Asked why I must do this, I say there is no choice. Life, as lived prior to the loss of Samuel, is no longer possible.
Following on it was not a daily record, but a list of things which took the diarist’s fancy, interspersed with uplifting quotations from the psalms. The oddity of regimental routine, the personality of the officers, a goodly number not highly thought of. Then the crossing, with descriptions of Lisbon, the Azores and the vastness of the ocean as they made for the West Indies on the trade winds before heading north to disembarkation at Sandy Hook in the colony of New Jersey.
First impressions of colonial life followed, towns with buildings which replicated the shapes found in England, both in brick and wood, churches too. In a New Jersey town called Wethersfield, he’d found and worshipped in a church, which was of the exact same design as St George’s in Deal. Outside habitations there were vast and endless forests, which impressed, few roads and poor-looking dwellings in which they were billeted, which did not. Nor was he much impressed by the Yankees, inclined to be grasping, seeking to make as much profit as possible from the troops.
There was a great deal about the picking out of mounts for the officers, as well as sturdy animals for the transport of kit and supplies. Camp life, which applied to the troops, was tedious, as were the various ailments to be dealt with, seemingly more to do with horses than humans. In time came battle and the wounds sustained, men patched up or buried, the horses put down as well as those he’d sewn up because of sabre cuts or pike thrusts, others from which it had been necessary to extract musket balls, with too many having to be put down due to broken or fractured bones.
Flicking through he found the day when Zachary had been won in the card game and the doubts Venables had about the value of the prize. Yet, a few pages on, it was all praise for a man he saw, despite his colour and the way he’d been raised, as a mirror to his own soul. He’d found an assistant of good humour, empathy and ability when it came to treating the ailments with which he had to deal. No one, on an amputation, could match Zachary for the way he sliced flesh at speed, warding off what was common by any hint of sluggishness: death by shock.
It seemed he also had a rare affinity with horses, the way he could calm them by whispering some kind of chant in their ears, which made tending to them so much easier. There was an aside regarding the callous nature of the actual riders, military officers who could not see how a close relationship with a mount, one required to take them into conflict and danger, was something to be fostered.
Turning to the other book, which preceded the one he’d been reading, Brazier discovered, in the early pages where he recounted his youth, Venables had begun life as a barber before learning, from an older practitioner to whom he’d been apprenticed, the art of cutting human flesh. There was no surprise in this progression: the title of surgeon as a singular denomination was a recent one, even more so in the armed services than civilian life, where it had more commonly been barber/surgeon, given similar instruments would be employed for both.
Venables proudly wrote how he’d begun to forge a more lucrative career tending to animals, horses a speciality, which at least, judging by his words, he had taken the trouble to study. This was a highly valuable skill in a county of farms and studs, though his work extended to cattle and sheep. Dogs figured too, seemingly so much more loved by their owners, the well-being of the canine taking precedence over that of their family. Several years of such activity was relative and held little of interest, which led to a high degree of skipping.
The entry which stopped him dead was dated 3rd Feb., 1775 and read: Called to Cottington Court today, required to attend to the pony of the daughter of the house. Unable to save the poor animal; much distress.
A few pages on and he was called back to Cottington, answering a request to put his services to the expanding Tulkington stud, to which he’d readily agreed, given the generosity of the fee on offer. Brazier leafed on through many weeks to come, to another page, which imposed concentration: Venables being invited to join Mr Acton Tulkington in a fox hunt setting out from Cottington, a mount provided. It was a new experience, given he lacked the social standing or the income for such pursuits. He described the thrill of chasing Tulkington’s pack of hounds, with vignettes of some of those taking part, Acton first of all.
Curiosity regarding Betsey’s father had him read these passages with some absorption: his height, which was above the norm and with it came a muscular frame, a hearty laugh added to a deep determination to be in at the kill. Two of the other names Brazier recognised: Mr Colpoys, described as a wild and undisciplined rider, and a Mr Lovell, more sedate by far, but a strikingly handsome fellow with a good seat and enchanting wit.
Further pages revealed Venables became a regular caller at Cottington Court and not just for his occupation. The flicking stopped when Brazier came to another paean of praise for Acton Tulkington: his good humour, despite his recent widower status, his open-handedness and generous hospitality. Betsey, properly called Elisabeth, was named as a charming child, praised for her love of anything equine, as well as her willingness to undertake those tasks she could easily have left to servants. And there was Upton, recently raised to the position of head groom, ever eager to learn from the wise Mr Venables, words smacking of vanity.
Listed in the pages and frequently, indeed more than Acton, was Samuel Lovell, husband to the Aunt Sarah who had so taken against Brazier in the West Indies, much replicated since his arrival in East Kent. The former was written of very warmly, his wife barely mentioned at all and when she was, always with a tone of icy and polite correctness, which hinted at a person difficult to like, an opinion with which the reader could only concur.
More entries revealed the entertainments to which Venables had been invited, seeming to become something of an intimate with the family over the space of a couple of years. Yet it was obvious, while he respected Acton Tulkington, he had become a firm and close friend of Samuel Lovell, soon only referred to as ‘Dearest Sam’. His name cropped up more and more, with endless references to his fine manners and enchanting presence, added to his sympathy and wisdom, praised to the point of being somewhat disconcerting in its effusiveness.
It was clear they’d spent much time together and not always in the company of others, with hints of the days spent riding out to seek places of solitude, each one named and described in flowing bucolic terms. There was a hint of worship about his references to his ‘special friend’ which Brazier found strange, but there was nothing on which to pin a conclusion. Henry got one mention only, as being unlike his sire in nature or physique, in no way robust as was Acton, but a fine young man, with good if rather reserved manners.
‘How little you were able to see,’ Brazier spat, turning page after page, all in much the same vein about his Dear Sam, with most other events reduced into the background until he came across an entry which again stopped him abruptly, for it looked to be near the last.
Called at Cottington today to go riding, as arranged, with Dear Sam, only to be told he had departed the evening before, went off without saying where he was going and had not yet returned. Most strange! Mrs Lovell in a state of frenzy, which would be appropriate if she had shown Samuel any regard or comfort in their marriage, the lack of which was vouchsafed to me in intimate conversation.
His absence was doubly odd, since the day was supposed to be special. On our last outing, he hinted at a forthcoming change of circumstances, which would see his near total dependence on his brother-in-law curtailed, which intrigued me. Oblique asides intimated he soon might hold a better position at Cottington Court than hitherto, indeed such riding out to seek solitude with me would no longer be necessary. I would be accommodated within the house as an honoured guest, a blissful prospect.
The next date was over a week later and was enigmatic.
I find I must sever any connection with Cottington Court and all who reside there. It is said my Dearest Sam has run away from his wife, whom, it is true, I found
shrewish. But so upright a friend had many times insisted he would never abandon his vows any more than he could contemplate abandoning me. In the last two years, it would be correct to say, we have become the closest of friends, to the point where I’m sure, if such an act had been contemplated, some hint of it would have surfaced and I would have been party to any plan.
Not only is Dear Sam missing, but so is the stallion on which he rode away, and no sign of this creature has emerged. The reaction of Acton, when I asked for an explanation, was so out of character with the man I’ve come to know, it shocked me, while his son suggested, in a very cold manner, it would benefit me to mind my own business.
Dearest Sam had said on more than one occasion the family were not as upright as they appeared. He insisted the house harboured a secret which, exposed, would bring into disrepute the whole Tulkington tribe. A pity he never told me of it, for I should certainly have taken his part.
He is in my nightly prayers. I so do hope he has no need to be.
The rest of the book, and it had many more pages, was blank. A check on the dates established the next entry to be in the second of the Venables diaries already perused, his joining the 3rd Foot and contemplating America. It was as if he’d abandoned the previous one by entering a line under it, indicating an alteration in his circumstances. The little Betsey had told him about her aunt’s husband was exactly in the vein described in Venable’s scribblings, a bit full of himself and not in the least constrained in his conceits, despite his being a dependant.
He’d been cock o’ the walk when resident in Canterbury but speculation in funds – there was a hint of underhand trades – had seen him brought low. As to the leaving of Cottington, there had been no hint of anything other than a fellow running off from a tiresome spouse, which was far from unique. Yet here it seemed to imply another reason and, if he allowed his imagination free rein, a dark one.
Venables’s references to Lovell were odd, almost too explicit in their warmth. Was there anything untoward there? He recalled the way Zachary had reacted when asked the simple question about his master’s marital status, only to then conclude he was fishing in the dark and looking for something, anything, which might provide leverage in his quest to free Betsey. Any theories conjured up could not be expanded upon; he would get no information from Cottington and the only man who could explain the diary entries was long gone.
Going back inside, he put the journals back on the chest and took up the Smollett. At least Roderick Random had humour as well as pathos within its covers, much about a poor benighted Roderick blundering his way through a series of misadventures, including becoming a pressed seaman. There was of course a happy conclusion, in which the hero married the woman of his dreams, without the consent of her brother and guardian.
As of now, this was the kind of encouragement he could do with.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brazier was well short of his happy marital conclusion when, well into the afternoon, the sound of horse’s hooves had him carefully turn toward the entrance to the smallholding. It was a stiff ex-commander who stood to greet the party of four, two of his old crew, all mounted, even Peddler Palmer, though the common expression he ever wore on a horse, one of acute discomfort, was there. Zachary Colton was in the lead, riding Bonnie, the usual wide smile on his face, which was matched by Joe Lascelles. Only Vincent Flaherty wore a frown, no doubt wishing to impart that a man he considered a friend might also be short on sense.
Once dismounted, Peddler and Joe were at a loss to know how to greet him, outside an enquiry to his being well; the barrier of rank prevented what might have been an embrace of the kind automatic for a shipmate. Yet he was content by their obvious pleasure at seeing him whole, as well as the sympathy for his wound.
Vincent took and shook his hand without vigour, while Zachary began to remove the tackle from the mare, a sure indication Brazier was going to keep her; hardly surprising as he’d paid a long-term rental in advance. Zachary led her away, heading for the tiny paddock and a braying donkey eager for company, which allowed for open talk.
‘I’d been after wondering if you’re sound in the head, Edward,’ Vincent remarked, ‘after it was told to me the rashness of what you’ve been about.’
‘Failure rates things rash, Vincent. Nothing successful is so described.’
‘But carrying muskets and barging into Tulkington’s lair …’
‘I did not barge,’ was a sharp response.
Vincent held up his hand to ward off what might come next, for the face before him was far from composed. Unbeknown to the Irishman, such a reaction stemmed from the word rash, added to the feeling Vincent might be right. Yet he felt the need to defend his actions as being brought about by necessity.
‘There’s no other way to get Betsey free,’ he said, easing himself slowly back onto the bench.
‘I don’t sense a past tense there, brother.’
‘Where are Dutchy and Cocky?’
Brazier asked this to divert; he did not want to contemplate where the last remark from Vincent was inviting him to go, not that he had any idea. It was Peddler who replied to the question, leaning over the well and drinking from the lashed-off bucket, water dripping from his chin as he spoke.
‘They be watching the house where Hawker’s men are holed up and, we reckon, some of Spafford’s lads, the ones who went with us t’other night.’
He went on to describe what they’d been about, how they’d been searching for him and had had the luck to stumble across Hawker and his men, along with what looked like wrapped bodies. He told how they had followed them to a farmhouse and decided to watch the place and see if anything turned up, meaning Brazier. Peddler also left out the thought they’d discussed, the notion one of the bodies could have been his.
‘Dutchy reckons it could be the place we was a’callin at afore the fight.’
‘They’re still there?’
‘Not all. Hawker left this mornin’, an’ I tailed him to a slaughterhouse on the edge of the town. Tannery as well, by the stink.’
‘Any sign of Tulkington?’
‘Since I’s never clapped eyes on the sod, outside the light of a lantern and for no more than seconds, I’d struggle to know.’
‘Do they know I’m alive?’
‘Not yet, Capt’n,’ was delivered with the kind of look which implied he was daft. ‘We’ll not go near them till the light fades, less they be spotted from the house.’
‘Do we have any notion of why Hawker’s lot are there?’
‘I’d be guessing.’
A look towards Joe got from him the information he’d stayed at the Navy Yard, as well as the reason why, and the manner in which he’d left. The presence of a high sheriff visiting Admiral Braddock − according to the clerk, asking about Quebec House − surprised his captain, who was left for a moment to consider the ramifications. He couldn’t reprimand Joe for ducking being questioned, but he did see the need to point out something obvious.
‘When it comes to what happened there, we are the innocent parties.’
‘Are you saying you’ll be seeking him out?’ asked Vincent.
The question threw Brazier back on to his conundrum. It was one he’d gnawed on since the probable nature of Tulkington’s business had been outlined to him by Saoirse Riorden: how would exposure of Henry affect Betsey? His desire to bring about the bastard’s downfall was strong, but there was no way he was going to put her at risk and, besides, he had given her his promise. If he’d been prepared to do so, he would have been in touch with William Pitt, a vastly more effective man than any county official.
The return of Zachary put an end to speculation, his enquiry as to who’d be staying met with looks at Brazier, though Vincent was quick to say he would not.
‘Never had this many mouths to feed, sir, since the army days.’
‘We need to get to our mates, either to haul them off or take them some grub so they can stay.’ Peddler looked at the still blue sky. �
�And drink, which they will need, havin’ been out all day. Tongues must be hangin’ out by now.’
‘Zachary, what can you provide, for which I will pay?’ Seeing the face move to an expression presaging refusal, Brazier added, ‘And do not say you will not accept. You will find my purse in my outer coat, take what you need.’
Apples and cheese were offered and accepted, as well as an old army canteen, which had been used to carry water when Zachary was assistant to Venables.
‘I now must ask if it’s possible for all of us to convene here and possibly overnight. You will have five mouths to cater for.’
‘No notion they should stay watchin’?’ Joe asked.
‘They’ve been out one night already, Joe. If there’s watching to be done, and it will be for Dutchy to advise, it will be you and Peddler.’
‘What happens then?’
‘I don’t know. There could be any number of possibilities, but one thing is certain. I need to be fit enough to look at matters myself.’
‘We won’t be givin’ up, then?’ Vincent asked.
‘It’s not my habit to do so.’
‘Do I tell Saoirse you’re safe?’
‘She knows what happened?’
‘I took the boyos there as soon as I heard the tale.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘Calmly I would say, she’s not a woman for display. Never asked why Joe was wanted when I sent Peddler to fetch him.’
‘Neither a woman for display or for a lack of discretion. Please let her know I’m alive and well.’
‘She’s bound to ask what you intend to do next.’
‘Did you not hear what I just said, Vincent?’
‘Sure, I did an’ all, but hearing is easier than believing. I don’t suppose any advice I give to let matters rest will get much attention.’
Blood Will Out Page 14
