Lord Star was willing to fund a man for a year or two, he thought it would be a worthwhile use for his money, but he had no contacts in Scotland, did not know where to start.
“Mr Fraser, perhaps, sir? He may well have kept in contact with others from his University.”
Alec Fraser was very pleased to help, he was quite sure he would be able to make contact with just the man they were looking for.
Thomas was not surprised; Alec Fraser was always one to know everything.
“How is your lady wife, Mr Fraser? I am told she has recently given you a son.”
“She is well indeed, Mr Star! Thank you for asking, sir. My son also thrives. We are, of course, very pleased.”
Alec had in fact been so delighted that he had penned one of his infrequent letters to his parents, informing them of the new name to be written into the Family Bible – Thomas Robert Alexander Fraser. He was also pleased to inform his father that he had recently been appointed Managing Engineer to Roberts Ironworks and Pits, with responsibilities in Lancashire and South Wales; it had been expected that Mr Joseph Andrews would take up much of that burden but he was now increasingly involved in the developing world of steam trackways and would bear all of the burden there. He divulged that he was now salaried at four thousand pounds English and was to receive a share of profits besides. His father and all of his brothers put together would receive a stipend of less than one thousand he believed, but he did not mention that in his letter. He repeated his invitation for any one of his sisters to venture south to stay in his commodious house.
He sat in his study to consider how to fulfil the promise he had, perhaps rashly, made to Mr Star. A letter to his old Professor of Engineering must be a starting point; that should at least supply a pointer in the right direction, especially when he specified the existence of a significant bursary.
The response was almost immediate – the field of study, Public Health, already existed on a small scale and a Reader in the subject would be very pleased to travel to Lancashire to discuss any research project with Lord Star, the well-known philanthropist.
Alec was aware that this meant that the University would do all it could to ensure that Lord Star’s generosity became a matter of public knowledge as a quid pro quo. He sent the missive to Freemans and the personal attention of my lord, job quickly and efficiently done, as was only to be expected of him.
Collection of the new tax imposed in place of the old Poor Law levy was proving difficult. The new impost was carefully designed to be fair to all, which was very pleasing to existing ratepayers but irritating to those who had legally avoided payment in the past. The bulk of the mills in the locality had been built outside of the boundaries of the old parishes, on waste land of little or no previous value, and they had paid no Poor Law. Now, all residential and industrial land in the area designated by the Private Act was assessed and instructed to pay up, irrespective of the old churches and their formal limits.
Many of the mill owners seemed to believe that payment was voluntary; after a number of letters had been ignored Thomas, acting for the Poor Law Union, issued summonses to the four largest, and richest, non-payers. He let it be known, by word of mouth, that writs of arrest would instantly follow non-attendance at the Magistrates Court. The screams of outrage reached as far as the Lord Lieutenant.
Thomas was summoned to the presence and was begged to explain exactly what was happening around St Helens; he refused absolutely to withdraw summons or threat of writ, despite it being pointed out that three of his targets contributed generously to local Party funds.
“They must pay, my lord, this year and every year! A hundred others are watching to see what will happen in these cases, and, my lord, they will see the full majesty of the law brought against those who believe themselves to be above it!”
Rich mill owners must not appear in court, could not be placed in the dock – it would subvert the whole order of Nature. The Lord Lieutenant paid personal visits to all four, begged them to pay their dues and warned them that he could not offer them protection or pardon if they were taken to court. Lord Liverpool himself, he said, had taken an interest in the cases and had demanded the fullest enforcement of the new law; his hands were tied.
All four agreed to pay, three of them also stating that they would be making public donations to the Whigs, quite possibly to the Radicals, in fact.
“The money is rolling in, Papa, and almost all is well. The builders, of course, are cutting corners wherever they can, and I am inspecting the works daily and raising Cain whenever I catch them. I made them tear down a whole wall last week, finding it to be single skin when it was specified as double; when it was down I examined it further and discovered the foundation trench to be barely one foot deep! They have dug down to four feet and they are using blue engineering bricks because of the wetness of the soil and I shall watch them lay a slate damp course – all at their own expense! They will still make a profit, I have no doubt of that, but it will not be the killing they hope for.”
Lord Star had memories of the partnership landing contracts from the corporation in St Helens some thirty years before; he made no comment.
“Your brother George seems to be doing very well in his new mill, Thomas. Have you spoken with him lately?”
An obvious attempt to change the topic of conversation; Thomas played along with it, no doubt his father had his reasons.
“Not since he dined at Freemans last month, sir. I have heard that he has returned production to its old levels and has very much improved the quality. He is turning out heavy, quilted cottons, I am told, for the best tailors in London – high price work that has no room for the least flaw. Turner the carrier told me that he has a wagon permanently assigned to George’s business, taking his product by road, direct from mill to customer so that it cannot be splashed or thrown casually about while being transferred from cart to barge to dray in London. It more than doubles the cost of transport, but it must pay for itself in cutting losses, it seems.”
Lord Star was glad to hear that his son was so wide awake a businessman, apparently was still a little concerned.
“I have heard a whisper or two about his mill, Thomas. Some mentions that his people are none too happy with him – rather a harsh employer, some say.”
Thomas had heard the same but knew that his brother was not acting unlawfully; stretching the law to its extreme limits perhaps, but many others did the same.
“He pays his wages, sir, in cash, on the nail, and at a higher rate than many in his town; never in tokens nor paid out in a bar. He demands time-keeping to the very second, and fines at any transgression and he will not accept the least error – the output is perfect or the mill-hand is out of the gate. I am told that he makes the fullest use of the parish children sent to him from the orphanage, and that more than one has been caught in the belts or under a loom – and that always upsets the hands, the womenfolk especially. He is unforgiving of absenteeism, I understand – take a day off for illness and you need not attempt to return to his employ; his people work, hale or sick, and slacking off will not be permitted!”
It was not the way that Star Spinners behaved, and was contrary to the new spirit that was just starting to surface; it tended to be profitable, however.
“Early days yet, Thomas. He is still establishing himself.”
“I trust he will not become fixed in his habits, sir – it will do the family name little good.”
George was not in the least interested in the family name – he had no political ambitions, no intention whatsoever of shining in public life. He intended to make himself rich, and in the shortest possible order. He had been irritated to meet his younger brother, Henry the ne’er-do-well, and realise that he was eclipsed by one who he had always regarded as one step up from the village idiot.
Henry, rich and respected! What next?
America turning the world upside down again – it could not be born; if Henry was to be worth a million dollars then Ge
orge would bank a million pounds, and more quickly.
Lodestar Mill had come into profit in the space of six months and he had just negotiated the purchase of the terrace of back-to-back houses immediately to the rear of the premises, three acres of land, eighty yards in width, including the roadway, and some one hundred and eighty leading down to the canal. He would keep the road, it would be useful; the houses were to go and be replaced by an extension to the mill and a new loading bay and warehouse next to the wharf.
One hundred or so families would be evicted, but that was their problem – they paid weekly rent and had been given a week’s notice to quit, and that was probably more than they were legally entitled to demand. Many of the menfolk were his own employees, but that made it easier to an extent – if they protested they would lose their jobs as well and find themselves on the local blacklist. There was no place for troublemakers in George’s world.
He had just sufficient cash to build his mill and equip it with new looms; then he would be able to pay his way for two months before he must have extra income – the new machines must be efficient from the very start, there was no time to bed them in, to allow the hands to get to know them.
“Postlethwaite! The new looms will be in place in three months and working within the week thereafter. We must have the best hands on them, and paid an extra penny or two for the privilege. There will be another eighty machines in the first expansion – so that means one hundred and sixty more people, working night and day. Put the word out that we shall be hiring, if you would be so good.”
Tuppence ha’penny an hour was the typical rate in the area, half a crown a day on a twelve hour shift. Some of their competitors paid a little more, an extra farthing an hour, and those who paid less were feeling the pinch – there was a shortage of skilled hands due to the boom. To find one hundred and sixty men, all of them experienced tradesmen, would not be easy.
“Thruppence ha’penny, at least, sir. I don’t see as ‘ow we’ll get so many without payin’ for ‘em.”
“Six bob a week over the rate, Postlethwaite! Can we not get them for less?”
“Aye, sir, us can, but us don’t want to, I reckons. Farmhands still with hay in their hair, come clumpin’ into to town looking for work, I could get two ‘undred of they tomorrow, sir, and in five years from now they’d make good, skilled hands, most of ‘em. Paddies out of the bogs – they’re swarming in the town, sir, being as they got starvation at their homes again, but they ain’t never seen a machine in all their natural, sir – no use to man or beast, them. If we are to get an ‘undred and sixty, then we got to get them from other men’s looms, sir, and that means persuading ‘em to move to us.”
He did not add that with the name George was getting as an employer he would have to pay through the nose to entice sensible men to work for him; he thought that might not be tactful.
“It will lead to complaints from others in town, Postlethwaite. It will be said that I am driving wages up for all.”
“Aye, sir, it will. With respect, sir, so what if it do? It ain’t as if we has need of they – we don’t buy from ‘em or sell to ‘em. Every last mill in town is into weaving, and that makes ‘em competitors. Lodestar pays the wages and can afford to, just about; if so be they can’t, well then, sir, that’s a mill that ain’t goin’ to want a share of our customers because it’s gone bust, and it frees up a hundred or two of skilled men what we might want to pick over.”
George mulled that over for a few moments. What would he do in like circumstances?
“What sort of people are they, the mill owners hereabouts? Would there be any who might not be happy about us driving them out of business? What I mean is, well… Might any of them be inclined to hire out hard men to drive away our hands, or burn a wagon or two loaded with our bales, or tip over a barrel of coal oil next to a lantern in our loading bay?”
Postlethwaite was appalled – he had never heard of such a thing, could not imagine it happening, civilised folk would never stoop to such depths of iniquity… would they?
George assured him that he had been told by reliable men of such events occurring elsewhere, in Ireland, for example, and on farms in the South Country.
The town was full of Irish, and there was an unending flow of hicks leaving the land and making a nuisance of themselves looking for jobs they did not know how to do.
“The constables could do nothing, sir – doddery old… gentlemen… all of them. There would be no stoppin’ ‘em if they should try such things, sir. I never heard of such, not here, sir, but, if so be you gets men cross enow, then there ain’t no way of tellin’, be there?”
For a townsman with no love of country dwellers, Postlethwaite had a remarkably agricultural turn of phrase when he was upset, George noticed. He wondered just what his background was, but it hardly mattered, he was still good at his job.
“What of your house, Mr Star, sir?”
George had not thought of that, he supposed there might be a risk; it would be a very direct way of sending him a message. He thought a few seconds, then shrugged it off.
“No loss to me while I remain single, I believe. It is rented and contains no furniture of sentimental value. My wardrobe, and any tailor could replace that in a week. The book I am reading this week, and that I can buy afresh. I have no valet and the cook and maid do not live in. Burn my house and there is no harm done at all.”
Postlethwaite had not imagined there might be, but he had long been curious about the master’s private affairs; the absence of a Mrs Star at his age had occasioned one or two comments, the odd snigger just at the edge of hearing. He wondered whether he might make some innocent enquiry about a potential spouse, then decided he would rather keep his job – it was none of his business.
George sat down with the books that night, his almost invariable evening’s entertainment. Try as he might, he could identify no payments that might be delayed by a couple of weeks, no accounts that could be presented a few days early; five months hence he would face a shortfall in his cash flow. There would be a period of about four weeks in which his bank account would be effectively empty and when he would need to draw for wages and the two or so thousands of bills that must be paid if he was to receive further deliveries of the raw materials, the threads and yarns particularly, that he must have to stay in production. He did not want to knock on his father’s door, cap in hand, admitting that he was overstretched, had expanded too far, too soon; his father would come to his rescue and as a last resort he would go to him, but it would be an admission of failure, a statement that he was no more than a boy who had to have his hand held.
He could delay the start of building of the extension to the mill, but that again would be a public admission that he had problems – this time it would be his competitors who would quietly snigger, and let it be known that Lodestar was in trouble. A month and it would be common coinage, and his customers would start to shy away for fear of being let down in their turn.
Wellington had probably felt the same way in Spain – surrounded by foes and with no means of defence. He, it appeared, had chosen to attack in such circumstances. It was a good precedent. George had, in common with every mill owner, received the annual invitation to the Mayor’s Ball at the Crown Hotel; he had ignored it, now sat down and wrote his acceptance. He would appear and take his proper place in local society, with not a care in the world and seeking, quite properly, to introduce himself.
Every married mill owner must be expected to be present, together with the elite of the middle sort of people – attorneys, established rectors, bankers, well-off merchants, mine-owners, a builder or two, possibly an iron master if there was one of a proper size. A thousand a year, at minimum, a well-washed neck and a clean collar were prerequisites; acquaintance with one’s aitches helped as well. The unwed daughters would be present in droves – there definitely seemed to be an excess of young females in their world, the old balance somehow out of kilter. It meant that potential husbands were
at a premium…
George joined the reception line, was presented to the mayor, thought him to be a fat little jumped-up shopkeeper; he smiled from his superior height and bowed very correctly.
“Mr George Star, of Lodestar Mill, I believe, sir? You must be the son of Lord Star himself!”
“I have that honour, sir. My eldest brother inherits, of course, and I, having been born into cotton, wish to see if I may emulate my respected father, though I am not at all sure that any man could!”
The Mayor, himself a self-made man but far less rich than the fabulous Lord Star, the envy and role model of every Lancashire businessman, was inclined to approve. Men should work, he believed, not enjoy themselves in idleness; add to that, the Star family had instituted a Model Poor Law Union, one that he hoped to copy in the east of the county – an introduction from one of the family would be very useful.
Mr Star was passed along to Mrs Mayor and thence to lesser dignitaries who took it upon themselves to introduce him appropriately to men of his own standing – the richest and most respectable of the town; businessmen, banker and representative of the church.
The rector, dressed properly but not in new clothes, was accompanied by a comfortable wife and two daughters, one of them, nineteen or twenty years old, truly beautiful, one of the most attractive girls he had ever met. She was friendly, well-spoken, not unintelligent, made it quite clear that she was unattached and might not be displeased to see more of him. They stood up together in the first pair of country dances; she was elegant and moved well and it struck him that she was quite probably everything he had ever looked for in a wife. He wondered what her portion was.
He danced with others of the local elite in their turn, kept an eye on Miss Rythorpe and saw that she was never without a partner but was not besieged by courtiers, although she was certainly the handsomest girl in the room. He was increasingly sure that she had no portion at all.
The Old Order (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 7) Page 8