Coffee houses were popular meeting places

Friends are useful to a novelist–someone for a character to talk to about everything that’s bothering him or her. Or, if they’re not the talking sort, someone to prompt thoughts of what they’d like to talk about. In my current work in progress, Snowy and the Seven Blossoms, my hero has two close friends, both of them members of a group of investors that he founded.

Here they are, discussing railways. And then more.

The discussion continued even after the meeting was over and the other investors had left, the decision still on the table.

“Locomotives are unreliable,” Gary declared. Gaheris Fullerton was the first real friend Snowy had ever had, another scholarship student and one of the smartest men Snowy knew. The second son of a poor working family in the Midlands, he’d read law at Oxford and had overcome the disadvantages of his origins to complete his four years at an Inn of Court and be accepted to the Bar.

“If Murray and his ilk can overcome the difficulties with the steam locomotive, the canals are not going to be able to compete,” Drew countered. The fourth son of a duke, Lord Andrew Winderfield had been brought into the group by another investor because of his family owned a prosperous shipping company, but he’d soon become another friend. He was one of the few aristocrats Snowy trusted.

Gary scoffed. “A big if. Those machines are dangerous and unreliable. And too heavy. I’ve heard about the problem they’re having with the rails.”

Drew was adamant. “They’ll find solutions. And when they do, rail paths will be cheaper to build and much much faster than the canals. We should reject any canal project that will take more than ten years to recover costs.”

Gary was not convinced. “You think the collieries and others will prefer wagon rails to canals in less than ten years?”

“Some of the collieries do now,” Drew retorted. “Wales and Scotland are making great strides. My brother predicts that we’ll have them hauling passengers within a decade.”

Gary shook his head. “And who will want to ride in a carriage pulled by a locomotive? Not me, that is for certain.”

“What do you think, Snow?” Drew asked.

Snowy had been thinking about his own problem while the friends argued. “I’ll consider it between now and the next meeting,” he said.

His friends exchanged glances. “I don’t think he asked us to stay on after the meeting to debate the merits of locomotives,” Drew surmised.

“Out with it then,” Gary commanded. “The witness at the bar will present his testimony.”

Where to start? “I have learned something… unsettling.” Which was a hell of an understatement. Snowy’s world had been rocked on its axis. He focused on Drew. “You know a bit about where I came from, and what the Blossoms mean to me.”

Drew nodded. “Your foster mothers,” he said.

It was as good a description as any. “They gave me a present for my birthday. The true story of my origins. If it is true. The thing is, they would never lie to me, so they believe it. But it is just too fantastic.” He batted one hand at the air, as if he could knock away his own confusion.

“Go on,” Drew said, when he remained silent.

“No,” Gary protested. “Elucidate. If you are not Moses White, brothel bookkeeper and investor extraordinaire, who are you?”

Snowy’s huff of amusement was genuine. “I am, of course. But apparently, I started out as Henry Snowden, elder son of Edward Snowden, who was the third son of Richard, Viscount Snowden.”

His friend looked startled, though not as flabbergasted as Snowy himself.

“Lily and her sister Iris found me in an alley when I was six years old. I’d been stripped and beaten. They figured out who I was, and tried to return me, but my mother asked them to keep me, and to keep me hidden.”

Gary lifted his eyebrows. “Mrs Snowden suspected someone of trying to do away with you?”