Книга - Master of His Fate: The gripping new Victorian epic from the author of A Woman of Substance

Master of His Fate: The gripping new Victorian epic from the author of A Woman of Substance
Barbara Taylor Bradford


The gripping, epic new historical family saga from the author of A Woman of Substance.From Victorian London to the vibrant port cities of England and France, from gracious stately homes in Gloucestershire to the decadence of Paris, Master of his Fate launches an unforgettable new historical series.London 1884: Queen Victoria is Empress of India and Britain is at its peak of worldwide power.James Falconer works as a barrow boy in a flourishing London market owned by Henry Malvern. But James hungers for more. Turning away from family tradition, he dreams of building an empire of stores like Fortnum and Mason’s and believes that Henry, along with his daughter and heir Alexis, could offer him a way to climb beyond his beginnings.But tragedy and betrayal threaten the dreams of both James and Alexis – and jeopardise everything they hold dear…























Copyright (#u4a2557b4-49ee-597d-953b-380be9a6d9ad)


Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2018

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Jacket photograph © Lee Avison/Trevillion Images

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008242404

Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008242428

Version: 2018-10-30




Dedication (#u4a2557b4-49ee-597d-953b-380be9a6d9ad)


This book is for my husband Bob,

my hero, who has always given me the freedom and space to write

despite whatever else has been happening.

With my love and gratitude always.


Contents

COVER (#u177fb246-e4dc-5948-a59e-9e1e8b525b01)

TITLE PAGE (#u59b04463-e269-5bdc-bf49-518d242a9d23)

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

CHARACTERS

PART ONE:

THE BARROW BOY (#u186d615c-a8d5-5025-bb29-cc126972b205)London 1884 (#u186d615c-a8d5-5025-bb29-cc126972b205)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

PART TWO: NEW HORIZONS (#ub364d744-61d0-5c75-ba3f-c457ffd43118)London/Kent 1887 (#ub364d744-61d0-5c75-ba3f-c457ffd43118)

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PART THREE: UNIQUE RELATIONSHIPS (#u00a4b8a6-bc22-586a-860d-b172d8b1ce0d)Kingston Upon Hull/London 1888 (#u00a4b8a6-bc22-586a-860d-b172d8b1ce0d)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

PART FOUR: THE ROAD TO DESTINY (#u33dd5803-950e-5426-95da-023ae979d042)Hull/London 1888 (#u33dd5803-950e-5426-95da-023ae979d042)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

PART FIVE: THE WAY IT IS (#ubed64b84-93bf-57b1-965c-c09118c7e0d7)London/Paris 1888–9 (#ubed64b84-93bf-57b1-965c-c09118c7e0d7)

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

KEEP READING …

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER




CHARACTERS (#u4a2557b4-49ee-597d-953b-380be9a6d9ad)


THE FALCONERS

Philip Henry Rosewood Falconer, founder of the dynasty; a head butler.

Esther Marie Falconer, his wife and co-founder of the dynasty; a head housekeeper.

Their sons

Matthew, his eldest son and heir; a stall owner at the Malvern Market.

George, a noted journalist on The Chronicle daily newspaper.

Harry, a chef and owner of a café, the Rendezvous.

Their grandchildren (Matthew’s offspring)

James Lionel, an ambitious young businessman on the rise.

Rosalind, known as Rossi, a seamstress.

Edward Albert, assistant to his father on the stalls.

Their daughter-in-law

Maude Falconer, Matthew’s wife and mother of his children; a seamstress.

THE VENABLES

Clarence Venables, Esther Falconer’s brother-in-law, great-uncle of James Falconer. Owner of a shipping company in Hull.

Marina Venables, Clarence’s wife and younger sister of Esther Falconer. Great-aunt of James Falconer. A noted artist.

Their children

William, eldest son and heir, working at the Hull shipping company.

Albert, second son, working at the Hull shipping company.

Their daughter-in-law

Anne Venables, Albert’s wife.

THE MALVERNS

Henry Ashton Malvern, owner of the Malvern Company, a big business enterprise and property company.

Alexis Malvern, his only child and heir; a partner in the business.

Joshua Malvern, Henry’s brother and business partner in London.

Percy Malvern, his cousin who runs the wine business in Le Havre.

THE TREVALIANS

Sebastian Trevalian, head of the Trevalian private bank.

His daughters

Claudia, his eldest daughter and heir.

Lavinia, a debutante.

Marietta, a debutante.

His sister

Dorothea Trevalian Rayburn, an art collector and member of the bank’s board.

His son-in-law

Cornelius Glendenning, Claudia’s husband, a banker.

THE CARPENTERS

Lord Reginald Carpenter, publishing tycoon and proprietor of The Chronicle.

Lady Jane Cadwalander Carpenter, his wife.

Their daughters

Jasmine, a debutante.

Lilah, a debutante.



PART ONE (#u4a2557b4-49ee-597d-953b-380be9a6d9ad)




ONE (#u4a2557b4-49ee-597d-953b-380be9a6d9ad)


James Lionel Falconer, commonly called Jimmy by everyone except his grandmother, was out of breath. He came to a sudden stop in the middle of the road going towards Camden Lock. The wheelbarrow he was pushing was heavy and grew heavier by the minute, at least so it seemed to him. He rested for a few seconds, leaning against the barrow, trying to catch his breath.

It was Thursday 12 June 1884, and last month, in late May, he had celebrated his fourteenth birthday. He felt very grown up now. After all, he had been working with his father at their stalls in Henry Malvern’s covered market in London’s Camden Town since he was eight. That was part-time until he was ten, when he began to go there every day. He loved the haggling, the negotiating, the wheeling and dealing about prices, just as much as his father did.

His father called him ‘my clever lad’, which pleased Jimmy. He admired his father, endeavoured to emulate him. Matthew Falconer, who was thirty-seven, dressed neatly to go to work, and so did Jimmy. His father never forgot to ask his regulars how members of their families were, and neither did Jimmy. It had been inculcated in him.

Even his grandmother, Esther Falconer, had noticed, since his early childhood, how he copied his father in most things. It frequently brought a smile to her face, and sometimes she even gave him a threepenny bit for being a good boy. She told him to save it for a rainy day. He did. He paid great attention to her.

Straightening, blowing out air, Jimmy picked up the two handles and started pushing the barrow once more. He walked at an even pace, knowing that this main road got a bit higher after it branched off on both sides.

He stayed on the main road, puffing a bit harder, perspiring; it was a warm day. He was almost at the market when he experienced a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, and came to an abrupt stop, startled by the intensity of the pain.

Holding onto the handles of the barrow tightly, he kept himself upright even though he thought he might fall over anyway. Slowly, the pain subsided. He was still short of breath; sweat covered his face. He couldn’t imagine what was wrong with him. What had just happened?

‘Jimmy! Jimmy! Are you all right, lad?’

He recognized Mrs Greenwood’s voice and turned around. She was a neighbour, a cook who worked in a big house in a terrace near Regent’s Park.

‘I’m fine,’ he answered, and he did feel better. Whatever the pain had been about, it had gone away. He just felt a bit warm on this sunny day, and breathless.

When she arrived at his side, Mavis Greenwood peered at him intently, her warm, motherly face ringed with concern. ‘You stopped suddenly, and looked a bit odd. I can’t help thinking something is wrong.’

‘No, it isn’t. Not really. I just got out of breath and felt hot.’

She nodded. ‘Let’s not complain about the weather. It’s been raining cats and dogs for days.’

Jimmy laughed. He liked Mrs Greenwood. She often brought them some of her baked goods, as she called her marvellous concoctions, and he was especially partial to her gooseberry tart.

‘Where’s your dad, Jimmy? He shouldn’t let you push this barrow. It’s almost bigger than you.’

He grinned at her; then his face quickly changed. His expression sobered as he explained, ‘Dad’s taken Mum to see Dr Robertson. She says it’s just a cold, but me dad thinks it might be bronchitis, or – worse – pneumonia.’

‘Oh, I do hope it’s not, lad. They’re serious illnesses.’ Placing her handbag on top of the sack covering the contents in the wheelbarrow, she got hold of one of the handles. ‘Come on then, Jimmy, take the other handle, and I’ll help you push this to the market.’

Jimmy was about to refuse her help, but changed his mind at once. It would offend her. He did as she said, grabbed the other handle, and together they pushed the barrow, keeping in step with each other.

When he had first rented a stall at the Malvern Market, Matthew Falconer had made up his mind to be successful – and he was. The owner, Henry Malvern, soon took an interest in him, realizing what a good merchant he was, and when a new stall became available, it had been Matt who’d been given the chance to rent it. He did.

The Malvern was one of the few covered markets in the area, and because of its glass roof and stone walls, it was protected when the weather was bad. This meant the stalls were open to the public all year round; every stallholder appreciated this.

Jimmy and Mavis Greenwood pushed the barrow through the big iron gates, to be greeted by Tommy, the caretaker, who lived in the gatehouse. Then Jimmy and Mavis headed towards the area where the two adjoining sheds were located.

Once the shed doors were unlocked and folded back, Jimmy opened the doors of the storage rooms, which were like two small shops. Mavis Greenwood helped him to pull out the wooden sawhorses and the planks of wood which made the stalls when put together.

As she assisted Jimmy, she wondered how Matt Falconer had expected his son to do this alone. It baffled her but she remained silent. She knew it was best to mind her own business.

Once they were finished with the stalls, she picked up her handbag from the barrow, smiled at Jimmy. ‘And what treasures are hidden under that old sack, then?’

Jimmy pulled it off and showed her. ‘Copper kitchen utensils me dad got at an estate sale last week. From a big house up West.’ He pointed to a few items.

‘Look at ’em, Mrs Greenwood. Copper moulds for jellies, blancmange, salmon mousse; all the things you no doubt make at that big house where you’re Cook.’

She nodded and picked up a few items, looking them over carefully. ‘Lovely pieces, Jimmy, I’ve got to admit. How much is this mould then?’ she asked, taking a fancy to one.

‘Dad forgot to give me the price list, but you can have it for sixpence. I think that’d be about right.’

‘Sixpence! That’s highway robbery, Jimmy Falconer!’

‘Oh! Well, perhaps I made a mistake. A threepenny bit? How does that sound, Mrs Greenwood?’ He gazed at her, smiling. After all, she had helped him to get there. She deserved a bargain.

Mavis opened her handbag and took out her purse. She handed him the coin, gave him a big smile, and put the mould in her bag. ‘Thank you, Jimmy. You’ve been very fair. Now I’d better be getting off or I’ll be late for work.’

‘Thanks for helping me, Mrs Greenwood. Can I ask you something?’

‘Anything you want, but best make it quick, lad.’

‘Can you have a heart attack at fourteen?’ he asked, staring intently.

She stared back at him and exclaimed, ‘Don’t be daft, Jimmy! Anyway, you’re as fit as a fiddle. You must be or your dad wouldn’t expect you to push that heavy barrow up here.’

Once he was alone, Jimmy began to arrange the copper moulds on the stalls, following his father’s instructions to always put tall pieces at the back, graduating them down in size because the buyer’s eye would look at the first grouping and then move their eyes up to the taller items.

He worried about his mother as he did this task almost by rote, also wondering where his father was. How long would it take at the doctor’s? Now and then he turned around, looked down towards the gates into the market. It was still quite early, and stallholders were already there, doing the same job as him. Thoughts of Mrs Greenwood intruded, and he felt a sudden rush of guilt. She had blamed his father for his predicament on the road, but it was his fault. He had filled the wheelbarrow too full, piled in far too many moulds and a variety of additional items. He must explain that the next time he saw her. He didn’t want his father to look bad in her eyes.

Jimmy had just finished arranging the wares on the stalls when he spotted his father coming through the iron gates, hurrying towards him. His first instinct was to rush forward, but he restrained himself, as he had been taught from an early age – control yourself, be dignified. And so he waited.

Matthew Falconer approached his son, smiling, and drew the boy close to his body for a moment. ‘She’s got a very heavy cold,’ Matt explained, at once noting the worried expression in Jimmy’s blue eyes. ‘She’s back home in bed. The doctor gave her some good cough mixture. She’s to stay in bed, be kept warm and given lots of liquids.’

Beaming at his father, filled with relief, Jimmy said, ‘I’m thankful it’s not bronchitis or pneumonia.’

‘You can say that again. I’m as grateful as you, Jim. Now, I want you to go to your grandmother’s. I need her to give you a bottle of her raspberry vinegar concoction and some camphor bags, as well as any special advice she has. Lady Agatha won’t mind you going, if she’s still there. Your grandmother told me the family is going to France for the next two months, leaving today.’

The boy nodded. ‘I’ll go now. Shall I take the things home to Mother?’

‘Yes do, my lad. Grandmother will no doubt give you a sandwich and perhaps some food to take home for your mother.’

‘But what about you, Dad? We forgot to make our snacks before we left this morning.’

‘Don’t worry about me. The pie man usually comes around hawking his goods at one o’clock. I’ll manage.’

‘I’ll come back, after I’ve given Mother her lunch.’

‘No, no, don’t do that! It’s not worth it for an hour or two in the late afternoon. Stay at home, look after Rossi and Eddie, and make sure they have something to eat. Now, off you go.’




TWO (#u4a2557b4-49ee-597d-953b-380be9a6d9ad)


James walked out of the Malvern, without a backward glance, feeling happy for various reasons. He was glad his mother did not have some deadly illness and that she was safe at home in bed. He was relieved his father had lost that worried look. Matthew had been whistling when he left the stalls. And he was thrilled to be going to see his grandmother.

He hurried along the road, wanting to get there as fast as possible. His grandmother, Esther Marie Falconer, was the most important and influential person in his life. As he was in hers. That he knew to be an absolute certainty, because she had told him so. Although she was careful, discreet, not wanting to hurt his siblings.

James loved his parents, emulated some of his father’s mannerisms and way of dressing; he loved his sister Rossi, now twelve, and his little brother, Eddie, who had just had his ninth birthday. And then there was his wonderful grandfather, who kept an eye on them all. Philip Henry Rosewood Falconer had taught him a lot, especially about geography and the rest of the world. He had even given him a globe on a stand, which James treasured.

Nonetheless, his grandmother was at the top of his list. She was his guiding light; she had taught him to read and write by the time he was four. When he had gone to school in Rochester at that age, his first teacher had been truly impressed by his ability and his intelligence.

James realized, as he headed down the road leaving Camden behind, that it was as busy a morning as usual. There were crowds of men hurrying up to the Malvern, who were obviously stallholders, and women, too, customers out for a bargain.

Mornings and evenings were generally hectic during the week, the streets filled with men and women going to their workplace, and then returning home at the end of the day.

Some of the men waved to him, and he waved back, smiling hugely. These were the stallholders who had their setups near theirs. James had a genial nature and a ready smile. He liked people and made friends easily. In turn, they were attracted to him because of his charismatic personality and handsome appearance.

His grandparents were in service near Regent’s Park, and it was not too far away. James knew he would soon be there, once he had crossed Chalk Farm Road. He was headed in the direction of Marylebone.

He liked Marylebone and knew a lot about the area. His grandmother had told him that the region had been planned and developed by the great Regency architect, John Nash, around 1818, and that his overall architectural scheme had included Regent Street, Regent’s Park, and the beautiful terraces and streets of elegant townhouses close to the park.

It was there that Philip and Esther Falconer lived, in one of those formally designed John Nash townhouses facing Regent’s Park, belonging to their employers, the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague and his wife, Lady Agatha Denby Montague, daughter of Lord Percival Denby, the Sixth Earl of Melton.

Esther Falconer had been born in the Yorkshire village of Melton, which was not very far from the great northern seaport of Hull. At twelve, Esther had been pretty, clever and ambitious, and through her mother’s connection to Lady Agatha’s aunt, she was given a job at Melton Priory.

Esther had been trained to be a lady’s maid, specifically to look after Lady Agatha, the Earl’s youngest daughter, who had then been sixteen. At seventeen Lady Agatha had come out as a debutante, had been presented at Court, and had her first Season in London.

Esther had been with her mistress ever since. Forty-four years, to be precise. Over the years she had risen in the ranks; now she was the head housekeeper at Lady Agatha’s current residences in London and Kent, and proud of her position.

Philip Falconer, a Kentish man, had also gone into service. He had started out as a junior footman, aged sixteen, in the employment of the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague at the latter’s country manor, Fountains Court in Kent. He had also worked at the Regent’s Park house which Mr Montague had purchased several years before his marriage to Lady Agatha.

Esther and Philip had met at this beautiful Nash house in London, where they had soon fallen in love. They had been married from the house and had lived there ever since. Their employers valued them far too much to let them go. Lady Agatha had transformed a set of rooms at the back of the house into a flat for Philip and Esther. It was still their main home, although they had the same kind of quarters at Fountains Court in Kent where their three sons had been born and brought up.

Esther was crossing the back hall when she stopped abruptly. Somebody outside was repeatedly banging the brass door knocker so hard it sounded like thunder.

Rushing to the service door, she opened it to find herself face to face with her favourite grandchild.

Momentarily taken aback though she was, she instantly smiled, reached out and drew him into the house. Then the smile slipped when she asked swiftly, with a small frown, ‘Is there something wrong? Why are you here in the middle of the day, James?’

‘There’s nothing wrong, Grans, not really. Mum’s ill. Dr Robertson says she has a heavy cold, and he gave her a bottle of medicine. He said she should go home to bed. That’s where she is now. Dad sent me for some of your raspberry vinegar concoction, as he calls it. Oh, and some camphor bags.’

‘I understand,’ Esther said, her sudden anxiety dissipating. ‘I’m sure the doctor’s right. Unfortunately summer colds are hard to get rid of, James.’ Putting her arms around him, she hugged him to her. He hugged her back, then stepped away, and said, ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you, Grans.’

‘I’m all right. Though I thought you were about to break the door down with your knocking.’ She gazed at him, her eyes roaming over his face. It had been only ten days since she had seen him, and yet he looked more mature; he was now an inch taller than she was.

Staring back at her, he asked softly, ‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?’

Esther shook her head and a faint smile crossed her face. ‘You’ve changed a bit, and you seem to be, well, more mature. You might be only fourteen, but you are growing up rapidly.’

He smiled at her, and then laughed. And she was dazzled by him … the even white teeth, the natural charm, the most stunning blue eyes, filled with sparkle and life. Women are going to fall at his feet, she thought.

Brushing incipient worry to one side, she now said, ‘Let’s go down to my parlour and I’ll tell Cook to make the raspberry vinegar concoction. She’ll also make you something to eat.’

Esther led James down the long corridor where her parlour was located, Philip’s office, as well as the kitchen and the wine cellars. Showing him into her room, she went to the kitchen to speak to Cook.

Left alone in the parlour, James went and sat in a chair near the window. He liked this room. It was comfortable, nice to be in and full of light.

There was a fireplace, a sofa and chairs, and his grandmother’s desk. She had once explained that it was Georgian, a very good antique piece which Lady Agatha had given her. Basically, the room was an office where Esther did her menus, her household accounts and other paperwork, but she could also relax here between her many duties.

His grandfather’s room was a few doors down the corridor. It, too, had a desk, and was full of books, mostly about wine and the vineyards of France.

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 (#ulink_44bfaff0-12f1-5584-960e-052419c693cf)


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 (#ulink_29425fb9-14ce-5673-a245-25b33b69af5f)


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.

He was smitten. And so was she.

A year later they were married. And then came the children. They were happy, loving, devoted, and extremely close, and bonded with his parents and brothers to make a dependable family unit that gave them all a sense of security.

‘I’m hungry,’ Eddie wailed. ‘Why can’t I have a sausage roll? Now!’

Rossi looked across at him and explained gently, ‘Because we’re waiting for Father, and when he gets home we can sit down and have supper together.’

‘Will Mumma get up and come down?’ Eddie asked wistfully.

‘I don’t think so, lovey. It’s better she rests.’

Eddie jumped off the chair, and said, with sudden determination, ‘I’m going upstairs to see her. I want to give her a kiss to make her feel better.’

Rossi put the knives and forks she was holding down on the table, walked across to the pantry and went inside. ‘Just this once I’ll make an exception. Please bring me one of those plates, Eddie, and I’ll give you a sausage roll to keep you going.’

Running over to the oak table, Eddie took a plate to Rossi in the pantry, a beaming smile on his face. His sister placed the roll on it, then admonished, ‘Don’t gulp it down … eat it slowly.’

‘I will.’

‘And what else do you say?’ Rossi stared at her young brother.

‘Thank you,’ Eddie replied, and carried his plate to the end of the table, far away from where Rossi was setting the places for supper.

At this moment James came back into the room, carrying the cup. ‘Mum’s fallen asleep at last. The rest will do her good.’ He took the cup to the sink, and turned to his sister. ‘I see you gave in to Eddie’s nagging. But he probably is hungry, Rossi. It’s getting late.’

‘I know, but he has to learn to be patient.’

‘I don’t want to be a patient,’ Eddie cried. ‘Then I’d be in hospital.’

‘Patient also means being able to wait for something, without making a big fuss,’ James explained, and went to sit next to the nine-year-old. ‘I could eat one of those myself, but I’ll wait till Dad gets home.’

Eddie adored his older brother, and he looked up at him and smiled, offered him the sausage roll. ‘Have a bite. I don’t mind sharing it with you, Jimmy.’

Shaking his head, James put his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. ‘Our grandmother brought us a cottage pie and chicken soup and, as soon as Dad arrives home, we’ll tuck into it.’

Rossi exclaimed, ‘Perhaps I’d better put the pie in the oven now, Jimmy, and the chicken soup in a pan on top of the range. What do you think?’

‘That’s a good idea. Shall I help you?’

‘I’ll help, too,’ Eddie volunteered, and took a bite of the sausage roll.

‘I can manage,’ their sister answered, finally finishing the last setting. Suddenly she began to laugh as she walked back to the pantry. ‘You and Grandma brought enough food to feed Nelson’s navy. There’s also a steak and kidney pie in here, and a hunk of boiled ham. Oh, and an apple pie. Not to mention the sausage rolls.’

James laughed with her. ‘Grans kept adding things once Grandpapa had insisted we come here in a hansom.’

‘I’ve never been in one,’ Eddie said, the wistful tone echoing yet again.

‘You will one day,’ James murmured.

‘When? I want to know when!’

‘Never if you don’t stop nagging!’ Rossi exclaimed.

James said to his sister, ‘How was school today?’

‘It went well. I taught some of the younger children, as I do these days, and then I had an hour with the sewing teacher. I love sewing and designing things. As you know, I won’t be going back after this month. I’ll be working with Mum, helping her to fill her orders for the blouses and shawls.’

The three of them jumped and looked startled at the sound of knocking on the door. It was James who immediately stood up, motioned the others to remain where they were.

The knocking started again as he reached the front door. ‘What do you want? Who is it?’ he asked, having been instructed time and again never to let anyone into the house if they were alone.

‘It’s me, James. Grandpapa. When your grandmother arrived back, she said your mother needed rest and she sent me to see if the three of you are all right.’

James turned the key and opened the door to let his grandfather in. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ James explained to Philip, ‘Dad has drilled it into the three of us not to open the door unless we know who’s there.’

‘Very wise,’ Philip answered, and he and James walked into the kitchen, where Philip was immediately assaulted by Eddie and Rossi, who threw themselves at him, hugging him.

When he finally became disentangled, he turned to James. ‘Shall I go upstairs and look in on your mother? Or is she resting?’

‘Perhaps she’s still asleep,’ James answered, ‘I’ll creep up and take a look.’

Philip nodded, and allowed himself to be pulled further into the kitchen. Having been taught to be polite, Rossi asked, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Grandpapa?’

He shook his head, and then looked towards the door as he heard the key in the lock turning. ‘I think your father has arrived.’





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