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

by Andrew Wareham

  Barker had not, which was unsurprising as he had been born in India and had grown up there, not having ‘returned’ to England for his schooling. Wolverstone cast a knowing eye over him, decided there was more than a sun-tan to his skin, his mother half-caste he suspected. That solved any question of who should be senior man on the station, of course, Barker himself having already made that clear. Wolverstone had at first suspected that Barker was concerned only to shrug failure onto his shoulders, but it was now obvious that he simply knew his proper place.

  “So, Major Wolverstone, we shall need, you tell me, storage go-downs for the coal and ores and a place for the manufacture of the iron and steam engines. Off of the plains in the immediate area of the city, I suggest, sir, the monsoon floods being what they are. Following the river inland some fifty miles, Major Wolverstone, we come to low hills, river bluffs in effect, high enough to be dry, close enough to the river to load your barges. Iron deposits are easy to find and buy – they have been known and worked on a small, local scale forever. Coal is a different matter, sir, I know of none burnt anywhere in the Deccan – it might be used in the hills, where the cold season nights can be quite chilly, but there is no call for it on the lowlands.”

  The major agreed that to seek out coal must be his first priority – he wondered whether there had been a geological survey made of any part of the country, did Mr Barker know, and if so, was it possible to access it. Barker thought the answer to both questions would be ‘no’ – John Company was not in the way of encouraging its rivals and had shown little interest in mines and such in any case.

  “Then we must search out the appropriate hilly areas and ride them, Mr Barker. A local guide or two, perhaps, would make sense.”

  “It would indeed, sir, as would an escort of irregular cavalrymen – there are bandits in the hills, sir – dacoits, badmashes, Pindaris, call them what you will, who would have no hesitation in taking you for ransom if they thought you to be vulnerable. As well, it is said that the worshippers of Kali will make sacrifice of travellers, a practice they refer to as ‘Thugee’, one understands. Twenty or so of good men armed with musket and sword will make very good sense, sir. This is mostly a Hindu area and so I will, with your permission, seek to recruit a troop from the north, of Muslims, who will have no hesitation in killing any of the ‘kafirs’ who cause offence. Were you to be travelling in a Muslim land, I would, of course, recommend the opposite.”

  It was occurring to Wolverstone that India was a very complex country. He said as much to Barker and received a very patronising smile and nod of agreement.

  Rothwell came visiting at the Hall, Mr Walker, the member, in his company.

  “Thomas, I am stepping down from the Front Bench, I can no longer find the hours to meet my commitments.”

  He made the statement with a blank face and Tom offered no comment.

  “In fact, of course, I will not be associated with the policies of coercion that Sidmouth and Liverpool are now determined on. They are intending to indulge in brutal suppression more worthy of Russia than England, will use the dragoons as Cossacks, no doubt. It’s all that British cavalry is fit for, after all – they’re no damn’ use in battle or so the Duke says – he is bitter about the way they almost lost Waterloo with their indisciplined stupidity, says that he has yet to meet a cavalry officer ‘worth a tuppenny dam’, whatever that may be, one of these Indian expressions he is so fond of, I expect. In any case, I am stepping down and will not stand at the next election so the family will need to look for a member to replace me.”

  “I may have a candidate, Frederick – Joseph Star’s son, Matthew, Post Captain aged about twenty-six or seven, bringing an old 74 back from India just now and fallen out of love with the sea, I believe. An able man – his age tells you that – and a very good family to bring into the Party – a match for Peel in fortune and north-country influence, I believe. If he wishes, and that I do not know, then I would very much like to bring him forward. Of course, he might wish to sit on the other benches, that I do not know either!”

  The name of Peel provided a clinching argument – he probably would not become First Lord of the Treasury, they thought, but he was certainly one of the leading young men in the Party, far the most intelligent. That, of course, was seen as a handicap by many of the country members, they did not like gentlemen who were too clever for their own good, far preferred stolid English stupidity.

  “Mr Walker will be invited to step up in my place, Thomas, to represent the Grafham and Andrews interest.”

  Tom murmured the appropriate words, Walker thanked him.

  “It will, as you will appreciate, Thomas, involve Mr Walker in a deal of extra expense… Entertaining, keeping a London house rather than chambers, he will probably wish to marry, and his private income of about five hundreds will be stretched to its very limits.”

  “That can, obviously, be dealt with, Frederick – the expenses of public office should not be seen as a handicap to able men. House and staff can be provided and a couple of thousands a year would cover most other necessary outgoings, I believe.”

  Walker had the grace to seem embarrassed, though it was a perfectly normal transaction for ambitious young men making a career in the political world, particularly now that excesses of corruption were becoming frowned upon. The days of Lord Holland were past and even a Clapperley was regarded with slight distaste, though not enough to make him unusable. Walker would be expected to remember who his patron was and it was a fair bet that Roberts would find itself with a government contract or two, but it would not be a directly commercial affair, Tom would not expect to make an overt profit on it, though he would be informed in advance of significant policy changes and might be better placed than many to speculate on the future.

  Joseph returned to Wigan, suitably chastened and chastised and determined to mind his behaviour for the next few months. He had decided to design and build a steam crane for the works, one that would run on rails – rack-and-pinion, obviously – from the canal to the furnaces and to the slag-crusher. That would require a substantial expenditure of his father’s funds, was better demanded by a son in good odour, and, besides, his mother had been genuinely upset and had explained exactly how her elder brother, the uncle he had hardly even heard of, had come to die, something that left him thoughtful.

  He was accompanied by Locke, previously Edward, second footman, and now, at long last, promoted to the status of valet to Mr Joseph, become a gentleman’s gentleman and much puffed up in his own conceit. Locke would dress his master and would also become his confidential servant and protector, as had been explained to him; he was very pleased with the honour.

  The rooms in Wigan became chambers, correctly furnished and polished, swept and dusted daily rather than once weekly by a shared housekeeper. Joseph’s wardrobe expanded, though he hardly noticed the fact, unthinkingly assumed whatever clothes were laid out for him each day, and he became known as something of a provincial dandy, covertly observed by local manufacturers’ sons and wives. Locke swaggered, particularly after the first offer for his services was made by a young man seeking to rise sartorially; he made his mind up not to leave the Andrews’ service, unless a London gentleman should make an offer, of course, because he had no desire to remain all of his life in the provinces and Mr Joseph would inevitably become part of the national scene – his background made that absolutely certain. To aid his ambitions he ensured that Joseph became a member of the local Manufacturers Club and was seen there at least once a week. He made him learn to play whist as well and encouraged him to visit at the Stars very frequently, believing that his young master should be kept in line by his young lady, even if he himself was not yet aware of her status. Locke wrote a weekly letter to Mr Quillerson, at his instructions, though not entirely certain why that should be so. Joseph found his life had become much more comfortable, in some way more adult, began to take on the burdens of responsibility and, bearing in mind Mama’s strictures, clove very strict
ly to his peculiar, rapidly losing the faint taint of the raffish that had become associated with his name – ‘boys will be boys’, the local gentry reflected, noting that he was now a man.

  Henry Star was now, in local estimation, a gentleman, having fallen heir to his late partner’s big house and business.

  Mr Forrest, an unmarried gentleman of forty or so, had long been in the habit of refreshing himself with good bourbon diluted with a little water and had been half-way through the daily bottle when he had gone down to the waterfront to confer with a dozen or so of his compeers who were considering the purchase, jointly, of a section of quayside, rough wooden pilings and pine planking to be rebuilt into a proper masonry docks, suitable for the new steam-powered stern-wheeler that was being planned as the first of many such boats to ply the Mississippi. A longshoreman, one of several watching slaves load cotton onto a coastal brig for New York, pointed him out to a companion, commenting, a little too loudly, that the ‘fat drunk’ was a ‘notorious faggot’ and a disgrace to the town. His companion responded that he was a big-mouthed Bible-basher and it was none of his business, but Forrest had overheard and swiped out unsteadily with his cane; the longshoreman retaliated, using the cargo hook he was carrying as a sign of office. Forrest fell forward, into the river, was pulled out dead.

  There was considerable debate in legal circles for some time thereafter. If he had bled to death, then clearly he had been murdered; if he had drowned, then equally clearly there was an argument for misadventure after an exchange of blows, possibly a matter of honour; had he suffered heart failure then it was simply natural causes. Southern medicine was not perhaps the most advanced in the States, and no two doctors could be persuaded to agree with any of the diagnoses and the longshoreman had quietly decamped, was thought to have signed on blue-water, so there was no great point to taking the matter further. For the meanwhile, there was no Will and a lack of any family – Forrest had simply appeared a few years before, like many another who had come south for good reasons of his own – so all devolved upon his partner, Mr Star.

  To his surprise, Henry found himself rich. Forrest had lived simply and frugally, apart from his whiskey, and had saved the great bulk of his profits, rather strangely holding them as cash in the banks rather than as investments. Possibly he had valued the liquidity, the ease with which he could have withdrawn his all in gold and made a run for foreign parts – he had, after all, made a quick dash from the north some years earlier. Henry had never entered Forrest’s house before, they had worked out of an office, had dined together frequently at restaurants and clubs, New Orleans being well supplied with both, but had never got onto close, domestic, terms. He discovered that Forrest had very evidently had unconventional tastes. Within three days he had made an entry at the auction rooms, had disposed of all of Forrest’s indoor servants, six youths and boys of very light skin fetching exceptionally high prices at private sales to a discerning few. The paintings on the walls Henry burnt – he had grown up in a moderately devout chapel-going fashion and was quite simply disgusted by the portrayals of what he saw as vile perversion.

  He bought house slaves to replace those he had removed, making sure that three of them were female, young and pretty – it was only coercion of the male African that he saw as disgraceful.

  Settled in, he considered the future. Slave-trading had been very profitable to him but it was unquestionably low, the province of the poor whites, the rednecks, the boondocks peasants, and he was a gentleman born. Cotton trading was an obvious endeavour, but the market was full, old established factors dominating the trade. The same was true for sugar. Import trading was profitable, the plantation families demanding European luxury goods and willing to pay a high price while cotton was in such demand, but there was less of a profit in buying at dockside in New Orleans, he would need to hire his own agents in London and Paris and import by the shipload to make real money; it was possible, but would be difficult to arrange without a return to Europe, which he did not wish to make.

  He could, he thought, have retired to live a life of luxury, a gentleman of leisure enjoying the state to which he had been born, but he had grown up in the company of the work ethic and despite all his backslidings he could not be happy in idleness. The inspiration came to him in the night, getting his breath back after a particularly energetic passage with one of the girls, drawing on a relaxing cheroot, regretting that the tobacco was not of a better quality – cigars! From Cuba, where the best tobacco in the world grew. The Spanish colonial authorities demanded that the whole of the crop was transhipped to the motherland to be processed in the factories there, normal Mercantilist policy, typical of the European tyrannies – they paid pennies to the growers and ensured that all of the employment took place in Spain, further impoverishing the Cubans, To organise the importation of tobacco, hopefully in the form of already rolled cigars, into New Orleans would be an act of generosity to the people of Cuba, as well as a source of very useful profits as he would certainly be able to undercut the Spanish prices and still make a substantial gain. Contact with one of the gentlemen bringing Africans into the smaller ports of Louisiana, away from the prying officials of the government determined to bring the trade to an end, would be a sensible starting point to his trading endeavours and he, like every other slave trader in the state, knew exactly where to find the captains in question.

  Three days later he took passage on a small schooner, a thirty tonner with space in its hold for a couple of dozen of shackled importees hidden conveniently out of sight behind a couple of bales of cotton. The cotton was old, any inspection would disclose that it had sat there for years, but no local inspector would rummage below the surface for fear of finding what was better concealed – his own health, and future wealth, dictated discretion in such matters. Twenty miles down towards the delta and they tied up at a small landing next to a creek that wound eastwards away from the main stream; ten minutes walk along a made track brought them to an open basin where a pair of ships of three or four hundred tons lay at anchor. There was a small village along the waterfront, a couple of saloons, a ships-chandlers, a blacksmith’s forge and a general store immediately identifiable. There was a pair of closed warehouses as well.

  “Jean Lafitte ‘imself, Mr Star, built this place!”

  Every smuggler and waterside thief claimed Lafitte as a forebear in his particular aspect of the trade; some might even have been truthful.

  The smaller, less insalubrious, of the saloons was the meeting place of traders and ships’ captains, the spot where bankers extended credit and dealers contracted for stock and lawyers wrote pages of small print. Henry entered and felt immediately at home.

  “Captain Blanc?”

  “M’sieu’ Star?”

  Interestingly, neither believed the other’s name to be anything other than a convenient assumption for business purposes whilst both names were true.

  “I believe, Captain, that you habitually trade with Cuba, using ports other than the Havana?”

  “I do, M’sieu’.”

  “I wish to import tobacco, preferably made cigars, from the best, highest quality suppliers. I will pay in gold, one half in advance in your hands, if you are able to meet my needs…”

  They dickered for an hour, came to an agreement and shook hands – neither particularly wished to commit themselves to paper. The slave trade was increasingly dangerous and Captain Blanc had had it in mind to get out since the war had ended and national naval vessels had reappeared in Caribbean waters. Both American and Spanish navies had an interest in destroying the ‘blackbirders’, and the Americans were unamenable to bribery, being mostly manned by northerners with a Low Church habit. Equally, most of the American naval officers smoked cigars and would be much less rigorous in their pursuit of contraband tobacco, especially as there was no American law against its importation. There was an active anti-Spanish feeling in Cuba, a desire for independence coupled with a knowledge that the island was far too heavily garrisoned for a
ny rising to succeed; smuggling was therefore an expression of rebellion as well as a source of profit and the Cubans could be expected to leap at the opportunity.

  The enterprise was immediately profitable, neither Blanc nor Star choosing to double-cross the other, and a second ship was rapidly recruited to the run. After just six months representatives of a Colonel Miller from New York sought Henry out to suggest that he might wish to journey to New York to discuss an ‘interesting proposition’.

  Verity and Thomas sat at ease in her drawing room, digesting a well-cooked meal, surrounded by dogs of various sizes, the mastiffs having obliged again, and reflecting on their comfortable existence and the many delightful years ahead of them.

  “Charlotte will certainly marry this season, Thomas – although she has no candidate in mind as yet. She tells me that she wishes to establish herself, and I can trust her judgement – to some extent!”

  “And Robert and James are well on the way to adult respectability, my dear. Remains only to tame Master Joseph, I believe!”

  They agreed that all was for the best in their world and wandered contentedly upstairs.

  # # #

  Book Four in the Series

  Available in all ebook formats

  In the continuing story of the Andrew’s dynasty, Captain Matthew Star returns to England and makes a love match with their daughter, Charlotte, much to her mother’s displeasure.

  With thousands of ex-military men now unemployed, riots and machine-breaking become a commonplace in the industrial areas, while rick-burning, poaching and disorder occur in almost every part of the countryside. The problem of unemployment in and around Tom’s estate is solved by encouraging a shipload of local families to emigrate to America.