by Brian John
I sat down at the dressing table in my bedroom, and composed a long letter to Jonas Harry at Plas Glas on the Mumbles. It took me two hours to write, because the rheumatism in my right hand was very bothersome. I wrote that I had seen the notice of the Thursday public meeting in Newport and trusted that he might be present together with the other main stakeholders for the occasion. I also assumed, and expressed this in writing, that they might all come to town on the Wednesday for preparatory discussions, and that they would all stay with the Lord Marcher in the newly refurbished castle. I wrote that I had also seen the Parliamentary announcement, obtained through “one of my sources.” I declared that I was familiar with almost all aspects of the project as it had been designed, through other contacts whom I declined to name, and that I was familiar with the project maps. I knew that this would get him growling, and also suspecting that some of his partners had been loose with their tongues. Then I thought that I might make the most of Harry’s mad idea that I was a closet geologist, and added that I was in possession of certain “detailed and most fascinating geological information about the mountain”. Furthermore, I confirmed that I was in possession of two confidential reports relating to smelting developments in the Guest iron works in Dowlais, Merthyr Tydfil, which would halve the amount of limestone required in pig iron production and allow the use of lower-grade iron ores. I also wrote that I was the holder of information on new steel making methods, involving certain additives to the smelting mix, based on confidential documents illegally obtained from the Krupps works in Germany.
Poppycock, all of it, but desperate times need desperate measures......
I also declared in my letter that I was aware that Wilmot Gwynne was in declining health, and that his plans for the mountain had not progressed as far as he had anticipated. I expressed concern that the capital which Gwynne had promised -- to go with the funding committed by my own consortium of financiers -- would not materialize, leaving me with considerable assets but no viable project. I wrote that I was considering an alternative project in South Pembrokeshire, not far from the Vickerman smelter at Kilgetty, but that on balance I would prefer to invest in the Newport area, “in view of the great love for the local countryside which I have developed since my arrival.” I doubted that he would see the irony in that statement.
I wrote that in view of the difficulties being experienced by Wilmot Gwynne, I now thought that I could secure the sale of his three estates for a total figure of £35,685, representing a recent valuation.
Finally, I asked whether £600,000 might be an appropriate figure by way of investment, bearing in mind that I would require a predicted annual return of at least 10% in order to secure the commitment of my confederates in Glamorgan and on the continent.
It was all rubbish, but I knew full well that Harry would rise to the bait, and would arrange a meeting in the castle on Wednesday evening, come hell or high water.
I sent off the letter, elaborately sealed “SR” with the invaluable assistance of my friend Skiff Abraham, by special messenger to Plas Glas, Mumbles. I insisted that the rider should hand the letter only to Harry in person, and that he should wait for a reply. The man arrived back next morning, having used six horses and having ridden a total of 150 miles. He was exhausted, and I paid him twice the asking rate. He brought this message from Harry:
Plas Glas, Mumbles
17th June 1856
My Dear Mrs Ravenhill
I acknowledge receipt of your most interesting letter. I am so pleased that as a result of our pleasant conversation in Paris we should now have established a constructive working relationship, and that you foresee certain benefits as arising out of cooperation. I will consult with colleagues and reply within 3 days regarding your proposal. The strong must stick together, Madam, if they are not to become weak.
Yours etc
Jonas Harry Esq
He is on the hook, I thought. Sure enough, next day I received another message from him by express delivery, confirming that a meeting of the shareholders of the Carningli Stone Company would take place on Wednesday in Newport Castle, and extending an invitation for me to attend as an observer. “As an observer!” I thought. “Very kind of them, to be sure. I think it just possible, when I have done my observing, that they might like me to say one or two things about iron and money as well..........”
On Monday morning, shortly after breakfast, one of the Lord Marcher’s servants rode up to Brynglas with a very grand invitation to dinner in the castle on Wednesday, preceded by drinks at 7 o’clock. I knew that I had a very short time available to me to do some serious work, so I immediately asked Abel if he would kindly take me in the Brithdir chaise to Plas Llanychaer. I needed to talk to Wilmot and to my grandson in great depth, since they knew about smelting, and iron ore and coal prices, and the workings of the market place. As we drove along, Abel teased me because I could not sit still in the chaise and because I could not stop talking; but in truth I was possessed of a sort of mad energy, similar to that which I had felt before at various stages in my life, arising out of the knowledge that I was coming to a great challenge and a great victory. That was my instinct, and I hoped desperately that I was not deluding myself.
When I got to Plas Llanychaer Wilmot and Delilah were sitting in the garden drinking tea, in the shade of an apple tree. There were two men with them -- Donal O’Connell and my old friend Shemi. “A warm welcome to you, Susanna, and to you, Abel!” said Wilmot, getting to his feet and sounding a good deal more sprightly than on our last meeting.
“Why, this is a miracle!” said I. “The very people to whom I wish to talk -- and whom I feared might be scattered about elsewhere, minding their own business.”
“We were expecting you, Mrs Ravenhill,” said Shemi, grinning mischievously behind his bushy beard.
“But that’s absurd, Shemi. I didn’t know I was coming myself, until about two hours ago!”
“Let’s put it down to anticipation,” said Shemi.
So we talked and planned, and I received a very intensive and exhausting course in all manner of things about which I had previously been entirely ignorant. Wilmot produced newspaper reports on share prices and investments and the like, and various trade journals read by men who smelt ores and make metal. And Donal placed before me certain financial information which I found fascinating and even shocking. We all stayed at the Plas for the night, for there was so much work to do; and it was not until late on the Tuesday that I felt well enough prepared to take on Harry and his confederates in Newport Castle. I went home exhausted, and managed to get a good night’s sleep.
Early on Wednesday morning, I decided to go for a walk on the mountain. I took Merlin with me, and he was excellent company, talking non-stop, asking a multitude of questions, and observing little things that I, in a lifetime of observing, had missed. It was a perfect spring day, and for the first time in my new incarnation I did not have to hide, or act furtively, or resort to my ominous disguise. Merlin and I reached the summit, and he knew instinctively that he must now stop chatting and allow me to lose myself in my own thoughts. We sat on the blue rocks on the summit, holding hands, in complete silence. About half an hour passed as we gazed down at the Plas, and across the cwm to the distant moors of Mynydd Preseli, and to the north down on the sleepy town of Newport and far out across the placid waters of Cardigan Bay. This was a new experience for Merlin, and he appeared to be greatly moved by the spirit of the place. A single raven appeared, wheeling high in the sky above us. Merlin lay on his back on the grass and watched it, as it went higher and higher, circling over the mountain, until we could see it no longer. The real world intruded when Will saw us from a distance and walked up for a chat. He had been looking for some stray lambs, lost somewhere among the crags and the boulders. We embraced and I introduced him to Merlin. Then we talked about the Plas, and I was pleased that Will referred to me as “Aunt Susanna” just as my own family members were getting used to doing. Will said he was desperately worried
about the planned developments in Newport and the Parrog, but I was now feeling increasingly confident of our prospects, and I told him that the Lord Marcher would not have his way without a great fight.
At five minutes to seven, I was delivered to the Castle gatehouse by Abel, in as much style as we could muster. I was very worried indeed, but I knew that this meeting would decide not only my destiny but that of the whole of the Newport district. As I walked the short distance to the great door of the refurbished residence, I breathed deeply and saw in my mind’s eye the breeze rustling the rushes on the estuary, and the tide flooding in with little slaps and ripples, and I heard the sounds of curlews and oystercatchers. I saw the gulls wheeling around the herring boats as they came in on the tide towards the waiting fish-wives of the Parrog. I saw the sleeping town on a crisp winters night, with a full moon sailing high over the silhouette of Carningli. I saw Market Street on market day, filled to overflowing with cattle and pigs and people, the air resonating with the sounds of town and country, and with familiarity and conviviality the main products on display. I saw the white grasses of the sand dunes, and the tall pine trees whispering on the edges of the churchyard..............
“Welcome to you, Mistress Ravenhill!” said a booming voice, bringing me back to the real world. The Lord Marcher and his lady were at the door. I curtseyed and he bowed, and after introducing me to his wife Henrietta he offered me his arm and led me inside. He was a big noisy man, oozing self-confidence and thoroughly used to looking down on everybody with whom he came in contact. But his manners were impeccable. He led me into a large room with a high vaulted ceiling. It was not too grand, and was sparsely furnished with a few tapestries and some ancient oak dressers, chests and chairs. There were no family portraits on the walls, and no statues or other ornaments. There were one or two small carpets on the floor, which was made of local black slate slabs. It was more like a refurbished castle than a home, and more like a second or third home than a primary place of residence. But I knew anyway that Sir Mervyn lived in his Gothic castle at Bronwydd in Cardiganshire by preference, and that his commitment to Newport was marginal at best.
I was introduced to five rather grand gentlemen, whom I had never met before. But their names were familiar from the Parliamentary Announcement sent from London by John; they were all Members of Parliament, and all potential shareholders in the Carningli Stone Company. We made small talk for a little while, and drinks were served. I was immediately impressed by the smug self-satisfaction displayed by each one of them; these were obviously men used to the exercise of power, but I was confirmed in my belief that men who were in partnership with crooked businessman like Harry were probably crooked themselves, or else very naive. I suspected that their egos were probably bigger than their fortunes. I wondered where Jonas Harry was, but then I was greatly surprised when he was carried into the room by the very men who grabbed me on the street in Paris. They settled him into a chair facing the window, and I was relieved to see that he had left his disgusting pipe behind, possibly in Paris. But in the brighter light of a Newport summer evening, and without his heavy spectacles, he looked desperately ill, with a pale complexion, sunken cheeks and eyes that lacked vigour. I was genuinely moved when I saw him. “I am so sorry, sir, to see your disability,” I said. “Last time we met, I fear that I resented your lack of gentlemanly manners since you did not rise when I entered the room, or when I left. I apologize for that shortcoming on my part, and trust that you will forgive me.”
“Entirely forgotten, Madam,” said he, in a shallow voice. “And since we are apologizing, I have to say that I also much regret the somewhat discourteous manner ......” at which point he coughed, and then fought for breath “..... in which we encouraged you to attend for an interview with me. George and Jeremy, my friends, might have been more diplomatic.”
“Never fear, sir. I look back on that episode with amusement, and indeed I was not in the least bit harmed by the encounter.”
When George and Jeremy had left their master, we continued to chat about London, and Paris, and the state of the weather, and the latest news from Westminster. I think I held my own. We enjoyed an excellent champagne, and I was interested to observe that they all consumed far more than I did. I lied that for health reasons I was under orders to restrict my alcohol consumption to two glasses, on very special occasions only. This was such an occasion, I reported, to general merriment. Eight against one, I thought; not very good odds. But I felt as bright as a new sovereign, and I was well prepared.
At dinner, I had a close shave when the Lady Marcher said: “Mrs Ravenhill, that necklace is an uncommonly fine one, I must say. The only time I have seen such a necklace before, with fine cream-coloured pearls culminating in a wonderful pink pearl flanked by two blacks, was on the neck of the late Mistress Martha Morgan, of Plas Ingli, before that family fell on hard times. One of a pair, perhaps?”
I was taken aback, but recovered quickly: “I cannot tell a lie, Madam. It is the very same one, bequeathed by my late half-sister to her grand-daughter Rose and then given to me, her old aunt, by that charming young lady as a gesture of affection. I am inordinately fond of it.”
At the end of an excellent meal, Sir Mervyn decided that it was time to get down to work. I was half expecting a preliminary meeting, at which I was permitted to observe but not comment, but he got straight to the point. “Now then, Mrs Ravenhill,” he said. “I have heard a great deal about your expertise in financial matters, and indeed in the field of iron smelting. Most surprising and welcome skills for a woman, if I may say so! Lady Charlotte Guest had better look to her laurels! Truly you must be a most emancipated lady, and your arrival in our little community will be welcomed by all.”
“You are very kind, sir. I know Lady Charlotte well, and I hope that I may have learned something from her.”
After that, there was an elaborate game of cat and mouse. They tried to prise information out of me, and I let out just enough to impress them that I knew what I was talking about. The five MPs had very little to say, and I quickly gained the impression that they were there to provide finance and respectability, but that they would rather have been at Epsom Races. Having consumed a great deal more alcohol than I, they very quickly became bored by talk of slag, blast furnaces and iron ore percentages once they had ascertained that I was no fool. I thanked my lucky stars for that time in China and Dowlais. That left the Lord Marcher and Jonas Harry as the ones doing the talking and driving the project forward. The former was bluff and noisy, but not very well informed; but Harry was every inch the businessman, and in spite of his infirmities his mind was sharp. I wondered whether this mad project of his was actually keeping him alive. The men pressed me to reveal the “confidential information” mentioned in my long letter of some days earlier, but I left them in no doubt that I would not divulge anything about new iron- or steel-making processes and so forth until I was in possession of the financial information I needed.
I moved the discussion on from iron to stone, and said that I had customers for building stone and roadstone. “What prices per ton are you building into your budget, gentlemen?” I asked. When Harry told me, I raised my eyebrows, and he noticed my response, for the figures were wildly inflated. So I then pressed them for the assumed prices which they might get for pig iron from the Newport smelter, and found that those were wildly inflated too. I did not say so, but I was already aware that the projected income per annum from the business was twice as high as anything that could reasonably be expected in the real world. I did suggest that their projections were “optimistic”, but the gentlemen simply shrugged their shoulders. Harry said, with a grin on his face: “As you will know, Mrs Ravenhill, all is fair in love, war and business.”
Having obtained their respect, I continued to press them, and discovered that the project they were planning was based upon a host of extraordinary and unrealistic assumptions. They needed £1.3 million but had only raised £400,000 (£100,000 each from Harry and the Lord Ma
rcher, and £200,000 in total from the other five). They had further promises of £300,000 if £1 million could be demonstrated in firm share sales -- so I knew immediately that I was the key to the whole enterprise, having dangled a carrot worth £600,000 in front of them in my letter. I had been briefed by Wilmot to press the Lord Marcher on his shareholding, since it was known that he was already deeply in debt following the building of his fairy castle at Bronwydd. So I pressed him, and would not be diverted. He was at first irritated by my impertinence, but kept his self-control; and at last he admitted that in order to raise the necessary funds he would have to mortgage Newport Castle, and also sell 25 farms and holdings on and around the mountain to the Carningli Stone Company for a few pounds each. Their full value would then be recorded and incorporated as company assets. “So you plan, sir, to sell worthless properties to the company and pretend that they are substantial liquid assets?”I asked. “Is that not something that might be referred to as false accounting?”
“Humph, I am advised,Madam, that that is entirely in order.”
“Do the tenants know? Have they been given the opportunity in the past to purchase the properties they have lived in for generations, and improved bit by bit?”
“No, no,” said the Lord Marcher, with his blood pressure rising. “If I sell to them, and then invite them to sell on to the company, obviously the price of every single property will rise, and that could make a difference of tens of thousands of pounds. And some of them might decide not to sell. That would certainly affect the viability of the project. I will simply terminate their leases and tell them that the properties have to be demolished in the name of progress.”