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

by Andrew Wareham

  Fraser cracked open his steam valve and the engine started again, pulling the huge weight quite easily.

  “Three hundred pounds, sir, the cost of the engine and the trucks. I would like, sir, if you agree that it makes sense, to build track from the furnace to the quarry and then alongside the existing trackway down to the canal. We would need a second engine, sir, and more trucks.”

  “Will it pay for itself, Joseph?”

  “Eventually, sir, I hope – but not necessarily in the next few years. I think we will have to improve the strength of the rails, and I am not happy about the pressure the boiler can deliver, and we need thicker and better wrought iron for the fire-box and…”

  “Enough! In short, it is still an experiment, is it not?”

  Joseph was silenced, nodded unhappily.

  “Build it, Mr Fraser – we must progress, and we can only do so by testing our new ideas. However, this is not the proper place for your endeavours – we are too far away from the home of coal and iron and steam. I wish you to go, with Joseph, to St Helens, Mr Fraser, there to become engineer to the New Works, which is moving out of cannon and into the manufacture of steam engines. Arrangements are being made for your housing, and your salary will obviously be made more appropriate. Build your new locomotive engines and track there, Mr Fraser, if you will agree to go. A little bird tells me, by the way, sir, that you are considering a change to your single state?”

  Fraser reddened, agreed that he was, that in fact Mr Eakins’ second girl had done him the honour of accepting his proposal.

  “Good! I am very glad for you, Mr Fraser – a pretty girl and intelligent too, she will make you an excellent wife! Nothing happens in the countryside that remains unknown for more than ten minutes, as you must have become aware. I will send a message to Mr Mason at the New Works, and he will ensure that all is right for you.”

  “Thank you, my lord. What of Mr Joseph, sir, where will he live?”

  “I hope you will agree that he should have rooms in your house, Mr Fraser, until he is of an age to look after himself, that is.”

  Fraser noted the implication that his new house would be large enough to fit Joseph in comfortably.

  “When you say I am to be ‘Engineer’ at the New Works, my lord, I am to do what, exactly? I would not wish to tread upon the toes of Mr Frederick Mason in ignorance.”

  “Well thought of, sir! I would wish you to design and build our own steam engines, especially for cranes and derricks, and to consider the problems of deep pits – how to pump out water from the lowest levels and the provision of reliable winding engines. As well, Mr Mason tells me that there is some interest in the provision of steam powered shipping, and the use of iron for hulls.”

  “They are building an iron ship in Glasgow now, my lord, and they have used small iron canal barges on the Severn for years for coal carrying. Steamships with iron-plated hulls make sense, my lord, considering that good timbers are impossible to come by in Britain today. If there is to be ship-building in England then iron can be the only way forward.”

  “I agree, Mr Fraser – over the next little while you will consider the question thoroughly and when you are sure in your own mind you will discover a ship-building yard – in Liverpool, I should imagine – that is suitable for your purposes and is currently making a loss – old-fashioned, badly managed, you know the sort of thing – and buy it up cheaply and start our production there.”

  “We could build new, my lord.”

  Tom raised an eyebrow, he had become unused to contradiction.

  “We could indeed, Mr Fraser, but I would expect the best deep-water inlets to have been utilised already. If, however, you can discover a suitable location, then by all means take it up.”

  Tom had been watching the activities of his son and the stoker on the travelling steam engine, noted that they had drawn the fire and that it was no longer producing significant quantities of steam. He decided he should inspect the ‘locomotive’ more closely, ventured up onto the footplate.

  “The fire seems set well back inside the machinery, Mr Fraser.”

  “Yes, my lord, it enables us to surround it with water, the boiler enclosing the fire above, behind and on both sides, and we run the flue to the chimney in a long ‘U’ shape through the middle of the boiler, so as to use the waste heat efficiently.”

  “Clever! Why is it so wide, Mr Fraser – most trackways are about the same size, a bit under five feet, if I remember.”

  “Two reasons, my lord – the most important being stability – a wider base means we can build a taller engine without fear of it toppling over, especially where it must turn a bend. As well, my lord, wider wheels mean bigger trucks that can carry heavier loads. The trackways were built for donkeys and children to pull on, not for powerful steam engines.”

  The price of progress, Tom mused – no work for the children of the poor, what would they do now?

  It was necessary, Verity decreed, to hold a dinner-party for the neighbourhood to celebrate the family’s return to residence. It was a courtesy normally to be expected, and, besides, young Mr Hunt had yet to be formally welcomed to the Hall and now that he had succeeded to his father’s honours, having come of age at long last, they should meet him.

  “Is he here? How old is he now?”

  “Thirty – his father had had bad reports of him from his school – they said he was wild and uncontrollable, if I remember – and laid down that the estates should be held in trust until he reached a ‘mature age’. He came down from his school, was despatched to Oxford but never reached there, as I was told. He reappeared some three years ago, you will recall, stayed with his mother for less than a week, drew upon his accumulated income and left again. She tells me that he said if he was not to be master on his own land then he would not stay on it. He came back, Quillerson tells me, on his birthday, while we were in London.”

  “Understandable, even if not desirable – who were his trustees?”

  “His mother and Farquhar and Sterne of Kettering, I believe.”

  Tom snorted – Farquhar and Sterne were perhaps the least reputable of the three partnerships of attorneys in the town.

  “Sterne’s eldest boy was a lieutenant under Major Hunt’s command, died in America in the engagement in which the Major lost his arm.”

  “That speaks for itself, of course – is there likely to be an action for waste, do you suppose?”

  “Probably not, Thomas – Benjamin, the younger brother, remained in residence, and I believe he constituted himself agent for Nigel. His father left him an adequate income, which he could well afford to do, and the young man wanted an occupation as well. I suspect, though I would never say so, that he may have wondered if his brother had died as the years passed and they heard nothing of him, in which case he was protecting his own interests as heir.”

  “Do we know where Nigel was during these years?”

  She shook her head – not even the slightest conjecture.

  Two families of Latimers from Burton, the two who were currently on speaking terms with each other, joined their dinner party, making the numbers respectable with the three Hunts, the Reverend and the Marquis and his lady and the Rothwells, arrived for their summer stay.

  Book Three: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter Eight

  The dinner party was not a success. It would be recorded in Verity’s Occurrence Book in great, candid, painful detail, with notes on what must and must not be done next time it was necessary to entertain the County. If Robert was to become a public figure then frequent hospitality would be increasingly necessary and the County must compete for invitations, must flock to their lead, but their entertainments must never be dull, or, far worse, controversial.

  The food and wines had been excellent, served in courses in the most modern fashion. No fish, not in summer, even with the canals to make transport so much quicker – but the soups and veal and capons and duck and goose had served to count
er the roast beef and baked ham and shoulder of pork and roast lamb and cook had produced a whole range of sweets - macaroons, meringues and trifles in all of their varieties.

  The problem had been the company. The two families of Latimers, not currently in feud and able to mix with each other in public, County squireens at their best, had been concerned to discuss poachers and vagrants and ‘the wicked combinations of farm labourers who no longer knew their proper place’. The Grafhams and Rothwells were interested in Town gossip and the latest news from Vienna and the future, if any, of the Alliance. The Hunts wished only to establish themselves on terms with their neighbours after so long an absence from the social scene. Reverend Harker, a placatory bridge between the factions was as yet known to none of them. There had been no common ground, no community of interest between the guests, no understanding between old England and the new.

  The Latimers rapidly became aware of the presence of Mr Hunt, and of his ten thousand a year, by the least computation, and his broad acres. Between them they numbered three unwed daughters over the age of sixteen and present at table, two of them very pretty girls and one of the equine persuasion, none of them with the intelligence that was, in any case, wholly unnecessary for a female. They tittered and simpered and chorused agreement to Mr Hunt’s every word, the more buxom of the pretty pair leaning perilously forward under his nose, not wishing to hide her light under a bushel, as it were. Verity was deeply mortified that such gaucheries should occur at her table – this was not a house of assignation, after all!

  Mr Hunt was not greatly entertained either – perhaps his affections were already engaged, Verity thought, charitably. Thomas observed his mannerisms and had a different opinion of him, but he quite liked the younger brother, Benjamin, and could understand why he took such an interest in the estate that it seemed very probable he would inherit. It cast another light upon his father’s actions, as well, made him wonder exactly what the schoolmasters had had to say when they had damned his brother.

  Conversation flagged after the ladies left the table and Tom brought up the question of the unemployed ex-soldiers and what was to be done, offering the topic to the Latimers and raising an apologetic, long-suffering eyebrow to his brother-in-law. To his surprise, Nigel Hunt took up the topic.

  “Canada, gentlemen, the coast of Labrador – almost unsettled, cold, rocky, inhospitable, but with minerals of every description immediately inland and covered in virgin forest. Good fishing grounds just offshore and wheat lands a hundred miles or so to the south. Ideal country for hardy young men who are willing to work and earn a good living as freeholders on their own soil or in mines or forests!”

  Tom had not heard of Labrador, was immediately interested, rapidly decided to meet Mr Hunt on a later day to discuss the matter. The Latimers had another, overriding solution. Mr Charles Latimer was moved to intemperate speech, having spent much of the meal with his eyes fixed on Charlotte smiling his best and saying very little. He was unwed, Tom knew, and thoroughly undesirable as a possible husband.

  “If there is land, Mr Hunt, then it should come as estates under the care of the natural landowners! It should certainly not be thrown away in penny-packets into the hands of the Mob!”

  “Hear him! Hear him!”

  The interjection came from the oldest of the Latimers, his father or grandfather, Tom neither knew nor particularly cared which, an almost perfectly spherical gentleman who had devoted himself to silent eating and drinking since first sitting to table. Tom had observed in mute amaze, having failed to bring him into conversation despite several courteous attempts, calculating him to have consumed at least one half of a stone of flesh, somewhat less of various vegetables, twelve glasses of wine and seven distinct portions of sweets. He had said nothing at all to his partners at table.

  Mr Charles Latimer continued his theme.

  “We landowners who are attempting to restore a proper subordination and order in the County need a lead from the Government, my lord. An instruction to the Lord Lieutenant would be most apposite – for what, I ask you, is the benefit in our sentencing the malefactors when he will almost invariably offer commutation? At Quarter Sessions, my lord, we had no fewer than eighteen poachers before us. Eighteen, the parish swarming with them! We chose to send each and every one to the gallows, as was only right and proper, and the Lord Lieutenant reprieved them all! Even more! Five of them he released, ‘bound over to good behaviour’, forsooth!”

  Tom was aware of the cases, Quillerson had given him all of the details, and he knew that the five in question had been a group of boys from two families, the youngest nine years old, the oldest brother only fourteen. They had been caught with a single rabbit, had said that it had run out under their feet and one of them had thrown a stick at it without forethought or plan, had been amazed to knock it down.

  “I believe, Mr Latimer, that the government is concerned that we should not provoke revolution by any excess of severity.”

  “With respect, my lord, nonsense! There can be no such thing as an ‘excess’ of severity when dealing with the ill-conditioned! They understand one thing and one thing only, my lord – the rope! Whether that rope be used as a cat for their backs or a noose for their necks, there is no other solution!”

  “Hear him! Hear him!”

  The decanters had circulated and the proposals for the restoration of good order had become increasingly extreme. By the time Tom led them into the withdrawing rooms they had concluded that a formal decimation of the villagers might be the answer – for the Romans had not been fools, after all!

  “The population is growing, my lord, especially amongst the vulgar. They must be reduced in numbers, just a sufficiency to be left to work the soil and man the army and generally serve their masters. The rest perform no natural function and should be disposed of!”

  Tom, who had reached almost the end of his tolerance, suggested that a large number could be enslaved and used in the manufacturies in the north country and in the coal pits. He was slapped down – these new aberrations could not last, had no place in a civilised country, there was no need for them – look at the example on his own lands – dirty, smelly, worthless!

  Verity, peace-making as a good hostess should, suggested that the new ploughs and harrows coming from the works were of value to them all, was stiffly reminded that their sole effect was to force the fields to produce more food which was eaten by the rabble and thus permitted them to breed more heavily. A pointless exercise, and probably in defiance of the will of God, did not the Reverend agree?

  The Reverend did not agree but wished to keep the peace, muttered vaguely that the Bible could be read in many ways.

  The moon set late but heavy cloud forced the party to break up while there was still light enough to drive by, to the relief of all except the Latimers, who had had a jolly evening.

  “May I retire, Papa?” Charlotte had a peeved expression, had kept very silent for the last two hours.

  “Of course, my dear. I think we shall all be glad to seek our beds tonight.”

  “Actually, Papa, I had intended to ask Betty to bring soap and a jug of hot water to my chamber. I do not know if Mr Charles Latimer actually managed to drool down my front, but his eyes were certainly never elsewhere!”

  “I noticed, my dear. Had his hands strayed I would have dealt with him very sharply, but eyes, I am afraid, are a different matter.”

  She nodded – there was nothing to be done, she feared.

  “Robert!”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Don’t!”

  “As if I would, sir!”

  Charlotte did not understand, asked her mother as they went upstairs together.

  “Robert killed his man in a duel in America, my love, although I am thought not to be aware of the fact and you most certainly have no knowledge whatsoever of the matter! Your Papa was instructing him not to find a quarrel with Mr Charles Latimer. Your brother is very willing to protect you, as he should be, and would have
no qualms at all in putting an end to Mr Charles Latimer’s capers.”

  Did she want the nasty little man killed? On deep reflection she decided it were better not. He had annoyed and disgusted her, but that was not, quite, justification sufficient for putting a period to his existence. She would speak to Robert herself in the morning.

  Robert shrugged – he was willing to let the matter go, if she wished, though he was a little disturbed that she should have heard of his meeting with the American militia officer, what was his name?

  “Did it upset you at all, Robert? I cannot imagine what it must be like, to kill another human being.”

  “Ask Papa – he has vastly more knowledge of the matter than I! No, Charlie, not at all – he forced the quarrel on me, wanting to look a hero in front of society. He was a fool and the world is a better place without him. I know that if the need arises I can do it now, and I know that it does not excite me or sicken me. There are those, I am told, who gain great pleasure from killing, and others who become ill when it is forced upon them, sometimes even going quite mad. I am neither - I will not go in search of a fight, I will never run from one either. I wonder how James feels on the matter? He must have had some experience of battle by now.”

  James at that moment was sat in the sick-berth of a naval two-decker, a store ship that had been made over to the doctors to carry the great mass of fever cases and now the relatively few wounded from the assaults they had made on slave posts along the ‘Bonny coast’.

  Five times in three weeks they had landed two or three companies of foot and half a company of Rifles a mile or two along the coast from a fortalice, marching to a point of cover in the evening, attacking in the first light of dawn. It sounded very efficient, looked pretty on a chalk-board as it was explained to the officers in the great cabin of the troopship. The reality was less attractive.

  The ‘beach’ was actually, in the first case, white sand backed by coconut palms, quite easy to march along, but open to view from two different villages, both of which profited from the trade. They had fought a sniping battle all the way to the compound and had found it empty of all except warriors when they finally reached it. To their disquiet they had discovered the natives to be as well armed as the redcoats, carrying and using efficiently muskets exported from England –without the more accurate, longer-ranged rifles they might have been defeated. The fight had, no doubt, passed the word that the redcoats were dangerous and the greenjackets were killers, for there had been no further attempt at outright battle, but they had taken heavy casualties in that first onslaught, James becoming acting-lieutenant in command of a half-company by morning and having thoroughly enjoyed himself – battle was fun! He had wondered how he would react, whether he would be frightened. He had discovered that he certainly could experience fear, but that it was part of the excitement, added to it in fact. He had killed at least three men with pistol and blade and had been left wholly unmoved – they had had their chance, it had been a fair enough fight.