"Did you draw up a contract stating in clear terms that the design was his, Sir William?"
"Well..."
"Perhaps I should take a glance at the document, Sir William."
"Well, to be exact, we did no more than exchange letters, him to give the go-ahead, myself stating price and delivery date."
Michael examined the papers with some distaste, holding them by the corners in finger and thumb, as if he feared contamination. He asked if he might look at one or two other files, shook his head in dismay.
"That the firm has not yet been sued for every penny it possesses can only be a matter of good fortune, Sir William. This will not do, sir! I will confer with my lord and we will set something in place, probably a young man of some education in the law who can draw up contracts for each ship built. You are lucky indeed, Sir William, that I have seen this lack first, before a judge in an Admiralty Court, or even worse, in Chancery, had a case brought before him."
Perhaps Spotted Dick had unwittingly done them a favour.
"Mr McGregor, did you in your studies come across any mention of the Law of Contract as it applied to a working engineer?"
"Why, yes, Sir William. My tutors told me always to call upon the services of a lawyer if the least question ever arose, and never, ever, to say a word myself. It would, they said, almost always be cheaper to pay the professional fees of a lawyer than to risk an action against me."
"I am told that we should already have done so, that we should have contracts written and as watertight as our ships. Mr Michael will be supplying the lack for us, it seems."
McGregor approved - they needed to become more professional in their commercial dealings. Sir William was very good at doing things, but the finer elements of business organisation tended to elude him. A lawyer would do very well in their offices.
"Railways, Sir William - will we take a part in their building, sir?"
"Mr Joseph is to deal with that side of the business for Roberts. We shall be interested only insofar as they play a part at dockside."
McGregor had kept well distant from Mr Joseph Andrews since becoming the cause of him being cured of his addiction to opium. It had been to Mr Joseph's benefit, as he himself would no doubt admit, but it had been a painful business and had left a degree of resentment of 'busy-bodying Scots do-gooders'.
"Perhaps we should leave well alone, sir."
"Coastal shipping will still be needed, possibly even more so. Mr Joseph has talked much of the new 'railway trains' - long lines of carriages pulled by a single engine and taking as many as one hundred men at a time from one town to another. Was such a 'train' to travel from London to Dover, then there would be many passengers wishing to make an expeditious crossing to Calais. There would be small point in travelling very fast to the coast and then to wait days for the wind to turn fair."
"Steam packets, Sir William, such as we already build for the Isle of Wight. As big as our colliers, I think, so to carry more passengers. We should look at the drawings from our Southampton yard, sir."
"Who is to buy them, Mr McGregor?"
"The Channel Steam Packet Navigation Company, Sir William. I suspect my lord could be persuaded to create such an entity. A crossing of no more than three hours is no great risk, and Roberts could again be a leader in the country. There might well be a substantial profit to be made as well. The Company to buy ships from Roberts, exclusively, of course. We are to make an arrangement with the Railway Company when such comes to exist, their passengers to be put down at the gangway to our ship, possibly even buying their ticket in London before they enter the 'train'."
Sir William could see the benefits to such an organisation.
"Write it up, Mr McGregor. I will take it to my lord, in person, and make very sure that your name is prominent. Very keen on profit shares, is my lord, like his father before him."
Miss Masters, daughter to the Marquis of Grafham was discontented with her lot. She had made her come out, her bow to Society, was to enjoy a third Season, her parents in the expectation that she would soon thereafter be wed, hopefully to a gentleman who would enjoy her playing of the pianoforte. She was daughter to rank and increasing wealth and had not been without suitors.
She complained bitterly to her brother that it was not what she wanted, but that her wishes were consistently ignored.
"I wish to play, George. I wish to sit at my piano in front of an audience of connoisseurs and to make music such as they have rarely heard. I truly believe myself to be as fine a player as any I have heard perform, and better than most! If I cannot, as Grafham's daughter, do so in London, then why not in Paris, or Vienna? Why must I sit with my hands folded in the company of the deaf and the stupid?"
Rothwell had no answer. It seemed unfair, but that was how Society worked. Young ladies of birth and breeding had no business being talented - it was not done.
Performers, however brilliant and sophisticated they might be, were one step up from whores - and not a long step, either - as far as Society was concerned. The stage, in whatever form it took, was not the place for the genteel. It was all very well to say that it was different in Paris or Vienna, but they were foreign and anything went there - they were not English and there was little more to be said.
"As well be a portrait painter, or a sculptor, sister - it can create fame and they are no doubt talented, but, not the thing, you know!"
"You are a small-minded fool, George! You cannot apply yourself to use your own intelligence and see no reason why I should do better than you. Well, you can be a jolly good chap, if that is all you are fit for, but I will not waste my life!"
She flung out of the small withdrawing room, no doubt going upstairs to have a good cry, George thought. He wandered off to the stables, out to take exercise and to inspect a part of the estates, to continue to get to know all of the lands he would one day inherit. He thought it was rather unfair of Meg to accuse him of wasting his brain - he was trapped as eldest son just as much as she was as a daughter. He glanced about him as he reached the stables, could not see his brother.
"Another damned artist! No doubt out painting some sylvan glade while claiming to be going about the agent's job!"
On reflection, that was unfair. His brother was doing a very good job, was looking after the family interests in the most responsible fashion.
"The Season, what a prospect to look forward to!"
He laughed at himself, a real Tragedy Jack he was becoming.
He must marry soon, could not put it off much longer in respect to his father's wishes. The problem was that in four years of looking about him he had not found any young lady of birth and fortune who had caused him to lose so much as a minute's sleep. It seemed increasingly probable that he must make a marriage of convenience, which was not what he had ever hoped for. One could argue, of course, that his parents had done just that, and Lord Andrews had a successful example to display as well. Provided one did not seek the heights of romantic emotion, then an arrangement could do very well, or so it seemed.
He enumerated the other matches that he knew of, formed for reasons of logic and calculation rather than untrustworthy infatuation.
George Star, of course, a prime example; his brother Henry as well, he understood. Joseph Andrews was said to be in the market for a bride next Season; he must get onto closer terms with Joseph, they would be much in each other's company, it seemed.
None of the people he knew in arranged matches were actively unhappy, which was more than he could say for some of the acquaintances he had observed over the last few years who had married for love. It might well be the case that he should make a determined effort to find a bride, irrespective of any emotional nonsense.
Treat it as an intellectual exercise.
Requirements: a degree of intelligence; a modicum of good looks; a lot of money; a family of good birth, with no embarrassing relatives. He had dallied a little in the company of one young lady two years previously, and she had suddenly produced an
uncle who was a bishop, of all things; not what one wanted hanging about at family gatherings, particularly bearing in mind his grandparents, for whom he had a great and abiding affection.
He would become a marquis in the fullness of time, the second tier of the nobility, outranked by dukes and royalty only. If he wanted a political career then it would be open to him with very little effort; a place at Court was his for the asking; more importantly, he could beg for favours in the expectation that they would not be casually refused. A wife's brother who was a soldier would be able, within reason, to pick his own postings as attaché or aide to a general; a cousin who wanted to go out to India would find John Company very willing to find him a respectable place. There were advantages to his rank, and they would parlay into a wife with a very substantial portion and coming from a powerful family in her own right.
The Jewish aspect must be considered, obviously, but as it translated into the potential for a significant inheritance on the old man's death it would not be too great a drawback. Very few families tended to mention all of their ancestors, nor were they expected to. The Austrians might have their sixty-four quarterings, and they were the poorer for them; the British substituted a lot of common sense instead.
So then, eldest daughter of a baron was the lowest he need look, shading down to second or third of a duke; thirty thousand pounds in trust, at minimum; at least one brother or cousin or uncle to be a Public Man, holding respectable office in the government, or the next if of the wrong party.
Blonde or brunette?
Who cared? Just as long as she was not actively stupid or horsey - he could not bear to share his place in her affections with a stallion, still less a gelding!
Very satisfactory - a little applied thought could normally find a way forward.
He rode on, at peace with the world and, more importantly, himself.
His sister Margaret had fled to her other brother for sympathy.
"You must continue to play, Meg. Your talent is too great to be thrown away. I wish I could say the same of mine, but I fear I shall never rise to the heights."
She looked at the very competent landscape he had recently completed, and was forced to agree with him. It was very accurate, told the viewer exactly where she was and at what time of year, and conveyed nothing else at all. It was accurate, and loving, but it was sterile, she thought.
"Had you considered animals, Fred? Horses, for example?"
"Another Stubbs? No, I have never attempted that, perhaps I should."
"And what can I do? Run away, like the heroine of a melodrama? Flee to Paris, there to attract the attention of a prince and to be taken from the gutter and elevated to the heights I deserve?"
"You could speak to your grandfather when next you are in London. We have relatives in Vienna and Munich, and he might suggest that you should visit them over winter, to gain the language. I am told that they are cultured people - anything could result. Our grandparents have a far greater respect for things artistic, you know - they might persuade Papa to allow you to play."
It seemed good to her, and she wisely decided to say nothing more of her ambitions to her parents. Let them think she had discarded the wholly ineligible ideas of adolescence, was growing up to be a sensible miss - they would be far more likely to allow her to make a visit overseas if they trusted her to have become, as they saw it, mature.
"They would never allow me to go alone, Frederick. Could you express a desire to broaden your mind, not unlike the old Grand Tour?"
He loved his sister and admired her brilliance. It was only a small sacrifice she was asking, he could leave his rural retreat for her sake. Additionally, he thought, it would take him away from the younger girl, who was a perfect Philistine, old enough to mock his artistic inclinations, too young to have learnt courtesy; she could have her horses all to herself for six months, to the pleasure of all.
The Grafhams were only too pleased that Meg had 'settled down', could not find any objection to her making the acquaintance of her relatives in the Austrian Empire and the Germanies. A little travel must be a good thing, especially under the chaperonage of her brother, who needed to spread his wings as well.
"You never know, my dear, you might meet this Herr Beethoven whose music seems to impress you so greatly!"
"I would have relished the opportunity, Papa. I might well have been able to discuss the Diabelli Variations with him, sir, for although I have them in my memory I am still unsure of the exact meaning that some parts should possess. Though, when one considers the matter, he would no doubt have responded that I must discover my own understanding, for only that can be valid. As he is recently dead, however, it is an impractical ambition."
"Yes, my dear."
Letters were sent, easily done using the bankers' network, far more reliable than the Post Office. There were proposals to actually reform the Post Office so that it might start to send mail rapidly from one part of the country to another, but it was felt that this was an ambitious undertaking, far from guaranteed of success. The banking houses of Europe maintained their own couriers and since the end of the French Empire had kept close contact with each other, in the interests, they said of financial stability, but also that they might be able to flee the next dictator before he arose.
The Goldsmith cousins in Vienna were very pleased to invite Meg to stay with them, but those in Munich suggested that this was not a good year - there had been some disorder again.
"Jew-baiting, my dear, a favourite sport of the barbarian Teuton. It does not occur in England, or not in recent years. Society may occasionally sneer and snub, but it is rare that the mob is set loose upon our Jews. The Russians and Poles, of course, are a different matter - they will butcher Jews at the least provocation, or none at all, but the Churches are strong there, which they are not, thankfully, in England. Whilst in Vienna, my dear, you will be well-advised to take advice from your cousins on where you will be safe. You are half-Jewish, and to some bigots that is quite sufficient."
Meg had never met up with the concept of anti-Semitism, did not like to discover it now. She went to her mother for advice and to ask whether her father was not exaggerating.
"Our families came to England at the invitation of the government here, and were delighted to do so. It is easy to forget that one is a Jew in England. A good reason to travel, my love - it will help you to understand all that you are."
She was more interested in all that she might become, smiled and said nothing.
"It is felt, Mr Andrews, that the current incarnation of the Corn Laws is generally unacceptable in the country as a whole. As you know, the importation of foreign grains is wholly forbidden, yet the price of wheat, for example, is three times higher in England than in America. This, of course, can only have one result."
James was puzzled, but he was used to that feeling, began to think his way through the problem.
"One would expect, bearing in mind previous experience, that the effect must be to generate a smuggling trade. All very well, but the, ah, physical process of surreptitiously moving a hundred or so tons of wheat at a time cannot be simple to conceal."
"Quite, sir - one would hardly shift wheat across the beaches at night!"
"Therefore, it must come through the ports... Bribery and corruption of Harbourmasters and other officials, and on a large scale. Simple enough to disguise, when one considers the matter. Much grain is moved by coasters from port to port, from small harbours to the great cities especially. A large quantity must cross the sea from Ireland. Thus, an ocean-going carrier becomes a coastal ketch on paper and a thousand tons of American wheat becomes twenty consignments of fifty tons of grain from Wells-next-the-Sea or Lynn Regis or Boston in Lincolnshire."
"Exactly so, Mr Andrews. That is precisely what is happening, I believe. And it will continue to happen, sir, because it is profitable and people are starving. There is no desire amongst the local men to root out the corruption, because they approve of its effects."
&nb
sp; James nodded, knowing that if he became aware of such activities he would say not a word. He could not approve of the Corn Laws, of the deliberate creation of a shortage of bread in the country, of the starvation of the poorest in order to make a greater profit for the richest.
"We wish, in the short term, to modify the Corn Laws, to lessen their effects so as to permit imports, bearing a Customs Duty, when the English harvest is poor and the price on the domestic market rises. Eventually, over ten or twenty years, we would phase the restriction out entirely, giving the farmers time to change their habits and find other crops to depend on."
James could approve of that, was about to offer his support when he suddenly remembered who had introduced the Corn Laws, whose brainchild they were.
"The Prime Minister, Lord Goderich - was it not he who introduced the Corn Laws, who persuaded Parliament to support them at the end of the wars?"
Goderich had only been a few weeks in office, having succeeded to Canning who had finally entered Number Ten earlier in the year, a sick man enjoying the most short-lived of triumphs.
"It was, Mr Andrews. The Corn Laws are his brainchild, one might say - perhaps the single fruit of his genius, such as it is. They are very dear to him."
Blubberer Goderich was loved by very few of either party, had been put into office as a compromise, to give a breathing space while the parties considered what must happen next. The political world was in a state of flux, many members apparently unsure of just which party they belonged to, and a number of Whigs had accepted office in what was theoretically a Tory government. Goderich could not guarantee to command a majority in the House of Commons if he was forced to rely on his own people.
A Parade Of Virtue (A Poor Man At The Gate Series Book 9) Page 10