The Iron Master Read Online Free PDF Page A

imperturbable on his box, and the tired horses hung their heads. But in the last hours he must have dozed off, for he was slowly conscious of a change in sound and motion. He drew up his window-blind and looked out Houses pressed in upon them, street after street, set close together and higgledy-piggledy built, old and new, overhanging and set back, timber and brick. A rich medley of odours delighted and offended his nostrils: coffee, fried fish, burned toast, dung and soot and sour urine. They were driving into the heart of the metropolis.
    William reached for his portable lantern and tinder-box, and with only a little difficulty struck a light. Then the other passengers roused themselves, and all began to smile and talk as though some miracle had been accomplished. They forgot their chagrin at leaving Northampton supperless, and their annoyance at the chivying of the mail-guard. William recounted that early victory over the Macclesfield Dreadnought, and everyone agreed that the mail-men were English to the backbone and worth their salt.
    ‘How much do you reckon we should tip the guard?’ one gentleman asked.
    ‘Well, the last time I hired a post-chaise,’ said the other, ‘I paid a shilling a stage and tipped the postboy each time. So this fellow should be worth as much, and the coachman should have his due.’
    In the end they collected six shillings between them, with some amiable joking about the different number of stages they had travelled, and handed it over to William as spokesman.
    ‘Shall we be on time, sirs?’ asked the lady traveller, and each man obediently took out his watch and consulted it.
    There were discrepancies. William’s watch, set by St Mark’s church in Millbridge, told him it was a half after four. The Ashbourne watch-owner insisted that it was ten minutes to five, according to the town sundial. Whereas the Leicester gentleman was convinced of six minutes past the same hour.
    ‘There is but one man who has the official time,’ said William, ‘and he is sitting on the box outside!’
    Night was lying on the close streets still, but London was astir. Silent shadows glided from alleyways and joined the host of early workers. Farmers were driving in their wagons full of produce for the markets. Late revellers turned for home in private carriages. But all made way for the Mail without question. Here, in the capital city, where new enterprises began, they were rather proud of it. So over the cobbles dashed the muddy little coach, with Mr Walter’s horn heralding its arrival, to draw up at last with a flourish outside the General Post Office in St Martin’s-le-Grand. The guard clambered down for the final time on this eventful journey, and opened the door. His face, dirty and unshaven and exhausted, was nevertheless triumphant. In one frozen red hand he held out his official timepiece for all to see.
    ‘Twenty minutes after five o’clock of the morning, lady and gentlemen,’ he announced. ‘The Royal Mail is on time!’
    Up on the box, Jacob Sorrowcole emptied the last of his flask.

 
    Longe’s of Lock-yard
     
    Two
     
    Sustained by his best clothes, his ruddy good looks and a very fair opinion of his capabilities, William had expected to take London by storm. After all, he had thought, it is but Birmingham on a greater scale — with the King in his palace. So he asked for directions to his sister’s home at Lock-yard with supreme confidence, almost expecting the stranger to cry, ‘What? Longe’s of Lock-yard? Why, my wife drank tea there but yesterday!’ and to gain recognition in an instant. But the first man had not heard of it, and the second hurried away, muttering to himself, ‘Why do they come here, these fellows?’ while the third spoke loudly as though William’s speech was that of a foreigner. ‘First turn to your right, down past Newgate Prison, along Holborn, turn left down Farringdon Street and you find yourself on Fleet Street. Keep the dome of St Paul’s at