Whatever became of:
Lord Foppingham
Lincoln’s Inn fields; high summer and no need for a fire, even the ever present smoke of the city’s cooking hardly dimming the light. Nonetheless as Duckworth stretched and glanced over at the window a growing bank of dark thundercloud cast the room into shadow. Reaching for the bell he summoned his clerk to bring more candles.
“Ah, Lewis, yes, indeed well done, and I see you have the Foppingham dossiers there too. On the big table by the window if you’d be so kind. We have the business well advanced, but we must not fail to have all most exact.”
“Indeed Sir, quite so. When dealing with the quality we must expect scrutiny no doubt. Surely no one could fault your diligence in this regard? I must observe, that few of our clients benefit from such scrupulous attention from yourself.”
Duckworth paused in his bustling about. Waving a half trimmed pen he studied the other for a long moment.
“Ah, you have not been with the partnership so long Lewis, I recall, much of the history perhaps not so familiar? Well, perhaps I deserve a short respite. Send down for a few bottles of the Marsala, with the blue seal. In any case we must ensure it fit for our guest, eh?” Lewis brightened visibly, and shortly the two relaxed in the small cheerful room, glasses in hand.
“So yes, the story of my noble Lord, I suppose we have been acting as his men of business now some five and twenty years. You will perhaps be aware that my Lord was, in his younger days, notable for his mastery of the Ton, besides being plaguey rich. Though rumours did also hint at some other remarkable adventures. But for our acquaintance, the story begins when milord, some thirty years ago, apparently became bored and jaded with life. He resolved to embark upon a Grand Tour, and departed for the continent in the usual way of his kind.
It seems that of all his journeying, it was the Papal States and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies that furnished him with twin prizes, set to map his future course. His tastes for the unusual it seems were kindled when a picnic excursion to Pozzuoli brought the ancient Roman material of opus caementicium to his attention. I shall commend to your diligence the writings of Pliny, or of Vitruvius, suffice to say, that this remarkable earth will set hard beneath water and was much in vogue in sundry public works of the Ancients. It seems that he brought a prodigious quantity. Baffled local rustics were said to have attributed this to some combination of heresy, Englishness and exposure to the sun at noon.
Perhaps the heat of that sun did indeed colour the great passion he subsequently developed for a titian haired young lady of the Neapolitan court, notable for her fiery spirited nature and her remarkable operatic voice. I think we need not doubt that milord’s considerable agility with a small-sword was of good service in that climate of jealous intrigue. I suspect that a good deal remains unspoken of their courtship, for such it became. So much so that our good client returned to his native heath with a famously beautiful wife and several shiploads of pozzolana.
My word, the whispering and scandal this occasioned on the town! To small purpose, it being ever been his way to pay no heed to such. And thereupon he set about fatherhood, and becoming if possible, even more wealthy. More? Well yes. As our papers over there will show, milord put together two things. It seems he owned a brick-works in the north of London. No, I have no idea why a lord and man of fashion should own such thing but evidently he did. And so set about the production of quite unusual bricks – fashioned in curious ways in the [ahem] modern style. In those days such things were very much a novelty. Through their charmed effects, in combination with the special earth, docks, wharves, drains canal locks could be made that were both bigger, stronger and faster to build. Canals were the new thing. And so the ‘enterprise’ of Foppingham is key to the good workings of all of our new canals. You may well imagine what sums were flooding in to the owner of such a company!
Of course there were some in society, who whispered behind their fans; sneers about ‘trade’ and of course, his popish wife. But for all that, these were muted; lest his Lordship be moved to raise one eyebrow – or worse; to not invite to one of his parties. Still less were the vinegar spirited spinsters ready to engage Milady Foppingham in social combat; the birth of two sons having not diminished her mettle. And so the pair settled down to a life of nicely calculated English aristocratic pursuits. George, their eldest, has a commission in the Foot Guards – you recall the yellow manila folder with the black ribbon there with the purchase of his captaincy? Yes, he is but lately retuned from the Americas with his victorious fellows. We shall see meet him directly, when he stops to collect these accounts. And his younger brother William attends to the family business and has made a name for himself too.
I have been privileged with their acquaintance ever since they were in small-clothes, when I first began dealing with the family accounts. My gout keeps me from attending them in Wiltshire as often as I would wish, but – dear me! I have such memories of good times at Foppingham Magna – the old house of course – the new house and grounds being at Foppingham Parva. They certainly keep the good Mr Brown busy. Which reminds me – I must check the bills of account for the new Opera house. Now it has reached completion we can place them in the folder with, let me see – yes ‘item; to purchase of Avebury village and correctional works’ – here, be so good as to place them in the —”
“Works? Oh, as to that, I understand that my Lord’s antiquarian scholarship suggested that some re-arrangement of various stones would be of importance for some reason. I cannot say why, although it was explained to me my head seems to lack the grasp of such arcana. I will stick to my last as a money man I vow.”
Without warning the gathering gloom outside punctuated with bright flashes of lightening. Along with the fresh rain smell and sound of raindrops hammering, there came a commotion and bustle from downstairs. Shortly, a young man strode into the room, dressed in a quietly fashionable civilian clothes, a smile breaking out as he caught sight of the elderly financier.
“Mr Duckworth Sir, greetings! Here I am for the papers as promised, my brother George sends you his best compliments and begs you will excuse him this time. He did however ask me to give you this little souvenir of the field of Louisbourg for your collection. I am to say that it is known by the natives there as a tomahawk. Sadly it put an end to the martial ambitions of Ensign the Honourable Francis Orpington. Knowing how you take an interest in such things he retained it in lieu of poor Buff’s note of hand”.
Duckworth beamed. “Why, William, if your honour will excuse the familiarity? I could not be more delighted. May I beg to introduce my senior clerk Mr Lewis?”
“Servant, Sir” replied the young Foppingham, throwing his greatcoat aside. His hair gleamed redly in the candlelight as he bent to examine to contents of the table, accepting a glass of Marsala with a nod of thanks.
“All in order I make no doubt, though I must needs check – strictly for forms sake of course”
.oOo.
More wine, more candles and some time later, the three watched as the documents were carefully bundled up.
“Mr Foppingham, I really cannot—” Lewis began
“Oh no, Mr Lewis it was but a trifling error” replied Foppingham. It is become my life these days to scan through numbers and accounts – modesty aside, I have a facility for it. Not that it was ever so by God! Why, truth to tell, as a child, I had so little head for mathematics of any kind that my parents despaired. Of course, it was to be the Army for George, but to involve myself in the affairs of the family project – well, not a role lightly given. But needless to say Father knew someone, who knew someone – in short a teacher of genius was found. Old Uncle Mordecai managed to instil arithmetic and even higher things – Fluxions – Euclid – and I so much prospered that he and his friend ben Ezra saw to my further education in all manner of things. And so I am the one in the family that must hurry to Wiltshire to oversee the repair of the new Hydraulikon; water engineering and Decanics all in one giant musical instrument.”
“You will not stay for while?” Enquired Duckworth “the weather seems set in for the worse”.
“Thank you, but no” replied Foppingham. “There is a great deal to be done for the opening night of the new Opera, up there on the Downs. George and I have joined forces for the sake of family harmony. I will collect these papers and repair the water organ, while George has already made haste to Foppingham Parva. He will be on hand to make sure Father remains attentive throughout the entire performance of my dear Mama. It would never do to find that he had slipped away, and be discovered in the Gothic ruin playing Faro with the Philosophical Hermits over a barrel of Ditch ale. We fear that our Papa might get no further than “Vuvuzela, my dearest…” before there was some serious trouble. We Foppinghams cannot well be called impecunious, but even our family will run out of Chinese porcelain eventually!”