“I see I must definitely become a member at the next election, Sir Thomas – by far the safest course in wartime!”
“Have you a seat in mind, Mr Clapperley?”
“An acquaintance, Sir Thomas, has a controlling interest in an old borough, the village of Newton which has no people and two members, not so far from here. He dropped rather a lot at Mrs Morris’ gambling house two years ago and I was able to put him in the way of making a comeback and a seat is mine for the asking. I had not intended to go to London for a while yet, but see that I should now. I must decide which interest I would wish to sit in.”
“I can put your name in Mr Dundas’ way, if you wish.”
“Perhaps I should speak to the Whigs instead, Sir Thomas – a foot in each camp, as it were.”
“But trusted by neither as soon as our relationship became known, as inevitably it would. Better not, I think, Mr Clapperley. I have no choice in the matter, by family connection now. As well, I suspect that in or out of office the Tories will look after us for our in with the new industry.”
“So be it, Sir Thomas – my fortunes have flourished for following your advice in the past, sir, so I shall not change horses now. I shall send you a letter, if I may, when all is signed, sealed and delivered, as it were, and the seat is mine and you may gift me to Mr Dundas.”
‘And may Mr Dundas be truly thankful’, Tom reflected, saying nothing aloud.
“All well, Joseph?”
Tom could not be in St Helens without visiting the cotton business, a courtesy call as well as a mark of their friendship. Joseph had happily found half a day from his mills, flourishing and all now working nights as well as day shifts; he was wearing the most expensive broadcloth on his back and had stepped down from a luxurious town-carriage.
“Fairly, Tom – there will be problems before too long, another couple of years, I suspect. Raw cotton – demand for the stuff is growing but supplies aren’t. We get a lot from Turkey, up from London by barge and coaster, and a bit more from the West Indies direct, but neither area is expanding production. The French spinners get theirs from their Louisiana colony, and the East India Company grows its own, of course, and has none spare to send raw to England.”
“No other sources?”
“None that I know of, Tom.”
That meant none at all, Tom knew – Joseph was too good a man of business to be unaware of anything in his trade.
“The French are probably going out of business, from all I hear, Tom, the blockade too effective in closing their harbours.”
“Even more demand for your stuff then, Joseph. Have you heard anything about Frederick Mason, by the way?”
“He’s working well, I am told – I have kept my ear to the ground, of course – and hasn’t taken to the bottle. Got religion, like his brother, chapel every Sunday now, but that ain’t too bad a thing, I suppose – I see him there every weekend, feeling the need myself! George is like a dog with two tails since he married – don’t know which one to wag first he’s so happy!”
“I heard a different version of that, Joseph!”
From his immediate roar of laughter it seemed that Joseph had as well.
“No bad effects on Roberts, I would imagine?”
“None at all, Tom.”
“Good. I gave him ten per cent of my shares when he married – he deserves them, and it gives him something to leave to his children. On which topic, Joseph, I may well be emulating you and Amelia – I rather think I may be a father by the eleventh month of my marriage. You are still at nine, are you not?”
“To my surprise, yes, Tom – however, with Amelia still being no more than thirty, much is still possible! By the way, we have talked it over, her and I, and do you think you could ask Lady Verity to make contact with Amelia’s uncle? She would like at least to get his permission to write a letter to him, get some news of her kin – I think, in fact, it’s more that she would like to have some kinsfolk rather than be alone.”
“What of you, Joseph? Anything from Antigua?”
“My mother is still alive and well, both of my sisters, too, and they thanked me for the money. I shall send some more next year, enough for them to buy a bigger farm for their families, maybe some sugar land of their own. I don’t dare send too much – blacks in Antigua have no business being rich and probably wouldn’t survive it!”
Tom was in London a month later, tidying up with Michael and listening to the gossip of the town – a more reliable source of information than the provincial newssheets.
“Smallpox, Sir Thomas – there seems to be a certain preventative discovered, a process to be called ‘vaccination’ – the exposure of the body to the cowpox, a much less serious ailment of course, which then makes it impossible to catch smallpox. It is proven, it is safe, and it will eliminate the disease, if spread to every person in the country – a great blessing, I doubt not. The churches are doubtful, of course – smallpox being an Act of God it may be impious to actually prevent men, women and children being struck dead by it – it seems that doctors may legitimately attempt to cure illness, but not to actively prevent it. God help us all, and spare us from religion!”
“Amen!”
“Other than that, it seems that General Hoche has been tasked to lead an invasion force, to land in England or Ireland, which is unclear. He has an unwelcome job, to my mind, because he cannot possibly get his men and supplies together and aboard ship before the autumn gales, probably a month or two later – and a landing on British shores in winter is not an operation I would wish to attempt. Other than that, there has only been minor activity in the pursuit of the war, as far as we are concerned, and almost all naval.”
“Have you any word of Chawleigh?”
Michael pursed his lips, waved a finger from side to side doubtfully.
“Some, not enough to be certain. I have asked questions and have discovered his name to be ‘known’ in certain circles related to the Home Office. I believe that he is being watched, but not closely, as if he were a potential rather than an active problem. I think that he may have played a part in enabling funds earned in French Louisiana to be placed in American and then British banks where they were then used to pay agents in England – but all this is at second hand, and none of it proven.”
“So, not an active traitor, but a man who knows the wrong people?”
“Probably, though he may be more than that, for I believe he has some source of income that is not clear and above board.”
“Annoying. Be so good as to continue to ask your questions, Mr Michael, as he seems to wish to keep in contact with me.”
The latter was not strictly correct, Tom having decided to make contact himself, particularly now that Michael had mentioned Louisiana.
“Bob! I thought I would look you up, being in Town for a couple of days – we might chat about old times, perhaps, and discuss a way in which you might well be of assistance to me. I was speaking to Dundas a few days ago and he mentioned that government was becoming rather concerned about the activities of French agents in England and specified that he had heard of some connection between America and the French. As I am known to have had some experience of America he wondered whether I might know of any possibilities or means of discovering information. Obviously, you came to my mind, but I have not yet named you.”
That seemed sufficiently unsubtle a threat to bring an immediate response – Dundas was generally held to be the government’s spymaster amongst his other functions; Tom was carrying his pair of Manton pistols and had resolved not to venture into darkened streets for the next few days, just in case a knife in the back was seen as a quick answer. He chatted a few minutes more with Chawleigh and then returned to the hotel. He calculated that if he heard nothing from Chawleigh within the next twenty-four hours then either he was wrong in his suspicions or he was sufficiently deeply involved to need to inform his superiors in France of the matter – and in either case he would then tell Michael of what he had done and leave
him to contact the authorities.
In the event Chawleigh sent his card into the hotel next morning, soon after breakfast.
“Bob! What can I do for you?”
“I think the boot may be on the other foot, Tom. What do you want?” Chawleigh was far from his normal unruffled, urbane self, seemed to have passed a sleepless night – possibly in consultation with his masters?
“Cotton. From the French plantations in America, brought into Liverpool docks consigned to Star Brokers, not going to auction. I will provide funds and your commission should not be small, because yours will be the only name involved in the whole transaction. Have you the contacts? Can you do it? Will you do it?”
“It will take time, a lot of time to set everything up.”
“A year? Two? Not more than that because there is going to be a shortage of Turkish and West Indian raw cotton before two years are up. I would stockpile from this year’s consignments, except that I would be doing myself in the eye if I did – having interests in cotton myself.”
“I will have to go to the States, in person, I think, Tom, to Charleston in the first instance, and I will need to carry a thousand in my pocket. Nothing in writing, but I would expect to pay you a visit at your new estate next summer – better than meeting in London, I think. My name will not be mentioned in government circles, I believe?”
“Not by me, unless it should come up, in which case you are a known and trusted business associate of mine, a man in whom I have faith and whose patriotism is beyond doubt.”
“Thank’ee, Thomas – a pleasure to do business with you again – with reasonable luck this may fund my retirement!”
‘Retirement from what?’ The question had to remain unasked, but not unthought. Tom sat to his writing desk, made a brief note of the contact and the agreement made, sealed it and then took it to Michael, to be held against his unexpected death and to ensure that Chawleigh’s neck would be well-stretched if he tried for the quick way out.
No need to inform Joseph yet - what he knew nothing of could not distress him - and there was no need for him to make advance preparations, in fact it might well be better to keep him forever in ignorance. Let Star Spinners have first call on the new source of cotton, at preferential price, and keep his hands clean.
“By the way, Mr Michael, now that I am here, I wonder if you might discover some more information for me – a Mrs Burley, a widow-lady dwelling in Corfe, in Dorset, and possessed of a son who must be the better part of six years old, I would think. Any details of her health and general way of existence would be appreciated. I am sure you will discover that her income is paid by my bank, and will draw the obvious and correct conclusions, sir!”
Michael smiled and nodded, made a brief note of the instructions.
The Hall was in near-panic when he returned, the wedding only a week off and last-minute preparations in full swing. Observing closely, Tom became convinced that Morton and housekeeper, Mrs Beckwith and Verity were actually enjoying themselves, relishing the crises as they arose; he retired with Quillerson to office and acres, out of sight and hearing and beyond reach. The dogs joined them for much of the day, thoroughly upset by the rush and fuss and bother, Delilah, clearly swelling, especially wanting none of it. Tom grinned as he patted her and cast a knowing eye over Verity, just showing the least of extra flesh to the informed.
“Will Rothwell be present for the festivities, my dear?”
They were sequestered in Verity’s sitting room, accepted to be private, not to be disturbed for the hour after dinner, only the dogs allowed in with them except for the most absolute of emergencies.
“He is to be here three days beforehand, and is to remain for a full sennight, under pain of my father’s extreme displeasure. He will do as he is told in this instance, wishing no doubt to have access to Bridlington’s coffers as well. I am told, Thomas, amusingly, that Bridlington’s man enquired of Papa’s lawyers, when it came to Settlements, to discover exactly what you had come down with and matched you pound for pound – not to be outdone by any manufacturer! He has also purchased a very minor piece of farmland left to us by a maiden great-aunt who dwelt in Yorkshire, close to his acres and convenient to him but not to us – and has chosen to pay a long, long way in excess of the going rate, which is very welcome, as you can imagine.”
“Tactful, too – who thought of it?”
“His agent, I expect, or his attorney – not him, dolt that he is!”
“When do the first of our guests arrive, my dear?”
“On Tuesday next – cousins who rarely rub shoulders with the great and are determined to have a fortnight of gracious living at our expense, and my father’s unmentioned sister who lives in isolation for the most part; his brother from Wales has also begged to stay with us, though I know not why. Most will spend only five or six nights with us, but, generally speaking, the less salubrious, the longer they will stay. You will make a beginning with your Volunteers after the wedding, I presume?”
“Mostly. I will be meeting with Major Hunt over the next few days and he will do the bulk of the preliminary work, identifying officers and sergeants, as well as he can, so that we shall have a framework into which the recruits can fall – literally in most cases, I am assured that the farm boys will spend the first month of drill falling over their own feet!”
A brief letter to Joseph simply said that Tom was pursuing a new source of raw cotton, expected to hear little for the next twelvemonth and advised Joseph to build his stocks as much as he could the meanwhile.
Book Two: A Poor Man
at the Gate Series
Chapter 6
Tuesday dawned bright and clear to the clatter of tradesmen’s carts, last minute deliveries of wax candles, linen sheets, testers for three new four-poster beds – promised for the previous week and anxiously sweated upon – and the library curtains, long overdue. Tom observed the panic in the hall and at the back yard and very quietly slipped into the breakfast room, eating in solitary splendour, waited on by one of the footmen, no longer arrayed in satin and frills, kept in employment because of the wedding and liable to remain through inertia – it was difficult to sack servants who might not be able to find anything else in the area, there was a degree of obligation.
“When are the first guests due, James?”
“From what Mr Morton has told me, Sir Thomas, Lady Serena, aunt to my Lady, will arrive from Ely at about two o’clock, Sir Thomas. She will have broken her journey at Huntingdon, I understand, Sir Thomas, the roads being poor and the journey from Ely long for one day but short for two. I understand, Sir Thomas, that Lady Serena had something of a falling-out with the Marchioness, soon after the marriage, more than twenty-five years ago, which is why it was thought better for her to stay at the Hall rather than at Grafham House.”
“Lady Serena is unwed, I believe, James.”
“Yes, Sir Thomas. More coffee, Sir Thomas?”
James was not going to be drawn on that topic, Tom noted – he must ask Morton, whose past loyalties had lain with the Quillers and who would therefore have no problem in retailing the juicier scandals from the Grafhams’ history.
“Lady Serena, Sir Thomas? No, sir, not very probable that she would ever have married – one understands that she had a very close friendship with an older lady, a connection of Major Hunt’s family, living towards Coventry; it is not impossible that Lady Serena was made free of the estate at Ely because it is an awkward distance from Coventry. It is quite a small manor, a few hundred acres of good fields and some woodland and originally a tract of marshland, and she acts as her own steward, I believe, and has made it a very profitable farm, which will return to the family on her death, of course. She has, I understand, a lady companion to live with her and provide her with genteel company in her isolation.”
Enough said – it amazed Tom that Morton could say so much in so few words, and all without a smile.
“Will her companion be with her today, Morton?”
“
I would not imagine so, Sir Thomas.”
Lady Serena was in fact the second to arrive, Lord Lutterworth with his wife and son appearing soon after noon in an ancient travelling coach of the previous age; he had had a journey of barely twenty-five miles and had left home just after eight o’clock it transpired, his two horses – tired, aged beasts – barely capable of walking pace and relieved to see a stables.
The Lutterworths were poor, close cousins of the Grafhams, long on title, short on lands and lacking the nous to remedy their fortunes in the political field. Thomas greeted them very formally and courteously, forewarned that they made up for their other shortcomings with a very full supply of self-consequence and pride. Verity stood at his side, made the introductions of the sixth baron and his lady and son, the Honourable George, a young man in his mid-twenties who looked somewhat like a hake – bulbous eyes, protruding mouth, full of teeth, very little chin and no forehead; two minutes of conversation suggested that the hake might have been of greater intelligence.
“I have warned Beckwith to keep the maids away from his room when he might be at liberty, Thomas,” Verity whispered. “His hands tend to stray and he has difficulty understanding the word ‘no’.”
“He looks half-witted!”
“Then he must have improved in his intellects since last I met him!”
Verity escorted Lady Lutterworth to her room to refresh herself leaving Tom to offer his Madeira and make light conversation, difficult with the father, impossible with the son.
Nouveau Riche (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 2) Page 16