Spanish Tricks (Man of Conflict Series, Book 5)

by Andrew Wareham

  The clerk had discovered that information and told Septimus that they were ne’er-do-wells, youths of fifteen or sixteen years who had not found work in the farms or around the village itself. They had no skills and few prospects and local opinion was that they were simply biding their time until they were hanged.

  “They are no loss, Sir Septimus, and it may be better that we put them into the common cell at Winchester and let them await the mercy of the Assize Court judge.”

  “I do not like it, nonetheless. Could we not instead put them on a cart and convey them to Portsmouth and give them to the navy?”

  “We could, sir, but that might be regarded as over-generous by the owners of the silk mill, Sir Septimus.”

  “Bugger them! I will not bloody my hands for the benefit of mill-owners!”

  The court sat and arraigned the seven youths before them for breach of the peace; they were sent to service with the Royal Navy, at the King’s Pleasure. They might be discharged at the end of the war, or, if it happened to be convenient, they could remain before the mast for the rest of their lives – the ‘King’s Pleasure’ was indeterminate. The boys were chained and put into a cart hired for two days by the parish and sent off in the custody of the parish constable, who was much in favour as he had the money in his pocket for their food and his for the excursion. The boys would share a loaf of bread and cold water while the constable made holiday.

  At the end of the hearing every party was dissatisfied. The boys knew that they would probably never return home again, and the younger two burst into tears; the attorney who had spoken for them knew he had prevented their hanging, but feared he had given them a more protracted death sentence at sea; the mill-owners, who had sent a clerk along to observe all that happened, could be assumed to be unhappy at being cheated of their blood; Septimus was certain he had committed injustice, for the boys had not deserved to be dragged away from their homes for all they had done on this occasion.

  “What is the point of fighting for a country that can treat its people like this?”

  Marianne had no answer for him.

  “I must endeavour to make my peace with the people at Whitchurch now, and I have not the least idea how to go about that. Do you know who they are?”

  Marianne did not; they were not part of the County, or not in Hampshire at least. It was possible that they were closer to Berkshire than to Hampshire, looking north rather than south.

  “A word with the Lord Lieutenant must be my recourse.”

  Septimus made his way into Winchester that week, sought audience of the great man, found himself waiting a very few minutes for that pleasure.

  “Sir Septimus, what may I do for you, sir?”

  “Make my apologies quite possibly, my lord, to your counterpart in Berkshire! I fear I have rather thoroughly trodden on a number of toes just recently.”

  He told the tale, unadorned in the first instance but then adding his justifications, carefully thought out since the event.

  “You will know there is unrest in the rural areas, my lord. Captain Swing raising his ugly head again – the threat of rick-burning and general riot.”

  The Lord Lieutenant knew well that there was an undercurrent of discontent in much of the country, not merely in Hampshire.

  “The price of food is rising, Sir Septimus, while wages at best remain constant, are actually falling in places. Was it not for the demand for men from Army and Navy then there would be a great mass of the unemployed, all ready to put on their Phrygian Caps and to drag the aristos to the gallows. We are sat on top of a volcano, Sir Septimus!”

  “Well said, my lord. As I outlined to you just now, a case came before the Bench only this week, a prosecution of seven layabout youths from Whitchurch for a capital offence – an arson, or the attempt of such. There was so much potential for unrest in the case, my lord, that we found a Breach of the Peace against them and ran them down to Portsmouth and off before the mast rather than send them to a hanging or transportation. I believe that we may have averted riot by so doing, but I am quite sure that we caused offence to the owners of the silk mill at Whitchurch whose property might have been lost. I know none of them, my lord, and so can hardly plead my case to them personally…”

  “I know them, Sir Septimus, and a more grasping, clutch-fisted set I have never come across! One of them lives in Hampshire, the others are, as you suggest, of Berkshire. I must see what can be done… I think you were probably right in your actions, Sir Septimus. It is far more important to avoid insurrection than to hang a few valueless youths. They will set no more fires in Whitchurch, that is for sure, so the primary aim has been attained even if the mill-owners have been deprived of their public spectacle. I shall send my secretary to speak with the Lord-Lieutenant of Berkshire, I think, all to be done on the quiet. I am sure that we can arrange something between us.”

  “I trust so, my lord. The need is for all men of discretion to work together in pursuit of the common good. We will have a hard winter if we do not achieve a modicum of cooperation. We must give thought to the Poor Law as well, I suspect.”

  “In what way, Sir Septimus? I think we have managed to avert starvation at least.”

  “Coals, my lord. By the shipload down from the north country and put on the barges up the river to Winchester. We can send wagons out to the villages and at least show willing.”

  “The costs, Sir Septimus, will be horrendous!”

  “So I fear, my lord, but there is a shortage of firewood, unless we persuade the agisters and verderers of the New Forest to come to our assistance.”

  The Lord Lieutenant laughed at the very prospect.

  “Their tasks are restricted to the New Forest, and so are their interests. The verderers will permit nothing to be done that does not directly benefit the commoners of the New Forest; legally, they may argue that they have no right to take cognisance of any other consideration. They are a damned nuisance to any man attempting to administer Hampshire!”

  “A cold winter will kill many of the poor, my lord, their children especially.”

  “I shall try, Sir Septimus, but I doubt I shall be able to find the money to do much.”

  Septimus returned to Micheldever, thinking that he had been better off in Spain perhaps, ignorant of the hardship in England.

  “Marianne, are we well off for firewood for winter?”

  “Within reason, husband. It is more difficult to find wood every year and more costly.”

  “I shall speak to my brother, I think. We may have to arrange for sea-coals.”

  “They are smelly and make the house dirty, Septimus. The maids will not thank you. I shall, however, if it comes on to snow as it did last year.”

  The first load of coals came in towards the end of October, two tons on the back of a four-horse wagon, brought painfully over the muddy roads from Winchester. The sacks were emptied in the barn at the back of the house and the wagon pulled out, to return on each of the next four days, a total of ten black, dusty tons, the better part of one hundred days of firing even if they used no wood at all.

  “Costly, but wise, I think. George has put away almost as much in Winchester for his own use and there are the contents of five full barges to be sold in the town. If it pays, then he will set up a firm of coal merchants to add yet another income for the family.”

  “A pity we have no canal of our own, Septimus. It would be so much easier to bring in a single barge load.”

  “Canals and hill country do not mix well, my dear. I suspect we would need a staircase of thirty or more locks to bring a canal across the Downs to Micheldever. Not impossible, but it would need a deal of trade, literally dozens of barges every day to justify such expense. I do not believe that it can be done. A turnpike might be a possibility, but even that is costly. I think we must accept that we are to be isolated in the wilds, far from civilisation. We could live in the town house for the whole of the winter, as was our original intent, if I remember.”

  Marianne p
referred not to, if he did not object. There was much to be said for spending a week or two at a time in Winchester, but the Lodge was far more comfortable, and so much preferable for the children.

  “They seem well, all five of them. If we are to go to Canada, as seems not impossible, then all must come with us, I presume. I must speak to an attorney about Rachel, for I do not know that I am permitted to carry a ward in Chancery out of the country, though I much suspect that it will be the normal case of unlawful but ignored. Will Miss Lonsdale be willing to accompany us?”

  “The governess? Why not? She is well-paid and can see the prospect of at least another fifteen years in our service, and she must hope that I shall present you with more daughters yet, of course. She must be of some thirty years and can look to remain in our service until she reaches a pension, and that will be a source of great comfort to her. It must be an uncertain existence for such as her, you know, watching her charges grow up and knowing that when the last reaches seventeen she will be turned out, no longer needed and seeking a new place at five-and-forty or even older!”

  Septimus felt a rare sympathy for the young woman, enquired who and what she was.

  “From Winchester, the sixth daughter of a reverend gentleman who holds a minor post at the Cathedral. Her sole brother is to inherit the small family income and she will count herself lucky to see fifty pounds from her father’s will. She is a clever girl but has no portion and never succeeded in attracting a husband, so it is a governess’ existence for her, as better, just, than sitting at home as an unwanted spinster, eating bread and scrape and making do with a new dress every fifth year. She dines well here and earns a wage and is not over-burdened; other than keeping her own room in good order she is called upon to do no house work and is not expected to care for the little ones or rise from her bed to them at night. In many a household the governess is used as a maid of all work as well as a teacher of the girls, but that is not so here. There is a question of a pianoforte, husband, while we are discussing the governess; she has some mastery of the instrument and must expect to teach the accomplishment to the young ladies.”

  Septimus had not considered that detail of household expenditure, but it was, now he thought about it, obviously essential. The genteel young lady must be ‘accomplished’, possessing some skills with water-colours and the embroidery frame and on one musical instrument at least.

  “I must imagine that there would be a seller and tuner of pianofortes in Winchester, my dear. If not, then we must delay till next we are in London. I shall discover the possibilities.”

  This business of becoming genteel was all very well, Septimus mused, but it did not come cheap; he almost regretted Carruthers’ twelve thousands.

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK FIVE

  Chapter Eight

  “Another case for the Justice Room, Sir Septimus!”

  Septimus rose from his desk, where he had been desultorily employed with the household accounts, picking out odd figures that seemed untoward, just in case he was being cheated; the servants had to know that he was wide-awake, or they would start to pad the bills. He was not displeased to put the books down, but he might have preferred an interruption for a happier cause. He had never been told of the irritations consequent on sitting on the Bench, not least the need to be available in his own house to keep the local peace. A single magistrate had the power of summary justice, could dispense minor fines or sentence of up to three months of imprisonment with no further reference made; any local felons must be brought before him so that they could be remanded to Quarter Sessions or Assizes if the whole Bench was not sitting immediately.

  The parish constable was waiting in the room, warming his backside before the log fire, for it was a cold winter’s day, no snow yet but the sky full of it.

  “Well, Hitchin?”

  “Beg pardon, Sir Septimus, vagrant, sir. Got ‘em waiting outside, sir.”

  “Them?”

  “Some old besom and ‘er kids, sir. Says she’s a lawful widder-woman, I don’t think! Come up from Southampton, and you knows what they’re like there, sir! Got ‘erself a pass, but it be well out of its date, sir!”

  “Bring them in, man!”

  A woman, possibly in her late twenties, worn and grey in the face, dressed in thin cotton, and four children, two each of boys and girls, each with a blanket wrapped around as a shawl. All were barefoot.

  “Get away from the fire, Hitchin, let them get a look in at the warmth. Where is their pass?”

  Hitchin produced the piece of paper, a permit for the woman and her five children to return to Gloucester where she had been born, and to claim poor relief at each parish on her journey. It had been issued three weeks before and had expired on the previous day.

  “Your name is Hannah Riley?”

  “Yer Honour, it be.”

  “It says five children?”

  “The babe weren’t never strong, Yer Honour. Took sick in Twyford, so ‘er did, and we ‘ad to stay there till ‘er took and died and was buried, Yer Honour. Started to walk again yesterday as ever was, Yer Honour.”

  It was a familiar tale; the babies born to paupers died as often as not.

  “You are a widow?”

  “That I be, Yer Honour, I were married to Riley, so I were, but ‘e got drunk and drowned workin’ on the dock, Yer Honour. So I claimed the Poor Law, and they told I as ‘ow I got to go back to my ‘ome parish.”

  The law was simple on that point – any person was entitled to claim the Poor Law, but only in his or her own parish of birth. The destitute must return to their homes – even if they had not seen them in a lifetime.

  “I will change the date on your pass, Mrs Riley.”

  “I ain’t got me letters, sir. I didn’t know as ’ow it ‘ad no date.”

  Septimus surveyed the family, the children backed as close as they could get to the fire, lifting their bruised feet to the relief of the warmth.

  “Wait there, Mrs Riley!” Septimus left the room, called to the cook, delayed while she changed into a clean apron to speak to the master.

  “You need a second maid in the kitchen, do you not, Mrs Hogsflesh?”

  “So I do, sir, with three little ones in the nursery, sir, and them to be fed their pap as well wet-nursed, and the extra by way of washing-up and boiling now that thou art at home, sir, wi’ they ‘ungry great servants of thine!”

  “On liking, and only if she suits, I wish to give Mrs Riley a place. Feed her and her children from the kitchen until she is set up for herself in the spare cottage the second groom was used to have.”

  Septimus kept only a small stable of horses for himself and needed but the one groom; the house had been arranged for a gentleman of sporting and hunting inclinations.

  Cook curtseyed, as was only right. She had her orders and would obey them.

  Septimus returned to the Justice Room.

  “I am in need of a kitchen maid, Mrs Riley. There is an empty cottage in the yard. If you are so minded then we shall set you on for a quarter, on liking. If it does not then suit, you will be at liberty to go to Gloucester. You will be fed from the kitchen until you have your first money, you and the children both.”

  “Thank’ee, Yer Honour. I knows ‘ow to work, Yer Honour.”

  Hitchin seemed inclined towards indignation – he was much in favour of committing all paupers to the common cell in Winchester, or preferably to giving them a good flogging to teach them not to be a drain on the Poor Law. He left in a dudgeon, stamping out and regretting that a weakling like Sir Septimus was magistrate.

  “Marianne, I have taken an itinerant pauper on as a kitchen maid. A widow with four barefoot children, a fifth buried two days since. They are to take the groom’s cottage. Have we blankets to make up beds for them!”

  Dispensing charity was the function of the Lady of the Manor, a duty and a privilege. Marianne had the necessary supplies in her store cupboards.

  “I shall deal with the matter, husban
d. A fire for the cottage as well?”

  They looked out at the threatening sky, nodded in unison.

  “I do not know if she will be of use in the kitchen, but I could not put her and her children out on the roads in this weather. If she is unable to work, then we can send her on the carrier’s cart to Gloucester.”

  She agreed quietly, knowing his feelings on the Poor Law and its harsh treatment of the unfortunate as well as the foolish. She could see no great harm in whipping and starving the feckless and the idle to bring them to virtue, but she could not approve of turning a widow and her children out onto the road.

  Hitchin was back two or three times each week, generally with vagrants but on occasion with more legitimate business. There was a drunken brawl at the village pub that spilled into fighting in the street; drunks were welcome to pummel each other, in Septimus’ opinion, but they were not to make a nuisance of themselves among the sober and law-abiding. Three farm labourers, young men, not yet married, found themselves remanded to the common cell in Winchester, there to await the mercies of Quarter Sessions; if they survived the gaol fever then they could expect transportation, or forcible enlistment in army or navy.

  Two and three times a month an absconding servant was brought to justice.

  New servants and farm labourers normally hired on for the year, more rarely for the quarter, on ‘liking’. It was expected that most would then remain with their employer for life, unless they truly discovered they could not work together. Some employers were harsh, and they found themselves hiring on afresh almost every year; some labourers were idle, or stupid, or ill-tempered, or too drunk, and they might migrate from one part of the county to another. The hiring was a contract enforceable at criminal law, the argument being that although the wage would be paid quarterly, both servant and farm labourer would eat their employer’s food and shelter under his roof and must work to pay back his initial generosity. Farm labourers absconded not infrequently, indoor servants only rarely, but if caught they would come before the Bench and might well find themselves imprisoned.