The Privateersman (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 1) (13 page)

“Or…”

“Like you says, sir, it might have been t’other way
round. Never married, Mr Jonathan didn’t. Very friendly with any number of the
young lads hereabouts, often you’d see ‘im with two or three of them, boys of
sixteen or seventeen or so, some of them sons to the local farmers and gentry.
The word was that some of their dads was none too happy; two of them got
gamekeepers, used to dealing with poachers and such…”

“Enough said.”

“So I reckons, sir. Now then, sir, canal side,
loading bay, coals and coke in, piece-goods out, you’ll see a narrow boat here
most days. Thirty ton of coal at a time, less of coke, of course, it being
lighter. Six men with shovels working here, sir.”

“No crane?”

“No, sir, though I reckons it would be better if we
did ‘ave. Maybe a steam engine, even, especial if we gets busier.”

“Not very busy at the moment?”

“Short of contracts, sir, two of those we’ve got
close to an end. Mr Roberts has hardly been out at all since Mr Jonathan died –
nobody drumming up business for the firm.”

Mason led the way to the first, newer shed, opened a
side door to give an overview of all that was happening inside; it was noisy,
gloomy and very hot.

“Windows get smutted over as fast as you clean them,
Mr Andrews – no way you can get any daylight in. We poured yesterday, about
half going straight to Number Two to charge with scrap and stir and burn off to
make wrought. The stuff that went to the sand-moulds is mostly cast guttering
and cooking pots and pans. It’s cooled off now and they’re breaking it out and
cleaning off the flash in this half of the shed, finishing off the moulds for
the next pour on the other side – big job, trusses for the roof of a mill, each
one to exact size and shape to fit in its proper place, good money, there’s
only a few concerns in this area can do that sort of job.”

Tom asked the obvious questions, made the obvious
comment about the heat.

“Wait till we pours, sir – if it’s hot now, it’s
boiling then!”

“Twenty-four men and five boys”

“Are they apprentices?”

“Not as such, sir. Learners, improvers, you might
say, but not working towards a trade.”

“Do you need more hands?”

“No, not in here, sir. Needs be a better
organisation of what we’ve got, sir, that’s all. Make some changes next door,
and a lot in the quarry, but not to so great an amount in ‘ere, sir.”

They went to the other side, round the two big
furnaces, stepping over the trackway.

“Wooden rails, Mr Mason, do they break often?”

“All the time, sir, we ought to make ‘em out of
wrought, but the master says it would cost too much. Ought to be laid out as
far as the quarry, too, but ‘e won’t ‘ave it – never was that way, no need for
it ever to be so. Steam engine in the middle ‘ere, with a big windlass and a
long rope, pulling the trucks up from canal and quarry both, make a sight more
sense, sir. Good iron in that quarry yet, sir, but it’s getting deeper and
needs more labour to get it out – an engine makes sense, sir.”

“So it seems. What would it cost, do you know?”

“I got all the figures, sir, I kept my copy even
when master threw ‘is in the bin as a waste of ‘is bloody time.”

“Good, keep it all to hand, if you please.”

“This is the wrought iron shop, sir, mostly beating
out shares for ploughs – big call for them, sir, but a bit of plate as well,
for boilers. Not the best quality, our wrought, sir, but good enough for what
we do.”

“Why is it not the best, Mr Mason? You do not strike
me as a man for the second-best, if I might say so.”

“I ain’t, sir. That’s why I come up north ‘ere,
because the trade down in Kent were dying for lack of quality iron. Thing is,
sir, coke just ain’t the right stuff for wrought iron, it don’t burn quite ‘ot
enough, you got to ‘ave charcoal melted iron for the best wrought. You can stir
it in the furnace and burn it careful, but it ain’t never quite so good.
However, master wants to make it, so we do.”

They walked the whole site, spent the better part of
two hours, Tom fascinated by his first sight of anything bigger than a blacksmith’s
forge, drawing Mason out and gaining the impression of a self-educated
intelligent man with ideas of his own, one who could be of great use to him,
not just in the early days but as a long-term manager and assistant, a first
lieutenant, as it were.

When they returned to the office, Roberts was
waiting but his daughter had been sent away.

“Well?”

No greeting, no courtesy, and this was the Age of
Manners!

“A very interesting and thorough tour, sir. Your Mr
Mason has been very good.”

“So ‘e bloody should be – that’s ‘is bloody job!”

Clapperley winced, uneasy in the presence of bad
temper and aggression, fearful of an argument, fisticuffs even, doubtful that
young Mr Andrews would tolerate such cavalier treatment.

“Have you formed an opinion of Mr Roberts’ business,
Mr Andrews?”

“I have, Mr Clapperley, am fairly impressed by it. A
pity that trade seems slow at the moment, but, no doubt, you have new contracts
ready to come in, Mr Roberts?”

Roberts failed to meet his eye, shook his head after
a moment.

“That would be an early need, then. It seems to me
best that you should take your retirement at an early stage, Mr Roberts, if you
agree to sell, sir. I am prepared to offer you twelve thousand pounds, cash,
for the equity – lock, stock and barrel - works, quarry, land, cottages and
house. I presume you live in the house, sir?”

“I do.”

“Tenancy rent-free for your lifetime, sir, on
condition that you do not enter any other part of the premises.”

Tom waited for Roberts to demand the tenancy for his
daughter’s lifetime, a reasonable request that he would instantly accept, but
he sat mute for a while, fiddling with a pencil at his desk, finally looking up
to half-shout a refusal.

“Paltry! Twelve thousand? I could get twenty
anywhere!”

Tom was not prepared to negotiate – Clapperley had
told him there were two other iron works for sale in the area, though both were
smaller and less well-known than Roberts.

“Then clearly you must find another buyer, Mr
Roberts. Thank you for your time, sir. Good day to you.”

Mason was waiting outside the offices, papers in
hand.

“Thank you for your help, Mr Mason. It seems that I
shall not be purchasing here, but now that I have seen a manufactury I shall
elsewhere. When I do, may I call upon you, sir?”

“I shall hear of it if you do buy one of the others,
Mr Andrews – ours is still a small community – and I might well come knocking
at your door, sir.”

“You may be very sure of a welcome if you do, Mr
Mason.”

He made a point of shaking Mason’s hand before he
turned away.

“Good man, that one, Mr Clapperley. What would he
earn?”

“I don’t know, Mr Andrews, but probably not much
more than hundred a year – Mr Roberts has no name for generosity as an
employer.”

“Mr Roberts is a drunken little shit, sir.”
Clapperley winced again, looked round anxiously in case they had been
overheard. “How would I go about getting new contracts, if I was to take the
works?”

“First, a newspaper announcement that the firm has a
new proprietor and that Mr Roberts has no further connection with the works. A
few pounds in the editor’s pocket and there will be an article about the ‘new
man of enterprise who has come to town and is revitalising one of our oldest
firms in the iron trade, intending to make it one of the biggest and most
modern in the whole of Lancashire’. I can see to that, sir. You have no
objection to your name being published, sir?”

“None at all, Mr Clapperley – it is a sufficiently
common name, I believe.”

“That should steer some contracts back to the works,
sir – local firms who have taken work elsewhere and would be glad to bring it
back close to home, now that the cause of the initial friction is gone. There
are still only a very few big trip-hammers, sir. Some new contracts might come
your way, too, as a result of the news, but very few. You should employ a
traveller, sir, a man who will go from firm to firm, town to town, knocking on
doors and soliciting trade; he must have a knowledge of the business and be
able to talk prices and delivery times, and he must be able to speak well, to
hold his own in polite company. Mr Jonathan Roberts was used to perform the
role, I believe, and did it quite well for a time, until he became, shall we
say,
persona non grata
in this area.”

“That is the young man who died recently?” Tom kept
quiet about the word he had had from Mason, interested to hear the gloss that
Clapperley might put upon the matter.

“Drowned in the canal, sir, the body smelling
strongly of brandy – an easy mystery to solve, and so the coroner held. The
young man never drank, sir, not more than a glass or two of wine and port with
dinner, never ardent spirits.”

“Ah! A conundrum!”

“I might prefer to call it a murder, sir, whilst
accepting that he might well have given a number of gentlemen very good reason
to murder him. An unfortunate affair, sir, but not necessarily a tragedy.”

“You would seem to have had very little liking for
the young gentleman, Mr Clapperley.”

“Without breaching any confidences, Mr Andrews, I
can say that I had been consulted about his, behaviour, shall we say, with some
of the local youths and had had to say that I knew of no remedy at law that
would permit action to be taken without a concomitant public scandal. Discreet
soundings of young Mr Roberts found him very unwilling to mend his ways –
indeed, he announced his willingness to stand up in court and name names, very
loudly, rather than do so.”

Tom shrugged – the young man would seem to have
provoked his own end; another care-for-nobody who had discovered that nobody
cared for him – no great loss to the wider world.

“What should I say if Mr Roberts should come back to
me with an offer to negotiate, sir? I believe that he has already tried to sell
out locally, but has found none who wished to talk to him.”

“I will not increase my offer, Mr Clapperley. The
firm has much in its favour, I would, in fact, like to possess it, but,
regrettably, I can find very little in Mr Roberts’ favour. He can go to Hell,
and the works with him, before I offer him so much as another penny, sir.”

Clapperley appeared at Tom’s inn two days later, begged
the favour of private speech with him.

“Strange news, Mr Andrews! Miss Roberts visited my
chambers this morning, not an hour ago, dressed all in black. Her father was
seized of an apoplexy in his sleep, was found dead in his bed yesterday
morning! Miss Roberts has spoken to her father’s attorney, and has discovered
herself to be sole beneficiary under his Will, as is only to be expected, and
wishes to sell. Probate cannot be granted for some months, of course, but
precedent in plenty exists to allow a business to continue to run; she would
lose almost all of her inheritance if the firm shut its doors and she can seek
a court order to permit the sale. Your twelve thousand to be placed in trust in
the court’s hands and you may walk in immediately. There are no known relatives
with a legitimate interest – no uncles, cousins, nephews, the Roberts running
to few children in the past two generations, so you should be quite safe, sir.”

“Miss Roberts to retain the house?”

“Life-tenancy, determined on her marriage, if such
should occur. Her twelve thousand invested carefully will be worth at least
four hundred a year, sufficient for her to keep up the house.”

“Then it should be so, Mr Clapperley. I would be
very glad to buy, sir.”

“Good. I can apply to the court for an immediate
interim order, the Roberts’ attorney consenting, as he will, and you should be
able to enter the premises on the day after tomorrow. I will pass word to Mason
that wages will be paid on Friday, as normal?”

“Yes, very definitely. Tell him that all is well in
hand and ensure that he knows he can spread the word.”

“He will undoubtedly be pleased to do so, Mr
Andrews. He will be glad to see stability returned to the firm.”

“Yes, the Roberts family has been unfortunate this
year.”

“Short-lived indeed, sir – one trusts no bruises
will be found on Mr Roberts’ brow!”

“You think, perhaps…”

Clapperley cut him short.

“As a lawyer, I am no friend to idle speculation,
sir; equally, as a lawyer, I have a profound disbelief in coincidence,
particularly when it is so convenient to the interests of a family member.”

“One would have thought the family to be above
suspicion in such a case, surely, sir!”

“Mr Andrews, murder is no light matter! Most people
have to hate very thoroughly before they will kill, and that means they must
know their victim well – and who do you know better than your own papa, or
brother? Good day to you, sir, I will send you a note as soon as may be telling
you exactly when you may enter the premises.”