The Privateersman (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 1) (15 page)

Carrot and stick – it worked for donkeys, it should
work for foundrymen.

“Do it, George. I’ll contact our customers for wrought
and tell them we shall be ending production. They’re mostly one off jobs, I
believe, apart from the ploughshares.”

“Ploughshares are month on month, sir, just a word
of mouth for how many are needed. Give them good notice – it will take at least
three months to build the crucibles, so we can keep them sweet.”

“We need a traveller if we are to get more
contracts, especially in steel, where we aren’t known.”

Mason stirred uneasily, almost for the first time in
their acquaintance seemed unsure of himself.

“I ain’t certain that I’m doing right by this, sir,
but I’ve got a young brother, twenty years between us, almost. He went to the
Grammar School, being as how I could find the cost of clothes and books when he
passed the examination what gave him free entry, so he has the knowledge and
speaks right. He can learn about our costs and prices quickly – he’s a bright
lad, no question, sir – and he could travel for us, if it’s not an imposition,
sir, me putting his name forward.”

“I had rather employ a man I know – and any brother
of yours is likely to be a good worker. I know I can trust you, George, so I
reckon I can trust your family. What do you say to offering him a small wage,
say a pound a week, and his expenses – hotel rooms and such, buying a horse for
him as well, and then give him a share of the profits he makes. Say ten parts
in the hundred of the money the firm makes on every contract he brings in?”

“He would be making big money after five years or
so, sir – I reckon he could be raking in damn near a thousand a year in the
end!”

“So the firm would be making nine thousand, George –
sounds good to me.”

“It’s a lot of money, sir!”

“It is. You should be doing the same, of course,
except that your ten per cent will be of all the firm’s earnings, not just the
contracts your brother brings in. Later, when Roberts has got big enough, I may
well leave the whole management of the works to you, George, while I do
something else – coal mines, maybe. When that happens you will get a share in
the firm as well as more of the profits. I don’t believe in something for
nothing, George – I want a lot from you, so it’s only fair to pay for all I
take.”

Money making was easy, Tom had discovered, if you
had money already and the country was booming; it occurred to him that one day
the country might stop expanding and he wondered what would happen then –
perhaps he should start to keep an eye on what was happening nationally, so
that he might be able to get a warning of bad times if they seemed likely. For
the while canals were spreading apace, there was a turnpike building between
every big town in Lancashire, and likely elsewhere, iron was expanding and coal
was being hauled out of the ground in thousands of tons while cotton was
mushrooming and he still had five thousands sat in the bank, uncommitted, safe
but not really earning. Perhaps he could find something for that money, in
another field though.

“Mr Clapperley! What should I do with about five
thousands of cash money? ‘Eggs in one basket’, you know, I am unwilling to put
it to work with the rest of my money.”

“A rational thought, sir, and there are several
possibilities. Safest is Consols, Government Loan stock, payment guaranteed
from the Consolidated Fund, the Exchequer in effect. Being safe, Consols pay
poor returns, four and one half at maximum, three more common. For high returns
one must take a greater risk, but even then one can reduce the chances of
default; I would suggest that you make two or three loans, Mr Andrews, of one
or two thousands to venturers who are unable to borrow elsewhere, who the
banks, for example, will not touch. Twenty-five per centum is not unheard of
for such, sir.”

“Six times as great as Consols, and more than twice
the rate most banks would charge. What sort of business makes a profit that can
pay that, Mr Clapperley?”

“Black ivory, for one, sir – most of the English
trade is Liverpool-based now.”

“Slaving? No! I have seen slavery in the Sugar
Islands, Mr Clapperley, and I will have no part in it. A dirty business and for
dirty people, sir – I have no weak stomach and have killed my man in fair
fight, sir, and more than once, but I will have no part in flogging and
butchery.”

“As you will, sir – I have seen neither slavery nor
warfare, can comment on neither. I would add, sir, that no money of mine is
involved in slaving, but there is a high profit and I could not but draw it to
your attention.”

“That was your duty, sir, and you were correct to
perform it, however distasteful it may be to both of us.”

The awkward moment was over, for the while.

“Horse-coping, Mr Andrews, is a risky trade – the
buyer typically going to the Irish fairs and then bringing his purchases across
the sea to England, often some dying in storms or losing condition badly, and,
of course, possibly simply not finding buyers and having to be kept over
winter, at some expense. A client of mine proposes to buy in the northern parts
of the country and then take his horses to the little port of Larne, which is
only a half of a day’s sailing from Stranraer in Scotland, a far out of the way
place, admittedly, but with the advantage that the beasts may be walked a quiet
month south to Manchester, corn fed and regaining their condition on the road
and coming to market strong and healthy. He aims to move six strings of thirty
over the summer months, buying for no more than ten pounds and selling
typically at eighty to one hundred. He would ask to borrow two thousands and
repay twenty-five hundreds at season’s end.”

“Done, Mr Clapperly, the money to pass through your
hands, neither my face nor my name to be seen.”

“My fee to be, say, fifty guineas, ten per centum on
the interest?”

“Certainly, sir, payable when your client squares up
at the end of trading.”

“As well, sir, a lady known to me needs a thousand
temporarily to cover a run of bad luck on her tables – three times in a week
the faro bank has been broken! Unheard of – it rarely happens once a year, and
of course, she had funds put aside to cover that eventuality, but not thrice!
She would pay fifty a month interest, hoping to repay in three months,
certainly in four.”

Tom knew nothing of gambling and gaming houses,
except that they were illegal but the law was never enforced while they were
discreet and allowed no silly suicides or scandals on their premises. In any
case, the government had no business interfering with private pleasures – what
people did with their own money and out of public view was their own business;
to hell with the law!

“By all means, Mr Clapperley, but it occurs to me
that collection of such a debt might perhaps raise difficulties – one could
hardly go to court, I would imagine?”

“No, sir, one could not, but I can vouch for the
lady’s probity.”

“Good. You might, perhaps, wish to point out that I
am capable of making my own collection if needs must.”

Clapperley shuddered, he was not a man of violence,
was quite content to restrict his assaults to those sanctioned by the law and
the courts.

“Two thousands more, Mr Clapperley?”

“By the end of the week, Mr Andrews, I have one or
two ideas, will have to pursue them a little further.”

Tom visited Martin and arranged to make a cash
withdrawal on the following morning and then took his gig back to his lonely
house to clean and load his pistols for the benefit of Mr Clapperley’s nerves.
Greatly to his dismay he had discovered that the local business community was
aggressively low church and chapel, committed to thrift, soap and overt sexual
rectitude – one could not openly keep a mistress in one’s mansion and expect to
gain another contract from these men; behind closed doors no doubt all was
different – ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was, he understood, an expression of
local invention. Discovering the exact location of those closed doors was not
easy, however – they were not discussed here, it was very different to New York
where such matters had been boasted of. Clapperley, now, was obviously familiar
with at least one gaming house and from gambling table to ‘knocking shop’ was
normally one very short step – he must have a very precise idea of the location
of the Lancashire dens of iniquity, could probably offer a detailed, guided
tour, but to use his services would be to open oneself to blackmail, he was a
lawyer, after all. Better not to take advice in this matter from him; it was,
however, becoming a matter of some urgency to locate a source of relaxation.

He entered Clapperley’s chambers next morning in a
black mood, frieze coat flapping open and pistol butts displayed at each
stride. He counted out sixty bank notes of different size and pattern and print
and drawn on a mixture of country and London banks, but all of fifty pounds
denomination and known and acceptable at face value; notes drawn on obscure,
minor country banks might fetch a discount, but the majors were well enough
known to be as good as gold, almost.

“Three thousands, Mr Clapperley. Would you wish me
to escort you when you carry them out of the building, sir, or have you your
own arrangements?”

It was a dangerous sum of money, a long lifetime’s
earnings for a farm labourer, worth killing for as Clapperley was only too well
aware.

“Thank you, Mr Andrews, but I shall send the money
by messenger rather than carry it myself. The men are quite well-known in the
town, and are never attacked for fear of the consequences, I understand – they
tend not to bother the courts of law, according to rumour.”

“Sensible – the parish constable is of little value
for the apprehension of felons, I understand, Mr Clapperley.”

Clapperley left the distasteful topic – he could
find nothing amusing or interesting in even the second-hand discussion of
violence.

“I have been able to confirm another rumour that had
come to my ears recently, Mr Andrews, speaking last evening to a contact who
often has specialised knowledge.”

Tom nodded, he had heard of paid informants, men who
knew everything and everybody like Bob had in New York.

“The Corporation, as is well-known, intends to build
an Infirmary, for the betterment of the health of the poor people of the town –
the infectious diseases of the slums spread all over if unchecked – and have
finally decided on a location. They will build on the hillside behind
Chamberlain Street, on the outskirts where there is a healthy wind to blow away
the miasmas, a decision recently taken and not to be public knowledge. A few
guineas and I can discover the exact plots of farmland they will wish to
purchase…”

“How much?”

“Two hundred in golden guineas, coin so much more
convincing than paper in these matters.”

“And we may then purchase ourselves and discuss the
resale with the Corporation, possibly even with the same gentlemen who sold us
the information?”

“Just so, Mr Andrews. We may also be able to
nominate a builder of our choice.”

“And to think that I went privateering in the Sugar
Islands when I could have been a pirate here! Yes, Mr Clapperley, I think we should
put our money to work for us, it is I believe our Christian duty to do so!”

Clapperley looked a little surprised at this last.

“I remember, vaguely, from Dame School, sir,
something about the Parable of the Talents – it is incumbent upon us to set our
money to work for the best return.”

Clapperley simpered weak approbation for this stroke
of wit, finding it somewhat strong for his taste, and enquired, apparently
apropos of nothing, whether Mr Andrews had had much contact with Miss Roberts,
for her time of strict mourning must be at its end and she would be venturing
more into public.

“I have seen nothing of her, Mr Clapperley – I
thought it best to build a fence around the house – to maintain her privacy –
and she has not strayed out of her acre of garden, to my knowledge.”

“One wonders how she will occupy her time now, Mr
Andrews – she was always used to be about the works and performed much of the
bookkeeping, I believe.”

“Her father not doing so for being unable to follow
the figures from column to column, they tending to dance about so after the
first half bottle.”

Clapperley smiled primly, his lawyer’s training not
permitting him to associate himself with so damaging a comment.

“I presume she will have local acquaintances, Mr
Clapperley, young ladies of like age.”

“Probably not, sir. Her brother was socially active,
and made few friends for the family, and Mr Roberts Senior was of an abrasive
disposition, not a well-liked man, even at his best.”

“So her existence will be reclusive, you fear, Mr
Clapperley, yet a young lady with twelve thousand pounds is unlikely to remain
uncourted, surely.”

“Normally, I would agree with you, Mr Andrews.”

Tom pondered Clapperley’s words on his way back to
the works, trying to read between the lines, to discover what precisely was the
message in them; the little lawyer was not one for idle conversation and his
advice, however veiled, had so far been worth listening to.