A Victorian World (Poor Man at the Gate book 13) by Wareham Andrew

Author:Wareham, Andrew [Wareham, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PublishNation
Published: 2022-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

London was its normal grimy self, the epitome of all that was wrong in England – conspicuous wealth displayed next to extreme poverty, opulent shop windows staring out onto ragged passers-by, the mansions of Mayfair less than a mile from rat-ridden tenements. For those willing to see, it was an appalling statement of a country’s failure. The three believed their eyes were open and saw much of what was wrong, though having few ideas of how to ameliorate the situation short of creating more work and allowing a slow trickle-down of prosperity, a solution they knew had failed to work in the previous half-century.

“Where do we find the premises of the Anti-Corn Law League, Robert?”

“Cheapside, I believe. Let us proceed there and be seen to be virtuous.”

A large office had been decorated with placards proclaiming the aims of the Society and was manned by lean, keen, enthusiastic young men, recently down from Oxford and with a social conscience demanding an outlet in clean work. Not for them the grubby business of distributing bread in the slums or of educating the children of the poor in grimy classrooms – they preferred a political cause, in cleaner air.

“It is easy to mock, my sons. That is why I do it. Let us give our names and our money and be gone. The atmosphere of aggressive virtue is not a favourite of mine.”

They entered the offices, saw a young man sat at a counter, looking as if he wished to greet visitors.

“I am St Helens. I believe one can establish one’s support for the League and offer a small amount of cash as well?”

“Why, yes, you can indeed, my lord. If you would condescend to write your name on this form, and perhaps your donation next to it?”

Twenty-one gold sovereigns in two uneven piles.

“Twenty guineas, sir.”

“My lord, thank you. The money will be put to good use…”

“I know. That is why I gave it you.”

Robert stepped back, allowed his sons to take his place.

The three handed over their cash and turned to go.

“Ah, my lord, would you wish to take one of our pamphlets, explaining our cause, with you?”

“No. It is because I already understand the matter that I have come here today. Good morning!”

They left, content that they had created a stir and that some of the newssheets would be informed that a notable Viscount and his twin sons, all that remained after tragedy struck his family, had affirmed support for the abolition of the Corn Laws. The ‘papers’, as they were sometimes called, dared not actually name the rich and powerful for fear of actions in libel, but had no hesitation in offering the most blatant clues to their identity.

“I estimate four o’clock tomorrow afternoon, sir.”

“Not later than ten minutes past, Mr Andrews.”

They were in public, must offer absolute formality.

“What next?”

“The Shooting Gallery for an hour of amusement, sir, before we must visit at the bank?”

They made their way to Manton’s, still the leader in pistol manufacture, spent a noisy thirty minutes at play with the handguns there.

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