The Privateersman (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 1) (25 page)

Brown surveyed his new master and was not displeased
with what he saw – he could make something of him. He was tall, topped six
feet, a hand bigger than the average, which was always useful, particularly as
he carried himself well, head high; strongly built, but not fat, yet – he would
be, of course, in middle-age, but that was unavoidable – fourteen stone at a
guess and broad on chest and shoulders, narrower at the hips, a good shape for
a competent tailor to work on – he would have to be dressed plainly, severe,
military in cut, being so big – Scott would be the man to take his
measurements, he dressed all of the soldiers – they must go to London immediately
because that frockcoat the master was wearing must never be seen by any
discerning eye, it lacked only hayseeds! A pity about the scar across his face,
but it added some slight distinction, he would be remembered by all who met
him, and they would assume a military background; the hands, big, red and
coarsened by work, would have to be covered by gloves whenever possible – a
gentleman never performed any manual labour so his hands were pale and
delicate, the nails perfect ovals – still, one could not have everything,

“I believe, thir, that you will wish to purchase a
wardrobe, thir, from new? In London, of courth.”

“I have been informed that I must follow your advice
in this, Brown, so I will do so. How do we go? Canal boat, mail coach, post
chaise?”

Brown permitted himself a smile – the master had a
sense of humour and was not averse to showing it to his servant. The
Accommodation Boats on the canals were in fact a very fast means of travel, but
indiscriminate in their clientele, never used by the gentry, their single large
cabin as likely to contain pigs and geese for market as people and invariably
full of snotty-nosed, wailing infants. The Mail was uncomfortable with its
rushed meals and halts for the convenience of the driver and no one else. Post
chaise and four was the only possible means of travel for the rich, and
sufficiently expensive to announce their wealth for them – the best rooms at
the inns, good meals for the master and better for the man who would actually
choose which hostelries to patronise on future journeys.

“I will ask Mr Martin to write to his correspondent
in Town to book a hotel thuite for uth for next week, thir – the Clarendon, I
expect – it makes one’th standing clear to the tradesmen if they are directed
to make deliveries to your thuite there.”

Tom had never heard of the Clarendon, or any other
hotel in London, was happy to do as he was bid.

“Do you dance, thir?”

“I have never had occasion to do so, Brown. Must I?”

“Yeth!

“Then I shall learn. How?”

A dancing master was engaged and an elocutionist to
remove the few lingering traces of a Dorset burr, to eliminate the odd
Americanism and banish the very faint tinge of Lancashire that had crept upon
Tom; it was imperative for the genteel and loyal to adopt the new Hanoverian
accent that had developed in the past half-century. The old English was still
to be heard, but it signified often a Jacobite hankering in its user, was
viewed with distrust and must be avoided by newcomers to the ranks of the
County.

“Can you shoot, thir?”

“With a pistol, very well. With a long gun, very
poorly. Do you wish me to buy duelling pistols?”

“No, thir – not unleth they become needed. What of
riding to houndth, thir?”

“I do not intend to – I am not that good a horseman,
would only show myself up. The scar on my face will suffice there, Brown – you
may let it be known that other wounds make me a weak rider.”

“Very wise, thir, I do, very much, approve. I must
know, thir, ath your valet, have you other woundth?”

“Not really – a slash across the chest that was
little more than a surface cut, less severe than the one to my face.”

“Good, it will make my job thimpler, thir, if there
ith nothing to cover up. You are to be correctly turned out at all timeth - you
may theem conventional and stuffy, even – but that ith better than being rudely
improper. You are a big man, thir, tho will dreth plainly – no jewellery other
than a pin in the tie-cravat, and that not big. Black and white indoorth, brown
and russet out, dull but neat and tidy and very clean and exact. To be blunt,
thir, the County will visit you once, out of duty; if they detect vulgarity,
they will not return. It ith up to you to fit in, thir. The butler will be of
great help here, if he ith awake to hith trade he will know every gentleman
within convenient travel of the house and will be able to advise me of their
nature.”

“And you will then forewarn me, Brown? So be it!
Don’t hesitate to tell me when I am making a mistake, Brown – I may not love
you for it, but you will not suffer for doing your proper job.”

Tom did not enjoy London, it was a dirty, smelly,
cold, wet unwelcoming town, its streets full of whores and pickpockets, its
shops crammed full with goods he did not want, its people with a vast and
totally unjustified good opinion of themselves; it claimed to be at the heart
of civilisation – the same could have been said for Babylon.

The cooking at his hotel was very good, the wines
were outstanding, but he had better things to do with his days than spend them
guzzling and gutsing at table. The tailor was civil and condescending, and made
it clear that he would rather serve the gentry than mere businessmen, but he
took Tom’s money although seeming to suggest that Mr Andrews was honoured to
give it to him. The boot maker was much the same as he carved a pair of lasts
to Tom’s feet and pledged himself to deliver boots, slippers, pumps and
half-boots at soonest; haberdasher and hatter sniffed as they sold their best
and took their cash – all of them sad little crawlers who did not realise just
how weakly contemptible they were, natural born slaves allowed the illusion of
freedom and making shackles for themselves. Tom found he had little love for
the weaklings of the world, not having mixed with them sufficiently before to
realise the fact.

They had to stay at least two weeks in the
Metropolis to allow the tailor time to make his deliveries; at Brown’s orders
Tom was dressed in his first outdoor clothes and sent to walk in Bond Street
and observe the gentlemen on the strut there, particularly to note the smart
saunter, so different to his own businesslike march; he would need to cultivate
such refinement. He found himself outside Manton’s Shooting Gallery as it came
on to rain, ventured inside to see cases of the best-made pistols in the world,
discovered that he could have pistols created to his own hand and
specification. He wanted a good pair of pistols – not for any particular
purpose but because he liked them and enjoyed the practice. The boy at the
counter passed him onto his employer, one of the Manton brothers who personally
supervised the construction of any specially ordered hand-guns.

“If I may presume, sir, you would seem to have had
military experience?”

“A little, Mr Manton, a few years at sea, but they
have left their mark on me. I left the sea at the end of the last war and have
worked in iron and steel in St Helens since. My name is Andrews.”

Only a few works made steel and it was reasonable to
assume that a gunsmith would know them.

“Proprietor of Roberts, I believe, Mr Andrews?”

“I am, Mr Manton, and flattered to be known as
such.”

“Your name is known in London, sir – I believe, in
fact, that you were mentioned to me recently as a depositor with the famous
Martin’s Bank?”

“You hear everything, it would seem, Mr Manton.”

“My clientele includes probably the most
distinguished gentlemen in the City, Mr Andrews – not merely the aristocracy –
most matters of interest are discussed here at one time or another. I believe
this to be your first visit to London, sir – are you expanding your business interests
here?”

“No, Mr Manton – my man has dragged me to a tailor –
mere provincial cut will no longer suffice he informs me. I am moving out of
the world of manufacturing to a great extent, am in process of purchasing an
estate near Kettering.”

“A wise move in many ways, Mr Andrews – land is
cheaper at the moment than for many years and the war is closing European
sources of wheat and barley to our traders. I believe that in recent years
nearly one half of all the corn eaten in England came from the Germanies, but
that can no longer be so.”

“So wheat prices must rise, Mr Manton. It will be
possible to buy from the States, I believe, but it will be some years before
they grow sufficient for all our needs.”

“I know that some wheat is being bought from the Black
Sea, sir, but not a lot as yet and the Mediterranean is not a safe ocean for
our traders. I have a pair of very heavy pistols here, Mr Andrews, ten gauge,
the ball one and three fifths ounces. Would you care to try them out on my
little range?”

Tom smiled quietly – Manton was obviously making
sure he could handle a heavy pistol before manufacturing a pair for him – he
would not want complaints that his customer could not hit a target with his
pair. They stood quietly near the firing point, waiting for two gentlemen to
finish practising with light duelling pieces, shooting against each other on a
small bet. Tom stepped forward, loaded and primed his pair.

“On range, Mr Andrews,” Manton called, giving him
the clear to fire and in passing informing the other two who he was. They
glanced superciliously at the heavy, bulky pistols Tom was carrying, waited to
see if he could hit the back wall with them.

There were targets the size of playing cards at
seven yards; Tom hit left and right from the hip, put the pistols down.

“At twenty, perhaps, Mr Manton?”

Two more wafers were set up at the end of the range
and Tom reloaded and brought the pistols to shoulder height before firing this
time, right hand then left, hitting both squarely.

“Many years of practice, Mr Andrews?”

“Inborn, Mr Manton – I could do this the day I first
touched a hand-gun – how, I do not know. I would add, sir, that I am a hopeless
shot with any sort of long gun – was I to go out for pheasants I would be
better advised to sneak up upon them and club them with the butt!”

One of the watching men smiled ruefully at that,
commented that he had been about to beg the honour of being taught the knack.

“I would do so happily, if I could, sir – but I do
not know what it is – I see the target, whatever it may be, and the pistol puts
itself upon it. All I can say is that I watch the target, not the pistol, and I
rather doubt that that helps in the slightest!”

“A pity, Mr Andrews, is it? My name is Ebchester.”

Manton, a pace back, mouthed, ‘viscount’.

“I am honoured, my Lord,” Tom bowed as Brown had
taught him, took the hand offered him.

“Mr Andrews, Mr Cooper,” Ebchester said, turning to
his companion.

They talked idly for a few minutes and then parted
in friendly fashion.

“Chatterboxes, Mr Andrews, fashionable young men
with no occupation, they come in here a couple of times each week. They will
tell others of their circle of meeting you, will name you as a particularly great
shot and an acquaintance. It will do you no harm at all to have your name
mentioned amongst their friends.”

Manton called one of his boys to come with a pair of
soft beech blocks and a sharp knife, trimmed them precisely to Tom’s hands,
shaping them so that the pistol barrel would naturally follow the line of Tom’s
forefinger; they would be kept for reference, the mahogany or teak or walnut
grips being copied precisely from them.

“A single, rifled, eight inch barrel in ten gauge,
Mr Andrews? Three days to produce, for my boys keep themselves busy producing
blanks for stock, though only a very few in ten gauge, and my spring maker
produces a half dozen a day for the locks. All I have to do is supervise the
assembly and truing of the pieces. Can you come in on Friday to test fire them,
sir? I will take them to the Proof House in advance but it is best if we make
sure they fit exactly to your hand. Will you wish to purchase fowling pieces as
well, sir? No great point to building them for you, as you are no shot with a
long gun, but guests are often pleased to be lent a Manton.”

It was April before Tom finally reached his new
home, the lawyers having created repeated delays, mainly relating to the
incomplete enclosure, it being difficult to write a contract of sale on land
whose boundaries were as yet only partially defined.

The winter had been put to good use – it was
naturally a slower time for building and the demand for roof trusses and
pillars would always be slacker; this year there was virtually no demand at all,
so Roberts was effectively shut down. Rather than dismiss his skilled, loyal hands,
Tom rebuilt the furnaces and their sheds, modernising and tidying the rather
haphazard collection of buildings that had grown up. The trackway was lifted
and its bed was levelled and straightened and realigned and new tubs were
constructed. The quarry was surveyed and cleaned up and a stockpile of worked
ironstone was built up behind the furnaces. The new steam engines were
installed, two of them in the second works, and Frederick Mason persuaded Tom
to buy one of the new steam lathes, a great, slow monster that could bore out
the barrel of a fortress gun or a piston to tolerances measured in tenths of an
inch; they gained immediate orders for cannon, there being few of the lathes
and a shortage of great guns of thirty two pounds or more. The navy in particular
would snap up every nine foot barrel thirty-two pound chase cannon they could
make – they were valuable guns that foreigners had none of. Joseph also took
avail of the winter of the Depression, closing three of the mills he had
bought, equipping two of them with ‘mules’ rather than frames to make finer
grade threads and expanding the third to make better use of the strong-flowing
river it stood on; he simply sacked all of their workers – they were only women
and could be replaced on the instant when he opened again.