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

by Andrew Wareham

  “I had hoped that you might be able to nominate a young man of your cloth, one who could go with the people and build a chapel for them, at my expense. As you say, the people are used to their religion and should be kept in the way of performing their duties, but, if it is not to be, then that is your decision, sir. I am sure that a young curate will be found from the Established Church.”

  He left, exchanging polite farewells, debating with himself whether the threat of conversion to the Established Church would be sufficient. The Methodists numbered both of the younger blacksmiths and almost all of the building tradesmen from the village as well as many of the more go-ahead farmers, skilled men who would be needed if his colony village was to be a success. He made his way to the Hunts to pay a morning call.

  “Labrador, Mr Hunt, unknown to me even as a name – the northern sea coast I presume, not on the Lakes?”

  The elder Mr Hunt had spent some years in Canada it seemed – what he had been doing, and with whom, he did not choose to explain – and was much in favour of the almost wholly unsettled new land. There was gold and copper and iron, he knew for certain, and a probability of much more, perhaps tin, which was in very short supply, as my lord would know, and zinc and lead which were increasingly uncommon in England. Timber grew in stands measured by the hundreds of square miles; cod teemed off the coast. It had its drawbacks, of course, but determined men would make little of them.

  “Savage Indians, Mr Hunt?”

  “No, my lord – very few and well-conditioned as a general rule, pleased to accept the protection offered by the king. The weather, my lord, the climate, I should say, is the problem. Long, cold winters with deep snow and high winds at sea, when there is not a dead calm and fog. A rock-bound coastline, as well, but a few natural harbours which could be used.”

  Tom listened with dismay, probed deeper, trying to get an idea of costs and practicalities. At the end of two hours he came to the conclusion that he would have to build a port from new, both to bring in foodstuffs and to export the various, hypothetical, ores, and the great bulk of timber. No doubt his grandchildren, if any, would reap a profit from the adventure, if it did not bankrupt the family first. He would leave it for the while, he thought.

  He discovered as well that the Hudson’s Bay Company had the inland of Canada tied up, controlling all of the concessions and the fur trade and with a lien on the most obvious areas of farming land. Although this monopoly was an undesirable outrage, as Hunt was quick to point out, he would send his people to the States. Robert had told him of new lands to the west being opened every year and they should go there, to the territories discovered by the French voyageurs travelling along the Mississippi.

  “Quillerson!”

  “My lord?”

  “Your son, John, is what, six months younger than Robert?”

  “About that, my lord.”

  “What does he intend to do with himself?”

  “Lounge about in idleness, spending my money, I believe, my lord.”

  It was much the answer Tom had expected – it was common knowledge that Quillerson and his eldest did not see eye-to-eye.

  The boy had attended the Grammar School and had achieved some slight success there, but could have done very much more had he applied himself. He did not want to go up to the University and was unattracted by the law or medicine and his father could not afford to buy him a farm, even if he had wanted one. The word was that the young man had hoped to join, to take a commission in one of the lesser battalions of the Line, the regiments that had been formed by the score during the wars, but the bulk of these new creations were being disbanded or amalgamated now that peace had come, taking with them their middle-class officers, and there was now very little prospect for a person of his order in the Army.

  “Would he be interested to go out to the States, Quillerson, to investigate the openings for emigrants there? I need a man who will identify an area of farming land that our people could take up. I could fee an American at a distance, a man I did not know and had never seen – there are ‘Land Agents’ in plenty, I am told, but I prefer a gentleman who I know and can trust.”

  “I will speak to him, my lord.”

  Tom suspected that that might be an unusual event in their household, Quillerson having almost given up on the boy.

  “He has heard the tales about Mr Robert, my lord, and will be very willing to go out to the States himself. I will be glad to see him doing something worthwhile, my lord. Perhaps he will take it into his head to stay out there, life may be less ‘boring’ in their wild lands and he may find something to do with himself. When do you want him to go, my lord?”

  “As soon as possible, Quillerson. We should send him off to Liverpool next week if we can. Bring him to me tomorrow and I will tell him what I want of him.”

  John Quillerson was shorter than his father, stockily built and showing promise of being a heavy man – he walked solidly, planting his feet with each step. He scowled, a distaste for life in general perhaps rather than a comment on his present company.

  “I believe that land in America is made available to ‘settlers’ in grants of some six hundred and forty acres, a square mile, as a general rule, Mr Quillerson. Assuming that we could send out as many as forty families at a time together with blacksmith and other tradesmen, we would require a substantial area of well-watered land, ideally near a river big enough to float a barge or lighter on. Title to the land would need be clear and fully established, of course. Can you deal with the lawyers and politicians and assorted rogues and villains, and the occasional honest man as well, do you think?”

  “I think so, my lord.”

  “Good! You will find out soon enough if you cannot. I will send you to New York in the first instance and there you will take guidance from our bankers, Goldsmids. Young Mr Goldsmid will put you in contact with some of the right people and will make a few useful suggestions – and then you will be on your own, sir! He will pay your salary – say two hundred and fifty a year, English, in the first instance, and will arrange for a bonus of, shall we say, five pounds for each farmer settled on his own acres with clear title. I would suggest that you look about you for other activities while you are there – would you recognise a coal seam, for example? Furs and timber are an obvious area of enterprise but there must be many more in a growing country. Do you know how to handle pistols and a long gun, by the way?”

  He had fired a fowling piece a few times, had never touched a hand gun. Tom instructed him to report to his little range that afternoon.

  The young man was not a pistol shot, was hard-pressed to hit the barn wall. Tom advised him very strongly not to be quarrelsome, taking some pains the while to encourage him to talk, to unburden himself, for he seemed deeply unhappy, miserable, despairing almost.

  In the end it transpired that the boy felt he did not ‘belong’. He was not a farmer nor was he a gentleman, he did not fit into the middle order of folk who made up the new professions – law and medicine and the Church. He knew what he was not but could not decide what, if anything, he was. Tom scratched his head, at a loss – he had never worried where he fitted in, he had merely done whatever happened to be necessary at any given moment and moved on from there, trying not to cause too much hurt to others in the process. He had no advice to give because he could not understand the problem, did not see that there was a problem – if the world did not fit then one kicked the world until it became the correct shape, where was the difficulty?

  “The Americas are the place for you, Mr Quillerson – a new sort of country where people can make their own life, or so I understand.”

  “Quillerson will be better off without the lad at home, Verry, and I suspect he will be able to do what we need in New York. Young Goldsmid will put him in touch with Colonel Miller who will be anxious to please for the next year or so and will point him in the right direction. There are three girls and another boy to provide company for his mother if he never comes back again, so there is
only gain in his going. Has Mr Smith provided you with a name for a secretary-companion, by the way?”

  She nodded, passing a letter across to him.

  “A cousin, much removed, directly related to the Hawkers, Thomas. Miss Robinson is of some thirty summers, a second daughter, father deceased and mother seeking to economise. I suspect that in fact they do not see eye-to-eye and both will be glad for her to dwell elsewhere, for the Hawkers are none of them poor. How Mr Smith becomes involved, I know not – and she makes no mention of him.”

  A polite, well-written letter, Miss Robinson introducing herself having been informed that Lady Verity was seeking a literate person to assist her in her many duties.

  “Smith has his fingers in a great many pies, I believe, my dear. I suspect he is returning a favour done to him by the late Mr Robinson – of what nature I cannot even venture a guess.”

  Normally Tom would have passed a message to Michael to request elucidation of such a point, but that would hardly be appropriate in these circumstances.

  “I presume that you will invite her to come to meet us here, my dear?”

  “She is somewhat younger than I had hoped for, but, yes, there is little choice in the matter. There are a number of tasks she can perform for me on the estate and she will, no doubt, find ways of occupying herself. I just hope she is not of a quarrelsome disposition, for she has evidently fallen out with her mama.”

  Frederick Mason knocked at George’s door, called by messenger to urgent family conclave. He was escorted down the short hallway by the maidservant, passing the stairs to the basement and sniffing appreciatively at the smell of mutton rising from the kitchen – George kept a good table, or to be precise, his wife and cook did. He entered the rather grandiosely entitled study, a book room, fourteen or fifteen feet on a side, shelved from floor to high ceiling, space only for a single, obligatory, litho of the crucified Jesus on the small amount of panelling showing. George rose from his roll-top desk – the pigeonholes stuffed full of correspondence relating to chapel, school and charities – he kept himself busy in his early months of retirement.

  “Frederick! Thank you for coming so quickly! I hardly know how to broach the topic I must discuss with thee!”

  ‘Thee’ alerted Frederick that his brother was moved by the Spirit, was either much distressed or entering upon a righteous crusade.

  “What is it, George? I have been very busy of late, have not kept in touch with the latest events.”

  “Young Mr Joseph, Frederick, and that reprobate Scotsman of a tutor of his!”

  “Alec Fraser? An outstanding engineer, George! Are you sure you have the right man?”

  George sank into his chair, waving Frederick to a seat beside him.

  “Regrettably, yes, Frederick, there can be no doubt! Of his engineering I have naught to say, that I believe to be impeccable. It is, I blush to say it, his way of life that fills me with concern!”

  Frederick jumped to the obvious conclusion, said he had seen no signs of it in the man, but it was a behaviour to be discovered in the most surprising people. Was he actually molesting Mr Joseph, did he believe? My lord would be most upset, would no doubt, in the common phrase, ‘have Mr Fraser’s guts for garters’!

  George did not immediately understand, blushed the more deeply when he did, assured him that it was not that bad, quite…

  “Mr Fraser keeps company with fallen women, ye will note the plural, brother! And I believe he has introduced Mr Joseph to that same depravity!”

  “What is the boy? Just fifteen, if I have it right – young but not exceptionally precocious. Better perhaps than other habits boys of that age tend to develop.”

  George did not catch the allusion, looked blank until his somewhat more robust brother made a vigorous pumping gesture with his hand.

  “Oh! I am sure he would not, not from his family! His grandfather is a marquis, remember!”

  Not for the first time, Frederick found his brother to be irritatingly naïve and much too willing to truckle to his ‘betters’.

  “You have reason to suppose, George, that Mr Fraser is bringing women in from off the streets for himself and Mr Joseph?”

  “No, not that!” George lowered his voice, started to speak then put a finger to his lips and trotted across to the door, closing it firmly to protect the innocent ears of his household. “He has, brother, though I can barely bring myself to say it, he has installed two scarlet women in his house! They are living there! He is to marry next year, I understand, so one must presume they will be dismissed before that happy event, yet they are dwelling there the while, and, I am reliably told, they do not have rooms of their own and they do not live in the quarters!”

  “They are not both residing with Mr Fraser, one presumes?”

  “Both? The two with one man? How…”

  Frederick found that he had done some violence to his poor brother’s ignorance of the ways of the wicked world. He apologised for his flippancy, preferring that he should not inquire too deeply into the nature of vice – the shock could be bad for him at his age.

  “Do we know how old the ladies are, George?”

  “Young – girls who should not have left the family fireside. More than that I do not know.”

  “They probably come from families that have no fireside, George, if, indeed, they have families at all! What do you suppose we should do?”

  George spread his arms wide, defeated – he had no idea. He was very unwilling to address a letter to my lord and did not know what he could say to Mr Fraser and, as for speaking to young Mr Joseph – he could not!

  “I will have a word with Mr Fraser, brother. This evening, I think.”

  Frederick shook his head, chuckling quietly as he left. He was sure George had gone virgin to his marriage bed in his late forties, had wondered occasionally just how his children had been produced – reasonably normally, he expected, he doubted there was immaculate conception there. He himself journeyed across to Manchester where he knew a very respectable house which met his needs every two or three weeks. He had chosen not to wed again, could not bear the possibility of another son, another loss, but he could not do entirely without female company at its most basic level. Fraser felt the same way, it would seem, but he had been somewhat indiscreet in his solution to his problem. Thinking on the matter, it would have been difficult for Fraser to have looked after himself without Joseph knowing, and it was probably simpler to keep the lad amused than to attempt to beg his silence. He could have sent him out to walk the dog while he was otherwise engaged, but it probably would not have been a long-term solution and he had done what he must. The Chapel would not be pleased, however.

  An hour’s thought as he journeyed across the outskirts of the small town to Fraser’s new house provided a simple solution. The ‘ladies’ must go, there was no question about that, but they should go to their own little house where the gentlemen could visit without attracting undue attention. Roberts could foot the bills and my lord, if he noticed, would have the sense not to ask the wrong questions.

  Alec Fraser was inclined at first to bluster, to ask what concern his private life was of Mr Mason’s, but rapidly saw sense when the solution was outlined to him, in the end was able to express a sense of obligation and gratitude.

  “To be honest with ye, Mr Mason, I had no intention of letting things go this far, but Mr Joseph asked questions when I ventured out of an evening and evidently overheard comments made by cook and the indoor man. He is a bright lad and was easily able to add two and two. Given a choice that he should accompany me one evening or should write a letter home… I was wrong, I know, but the house accommodated him and made him very pleased with himself. Then it seemed better to have his peculiar to hand in his rooms here rather than taking him into the company of some of the people he would have met out there. And that meant setting up my young lady friend as well. What I was to do next year, I had not managed to plan out. This will be for the best, I think, because, the boy having o
nce started in the petticoat line, he will not wish to stop and he could not keep his companion here when I was wed. Baron takes up enough room in the house, will be quite enough for my wife to deal with.”

  Frederick glanced at the huge, drooling dog, laid down with his tongue hanging out and an expression of vacuous amiability large on his face. He nodded understandingly – mastiff and whore together would really be too much, even for a country girl.

  Frederick managed, just, to keep a straight face and make the appropriate set of replies. He did not laugh when they met at the works next morning, despite the shame-faced braggadocio of the boy. They considered steam engines at length instead. It occurred to Frederick that he had noticed Joseph’s spots to have disappeared – perhaps he should have asked himself why.

  “By the way, Mr Fraser, I shall rely upon you to keep Mr Joseph in the way of safe company. Don’t let him indulge casually with streetwalkers, for example, because if he should become poxed then I would not give tuppence for your life expectancy when my lord came to know of it. Everyone knows that the Iron Master was a pirate as a young man – had you not heard? They say that if those pistols of his could talk they would have bloody tales to lay before us!”

  Mason smiled amicably, retired to his office where he roared with laughter – that would keep the little Scots bugger awake at night! Equally, now that he came to consider it… just where would he be if the boy’s valour overcame Fraser’s discretion? My lord might well not be in the mood for a balanced assessment of where the culpability actually lay, might be inclined to make a clean sweep, as it were. What could he do? He knew nothing about the bringing-up of adolescents. Major Wolverstone came to his mind – an Army officer of his rank must inevitably have had much to with green cornets and ensigns, must have had some experience of their particular problems. He was riding out with the geologist surveyor this month, almost his last task before he left English shores, but he would be at home for the weekend, for sure.