The winds of change, p.20
The Winds of Change, page 20
The drawing room was attractive with a welcoming fire on the hearth. Although the curtains had been drawn—it was already dark outside—there were more than enough lamps to brighten the room. Indeed, the whole room seemed bright, filled with light woods and soft colors.
When John introduced them to his mother, Clara could see her mother’s smile. It was the one she put on when obliged to be courteous to people she disliked. Her stepfather noticed it, too, because his hand on her mother’s arm lightened in warning.
They all exchanged wary looks and courteous, noncommittal greetings, questions and answers. No, the journey had not been too tiring, and yes, this was their first time in Liverpool, and no, Mrs. Smith had not yet visited London, and yes, she was properly addressed as Lady Alice.
Clara stared at her mother, who almost never used her title.
“This is really a lovely house, Mrs. Smith,” Lady Alice said, the surprise in her voice not entirely concealed. “Have you lived here long?”
“About six years now,” Mrs. Smith responded, eyeing Lady Alice as if she feared a trap in the question. “My son had it built for us.”
“I don’t know that I have ever before seen a house where everything is new.” Lady Alice looked around the room and Clara stifled a gasp.
Mrs. Smith stiffened and then responded with a smile every bit the equal of Lady Alice’s. “Yes, I imagine that you have spent your days in houses that were inherited. I have always thought that it must be frustrating to have to live that way, always surrounded by someone else’s choices, not your own.”
Touché.
John and Mary and Clara all looked nervously at the two mothers, who were looking at each other with what seemed to be wary respect. Finally, Lady Alice said, “Perhaps tomorrow we will be able to have a long chat and get to know each other.”
“I look forward to it,” Mrs. Smith replied.
The rest of the evening was passed in innocuous and impersonal chitchat. An unexceptionable dinner was consumed and praised, Clara played the piano while John turned the pages for her, her mediocre performance received polite applause, and cups of tea were consumed. Exhausted by so much polite restraint, everyone headed to bed, but not before John had been able to make a whispered engagement with Clara to show her some of Liverpool.
The next morning, shortly after breakfast, John and Clara drove out to see Liverpool. Mary went with them, for propriety’s sake. Bancroft set out to meet a correspondent at the newly created Mechanics Institute and School of Arts, intended to offer education to working men. Mrs. Smith and Lady Alice waved them off and withdrew into a small parlor that received the morning sun.
The two women smiled polite smiles that neither one believed. Tea was offered and accepted. They sipped, eyeing each other warily over the cups.
“What a lovely tea service,” Lady Alice said, admiring the blue pattern. “Wedgewood?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Smith answered. “We buy all our china from him because of his support for the anti-slavery cause.”
Lady Alice blinked. It had never occurred to her to base her purchases on the morality—or lack thereof—of the manufacturer.
Mrs. Smith put down her cup. “Let us forget the polite chitchat and get down to it. I assume you are no more in favor of a match between your daughter and my son than I am.”
“Than you are?” Lady Alice was affronted. “What possible objection to my daughter could you have?”
“Try not to be foolish. Why would I want my son to marry a spoiled princess who will expect to be waited on hand and foot? She will sneer at his friends and family and demand his constant attention. She will want him to spend his days dancing attendance on her and will waste his money on ridiculous fripperies.”
“Clara? My Clara?” Lady Alice laughed with no amusement. “You know nothing of her. And I do not want to see her plunged into a society of ignorant boors who can talk of nothing but money.”
“Ignorant? Ignorant of what? The latest bit of gossip that passes for conversation among your sort?” Mrs. Smith glared, tight-lipped, at her guest.
Lady Alice glared right back. “My sort? You know nothing of my sort!”
“And quite obviously, you know nothing of mine!”
They glared at each other in silence. Finally, Mrs. Smith picked up her cup and took a slow sip of her tea. Moving slowly, she put the cup gently back on its saucer. “It is possible,” she said, “that I misjudge your daughter. My own daughter tells me that she is actually a most amiable young woman.”
A slight smile passed across Lady Alice’s face. “Amiable? It is not, I confess, the first word that comes to mind when I think of Clara, but I suppose one could think of her that way. My husband tells me that your son is an honorable man.”
Mrs. Smith’s eyes narrowed again. “More honorable than many gentlemen I have known.”
Startled, Lady Alice said, “My apologies. I intended no slight.”
Mrs. Smith nodded, but looked unconvinced.
Slowly, the two women edged their way toward an understanding that was not quite agreement but more an acknowledgement that the final decision was not theirs to make. Neither favored a marriage between their children but, at the same time, neither wanted a rupture between parent and child.
They would wait and see.
As it turned out, the longer they chatted, the more comfortable they became with each other. On the whole, Mrs. Smith considered Lady Alice to be a bit too off-hand with her sons, leaving a pair of five-year-olds with a nurse while she went off traveling. Lady Alice thought Mrs. Smith a bit too moralistic, with her activities on behalf of the anti-slavery society. But they managed to avoid any outright disagreement.
Chapter Thirty-Two
John had ordered the landau for the tour of Liverpool, thinking that the open carriage would make it easier for Clara to see the town, and his choice seemed to please her. However, they had not gone very far before he began to worry.
“Is it too cold for you? Should I have them put up the hood?” he asked Clara.
She laughed. “The sun is shining, I have a warm pelisse, and you’ve tucked two rugs over me. I’m more likely to melt than to freeze. Besides, I won’t be able to see nearly as much with the hood blocking my view.”
He was still uncertain. “You’ll tell me if you feel chilled?”
It was Mary’s turn to laugh. “You’ll notice that my brother does not ask me if I’m cold.”
“Because I know you would be complaining if you were,” he retorted. But he sat back and tried not to worry. About the cold, at least. He couldn’t help worrying about what her reaction to Liverpool would be.
“Liverpool is only a town, you know,” he said. “It’s not a tenth of the size of London, though it’s growing rapidly.”
Clara smiled reassuringly. “Then maybe I will see more of it than I’ve ever seen of London.”
Feeling a trifle more cheerful, John signaled the coachman to set forth. “I thought we’d begin with the docks,” he said.
“The docks? Really, John, that’s hardly the place for a pleasant stroll.” Mary looked positively offended.
“No, I’d not suggest strolling there. But the docks are the reason Liverpool exists, and Clara needs to see them.”
“I doubt they’re any different from the docks in London.” Mary was still frowning.
“Perhaps not, but I’ve never seen the docks in London, and I would like to see these,” Clara said firmly.
“But you will stay in the carriage,” John warned. “It’s not a place for wandering around. If nothing else, the men are busy working and won’t be happy if they have to dodge around curious ladies.”
“I do have some sense,” Clara said with a laugh. But then, as they drew up near the docks, her eyes widened. On one side, ships of all sizes sat beside docks or waited further out or sailed off on their way. Small vessels darted here and there across the water. On the other side, the high walls of warehouses rose several stories high. On the space in between, goods in bales and crates waited in piles. Carts, piled high with bales of cotton, were pulled by powerful dray horses.
And all around were people, some hurrying purposefully and others lounging against the piles of goods. Many of them were obviously foreigners with strange clothes and strange features, and she could hear calls and chatter in at least a dozen different languages.
“Oh my,” Clara whispered.
“It’s the busiest port in England,” John said with a touch of pride. “We trade all over the earth. And now that the slave trade has been abolished, there’s no shame in it.”
Mary made an impatient noise. “The slave trade is now illegal, but that doesn’t mean it has vanished. You know perfectly well that there are still ships, owned by Liverpool merchants, that fly other flags to continue the trade.”
When John opened his mouth to reply, she continued fiercely, “And it won’t end until there’s an end to slavery everywhere.”
“I’ll not argue with you,” John said with a regretful shake of his head. “And I won’t expect any sugar in my tea.”
Mary flushed slightly. “And I’ll get down from the pulpit. I’m sorry, Clara. I didn’t mean to get carried away.”
“No, no.” Clara hesitated for a moment and then said, “It’s good that people should feel fiercely about injustice. It shouldn’t be ignored.”
John smiled to himself and told the driver to proceed.
They went past the Lyceum on Bold Street, where gentlemen could have coffee and peruse newspapers and journals from all over England. “But only gentlemen,” Mary pointed out.
The Athenaeum, on Church Street, was also a gentlemen’s club, with an admirable library. The founders had been political radicals, abolitionists, and free-thinkers. Mr. Roscoe had been one of the founders. “Our benefactor,” John said. “I told you about him.”
Clara nodded as she looked out admiring the façade.
“It is said to have a particularly impressive staircase,” Mary said, “but women are not permitted.”
Then there was the Royal Institution, which Mr. Roscoe had also helped to found. It offered exhibitions and lectures on a variety of subjects.
“Women are allowed to attend some of those,” Mary put in.
John sighed. Clara caught his eye and grinned.
The Wellington Rooms on Mount Pleasant did admit women. Of necessity, since it had been designed for balls and receptions. They did go into that building, and Clara quite honestly admired the rooms and the decoration.
After that came a ride down Rodney Street, which was lined by substantial houses, most of them of brick, with crisp white paint on the windows and gleaming brass knockers on the doors. All of them seemed fairly new and in pristine condition.
John had been watching Clara carefully throughout the tour, and she seemed to find the town pleasing. He did not think it was just courtesy.
“Do let’s stop on Duke Street,” Mary said as they reached the corner. “I need some things at the drapers, and perhaps we can stop at the confectioner’s.”
“Your wish is my command,” John said, transmitting the request to the coachman. Turning to Clara, he said, “I assume the confectioner’s is the real reason for the stop. You probably haven’t realized it yet, but my sister is afflicted with a dreadful sweet tooth.”
“An affliction I share,” admitted Clara.
Mary smiled. “So does my brother, though he will never admit it.”
John ignored them and helped them alight from the carriage.
The sunny day seemed to have brought out shoppers because Duke Street was crowded. People studied merchandise in the windows, entered the shops and left carrying parcels, sometimes getting caught in the crowded doorways. John gave an arm each to Clara and Mary but had to come to a halt when a portly woman stopped in front of them.
“Why Mr. Smith, how good to see you again,” she said, smiling broadly. Her daughter came up beside her, tilting her head down to look up shyly as she fluttered her lashes.
He did his best to make his smile look welcoming. It was not that he had anything against the woman. She was the wife of a gentleman with whom he had occasionally had business dealings. She was a perfectly nice woman, but she did talk, and her daughter tittered.
“Mrs. Birkett, and Miss Birkett, may I wish you good day?” He inclined his head to them. “You know my sister, I believe…”
“Of course. How are you, my dear? We missed you both at the last Assembly. My Chrissy thought it the finest we’ve had in some time. She danced every dance!”
Mary smiled and murmured something inaudible.
John continued, “But I don’t believe you have met our guest, Lady Clara Grammont. Lady Clara, Mrs. Birkett and her daughter are old acquaintances of ours.”
Before Clara could say anything, Mrs. Birkett shook a finger roguishly at John. “Acquaintances? Nay, friends of long standing. Why, John and my Chrissy have partnered at many an Assembly ball. That’s why we were so surprised that he missed the last one.”
She look a long, appraising look at Clara. “Lady Clara is it? Not often we see grand ladies here on Duke Street. What brings you to Liverpool?”
“My family and I are visiting Mr. Smith’s family,” she said, with one of those polite smiles he hadn’t seen her employing since Wharton Court.
He could see Mrs. Birkett and her daughter pull back slightly, as if offended by Clara’s aristocratic accent.
“Well, we may not be as grand as you southerners are used to, but we take some pride in our city.” Mrs. Birkett lifted her head as if offering a challenge.
“As you should,” Clara said. “From what I’ve seen, it is a remarkable city with any number of beautiful buildings.”
Mrs. Birkett responded with a tight smile. “Well, we must be off. Good day to you all. Come along, Chrissy.”
Chrissy went with her mother reluctantly, turning back to smile once more at them.
“Tiresome woman.” Mary shook her head and then grinned. “I should warn you, Clara, that Chrissy’s is not the only nose that will be out of joint if you decide to marry my brother. He’s considered rather a good catch in these parts.”
“As he should be,” said Clara, grinning back. “After all, he has his own teeth and hair, he hasn’t run to fat, and he’s even reasonably handsome.”
John could feel his face flaming. “What nonsense!” His discomfort was not lessened by the women’s laughter.
“Here we are at the draper’s. You two can go on while I make my purchases. I will meet you at the confectioner’s.” Mary waved them off and disappeared into the shop.
That left John and Clara to stroll down the street alone. They did not get very far, just out of sight of the draper’s shop, when John stopped. He couldn’t wait any longer. “What do you think of it? Is this a place you could bear to live, do you think?”
“I believe I could live here very happily,” she said. “It’s alive and growing and changing. It’s exciting. It’s as if the city is on its way to becoming something grand, and I would like to be part of it.”
“Mrs. Birkett—she’s not unusual, you know. There are plenty of women like her, not nearly as polished as the ladies you’re used to.” He couldn’t help worrying now that he had seen her next to the Birketts.
“There are plenty of women in the ton who are shallow and mean-spirited despite their polished accents. You’re worrying about nothing more than trimmings.” She smiled up at him.
He slowly smiled back. “Are you saying you’ll marry me?”
“Are you finally asking?”
His smile broadened. “I’ll kneel down right here…” He began to do that in fact, but she pulled him up.
“You’ll do no such thing, ruining your trousers,” she scolded “Yes, I’ll marry you, you foolish man. Someone will need to keep you sensible.”
“And if your uncle still objects?”
“I can’t believe he will, but I won’t let that stop me.”
*
Their families returned in the late afternoon full of enthusiasm. Clara and John were too happy to say much about their day, but Bancroft couldn’t say enough about his day at the Mechanics Institute. “You should see it, Alice,” he said. “They don’t just teach people to read and write. They have courses in science and engineering, and they have a library of more than 800 volumes.”
“Goodness,” she said. “What can they possibly want with so many?”
“That’s only a start,” he said, pacing up and down the room. “They already have more than 600 readers signed up. And the classes are filled up, too.”
“Just because they are workmen doesn’t mean they don’t have a thirst for knowledge,” John put in.
“Right!” said Bancroft. “It’s a shame our people are so poorly educated. Do you realize that more than half a century ago the King of Prussia insisted on schooling for all children?”
“All children?” Mary asked. “Girls as well as boys?”
“Yes, indeed.” Bancroft smiled at her. “Both girls and boys.”
“But that’s just like the dame schools, isn’t it?” Lady Alice protested.
Mrs. Smith snorted. “Dame schools! They care for the children for a few hours a day, but teach them nothing. The children are lucky if they learn the alphabet.”
Bancroft nodded. “Even Scotland does better than England. Here, you’re hard put to find a workman who can read, but practically everyone in Scotland can.”
“I don’t understand. Why do the poor even need to read?” Lady Alice frowned mulishly.
Mrs. Smith and John made an effort to mask their irritation at that sentiment. Mary did not. “Believe it or not,” she said, “even the poor can be interested in the world around them. And many of them are not happy to remain poor.”
Lady Alice did not look convinced.
Her husband sighed. “Think of it as a matter of safety. If workmen understand the way machinery works, they are less likely to injure themselves.”
She nodded slowly. “I suppose so.”
“Tell me, Mr. Bancroft, is there a school for the children on your estate?” Mrs. Smith asked.
