is any. After you’ve picked up the newspapers, go around to those shops on the Strand and purchase that dictionary, three or four of them. I’ll give you the money tomorrow. Hire a ferryman to bring you back here, and we’ll fetch them up on the other side, out of sight of Customs. Damned if I’ll pay any more taxes on knowledge.”

  The surgeon lit a pipe and settled back in his chair. “That Kenrick chap has a bit of Jack in him, don’t you think?”