by Peter Rimmer
"Do you have debts to pay off?"
"No. But the house has not been tended to for thirty years. The furniture is sold and the land holding is down to three hundred acres, not nearly enough to support the house. But the world is changing. Wealth I fear is no longer in agriculture but in the new industries to the north. Your ships bring wool from the colonies and cut the price of English wool. There is ten times more profit in a shipload of Australian wool than a flock of five thousand sheep. It is the way of progress, even the price of Empire."
"How much will it cost to repair this house?"
"I have no idea."
"You are selling me the house and land for two hundred thousand pounds, the price of twenty new sailing ships or five new steamships they are building on the Clyde."
"Not really. I may die the day after the wedding and then you get it for nothing. A man never knows how long he will live. I am thirty-five. They say fifty is the average lifespan of an English gentleman but you may be lucky. I have always thought from Italy to visit Africa, that vast dark, continent so loved by Livingstone and Speke. Out there animals are ferocious and disease is rife."
"You won't let me pay you an annuity of six thousand pounds a year?"
"No. The capital must be free of temptation and the vagaries of trade. Oh, and if you agree my terms I will recommend you and your eldest son to membership of the Athenaeum Club, your first step into society. Captain Brigandshaw, I can turn you into a gentleman, your ultimate achievement I rather think."
Clouds scurried across the full moon, black clouds with white lace skirts. The wind was coming up from the south-west. In forty-eight hours Seb had gone from boy to man and each cut of the sharp bow into the rising waves took him further from home and everything he had ever known. Dreadful sadness was beginning to feel the tinge of rising excitement. The Northern Star was visible between the pattern of clouds and the wind was high in the square sail. The Indian Queen was a two-masted brigantine with the foremast square rigged. They were running before the wind two miles from the French coast entering the Bay of Biscay, their first port the Canary Islands off the north-west coast of Africa in three days’ sailing. The third bell of the first watch told Seb it was one-thirty in the morning but he had no wish to find his hammock next to the crew’s quarters. He was neither passenger nor crew but something in between where the captain and crew alike were uncomfortable. Captain Brigandshaw, gunrunner and privateer, was legendary in the British marine force and to his youngest son went some of the awe. There were no words of encouragement on the Indian Queen for Sebastian Brigandshaw only the curiosity of everyone as to why he was on board in the first place, escorted by the eldest brother without so much as a smile. All night Seb stood before the mast and searched the stars wondering his destiny. Everyone left him alone. He could have been a ghost on one of his father's ships.
The Pirate, as Sir Henry thought of Captain Brigandshaw, had left at ten o'clock the previous night absorbed by the cost of getting what he wanted. Henry smiled to himself as he drank a third cup of tea on the terrace the following morning. The sun was warm and the birds were singing. It was truly so that every man had his price and ambitious men were rarely satisfied with their achievements. Henry was never able to understand the need for more when a man had enough. He had offered to sell his daughter and birthright for six thousand a year but the alternative was destitution for both of them. An obscure baronet without his manor house was of little interest to even the likes of Brigandshaw.
"He's gone, hasn't he?" said Emily from the threshold of the open French doors.
"Can I pour you some tea?” Cousin Maud put two cups on the tray.
"Tea. How extraordinary how Englishmen offer tea as if nothing has happened. Father, I love Seb."
"Well I'm afraid you won't be seeing him for quite a long time. At the moment he's probably approaching the coast of North Africa on a sailing ship bound for Bombay. Now, come and sit with me in the sun and your father will try to explain why being penniless in a hostile world is not the best way to go through life. Young love, Emily, is a very beautiful thing but I have sometimes wondered if it isn't nature's way of making us procreate without thinking of the consequences. Part of this Darwin's Theory of Evolution. Nature's driving force to sustain the species at any cost. But then nature in its earlier manifestations had not heard of money or the British class system. Nature, according to Darwin, is rather random, picking up the best of the pieces after the event and discarding the rest. In our world my daughter; marriage is money which provides the means of looking after our future generations. Maybe even Darwin would be proud of us. It’s the ingenuity of furthering the race and the Mandervilles in particular. Emily, you must have realised the family is broke, unless you marry money we are finished with. What I am trying to do is for your good and the good of your children. I agree, Sebastian is a far nicer rogue than Arthur but Arthur has the money. And anyway, who knows what the Sebastians will grow into when they enter a vicious world, even young Sebastian. Now will you have a cup of tea?"
The house built by Captain Brigandshaw was three storeys high including the servants’ attic with the sloping ceiling. There were five separate acres of land in a row with a house on each plot, a half-mile from the Epsom racecourse. Everyone had planted trees in the hope of hiding themselves from their neighbours to create the feeling of exclusivity. The Oaks, the name given to the house by the newly rich shipowner, had a curious drive that took a tortuous course through the five acres of oak trees that were doing their best to grow into an avenue. Unfortunately no one had explained to the sea captain that oaks were the slowest growing tree in all of England and only his great-great-grandchildren would reap the reward of a leafy canopy on their way to the modest front door with its prime entrance annexed on either side by box trees having at last made it level with the top of the front door and just below the eves.
The morning after his meeting with Sir Henry, when Emily was crying, the tears flowing gently down her lovely face, The Captain, as he liked to refer to himself, was standing outside his front door looking at his four-foot oak trees with spindly trunks that somehow reminded him of the maze at Hampton Court when it was first planted by Henry VIII and everyone could see the tops of everyone walking aimlessly in different directions. The Captain hated his oak trees.
With his riding crop rhythmically slapping his right riding boot in the manner of an agitated cat, he walked up the side path past a better line of apple and pear trees, past the hot house that was heated in winter to provide The Oaks with flowers, past the hen and duck run. It was his head gardener's one demand because it provided a liquid mixture which was poured on the hot house plants. Then he walked to the stables where he mounted his horse, held by the junior groom. The Captain had such a curious seat, his back hollowing to the outside of his bottom which made a straight line to his shoulder blades giving the impression of a bent sack of potatoes, that the groom was forced to place his mucky hand over his laughing mouth before the sound came out bringing forth The Captain's wrath. When The Captain disappeared briefly behind the double storey henhouse to reappear from the shoulders up between the avenue of oak trees, the groom ran correctly back into the stables before convulsing with mirth, none of which was known to the curved back of The Captain on his way to have another distant gaze at Hastings Court, his future home if he could stomach the extortionate price. Never once had he ever thought of the imminent transaction as giving Arthur the house. Arthur and his bride would be given a suite of rooms in the far west wing. The rest would be his.
As he rode, his mind played between five new steamships that would make him richer by the day or, Hastings Court and the Athenaeum Club. Again, he shuddered at the repair bill to the house.
He rode away from his property across the Downs in pensive mood until he at last looked up at Hastings Court in its ancient glory with the morning sun giving a warm, yellow glow to the old stone with its turrets and battlements. To The Captain gazing at his future it
was really a castle not a mere country manor house with twenty-seven rooms. The horse was still as he gazed up longingly and then his imagination took control and his ships were bringing carpets from Persia, ancient Ming china from the Middle Kingdom, furniture from Sweden and exotic silks from India. Surprised from its reverie, the startled horse was kicked into action.
From the terrace both Emily and her father watched the galloping horse become a horse and rider and with sinking heart she recognised the petulant rider. The miracle had not happened. She was going to be bought.
"Life's never easy," said her father gently, taking her hand.
The wind had changed to the west and the Indian Queen was tacking to keep her course. On the horizon a black squall was running towards them at sixty knots. Seb watched with fascinated horror as the crew ran down and lashed all canvas leaving them bare-masted to the coming wind. Captain Doyle was yelling at him from behind the great wheel that had turned the ship east to run with the squall. None of his words reached Seb who bravely smiled at the coming onslaught, his father's words playing in his ears.
"You may be shot, young Sebastian, run through with a sword but a valiant death from drowning, never. You were born with a caul over your face. Every ship of mine sails with a caul locked in The Captain's cabin. Maybe a mariner's superstition but never a boat of mine foundered in a storm. Fifty pounds I've paid for them cauls to keep us safe. But the luckiest of all is a seaman born with a caul over his face."
Watching fascinated, Seb judged the squall would hit them in less than five minutes. A big rope hung from the sail, coiled at his feet. Quickly and with deft fingers learnt from a sea captain father, Seb lashed himself to the mast and waited for the storm. When he looked up, Captain Doyle was smiling instead of yelling at him and Seb understood, raising his thumb in recognition. Instead of being frightened he was more exhilarated than any other time in his life. He faced the wind and waited for the lashing of the rain.
Arthur Brigandshaw had learned from an early age that doing exactly what his father wanted was the easy way to going through life and as a result, he had never done a hard day's work in his life. When father told him to do something Arthur moved at great speed. His second secret in life was always to look busy when anyone was watching. The third was to agree with everything anyone said. The fourth was to make a complimentary remark about clothes or appearance. But of course all of these only applied in public or with people who could help him along his easy way. He was a calculating, congenital liar but it worked. The thought of slapping Sebastian's face and making an enemy but pleasing his father was a calculated risk. He neither liked nor disliked his younger brother any more than he really cared whether Emily was Emily or any other young girl. The only thing that mattered to Arthur was Arthur's pleasures which were many.
From the age of twenty-one when his father gave him an independent income as the oldest son, he had spent the majority of his lying calculations in seducing women. Class never entered the equation and love was further away than the moon. His mother, who was the only one in the family to know what she had given birth to, had considered him a spoilt brat from the age of five, which mattered nothing to Arthur. Love and affection were never part of his life.
When he returned home from London by train, the horse and trap having made the journey back soon after Sebastian had been bundled on board the Indian Queen, he found his father both agitated and hilariously excited.
"You will marry Emily Manderville, my son and your new house will be Hastings Court. Sir Henry is going abroad. Fact is I've bought Hastings Court and my grandchildren are going to be aristocrats."
"Anything you say father. I'm very pleased for you."
"You will call on Emily tomorrow to propose."
"Does Emily concur, father?"
"She said I believe her words were, 'why wait until September?'"
"Did she now?" said Arthur thinking. After a while, he smiled at his father. "If the lady doesn't wish to wait why should we gainsay her wishes?" Arthur liked to use some of his father's words of which gainsay was a choice favourite. By the time it came to ride his horse to Hastings Court, and after a night of deep thought, Arthur knew he would not be marrying a virgin. The wedding would take place as soon as the banns had been read in the Norman church. Arthur never took chances. They were pointless. He was a man who believed that everyone knew with near certainty, the identity of their mother but their father was another kettle of fish.
"Why don't you marry again, father?" asked Emily as they walked together through the woods. "You are still comparatively young. You, not me, can marry the money and live happily ever after at Hastings Court. Have a son. Pass on the title instead of Cousin George in Canada. What's a lumberjack going to do with a baronetcy anyway, especially when it comes without money?"
"I won't say its dying love for your mother. Everything fades, Em, even that strange thing they call love that no one can really describe. I have a feeling it fades in life as well as death. I have never met anyone who stayed in love for very long. That occurs in any novel, which I hope you are not reading for the only reason they are plain rubbish. They pander to a young lady's imaginations. No, it is one thing to set out to marry money, and another to succeed. Most money is difficult to prise away from its owner and fathers are dubious when they see an old widower with a white elephant like Hastings Court wooing an eligible daughter. Better a rake with money. The Captain Brigandshaws of this world are a rare breed who above all want to be recognised. And though I don't like the man, the wife is rather charming and will help you through the worst of your life with Arthur. She may well be the mother you never had."
They walked through the ancient oaks before he spoke again. "If any man tried to best The Captain in business I'm certain he would fall short. You and I, you see, have not tested him. We have struck a bargain and in any bargain there are clauses the parties don't like. You see if Sebastian was the eldest son with glittering prospects, would he be the man you think you love or a lazy reprobate like Arthur who will likely leave you on your own for most of your life with your children? A good, well provided home with children can so often be better without their persistent, boorish husband. It is really possible to rely on other people in life to make us happy, even to make us content. The peace of life only comes from within ourselves. At sixteen you only see a week, a month, a year at most. I think to myself now I can see a lifetime and lifetimes are never a grand passion and anyone who says they are, are believers in fairy stories. They are the worst kind of liars as they hold out a hope that never existed however much we wish it had. Life is hard and uncompromising and with your faith in God, you can face the truth. People, and that includes husbands, are not all bad or all good. We are all a mixture of good and evil. There will be good in Arthur that you must find as there would have been bad in Sebastian you did not want to know about. If you wish to delay the wedding until September…"
"No, father. Let me get it over with."
"I have taken precautions. A trust containing two hundred thousand pounds will be set up which will go to Arthur upon my death, provided he is still living with you and married to you. If you should die first, the money will go to your children. That wealth may control his mind better than the love of any woman. Em, it is not the best bargain I can offer you for life, but I think it will work, but then again there is never any certainty. A fool once said that it is better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable. That fool should have tried poor and miserable, which is always the road of poverty. There are few things worse in this life than to end up without money or the means of earning money. Ask any man or woman who is penniless. Wealth, Em, cushions the blows of life and you should mark my words."
"Father, would you have gone bankrupt?"
"Within six months."
While Henry Mandeville was trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing, the Indian Queen was under full sail beneath a clear sky. The squall had lasted ten minutes the day before, gone a
s quickly as it had come. The Portuguese island of Madeira was off the starboard bow. Once Seb thought he smelt the African desert blown by the wind and then it was gone again. The entire crew were cleaning the deck, except for the mate and first officer. The excitement of sail and squall had changed to boredom, Seb's dreaded affliction.
He thought of Emily and what she was being made to do. There had always been Em and Seb and even far away at boarding school he had written to her every other day, telling her his deepest thoughts, the words so much easier to write than to say. Everything that happened in their lives happened only as it related to each other. For Seb to win a race at the school sports day was to win for Em, not the clamorous sycophants who patted his back and gushed his praise. Everything he had ever done as far back as he could remember was for her. Left alone by a distant, tyrannical father and a mother bemused by four sons and male domination, his real world had only existed through Em. For years they had literally run away from other people to be alone together and finally, right at what was now the end, as the ship careened down the west coast of Africa, they were lovers, a new more beautiful love he had never known existed and there was nothing he could do to change the new course of his life. Sadness became anger and then despair as he watched the green, trellised vinelands of Madeira slip slowly by two miles off the starboard bow; too far to swim and if he got there, he told his despair, what could he do? Find some work and sail back to his father's wrath and what work could he do? He could write a good essay, even run a fast race but all his gentleman's education would be of little value on the rugged island passing with the wind-tossed waves between. Seb walked the deck as it plunged further away and there was not one thing he could do to change its course. Soon the island was behind them.
Martinus Oosthuizen had been waiting two months for the Indian Queen to call at Cape Town harbour. Stored under lock and key in the Colonial Shipping warehouse in Strand Street were the tusks of two hundred elephants five tons of ivory.