Barbara Taylor Bradford - Master of His Fate

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.’

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.