Triangle Trade

by Geoff Woodland

  Nobody was beyond redemption, so if he could help stop the wicked trade and perhaps bring some of the Liverpool people to Christ, he would gladly suffer the rain.

  Opening his bedroom door, he called for hot water. Some would be used for shaving, and the remainder for making tea. He preferred coffee, but slaves produced coffee, so he would not drink it.

  He sluiced himself in cold water and thought of the reasons for coming to Liverpool. He knew the Society of Friends, commonly called the Quakers, was active in Liverpool against the African trade. He had arranged to meet William Roscoe and Edward Rushton, and believed Mr Rushton had a surprise for him.

  After breakfasting, Thomas sat reading a newspaper in the small dining room, and waited for his visitors. The gentle murmur of the other diners was the only background noise. The dining room door opened. Thomas glanced up and saw William enter the room.

  William looked around for an empty chair. Two tables were close to each other, each with a single occupant. One table was occupied by a brutish looking man whose eyes appeared further apart than normal. His expression did not encourage anyone to share his table.

  Thomas occupied the other table but William didn’t seem to see him and turned to leave.

  ‘William,’ called Thomas, folding his newspaper as he stood, ‘please join me.’

  ‘Good morning, Thomas, I didn’t realise you were staying here.’

  ‘I have business here later today. I thought you would be at your father’s home.’

  ‘Father has moved. After I have breakfasted I intend to try and locate him. The old man at the office didn’t know the new address.’ They shook hands and sat across the table from each other. ‘At least…’ said William, pausing to watch a well-dressed man enter the dining room. At first glance he did not seem any different to everyone else, but something wasn’t quite right. Only as the stranger, holding the hand of a small boy, drew near to their table, did he see that the man was blind. Thomas rose and the small boy guided the man to a seat at their table. It was Edward Rushton.

  ‘Edward,’ said Thomas, ‘allow me to introduce William King, of this town. He and I were on the same coach from London.’

  The blind man extended his hand across the table and William shook it gently. ‘An honour, Sir, I have heard so much about you,’ said William.

  Everyone in Liverpool knew Edward Rushton. He hadn’t been born blind. He had been at sea as an apprentice from the age of eleven. At sixteen, during a storm off Liverpool, the captain and crew were about to abandon ship when Edward grasped the helm, took command and steered the vessel back to Liverpool. He was acclaimed a hero and promoted to second mate. Later he sailed in a slaver, and during a voyage to Dominica, complained to the captain of the treatment of the slaves. Although he nearly ended in irons himself, the captain relented and allowed Edward to see if he could help those slaves who were suffering from a highly contagious disease of ophthalmia. The disease had spread due to the crowded conditions. While trying to help the slaves Edward Rushton succumbed to the disease himself, lost the sight from his left eye and damaged the other to such an extent that he became virtually blind.

  ‘Thank you, Mr King. I trust all the comments in regard to myself were honest.’

  ‘I am sure they were, Sir.’

  Realising Thomas and Rushton would wish to speak in private William rose from the table. He was about to say his farewells when the door opened. In strode a man dressed somewhat like a lawyer.

  ‘Thomas, Edward, my apologies for being late,’ said the man.

  ‘You are not late, William, Edward has just arrived, and I have only just finished breaking my fast.’

  The man replied, ‘I think it would be best if we all adjourned to Thomas’s rooms. There are far too many eyes and ears in this place.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Thomas.

  Seeing William standing near their table, Thomas said, ‘My dear fellow, how rude of me.

  ‘William, may I present William?’ Thomas said with a slight laugh. ‘Mr William King, I would like you to meet Mr William Roscoe. You are both from Liverpool and may already have met.’

  ‘An honour, Sir,’ said William. He turned to Thomas. ‘I have not had the pleasure of meeting Mr Roscoe previously.’

  ‘Are you of the King family, in shipping?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ said William, smiling that his name had been recognised.

  Roscoe turned to Thomas. ‘I am surprised at you, Thomas. Didn’t know you knew any slaving families.’

  Edward Ruston quickly interjected, ‘William, I am sure we all know a slaving family in this town.’

  Puzzled, William commented, ‘Gentlemen, I think you are mistaken. My family is in shipping. We concentrate on the immigrant trade from Ireland and trade to the Baltic. We also act as selling agents and general traders. We do not deal in slaves.’

  ‘Have you been away long, Lieutenant?’ asked William Roscoe as he glanced at William’s uniform.

  ‘Approximately eighteen months. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just a general observation, as your face shows signs of hotter climes.’

  William touched his face in a self-conscious manner. He felt a sensation of disquiet. Everyone appeared to know something he did not, yet he could not bring himself to ask.

  Thomas stood and placed his hand under Edward Rushton’s arm to assist him to rise.

  ‘We must be going. Perhaps we will meet this evening, Lieutenant,’ said Thomas Roscoe as he pushed a chair away from Edward’s feet to clear a passage.

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ answered William, the disquiet growing.

  The two sighted men positioned the blind man between them and they all left the dining room. William could hear them in the hall, speaking in low tones. He heard the name King mentioned a number of times until their voices faded.

  William returned to his seat and contemplated what he’d heard.

  In what was his father trading? Could he be involved in the African trade? Surely Father would not be involved in slavery after so many years of trading profitably to the Mediterranean and the Baltic. The profit from these two routes would be enough for a comfortable life without resorting to the African trade.

  After breakfast William collected his cloak and hat and went out into the cold wet morning. He decided to walk to his father’s place of business. The cold air and the rain helped him to think.

  Pushing open the main door, William shook his wet cloak and surveyed the clerks creating manifests and invoices. The well-lit office and busy staff reminded him of how things were when he worked here.

  He couldn’t see the night watchman of the previous evening. He would be asleep or at another job. It was common for night watchmen to sleep the night away in their employer’s premises, and to then work through the day at a different job.

  As William unclipped his cloak, a tall thin man approached.

  ‘May I be of assistance, Sir?’

  ‘I am looking for Mr George King,’ answered William, inspecting the familiar-looking man.

  The man came closer to William, his hands behind his back. The overall impression was of a skater moving over ice. His body swayed as he walked. The odd gait appeared false, so perhaps it was to give the thin man more presence. As he drew near to William, he stopped.

  ‘Mr William, is it you?’

  ‘Yes. Ah! You’re Watkins, the shipping clerk!’ exclaimed William.

  ‘I am very pleased to inform you that your father has made me chief clerk, Sir. I am so pleased to see that you are unharmed, Sir. Have you seen Mr King, Mr William?’

  ‘No, I arrived late last night and was surprised not to find Father here. At least you will be able to tell me what has happened, and where I may find him. The night-watchman didn’t know anything.’

  ‘No, Sir, he wouldn’t. His duties are to keep the place secure. Please follow me, Sir, to your father’s office.’

  William followed the chief clerk past the scribbling clerks. The smell of ink brought back a
flood of memories.

  They entered his father’s office. William noticed that it had become a lot more imposing. The large desk under the window commanded the whole room. The leather chair behind the desk gave the impression that one was in the office of a solid profitable company.

  ‘New furniture,’ commented William.

  ‘Yes, Sir. Mr King has created a very profitable company, and we are all honoured to be working for such a far-sighted man. He is very generous and we all owe him a great deal.’

  ‘Where may I find him, if he no longer lives here?’

  ‘His new home, Mr William, is on the corner of Duke and Kent Streets. A very salubrious house, if I may say so, and all redecorated inside. It is a beautiful home, very pleasing to the eye. I have visited a couple of times in the course of business.’

  ‘How far out is it, and how do I get there?’

  ‘It is about a thirty minute carriage ride. I can arrange a hackney or do you wish for me to hire a horse for you?’

  ‘Will my father be coming into the office today?’

  ‘I am afraid not, Sir. Mr King will be visiting all day. A number of suppliers from Manchester have arrived to attend Mr King’s celebration this evening.’

  ‘What celebration?’

  ‘I think Mr King is keen to show his new home to his friends. I believe around fifty will attend. I arranged the invitations, and at the last count, it was fifty.’

  ‘If Father is not at home and he does not intend to visit the office today, then I think I will return to the inn and visit him at home this evening.’

  ‘I am sure Mr King will be overjoyed to see that you are safe and sound, Sir.’

  ‘Yes, I think I will return to the inn.’

  ‘Allow me to call a hackney for you, Sir. It is still raining, I fear.’

  ‘No, thank you, Watkins, I shall walk. It is a long time since I walked in Liverpool.’

  ‘As you will, Sir,’ said Watkins, standing by the door.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said William, leaving the office, ‘you will not let Father know I am in town. I wish to surprise him.’

  ‘It will be a very pleasant surprise I am sure, Sir. I will not mention I have seen you but I am afraid that if Mr King asks me about you, I will have to inform him of your visit. After all, I am sure you understand, as chief clerk, I am Mr King’s ears and eyes in the business.’

  ‘Quite,’ said William, collecting his cloak from a stand near the main door. He clipped the neck-fastener and jammed his hat on his head. The wind blew as Watkins opened the main door.

  ‘Good day, Mr William, we are very pleased you are safe.’

  ‘Thank you, Watkins, and good morning.’

  William spent the remainder of the day thinking, and re-reading the pamphlets from Thomas Clarkson. He was concerned that his family was apparently involved in the African trade. Now that he suspected this, what was his future? He could not work for his father if the African trade supported the company, yet he did not wish to return to the life of a naval officer. He knew his interest lay in the world of ships and business. He felt sick, as all his plans appeared to be coming to naught.

  He could remain in Liverpool, and try for a berth on one of his father’s competitors’ ships that did not trade in slaves. This would be difficult, as he did not wish to help anyone else to succeed at his father’s expense. After all, he was still part of the family, even if he disagreed with the direction of the company.

  William calculated that he had enough money to last several weeks. He would have to put some cash aside for his coach fare to London, if he was unable to gain a berth in Liverpool. At least London vessels would not be in direct competition with his father.

  The hackney slowed as it approached the front of the house. A uniformed black man stepped forward to greet this new guest.

  ‘Evening, Sur.’

  ‘Good evening, I wish to speak to Mr George King.’

  ‘I am afraid the master has guests tonight and will not be seeing anyone without an appointment.’

  ‘I think he will see me,’ said William, and unclipped his cloak. He let it fall over the arm of the servant and marched up the steps to the front door to enter the large imposing hall.

  Servants, black and white, milled about, tidying the hall and the large adjacent room. William could hear loud laughter from the dining room. The black uniformed servant caught up with William as he reached the double-doors of the dining room.

  ‘Sir, Sir, please do not go in. The master does not wish to be disturbed.’

  ‘All will be well, and you will see that the master will be very pleased to see me.’

  William pushed open the double-doors in time to hear the answering speech of Donald Nicholson.

  His last shouted words had brought most of the male guests to their feet shouting, ‘African trade and Liverpool. A pox on the Butterfly!’

  William waited for the glasses to be drained, noticing a small man at the end of the table who had not joined in the toast.

  Nicholson’s eyes passed from George to the newcomer entering the room. His face changed from triumph to concern and then to caution. George saw the change in Donald, and swivelled in his chair.

  His mouth fell open and he let go of his wine glass. Red wine flowed across the white tablecloth.

  ‘William,’ said George in a quiet voice.

  ‘Hello, Father, how are you?’

  ‘I am well, William,’ whispered George, standing slowly. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  ‘No, I am fit and well.’

  ‘I… I… I’m so glad.’ George wrapped his arms around his son. ‘Welcome home,’ he whispered.

  William returned the hug. ‘Didn’t you get any of my letters? I must have written about six. We used to pass a mailbag to a homeward-bound vessel. I do know of one vessel that was lost to the French. Perhaps there may have been two or more letters lost with her.’

  George pulled back and studied his son ‘No, I never received any of them. I thought you left with such anger that you didn’t want to write.’

  ‘Which is why I never received any letters from you?’

  ‘I didn’t write because I thought you didn’t want to hear from me after our disagreement.’

  ‘We have both been fools, Father.’

  William wanted to change the course of the conversation. The room had fallen silent as his father hugged him. ‘You are looking well and from what I hear, the company is doing very well.’

  ‘Yes, yes it is. Donald, do you know my son, William?’

  Donald Nicholson pushed his chair back and stood to greet William. ‘I have heard of him, but we have never been introduced. How are you, William? I am very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘And I you, Sir,’ replied William.

  ‘Alfred,’ said George, ‘bring another chair for Mr William. Put it near me and set a place for him to eat.’

  Chapter Nine

  Estranged

  December 1805

  The noise increased as each guest dragged their chair closer to their neighbour so as to make room for William. He took his seat and glanced around. Some of the guests he knew and others were strangers. The young woman sitting opposite attracted his attention. She smiled in friendship.

  ‘George, aren’t you going to introduce your son to your guests?’ asked the young woman.

  ‘Of course, how rude of me. William, may I introduce Mrs Sarah Nicholson, Donald’s good lady, and his daughter, Charlotte, and this is Henry, Donald’s son.’

  William stood when his father spoke.

  ‘I am honoured, Ma’am,’ said William to the older lady, and bent to kiss her hand. He released Sarah’s hand and looked across the table at Charlotte, gave a small bow. ‘Miss Charlotte, your servant.’ He nodded to Henry, sitting two down from Charlotte, and too far away to shake hands. Henry returned the nod, yet William sensed a certain animosity. Where had he seen Henry before?

  Charlotte flicked her fan open and waved it to cool her neck and upp
er breasts. ‘Mr King,’ she replied, and nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. The charade with the fan, William realised, was designed to make him look at her. Certainly, she made a pleasant sight, after many months at sea. He smiled slightly, the scar on his cheek making his discomfit evident. Charlotte brought the fan closer to her neck.

  George noticed the little pantomime and glanced around to see if anyone else did. They all appeared to be chattering with their neighbours.

  ‘Did you hear, my dear, William captured a French ship?’ said George, in an effort to break off the by-play.

  ‘Really? Was it very unpleasant for you?’ asked Charlotte.

  ‘I have seen and experienced pleasanter things.’

  ‘I’m sure. It will be our job now to help you forget the unpleasant things in life, now you are back with your family, safe and sound.’

  ‘Wine, Sir?’ asked Alfred, offering William a decanter.

  ‘Thank you.’

  George stood again and tapped his glass with a spoon. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, would you join me in an unplanned toast to my son, William, who has returned safe and well from fighting the French.’

  ‘To William,’ chorused the guests. ‘Welcome home!’ shouted some. Henry picked up his glass, raised it to his lips, but did not drink. His eyes remained on William.

  The small man at the end of the table, who had not joined in the previous toast, stood and offered his glass.

  He’s not an abstainer, thought William, how is he associated with Father?

  George King leaned back in his chair and watched his guests. William’s arrival, as hero of the hour, could not have been timed better. The reflected glory for George, being the father of a man who had captured a French ship, would help bind many to his company. A hero would not go amiss in Donald’s family either, especially with Donald’s political ambitions. The only way Donald could claim William as a member of his family would be if one of them married Charlotte.