Master of His Fate: The gripping new Victorian epic from the author of A Woman of Substance
Philip Falconer had become an expert on wine over the years, and Mr Montague had allowed him to create a wonderful cellar.
James knew how lucky the whole family was, because of Philip and Esther Falconer. Their very long service in the Montague household protected them all. His father and two uncles worked and made decent livings, but there was, most importantly, the reassuring knowledge that the older Falconers were there for them, should they need help of any kind. Lucky indeed.
People giving over their entire lives to one aristocratic family was not unusual, but James knew his grandparents were kept on also because they were excellent at what they did. In a sense they had become part of the family, were often given many small privileges which were much appreciated. James’s grandparents had many perks because the Montagues thought so highly of them. His grandmother had recently confided that Lady Agatha had told her that she was not the best, but better than the best, and so was Philip. Esther had sounded very proud and pleased when she recounted this to him.
James looked across at the door as it opened and his grandfather came in, a huge smile on his face. Jumping up, James ran to him. They embraced and Philip kissed his cheek before releasing him.
‘What a nice surprise to see you, my boy. I notice that you’ve shot up since I last saw you.’
‘That’s what Father says.’
‘Your grandmother told me your mother’s not well; that’s why Matthew sent you for the raspberry vinegar. He’s all right himself, isn’t he?’
James nodded. ‘Fighting fit, he says.’
Philip seated himself on the sofa, and James took the chair opposite. ‘Has Lady Agatha gone away then?’
Philip smiled, knowing how much James enjoyed the way Her Ladyship fussed over him. ‘She has indeed, with the Honourable Mister and Miss Helena and Master William, plus two maids, the valet, and enough baggage to fill two coaches. Gone to the Riviera to enjoy the sun and the festivities by the sea. They will stay in Nice and then progress to Monte Carlo. They will return in September, unless the Honourable Mister wants to come back in August for the grouse season.’
Esther arrived and announced, ‘Let’s go to the staff dining room and have a bite of lunch.’ Beckoning to them, she went on, ‘Cook has made a cottage pie, and she’s now preparing another one for you to take home, James, and an excellent chicken soup for your mother. Nothing like chicken soup to cure a sore throat.’
Philip and James followed Esther as she hurried down the corridor and into the staff dining room, where they sat down together. They would have it to themselves for the next hour, while the other staff cleaned the house and went about their duties.
For a long time Esther had wanted to discuss the future with her grandson, eager to know if he had any special plans about his work. This was a great opportunity to bring up the subject.
Turning to look at him, her pale green eyes filled with love, she began. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you if you intend to spend your life working at the market with Matthew on the two stalls. Or whether you might have other ideas, perhaps?’
Taken by surprise, James stared at her, his eyes wide, his expression quizzical. He did not answer for a moment. Finally, he said, ‘I don’t know, not really.’
‘It has occurred to me, from time to time, that you love architecture, and I know how intrigued you are about John Nash and his Regency buildings. Grandpa and I would be prepared to send you to school to be trained in architectural drawing, if you want that,’ Esther announced, and sat back in her chair, looking at him expectantly.
He shook his head vehemently. ‘No, I don’t want to be a draughtsman, Grans, but thank you for offering to send me to study – and you, too, Grandpapa. That’s generous of you.’ He was sincere, and this echoed in his voice.
‘What about school in general?’ Philip asked, leaning forward, his entire focus on his grandson. He was aware James was a special boy, highly intelligent, with the kind of class that was bred in the bone. He also had enormous charm and looks, and he was an achiever.
When James was silent, Philip added, ‘There is no pressure from us, James, but think about it, maybe something will come to you. We just want you to understand we are here to support you. The world is opening up for you.’
James nodded, looked at his grandfather intently, thinking how smart he was in his black jacket, pinstriped trousers, pristine white shirt and silver silk tie. The perfectly dressed butler.
His glance was now aimed at his grandmother, also well attired in a long, navy-blue skirt and matching blouse, with a white collar and cuffs. Her luxuriant silvery hair was piled up on top of her head. To him, she was the epitome of tailored elegance.
He knew she was fifty-six, but she didn’t look her age. And neither did his grandfather, who was now sixty. They have worn well, he thought, and suppressed a smile, wondering what they would say if he told them this.
Straightening in his chair, taking a deep breath, James decided to tell them the truth about his dreams. He plunged in. ‘I want to be a merchant,’ he confided. ‘By that I mean I want to own a shop like Fortnum and Mason, or an arcade of shops like the Burlington Arcade in Piccadilly. I want to be the most successful merchant in London! In the world!’ His voice had risen in his escalating excitement and, as he sat back, taking a deep breath, he realized his grandparents were staring at him in astonishment.
THREE
James loved his grandparents and he would never do anything to upset them, or disrespect them, but he had a mischievous streak in him and he was tickled that he had rendered them speechless for once in his life. He felt sudden laughter bubbling up inside him.
But he realized he dared not laugh, so he swallowed hard and tried to look serious. Taking a deep breath, he repeated, ‘Yes, I want to be a great merchant. That is truly my dream.’
‘How wonderful it is to have such a dream, James,’ his grandfather responded, the first one to break the silence. ‘Just as it’s important to know what you want to do with your life at an early age. Good for you, my boy.’
‘How are you going to make this dream come true?’ his grandmother asked, always down to earth and practical. James had certainly aroused her curiosity this morning with his announcement.
‘To answer your last question first, Grans, I can’t put my plan into operation just yet. I have to wait a couple of years. As for my plan, I really will make it work. And I shall strive very hard to make my dream come true. When I’m the right age.’
A smile of pleasure gleamed in Esther’s eyes. ‘That sounds very smart of you, and would you like to share your plan with us?’
‘Yes, I would …’ James stopped as Cook came into the staff hall carrying a tray, followed by Polly, one of the young housemaids.
Moving forward, her white apron billowing around her, Cook put the tray down at the other end of the table, brought a white ceramic dish over to his grandmother, and placed it on the table in front of her.
‘Here it is at last, Mrs Falconer, the cottage pie, and Polly has brought a bowl of peas, the gravy boat and the plates.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Grainger, and you, too, Polly,’ Esther said, smiling at the women as they placed the other items to one side of her on the table.
The women smiled back and departed.
Esther served James and Philip, and then spooned some of the pie onto her own plate. It smelled delicious. The crust of mashed potatoes covering the top of the minced beef was browned to perfection.
After a mouthful of pie, James put his fork down and went on, ‘About my plan … it’s quite clear in my mind. For the next couple of years, I want to work with Dad, learn more from him. I’m going to ask him to take me with him when he attends estate sales in the country, or on the outskirts of London, and wherever he goes. I like to watch him wheel and deal, as he calls it. He’s an expert, and I must be an expert too. I also want to learn about other things, as well.’
‘Such as what, James?’ Philip asked curiously.
‘The finer things in life. I think I should gain a good knowledge about luxury goods, for instance. I need that information to run a store like Fortnum and Mason, and have an arcade full of fancy shops.’ James eyed his grandfather, then looked at Esther, his expression questioning.
‘Good thinking,’ Esther exclaimed. ‘Knowledge is Power with a capital “P”.’
‘I can teach you about the noble grape, and all the great wines of France,’ Philip announced with a smile. ‘I’d rather like to do that.’
James’s young face took on a glow, and he nodded vehemently. ‘Oh, Grandpapa, what a wonderful idea! Thank you. When can we get started?’
Philip and Esther glanced at each other and chuckled, amused, yet also pleased that James was so enthusiastic, and bursting to better himself.
It was Esther who now suggested that she should take James on some trips, when he could manage to take time off from his work at the market. ‘I’d like you to visit the Burlington Arcade again. I’ve only taken you there once before, and there are other arcades in London for you to see. And it is mandatory that we make a few trips to Fortnum and Mason. To study every floor and everything sold on those floors. You are correct, James. To be the owner of a shop selling high-class, luxury goods, you must understand the merchandise, your market, and your customers. And all the things they dream about and want to own. You must know their style, their way of living, what they wear and eat and drink.’
‘I will love visiting my favourite store.’ His blue eyes were sparkling more than ever, and he tucked into his lunch with relish, obviously enjoying it. He was happy he had confided in his grandparents, and thrilled by their positive response.
Esther gave him a loving look and began to eat her pie; Philip studied his young grandson thoughtfully and acutely, assessing him.
The boy was undoubtedly extremely clever, and he had been well brought up by Esther and Philip and his own parents. His mother Maude had seen to it that James read all the magazines and books he gave him, passed on by Lady Agatha, and Maude had helped him with his other lessons over the years.
Matthew had shown him how to dress well, and in a suitable way, and how to take care of his few clothes. Obviously James didn’t have a lot of things at his age, but they were always pressed and kept in good condition; his mother darned and stitched so that her family was always well turned out. His father was also teaching him to be the best salesman.
He certainly looks fit and healthy, Philip now thought, and was glad about that. Silently he thanked his employers for keeping him on the staff all these years, and Esther too. He and Esther had always made sure their sons and their grandchildren had good food and were aware of the importance of nutrition for their good health. It enraged Philip when he thought about his country, which was now – in 1884 – the greatest, richest and most powerful nation in the world, and how it treated millions of its citizens. Without a second thought, the government allowed them to starve and live in filthy, foul slums.
It wouldn’t surprise me if they rose up and started a revolution one day soon, he thought suddenly, attacking the aristocracy, the gentry and the government. The French Revolution flew into his mind, and he cringed inside, but it was not such a far-fetched idea that it could happen here. Not the way things were.
The lower working classes and the very poor went hungry all of the time. Their daily sustenance was composed of a chunk of bread, and, if they were lucky, a mug of tea. Otherwise, it was water or a glass of ale. The latter was better than it sounded, because at least it wasn’t dangerous like some of the water supply. Philip couldn’t help wishing there were more men like his master, who was unusually charitable. Arthur Montague had given plenty of money for philanthropy to his eldest son and heir, Mr Roland Montague, who had started a charity with his wife, Catherine. They did a lot of wonderful work to help the poor and the destitute in Whitechapel and surrounding areas in the East End of London.
‘If you’re finished, Philip, I think we should collect the food from the kitchen – and the raspberry vinegar – so that I can go with James to Camden,’ Esther murmured as she pushed back her chair.
Esther’s words brought Philip out of his reverie. He nodded and rose. ‘That’s a good thought, my dear. I’ll take James to my office for a few seconds to show him some of my books on wine whilst you deal with Cook.’
Fifteen minutes later, when James and his grandfather joined Esther in the service hall, Philip immediately insisted she take a hansom cab. ‘Those two big canvas bags look awfully heavy,’ he protested, as his wife made a move to leave with them, one in each hand.
‘It’s fine; they’re not that heavy,’ she answered, ‘and James can help me with the smaller ones over there.’
James immediately exclaimed, ‘I think they are all extremely heavy, Grans, and they’re overflowing. Grandpapa is right. We should take a hansom cab.’ He did not want a repetition of the experience he’d had with the wheelbarrow. It had frightened him a little. But, mostly, he longed to ride in one of the horse-drawn carriages. He had never been in one before.
Much to James’s relief, his grandfather won the argument. He had gone outside and found a cab almost at once. Now he and his grandmother were sitting in it, surrounded by even more bags. ‘Since we’re taking a hansom cab, I might as well add a few things for Maude,’ she had told his grandfather, who had merely smiled knowingly. He told her to give Maude his love and his hope that she would feel better soon.
James sat opposite his grandmother in the horse-drawn carriage, one arm protecting several of the canvas bags on the seat next to him. His grandmother was doing the same thing. He had no idea what was in the extra bags, although he was certain it was food because of the nice smells emanating from them. Apple pie, he decided, and maybe sausage rolls.
After a long silence, sitting with her eyes closed as if in deep thought, Esther opened her eyes and stared at James. ‘I’d like to ask you something,’ she said in a low voice.
‘You can ask me anything, Grans.’
‘Have you told your father about your dream to be the greatest merchant in the world? And your plan?’
James shook his head. ‘No, I haven’t. Only you and Grandpapa know.’
‘Don’t you think that perhaps you should tell your father your plan for the future? After all, he ought to know that you’ll be leaving the stalls in a couple of years.’
‘I might be with him longer than that,’ James explained. ‘I might be seventeen or eighteen. I have to gauge what Mr Malvern will say when I take my proposition to him.’
‘Oh, so you have a proposition for him, as well as a dream and a plan for yourself?’
‘I do, yes,’ James muttered, thinking that she had sounded odd. Sarcastic? That wasn’t like her. No, she wasn’t being critical. Just curious.
He said, ‘I have some ideas that might make the market hall better, just small things, but they would improve the Malvern in certain ways.’
‘Do you want to tell me about them?’ she asked, now smiling, more like herself.
He shook his head. ‘No. I haven’t quite worked them out properly.’
‘I understand,’ Esther said. ‘Keep thinking.’
FOUR
The hansom came to a halt at the corner of the street where Matthew Falconer and his family lived, just off the main Hampstead Road in Camden.
The driver of the cab jumped down from his seat, opened the carriage door, and helped Esther to alight, with James following his grandmother. He and the driver pulled out canvas bags while Esther opened her purse to pay the driver. She did this once the bags were at the front door and thanked him. Small children watched curiously from across the street.
He tipped his cap, thanked her back, and thought to add, ‘Nice young ’un yer ’ave there, missus.’ He grinned and went back to the carriage, whistling away.
James was searching for the key when the front door suddenly opened. Rossi stood there smiling, with little Eddie peeping out from behind her. ‘James and Grandma! I’m so glad you’re here.’ She opened the door wider and helped them to carry the bags inside.
The house was tall and narrow and not very big, but it did accommodate the family comfortably, and they liked it. There was a cosy, homely feeling about the large kitchen, a room which was the centre of the household.
It had a big open fireplace and an oven with a range, and a wide window looking out into the back garden. A long oak table stood under the window and it was here they had their meals.
Once the canvas bags were safely on the table, Esther hugged and kissed Rossi and Eddie, and said to James, ‘I’m just going to pop upstairs to see your mother, and then I’ll be back to heat the raspberry vinegar medicine.’
James nodded. ‘I’ll unpack the bags, and Rossi will help me.’
‘I want to help, too,’ Eddie said, and James smiled at him and said he could.
Esther hurried into the front hall and mounted the stairs leading to the main bedroom floor. As she climbed, she could hear Maude coughing, and was quite alarmed when she went into the bedroom and saw her daughter-in-law’s face. It was ashen and there were dark rings under her eyes. Her light brown hair, always so glossy and carefully arranged, was rumpled and unruly.
‘I’m here, Maude,’ Esther said, walking over to the bed, anxiety on the edge of her voice. ‘Would you like some hot soup or just the raspberry vinegar?’
Her daughter-in-law could do no wrong in Esther’s eyes. She had proved to be an adoring wife and mother, and the whole family was devoted to her. To Esther, Maude was the calmest person she had ever known. Maude kept a loving and peaceful household; angry words were unheard of and food was always on the table. The house was clean as a whistle and the children well cared for. Her son was a lucky man. So were her grandchildren.
Pulling up a chair, sitting down next to the bed, Esther leaned closer and said in a low voice, ‘Are you awake, Maude? I’ve brought soup, and my concoction.’
‘Just drowsing; the raspberry vinegar would help,’ Maude whispered, her voice hoarse. ‘Is Jimmy with you?’
‘He’s downstairs with Rossi and Eddie. He came to get me earlier. We had a bite of lunch; then we came straight here. I’ve brought plenty of food, so you mustn’t worry about Matthew and the children being fed. They’ll be all right.’
Maude looked up at her, the sparkle in her dark brown eyes dulled by her illness. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘It’s not the bubonic plague, you know, merely a chill and a sore throat. I’ll be up and about in a few days.’
‘When you’re better, and not until then. I’ll be back in a few minutes, love.’ Esther hurried downstairs.
When she returned to the kitchen, she noticed that the bottle of raspberry vinegar and the jar of chicken soup were on the oak table. Everything else had been put away in the pantry.
‘Is Mother very ill?’ James asked, his worry obvious.
‘No, it’s just one of those bad chills, and she’s a bit chesty. But she’ll be fine. You can go up and see her if you want, or better still, you can take the drink up to her. It’ll only take a moment to boil.’
As she spoke, Esther crossed the room, picked up the bottle, and was back swiftly. Standing over a pan on the oven top, she stirred the raspberry vinegar. To this she added sugar and a large piece of butter, which James had brought to her from the pantry.
‘Is that all it is?’ James asked, sounding surprised, glancing at his grandmother. ‘Just those things boiled together?’
‘More or less,’ Esther nodded. ‘But I prepare the vinegar in a special way and put a few herbs into it as well.’
‘What are they?’
‘That’s a secret.’ Esther winked at him and poured the concoction into a cup. ‘Here it is, my lad. You can take it up to your mother. She must sip it slowly. It’s a bit hot.’
James did as he was told, and when he entered his parents’ bedroom he saw at once how poorly his mother looked. Carrying the cup carefully, he put it down on the bedside table.
Hearing the slight noise, Maude opened her eyes, and a smile surfaced when she saw her eldest son. ‘There you are, Jimmy.’
‘Grans said you’re to sip this slowly,’ he explained, reaching for the cup. ‘Be careful, Mum. ‘It’s very hot.’
Maude now pushed herself up in bed and took the cup from him. ‘I don’t know why but this is always helpful, really a good remedy for me.’
‘I think Grans put something special in it, but she wouldn’t tell me what. She said it’s a secret.’
Maude peered at him over the rim of the cup. ‘That’s strange. Your grandmother usually tells you everything.’
James chuckled. He settled back in the chair, his eyes focused on his mother. Although she looked tired and sick, he remembered his grandmother’s words that it probably was only a chill, nothing more serious. Comforted by the thought, he relaxed.
It had been a slow day at the stalls, and Matthew decided to leave early on this warm June afternoon. The market’s owner, Henry Malvern, wasn’t visiting until the next day; concern about his wife made Matthew hasten his departure, and propelled him down the Hampstead main road.
He didn’t even take the barrow with him to bring back goods tomorrow. They had plenty of stock and he had locked it away in the shed with the sawhorses and planks.
The road was full of men who were leaving the market hall and others who worked in companies or factories nearby. The road was filled to overflowing, which surprised him. It was only five o’clock. Most men worked until six or seven, some even later.
Perhaps it’s the nice weather after lots of rain, Matthew thought, as he strode out, moving at a steady pace, not wanting to start perspiring. We all want to sit in our back yards and read a newspaper, or go to the pub for a pint.
The pub. A lot of men he knew made a habit of going for a drink after work – many of them most nights of the week. He didn’t. He wanted to be in his home with his Maude and their children. They were his whole world. He wasn’t interested in swilling down beer in the taproom or playing darts, and he certainly didn’t want to listen to husbands grumbling about their wives, trying to unload their problems on him.
Maude. The image of her face came into his head, and he smiled inwardly, suddenly thinking of the first time he had set eyes on her. Eighteen years ago now.
He had been nineteen and she had been seventeen, and they had bumped into each other in the back yard at Fountains Manor in Kent.
She had explained that she was delivering a blouse for Lady Agatha when she saw him glancing at the small suitcase she was holding. He had asked to carry it for her, and she had agreed. Then he had led her to the back door, ushered her into the kitchen, where his mother happened to be speaking with Cook.
His mother obviously knew the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, had greeted her warmly, and admired the rose-pink dress she was wearing. Within seconds, she had whisked her away, taking her to Lady Agatha in her boudoir.
The sense of disappointment he had felt that day rushed back to him as he increased his pace down the road, needing to get home to be there for Maude. He recalled how he had hung around the yard until the beautiful girl had finally emerged from the house. He had asked her if he could walk her to the main gates. She had looked at him intently, questioningly, and then she had smiled and he had smiled back, floored by her beauty. Those deep brown eyes, set wide apart, full of sparkle and life under perfectly arched brows, the burnished brown hair that fell in curls around her lovely, heart-shaped face, and the slender, lithe figure. She was breathtaking.