The Privateersman (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 1) (29 page)

“You seem well-informed on the topic, Morton.”

“In Mr Rockingham’s circumstances it seemed only
appropriate to inform myself of such matters, sir. He, of course, would not
discuss them with a mere menial.”

“I believe I mentioned earlier that Rockingham was a
fool.”

“You did, sir – courtesy forbids me to agree with
you, publicly.”

“To our south?”

“An unenclosed manor, sir, waste and common down the
hill to the river, sir – the Nene. Note, sir, if I may point it out, that the
name is pronounced as ‘Nenn’, not ‘Neen’ – a local prejudice, no doubt, but not
unimportant in gaining acceptance. The few houses near the river look to the
south, not to us, would not be regarded as being in our social orbit, as it
were. The bulk of those who will visit or leave cards are to be found in the
neighbourhood of Burton, where there are some five small estates, all related,
cousins and such, and all forever squabbling over boundaries and fields and who
exactly was, or should have been, heir to a two-acre field left by
great-grandmother Latimer in 1750. They tend to be tedious and tenacious, sir,
and, if I may make so bold, you should take great care not to show any sympathy
or understanding at all to any one of them.”

“I think I understand you, Morton – all it would
take would be one smile, one comment that might be taken as agreement, and I
would be roped in on one side or another.”

“Just so, sir. Cognac, sir?”

“No, not my habit except in company – I have seen
men who chose to drink spirits on their own, would not wish to become one of
them.”

Morton nodded – Rockingham had rarely risen unaided
from his dining table and the cellar contained half a dozen bottles of a fine
Diabolino for guests, and two casks of much rawer brandy for his own
consumption.

“When should I leave cards with Grafham?”

“Between five and eight days after your arrival,
sir, would be best. Not on the Sabbath, of course. A Monday or Tuesday will
have the advantage that some at least of the family will have seen your face on
Sunday. You are Church of England, sir?”

“Well, I’m not anything else, Morton.”

“That is a relief, sir, especially after Mr
Rockingham. In the absence of any particular faith or set of beliefs then you
are a member of the Established Church, sir – and will, of course, fit in
admirably with the bulk of the congregation and clergy. Some of the maiden
ladies may be fervent in their adherence to their religion – possibly hoping to
gain compensation in heaven for the aridity of their earthly life – but the
majority of those present are merely stating their willingness to conform to
the demands of society, sir. It is expected of any major figure that he shall
be seen in his pew on Sunday, sir – every Sunday. Parson Nobbs will be very
glad to see you – the glebe of some one hundred and fifty acres which he rents
out to one of the Finedon men constitutes the great bulk of his income –
perhaps one hundred and eighty pounds, sir, and his congregation is neither
large nor prosperous, this being a strong chapel area, especially amongst the
shopkeepers and small tradesmen who might be expected to put their shillings in
the offertory each week. Your guinea will be very well received.”

“That is all very well, Morton, and, it goes without
saying, I shall do my duty – but I have never been inside a church in my life,
except for one wedding, not of any sort or species! I would not know what to
do.”

“We shall see, sir – I am sure we can come up with a
solution.”

The major made his visit next day, as predicted,
arriving soon before midday. He was much as Tom had expected – ram-rod stiff
back making him seem taller than his five foot six or seven, lean,
grey-streaked, brown face and blue eyes – a man who had been out of doors for
much of his existence; otherwise he was wholly unfamiliar, which was a minor
source of relief – America was a big place and the army had been spread over a
thousand miles, but coincidence was always possible and could be damnably
inconvenient.

Brown had dressed him correctly in expectation of
the occasion – semi-formal country attire, charcoal grey frockcoat, pantaloons,
white shirt and black tie-cravat; on second meetings it would be possible to
dress in breeches and boots, loose cravat in his shirt, waistcoat and light
jacket, possibly in browns or even a light tan, but a first visit demanded the
courtesy of a full suit. Morton had ensured that there would be refreshments to
hand – cakes, biscuits, Madeira. Both men were hovering within earshot, just in
case they might have to come to the rescue, but Tom had learnt his lessons
well.

“Good morning, Major Hunt! Welcome to Thingdon Hall,
sir. My name is Thomas Andrews, major.”

The major had been to the Hall before and he knew
Tom’s name, but courtesies had to be observed.

“Good morning, Mr Andrews! How do ye do?”

They shook hands, Tom noting that the major had lost
his left, which made greetings easier.

“Please to take a seat, major,” Tom waved him to sit
in the small withdrawing room.

“On your own, Mr Andrews? I have never been here
before but that fat fool of an agent was clambering all over me!”

Hunt had obviously heard rumours of the passing of
Smythe, was fishing.

“Smythe? He lasted two hours in my employ, sir – we
had a slight falling-out almost as soon as we met, and a somewhat larger one
soon after, and he and Daniel left the estate as an immediate consequence. He
seemed to think that I was a weakling who could be bullied and duped; perhaps
Rockingham was, but how he made his fortune if that was the case, I don’t
know.”

Hunt nodded in satisfaction, this was a different
sort of man to his predecessor and the whole neighbourhood might well be better
off for it.

“I believe Rockingham talked more of his fortune
than made it, sir – he inherited from a very active father, whose name seems to
have been Potts. Be that as it may, I told him half a dozen times that Smythe
was no good, but he would not listen, he knew better than any person who gave
him advice of any sort. Be making a lot of changes here, will you, Mr Andrews?”

“Some, inevitably, sir – I doubt that any two men
would see exactly eye-to-eye over the running of so large an estate as this. I
have been very favourably impressed by young Quillerson, have made him bailiff
and agent all in one and intend to keep him on a very loose rein – he has the
knowledge and a love of this land. Early days for me, of course, but this is a
fine old house and the people here have made an effort to welcome me – to be
honest with you, major, and you know I am what they call a ‘self-made’ man, I
have never had a home before, and I rather like the feeling of this one!”

The candour had its expected effect – the major had
been waiting for hints of aristocratic connections, ‘kept quiet because the
family did not want to acknowledge trade’.

“Good! I am glad to be among the first to welcome
you, Mr Andrews, and to say that I look forward to being a neighbour of yours
for many years! We are, by the way, to have an election fairly soon, certainly
this year – have you a man of your own for the seat?”

“I have not met the sitting member yet, major, can
have no opinion of him.”

“Cousin of Rockingham’s – poor and not very bright,
depended on his generosity – he has made it clear to me that he wishes to
retire into the obscurity for which he is best fitted.”

Tom grinned and shook his head.

“No, I have no man in mind, sir. Do you know of any
able gentleman who might wish to be nominated?”

Tom expected the major to put his own name forward
at that point, was surprised when he did not, wondered why he had chosen to
raise the topic.

“Do you support the government, Mr Andrews?”

“Broadly, yes, sir – we are at war and this is no
time for politics! Some of their policies I do not like, and would quite
vigorously oppose were the time right – but it is the duty of all honourable
men to stand behind the King and his ministers when there is a foreign enemy
set against us.”

“I agree, sir!”

Tom had rather expected that the major, gravely
wounded fighting for his country, would feel that way, hence the rather
vigorous statement of a view he only partially held.

“If it would be convenient to you, Mr Andrews, I
could make contact with my cousin, who is a Member for the County, and he might
well wish to mention in Downing Street that the borough will need a sound man
nominated.”

“Please do so, sir – I would be at a loss to know
how to go on otherwise.”

Members for the County were actually elected and
were often vastly more respectable than the second sons, wastrels and idiots
who gravitated to the rotten boroughs; undoubtedly the major had been primed to
raise the topic and Tom was very happy to let his name be noted as one of the
right sort. If he was to marry and produce an heir, then a title would be worth
having.

They parted after their thirty minutes, the correct
length for a morning visit, the major saying that he would look forward to
seeing Tom in his house in the very near future – far more enthusiastic than a
mere courtesy response.

“Very good, thir! The major will path the word that
you are a great improvement on Rockingham and may be treated like any other
gentleman.”

“I am glad to hear that, Brown.”

“Mr Quillerson will drive with you to church on
Sunday, sir,” Morton announced.

“But, I thought he was…”

“He was, sir, especially while Smythe was here – but
he has been easily persuaded of the wisdom of joining the Established Church
now that he has received temporal promotion. He is now sufficiently beforehand
with the world that he may consider a wife, and that, in this area, and with
this young lady, demands respectability – or orthodoxy at minimum, sir. He will
be able to lead you through the appropriate procedures, having attended church
weekly as a schoolboy.”

“Thank you, Morton.”

The church was old, its spire tall, room in the pews
for at least three hundreds; there were fewer than fifty there, mostly female,
without exception genteelly dressed. The great bulk of the villagers were
crammed into a small red-brick chapel a quarter of a mile away, singing
lustily, the remainder, all of the middle order, very quiet in a Quaker meeting
hall nearby.

“The Church claims them all, sir,” Quillerson
quietly commented. “The chapel has no licence, so they must come here to be
married but are not otherwise seen inside these doors. However, sir, married in
the Church of England means that they are part of the parson’s flock when it
comes to counting heads.”

Tom nodded – he was not surprised to hear of the
duplicity of the powers that be – it was a corrupt country and the Church was
part of the government. He stood, knelt, sat, bowed his head to Quillerson’s
command, thankful that the ornately carved pew belonging to the estate
partially concealed him from the many curious eyes.

“Mr Rockingham was chapel, sir, when he could be
bothered at all. It was one of the causes of the unwillingness of the local gentry
to mix with him. This pew remained empty. The other one, on the other side,
sir, belongs to the Grafhams and will always have the women of the family
there, except in the Season or when they are off visiting; the Marquis is less
commonly present because he spends the bulk of his days in London where he is
much involved in government business, one understands, playing a role on the
Navy Board, I believe.”

Tom smiled his understanding – the Marquis was poor
and a place on a Board should parlay into several thousands a year in bribes
and sweeteners from contractors. He glanced across the church, saw three
bonnets in the pew, nothing else.

“This is the sermon, sir – Parson Nobbs will never
stretch it beyond twenty minutes; the chapel runs to two hours of ranting –
Hellfire and Damnation at the top of the minister’s voice – but Parson is too
polite for that.”

Tom listened to the first sermon he had ever heard;
he did not understand it, could not follow the Biblical references, obviously,
and was deeply unimpressed by what passed for logical argument. He was not much
concerned with the niceties of pious behaviour, however, because to his
understanding they had got him for theft and fornication, and probably murder,
already, so he knew which direction he was heading in after death – he would
deal with that problem when it came due, he had better things to worry about
the while.

The collection plate came to them first.

“Two guineas, sir – more would be flash, less would
be tight on a first attendance.”

“Thank’ee, Mr Quillerson.” Tom laid the small coins
precisely in the centre of the plate, next to Quillerson’s sixpence; they both
started to chuckle and guiltily suppressed the noise.

“Parson Nobbs will be at the doors, sir, to speak
with everybody as they leave. We will be last out, the Grafham ladies in front
of us.”

They filed out in silence, maintaining the air of
reverence until they reached fresh air again; almost all of the congregation
had remained outside the porch, busily greeting each other and waiting to get a
first surreptitious look at the new great man of the parish. Few of them would
presume to intrude so far as to address Tom or attract his attention on this
first meeting, but they would expect him to notice them when he inevitably
bumped into them about the village over the next few weeks and months. The
Grafham ladies were to be introduced by the reverend, however, they being
socially Tom’s superior yet of lesser position in the ranks of local
landholders.