Born To Privilege (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

  The raven haired, Miss Yonge was twenty-three and had a portion of ten thousand pounds. She also had a slight squint and freckles and a shyness from her awareness of the disfigurement – Society was intolerant of physical imperfection amongst its females. She was bookish, possibly as a result, and had very little expectation of ever receiving a suitor, had not realised that Mr Star was being presented to her in that light.

  Mrs West was the young widow of a captain who had fallen in the Pyrenees at the end of the Spanish campaigns. There were no children and she was living in her parents’ home again, anxious to regain her freedom and very willing to be made up to by any personable man, and very broad in her definition of what constituted ‘personable’.

  Thomas Star had met all three within his first week in London and very quickly decided that Mrs West was too lively and too anxious to secure a husband at any price and that Miss Notley was likely to be too demanding of him – she would want a vigorous social life and the opportunity to spend his money, he supposed. Miss Yonge, however, would share many of his interests and would have few objections, he thought, to a country existence; he made an effort to dance and talk with her, begged her company at supper on the third occasion they met at a ball, paid a morning call next day. Her mama, observing in hopeful amaze, made a point of sitting next to Verity at a concert next evening.

  “Lady Verity Andrews, is it not?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we have not been introduced, I know, but you are Mrs Yonge, I believe. I have met your daughter, she is sat next to Lord Star’s heir, I see.”

  “Elizabeth, yes… she seems quite taken with Mr Star. I believe his family is in some way related to yours, ma’am?”

  “Not as such, but Lord Star and Lord Andrews met as very young men at sea and formed a firm friendship. They fought at each other’s side and then entered business together as partners and are still very close. Both, of course, became very rich. I believe Lord Star might be compared with Peel, in fact.”

  Peel, the renowned cotton millionaire, was accepted as very respectable, his son progressing far in the party.

  “One has not met with the Stars in London?”

  “No, they have little interest in the fashionable life. I believe Mr Star would be very likely to spend much of his year on the estate. They succeeded the Plenderleiths in their place on the edge of the Pennines, you know.”

  “Elizabeth is not a great one for society…”

  “I think she would do very well for Mr Star, and he is no small catch, ma’am, to be blunt. He came to London this year at his parents’ urging – his mother is a Jackson of Huntingdon, you know? He had no particular intention of securing a bride immediately but, from the little he has said, I think he has changed his mind.”

  Mrs Yonge was satisfied, turned her attention to the music, pieces by the great Austrian pianist-composer, Hummel, renowned for his friendly rivalry with Herr Beethoven. A more popular composer, perhaps, but very pleasant to listen to.

  Thomas Star paid a morning visit next day, anxious to ask Lady Verity whether she thought it would be proper for him to propose marriage to Miss Yonge on so short an acquaintance. He was reassured on this point and left to beg audience of her father.

  Mr Yonge, who had not for a moment believed his wife’s assertions that Elizabeth had a suitor for her hand, was delighted to receive Mr Star, was overjoyed to listen to his proposals for settlements. Somewhat diffidently he put Elizabeth’s ten thousands – which suddenly seemed rather insignificant - on the table, aware that he was going to have to actually disburse the cash – he had long, in his mind, assigned her portion to other uses.

  “In her name, sir, written in trust – it would secure her an income of some four hundreds at current rates, held quite separate from the allowance I would make her and from the household expenses. It would, I suspect, make a bookseller or two happy. Does she play, sir? We do not have a pianoforte in the house and I could pay Clementi a visit whilst I am in London.”

  Mr Yonge informed him that she played rather well, he thought – but he was no doubt biased by parental affection. He felt it wise to beg Elizabeth’s attendance on him before they proceeded further, however.

  Miss Yonge came to her father’s room, somewhat puzzled by his summons because she knew that Mr Star was with him.

  “Elizabeth, my dear girl! Mr Star wishes to speak to you. I shall leave you, for the while.”

  On her own with Mr Star it was obvious what must be on his mind. She was quite dumbfounded, clasped her hands tightly and waited for him to speak.

  “Miss Yonge, I have spoken to your father and begged his permission to ask your hand in marriage. I know that we have known each other for a very short time, but I am very sure that I would very much like you to become my wife. I would wish, I must say, to spend much of the year on our estate up on the moors, but Manchester is a large city and very close and has many amenities and we would obviously visit London frequently – and from all you have said you are not a Town person at heart. I know that I should be very happy in your company, and I believe I could make you a good husband, for your happiness will also be my concern. My father and mother will, I am quite certain, be very glad to welcome you to our family.”

  She had never really expected to marry, had built a life for herself on that basis – a comfortable, quiet existence with her books and some music and the countryside and her garden and the rare visits to London. Now, she was asked to leave Sussex and move to the industrial North. There would be the demands of a man to accommodate, and the inevitable children; a house; a title, for she would become baroness, in time; there would be wealth, from all she understood; it was a great upheaval that he was demanding of her. She liked him; she could talk with him, she had discovered; she was not wholly without ambition, and Aunt Cromer, who had married her two daughters into the local squirearchy, with much condescension to her spinster niece, would turn green with envy. It might even be fun, and her placid life had been short of that. Half a minute sufficed – if he wanted her, and he seemed genuinely to do so, then she would rather like to change her life.

  “Thank you, Mr Star – you took me by surprise. I had thought of you as a pleasant new friend, but I shall be very happy to welcome you as more, sir! Yes, if you are quite certain in your own mind, then I would like to wed you, sir.”

  “I am very certain indeed, Elizabeth!”

  She took his hand, shyly, uncertainly, offered her lips, discovered that kissing was not at all unpleasant. Her parents were openly joyful, feted her as they closed the door behind Mr Star later in the day.

  “Will you write some letters now, Mama?”

  “To my sister, for example, my dear? I think so! Your father will write to his cousin, Lord Langton, who is head of the family, to inform him of the very desirable contract you have made, and he will, no doubt, spread the word to all of your other relations, every one of whom will be anxious to be remembered to the new baroness! You may expect the congratulations to start flooding in from next week! The Stars are very close to the Andrews, who are part of the Grafham family – I expect you will find yourself presiding over some very large dinner tables over the years, my love, often filled with the great of the land. I am delighted! I believe Mr Star to have been generosity itself when it comes to Settlements. Your young brother inherits our small estates, of course, and I believe you will find yourself far better off than his wife when he marries! I am so pleased!”

  Mama had little respect for her only son – she loved him dearly, as was only proper, but she could find little spark of wit or genius in him, could see him as no more than a minor sporting squire in the whole of his existence. Such ambition as she had ever had had focussed on her daughter and had dwindled sadly over the previous five years.

  Lady Jersey approved of the match – it was of her devising, after all - and extended an invitation to Mr Star to attend the ball she was hosting, one of the annual high points of the Season. She made a point of speaking at some length to
him and his affianced bride, informing all that the pair had her blessing. Both received invitations enough to keep them engaged every night for the remaining three weeks until the Season tailed off. Lord Star, his heir was informed, would be expected to show his face next year – the family was accepted in the Upper Ten Thousand. Thomas, who, alone of the younger generation of the family, knew his father’s parentage and provenance, was entertained.

  “A letter from Lord Frederick, Thomas – he has heard that our living is vacant and begs that he might offer the name of a nephew of his wife – his late, first wife, that is! Captain Harker has sent in his papers from the 83rd, the ‘bookworms battalion’. He sat his terms at Oxford before persuading his father that he would rather be a soldier than take Holy Orders; he has now changed his mind, it would seem. Lord Frederick says that he was wounded on no fewer than five occasions, campaigning before Copenhagen and in Spain, but is still fit and able to meet the demands of a rural parish. He is unwed but has three sisters, one of whom will probably act as housekeeper. Let me see… yes, he has a ‘small’ income of his own, some two hundred and fifty a year, or thereabouts. Together with the three hundred and fifty of the living that would enable him to live very comfortably indeed – cook and two maids, I would expect.”

  “We have no other candidate for the living, I believe, Verry?”

  “None from within the family, Thomas. We could sell the living for seven to ten years purchase, of course…”

  “I would prefer not to – we do not need three thousands that badly, my dear. Write to Lord Frederick, if you would be so good, and invite him to send Captain Harker to us. I shall bid Quillerson to put the estate’s man into the rectory – a coat of paint will no doubt be appreciated and there will always be minor repairs to make good.”

  Captain Harker, the Reverend as he now was, showed himself to be a respectable thirty year old – of medium height, somewhat weather-beaten in the face, the result of nearly ten years of campaigning, well-muscled but not fat, lively and alert-seeming. He was full of his desire to settle down to a peaceful, useful existence – he had seen his fill of war and bloodshed, wanted no more than to shepherd a contented flock to the Gates of Heaven.

  “I rather think, Reverend Harker, that the bulk of your flock has strayed from the paths of the Established Church – they have chosen Chapel and Methodies rather than the more traditional forms of Godliness.”

  The Reverend was dismayed to hear this. He had seen the pernicious effects of the Ranters in his and other battalions, knew that they were a force for disorder with their insistence on the need for the individual to take responsibility for his own salvation and for his own life. How could they be brought to a proper state of obedience? What was to be done?

  “Nothing, sir – the people believe themselves to be free-born Englishmen and to have the right to choose for themselves. There is enough of discontent already, Reverend, due to unemployment and low wages. Rick-burning has occurred in most of the neighbouring parishes and farmers in some parts of the country are in fear of their lives. In the north country things are, if anything, worse, the new towns all on the edge of insurrection. The chapels offer relief – soup-kitchens and the like, while the Church gives but very little in most parishes, so the chapel is dearer far to most of their hearts. In this parish, sir, you will discover that the Church gives a dole of bread and potatoes and mutton to every household that has no earning man or too many children, and we do not demand that they attend on a Sunday to qualify. You will wish, no doubt, to play your part in the free day-school that has been established here – every child in the village learns his or her letters, Reverend, and the school dishes out a hot meal at twelve every day. A number of other parishes do this, I know, and where it happens there is no disorder because the people have too much to lose by rioting!”

  “The cost, my lord?”

  “Insignificant compared to the burning down of even a single farm, and of the hangings that would follow. We must have good order amongst the people, Reverend Harker – the country will not survive without it – and I do not believe that order can be attained using lash and noose. Such being the case, the rich amongst us must pay for order – we must ensure that every man and woman is fed, that every child is educated – only thus will our people be obedient and hard-working.”

  Harker had seen, and ordered, the lash many times during his army days – it seemed to him that all discipline flowed from the triangle. He ventured to say so.

  “Yet I have heard of unpopular, flogging officers dying in battle, Reverend Harker – brave enough men, yet their wounds to be found in their backs, sir!”

  “That happens, my lord – I suspect every soldier could name one at least who has gone that way, yet the men do not resent what they see as fair floggings. When a soldier has broken the code then they will stand and watch almost approvingly, and cowards, for example, they would see shot without a murmur.”

  The example of Lord Jack was in the mind of Verity and Thomas both, but they could hardly say so – such matters were not for public discussion. They invited Harker to dine with them – it would be interesting to see how he behaved in company.

  “Thomas, a letter from James – he has, he tells me, been able to join the companies being sent out to the African Coast where there is a campaign to be fought, the slave traders to be wiped out in their little ports and forts along the Gold Coast. He sails soon, probably will be at sea already for he was able at the last minute to take the place of another ensign who broke his leg when his horse fell. He says that he was able to buy a campaign chest and equipment on credit which he begs you will pay, thinking that you would not object. You may deduct it from his allowance if he is mistaken!”

  “And, as well, he knows that I will not be able to use my influence if he has already sailed – he is beyond my reach,” Tom replied, grim-faced and speaking heavily. “He wishes to go out and be blooded, it would seem, but I would to Christ he had gone anywhere else!”

  “Have you heard anything, Thomas? Do you know of this campaign?”

  “Nothing – I did not know it was to occur, but I know of the Fever Coast and the Bight of Benin – half of the men will die of the fevers, at least. If he lives, he will come back a lieutenant in acting command of his company, quite possibly the only officer on his feet – valuable experience…”

  There was no point to telling her more, in saying that he was grossly understating the odds when he offered a mortality rate of half of those involved. He would not have said as much had he not been taken by surprise.

  “He sent the bill to Michael, I presume?”

  “Yes, so he says.”

  “Good, he will have dealt with it already; he is under instruction not to let James fall into debt, to keep him out of the clutches of the money-lenders. He has already told me that the boy has had enough sense to keep out of gambling circles – all of his fellows play, of course, some for very high stakes, but he has steered clear of the more foolish. He has lost a little money at race-meetings, and won occasionally, and has bet on the outcome of fights he has attended – he enjoys pugilism, it would seem – but he has stayed away from the more ridiculous activities.”

  He did not mention that Michael had reported the young gentleman to be a regular patron of a very exclusive house within walking distance of his barracks. Verity might not approve of such doings.

  There was nothing to be done about the African campaign – the boy was committed to it. If he lived, the experience would do him great good, provided he regained his health.

  His youngest son, still at home, demanded his attention as well – he had a new invention to display.

  They went out together to the works near the road from Kettering to Bedford where it passed through Finedon. There was a trackway there leading down to the canal from Kettering to the River Nene at Wellingborough. Next to it they had laid another short stretch of iron track, a furlong or so in a wide gauge of more than six feet rather than the more-or-les
s standard cart width of a little less than five. There were three iron rails, Tom immediately noticed, one down the centre that was notched with teeth almost the width and height of his hand.

  “Our new locomotive engine, Papa, built according to Blenkinsop’s ideas, but improved. He has a single wheel to one side, which imposes a cross-strain which causes the cylinder and piston to warp and break in a short while.”

  Tom and Verity inspected the beam engine on its mobile base – six smooth iron wheels, three on either side, each of more than three feet diameter, and a smaller, thicker, centrally placed cog-wheel driven by a strong chain leading up to the wheel of the steam engine.

  Alec Fraser stood on the plate in front of the engine, a stoker behind him feeding coal into the fire-box. There was a small crowd watching, including Eakins’ second girl, smiling happily.

  “Hold the horses, Wilkins!”

  There was a loud hissing and clattering, black smoke poured from the tall chimney and steam spurted from the single cylinder and piston housing and the engine began to move, pushing up to walking pace and reaching the end of the track within two minutes; a few seconds to reverse linkages and it returned to the start.

  “Watch now, Papa! You too, Mama,” he added as an obvious afterthought.

  Joseph and Fraser between them hooked on a line of six wagons, each loaded with ironstone from the quarry, not less than three tons apiece Tom estimated.