Chapter 7
Hero found her interview that morning unexpectedly disturbing.
“You’re writing an article on the economic impact of the ending of the war on tradesmen?
” said the first man, a leather staymaker, crossing his arms at his chest as he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe of his shop.
A tall, flaxen-haired native Londoner named Caleb Jackson, he was surprisingly well-spoken.
But it was obvious from his shabby corduroy breeches, worn worsted stockings, and thin, pinched face that he was not prospering.
His small shop on Apostle Lane, off Cheapside, was little more than a stall hung with samples of his wares and smelling pungently of recently tanned hides.
Hero opened her clothbound notebook, settled on the high wooden stool he’d offered her, and picked up her pencil. “Tradesmen, shopkeepers, and artisans, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because people need to know.”
He nodded to the row of shops that lined that side of the old, narrow lane; many were shuttered and obviously had been for some time.
“You think they can’t see? I could give you the names of a dozen tradesmen and shopkeepers who’ve already gone out of business, but I reckon all anybody needs to do is take a look around.
Not many women in this part of London can afford to be buying new stays—or anything else, for that matter.
They make do with what they have until it falls apart, and if they can’t fix it, they go without. ”
He fell silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he stared blankly at the chalk-defaced expanse of brown brick wall across the street.
“It’s hard to credit it now, but time was I made a good living, bringing home more than a pound a week, sometimes two.
These days I’m lucky if I earn ten to twelve shillings, and some of that comes from work I do on the side.
” He gave a faint, disbelieving shake of his head.
“My Julia and me, there was a time we had three rooms, furnished. At first, when business started getting bad, we sold some furniture, thinking it would turn around soon enough. But things just kept going from bad to worse, so we moved into two rooms. Only it wasn’t long before we had to move again—all six of us in one room.
Though I know I shouldn’t complain. I’ve seen worse—ten and twelve in a room not much bigger than my shop here. ”
“You have children?”
He nodded. “Had four, all little girls. But the baby died last month, just a couple of weeks after her mama.”
“I’m sorry,” said Hero.
He nodded again, his lips pressing into a painfully tight line.
“To tell the truth, I don’t know how I’m gonna keep going, without Julia.
The girls are too little to send out into the street selling nuts or apples or whatnot.
Julia has a brother, a blacksmith, lives up in Clerkenwell, and I’m hoping maybe he and his wife’ll agree to take the girls till I can get back on my feet.
But the problem is, they’re struggling, too.
And the thought of sending my girls away…
” He paused, his throat working as he swallowed.
“Tears at something inside me, it does.”
It was a moment before he could keep going.
“My Julia, she used to laugh at me when I’d say it’s not right that a man can work hard all day and still not make enough to keep his family.
She’d say, ‘The world just is, Caleb. If you go around expecting it to be right, all you’re gonna do is let yourself in for nothing but grief. ’ ”
Hero fell silent, her gaze on the long stretch of dilapidated brick wall that formed the western side of the crooked lane.
It was covered with what the Italians called graffiti but Londoners traditionally referred to as chalkings.
The rain had washed away much of the writing, but she could still make out some of the slogans: Spence’s Plan and Full Bellies and, nearby, Equal Justice for All.
More worrisome was the boldly scrawled Bread or Blood.
“It’s not God-given, you know,” he said, his gaze following hers.
“The way things are now. Things can change; the French showed us that, didn’t they?
Liverpool keeps saying they can’t do anything to relieve the suffering of the poor because the government is so far in debt on account of the war.
Only, they always somehow managed to find enough money for their war, didn’t they?
And who benefited from that? Not staymakers like me.
If they’re so worried about all that debt, why’d they repeal the income tax as soon as the war was over?
You know why? Because it was a tax on the likes of Liverpool and Sidmouth, that’s why.
But all the taxes that crush people like me are still there.
I pay taxes on soap, candles, salt, and just about everything else a poor man’s gotta buy.
Those taxes hurt us; they hurt us real bad.
But you know who they don’t hurt? They don’t hurt the comfortable people.
That’s why you’re here, talking to the likes of me, rather than some grand shopkeeper over on St. James’s or Bond Street. Because their businesses are booming.”
Hero closed her notebook. She had long since quit taking notes; if she put any of this in the article she was writing for the Chronicle, they would never, ever publish it.
If they did, they’d open themselves up to a prison sentence for libel.
A lot of people thought “libel” meant printing lies, but it didn’t.
Basically it covered anything the Regent or his government didn’t like.
“You said you work at another job besides this one. What do you do?”
He looked vaguely uncomfortable, almost shy.
“I write articles for some of the Radical journals. I won’t deny I’m not as eloquent as others; my father died when I was ten, so I was only able to go to school for a few years.
But I belong to a couple of reading societies and I read as much as I can, educating myself.
Always have. I’ve even been working on teaching myself a bit of Latin. ”
“Did you attend the big public meeting up in Spa Fields a few weeks ago?”
“Aye. Signed the petition, too—along with twenty-five thousand other people. But that fat booby over in Pall Mall refused even to accept it. You know, the old King might be mad, but when all is said and done, I think he was a good man.”
“Yes,” said Hero.
Caleb Jackson raked his hands through his overlong hair, then laced his fingers together behind his neck and arched his back in a stretch. “They’re having another meeting, you know, in a week or so. Think the Regent is gonna accept their new petition?”
Hero met his gaze and sadly shook her head.