Blood Will Out

by David Donachie

  Tobias Sowerby’s words came back to him, about throwing the sod a bone like Dan Spafford to cover the riot; more difficult to use such a line now, but could it present a way to keep his name clear of any involvement? Yet this raised Sowerby’s gaffe about Spafford being a thorn in his side. It mattered not he was wrong, he’d believed it to be so, which raised the question, did this apply to others? Suddenly the discretion of his fellow worthies, which he relied upon to operate, looked less secure, given he was the last person to whom they would talk to regarding what they did and didn’t know.

  It took time to calm himself and take a rational look at where he stood. The events which led to those deaths happened on his property, but his contact with the names involved was minimal and he certainly hadn’t fired any shots; he hadn’t even been armed. John Hawker had taken them first to the slaughterhouse, next to the Spafford farmhouse; again, he’d had no actual involvement.

  ‘Henry?’ He lifted his face to see Doctor Rudd, thinking at this moment he did not want to deal with the man, yet he was obliged to, Rudd holding out a hand. ‘The potion you asked for.’

  ‘Thank you,’ was grudgingly given as he took the small bottle.

  ‘Afraid I can’t stop. I’m needed to sign some death certificates.’ A pause. ‘I take it you’ve heard?’

  ‘Rum business,’ was as non-committal as he could manage.

  ‘Is that. Perhaps we could meet later.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Henry said, then added, ‘Actually, I’ll come with you if you don’t mind. If everyone else has gazed up this raree-show, it would be wrong of me if I did not.’

  ‘Then I suggest you buy a nosegay on the way. Been dead a few days, I’m told, so they’ll be a bit ripe.’

  ‘Fear not, I have a strong constitution.’

  This raised an eyebrow with Rudd. Here was a man who was ever complaining of the exact opposite.

  If Tulkington had been rattled it was nothing compared to John Hawker, convinced what Brazier had done was aimed squarely at him. He could see it would have an effect on his employer, but the same process by which Tulkington had eliminated himself from guilt left Hawker in a very different place, especially with Harry Spafford. It was hard to admit in the case of that sod, Henry Tulkington had been right. Furious at the theft of part of his cargo, and right under his very nose, he’d allowed his anger to get the better of his judgement, made doubly enraged by the taking of the cart of tea a day or two later.

  Those who’d seen him drag Harry Spafford down the Lower Valley Road, even those who’d heard of it, could set a line between the son and the father; given how close Jaleel Trotter was to Dan, having practically raised the wastrel son after his mother fled, it would rope him in too. The conclusion people would draw was easy to imagine. He collaring Harry sends Dan, a laughing stock for his attempts to redeem the little sod, raving mad. He sets out armed, with Daisy in tow, to get his boy free and who should he run up against? A fight ensues, weapons are employed and blood flows.

  There was no need to go further and the fact it wasn’t true counted for naught. If he could make such a case so could everyone else and it would match his reputation, which in another case might have been a good thing. If anyone pushed the story too far, like the law enforcer he’d eyeballed in the graveyard, it might not be.

  ‘Where the hell is Tulkington?’ he shouted out loud.

  Hard as it was to admit, he reckoned he needed him now.

  He was being sick, the smell of the bodies in the undertaker’s parlour being one powerful reason but, with Rudd present and his examination complete, the undertaker had punctured the bloated stomachs of the corpses to produce an odour which nearly had Henry faint. His pallor was not improved when he recalled the look Tobias Sowerby had given him when he arrived, one which said plain he must have had a hand in their deaths. Back outside the parlour and face to face with him and the others, there was a period of contemplative and collective silence, which he could not bear.

  ‘I hear this Cottin pest has got involved.’

  ‘Can’t stop him, Henry,’ Cavell replied, with a concerned expression. ‘He has the power to call in help from outside, even the military.’

  A still flustered Phineas Tooke added, ‘And who can doubt, with the wounds, it was murder? Rudd tells me Trotter was more than once shot in the back.’

  ‘I think I’ll return to the Lodge.’

  Cavell indicated himself and Tooke. ‘We’d better stay till Cottin returns.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Questioning people who passed through the graveyard early morning. Good luck to him with that.’

  ‘Tobias, are you free?’ A cautious nod. ‘Then why not walk with me.’

  They were not far away before Henry said, ‘This has to be stopped.’

  ‘You heard Sidney.’

  ‘Damn Sidney.’ There was a long pause before he added, ‘I’m going to tell you what happened.’

  ‘Henry, I’m not sure I want to know.’

  ‘You will have to, given you’re the only one I can trust.’

  It looked innocent enough, two well-dressed gents walking slowly along the Lower Valley Road, heads bent, one talking, the other listening, as Henry told his tale. This was subject to frequent pauses, meant to give the impression he could not quite believe what had occurred himself. First, he changed the location of the incident away from the grounds of Cottington Court, without specifying exactly where.

  ‘You will have heard about Harry Spafford being dragged to the slaughterhouse?’

  ‘Who has not?’ was a guarded reply, Sowerby wondering where this was going.

  ‘Well, it produced the proof we needed. It was his father who robbed your cart.’

  Tempted to mention the cargo stolen from under John Hawker’s nose, Henry thought it best not to for now. Maybe it would be needed later.

  ‘Once he had the information, Hawker kicked him out, only for Harry to come to me. He was pleading for protection from his father, whom I was told was threatening to horsewhip the boy, frightened into thinking he and his actions were betrayed.’

  There was a longer pause and Tulkington sucked on the notion, only to think an alternative might serve better.

  ‘Or perhaps he thought him still confined and held by me, so sought to rescue Harry − who is now to know? Whatever the reason, he came after him armed to the teeth. What do you now know of Edward Brazier?’

  ‘The name and his rank since the fire, before then nothing.’

  ‘He has designs on my sister Elisabeth.’

  ‘Really?’ was all that could be said in reply.

  ‘She entertained the notion originally but has now set her mind against his advances. But the sod will not take no for an answer and it fell to me to tell him, which was not taken well, obviously seeing me as a barrier to his hopes, refusing to believe Elisabeth had changed her mind. I think he thought to elope with her and roped in some of his old crew to help him.’

  Another gap, this time to allow passage to a handcart, allowed Henry to add something which pleased him.

  ‘Typical naval type, of course, not long on either brains or manners.’ This was taken with a wry smile. ‘Upshot of it all, Tobias, I set out to thwart Brazier and Spafford’s appearance coincided with his, he and his gang also carrying weapons. Two headstrong individuals carrying guns, clashing in the pitch-dark, each seeing their intentions as of vital importance and the result was inevitable, with myself unable to intervene.’

  There followed a hiatus and a slow long shake of the head, the action of a man wondering at the folly of his fellow humans.

  ‘They ended up shooting at each other and that’s how poor Harry got a ball in the forehead. I myself was lucky, given he was close by me, but do you know Tobias, the lad, and many have named him useless, knocked me to the ground and may have saved my life.’

  ‘A lucky escape, then?’

  ‘Won’t hear a word said against his memory, let me tell you.’

  Acceptan
ce of this assertion merely engendered a grunt − Sowerby had no illusions about Harry Spafford, no one in the town did − as Henry took up his story again.

  ‘You will have observed, as I did, Trotter was riddled and Harry’s father clearly ended up with one in his gut. So you see, the whole thing can be laid at the door of two headstrong individuals, Dan Spafford and this Brazier fellow, with his deluded designs on my sister.’ There was a moment he thought to add how it had affected Elisabeth’s mind, but Henry decided it would merely complicate matters. ‘I’m sure it was never supposed to be as it turned out. It was, in short, a terrible accident.’

  ‘And the bodies in the graveyard?’

  ‘Clearly an attempt to shift the blame, possibly to me. I told Brazier I was not at fault, he was responsible, advising him to contact Sidney and explain it as an unforeseen accident. He obviously feared he would not be believed, especially after Dan Spafford passed away from his wound. I thought he was taking him to a physician, clearly he either did not, or it was too late.’

  On concluding, Henry was quite pleased with his construction, though he knew it required refinement; no mention of Hawker and the blame for everything shifted to Brazier, who would of course deny the story being true. Yet, even if certain parties were questioned, namely John Hawker and his men, he could rely on his version being confirmed. So it would be the word of an upstanding local citizen, who had the power to put pressure on the magistrates, against that of a stranger to the town, the two other principles being bodies in the undertaker’s parlour. There was the number of shots fired, but it could be laid at the door of both men’s support, Brazier naturally exonerating his men. Spaffords’s lot were out of sight and would soon be out of mind.

  ‘I see it as very much a local matter, to be dealt with by those charged with keeping the peace in Deal. If they feel it warrants the involvement of a high sheriff, it is for them to decide, do you not agree?’

  If the necessary answer was forthcoming, it was hard for Tobias Sowerby to disguise the fact he didn’t believe a word of it, just as he would never accept Henry had no hand in the torching of Quebec House. He felt as if he was being used as a sounding board, Henry testing the account, practising it on someone he knew dare not act against him. It was partly to get off the subject and this pack of dishonesties he said,

  ‘By the way, not having seen you, there’s a bit of a coincidence I need to pass on. The body discovered in the embers of Quebec House was identified as a fellow called Upton. Any relation to the man running your stables?’

  The reaction was abrupt, as Henry stopped dead. ‘Actually, Tobias, I’ve just recalled some pressing business I need to attend to. What we’ve just been discussing has addled my brain. If you will forgive me.’

  And he was gone, leaving Sowerby confused, but not for long when he realised it was the name which had led to his sudden recollection, this examined as he continued on his way. The two well-dressed individuals might be heading in opposite directions now, one for the slaughterhouse, the other for the Lodge, but both were equal in the depth of their concerns.

  As Henry was wondering how Upton had ended up in Quebec House alive, never mind dead, it soon became obvious as being something arranged for him by Elisabeth, a safeguard against their conspiracy being uncovered. If he could curse her for such devilish plotting, part of Henry was obliged, albeit grudgingly, to acknowledge her foresight. It still remained true what he’d intended, and Hawker had overseen, had got out of hand. The mob converging on Quebec House, made passionate by rumour, had been there to inflict pain on Brazier and his men, enough to convince them their presence in Deal was not just unwelcome but unsafe. It had never been his intention the house should be set fire to, and certainly he’d made it plain to Hawker, who’d seemed set on the notion, anyone being killed was out of the question.

  Again, further worried reflection established he was in the clear. It had been his idea to set the riot in motion, but the only two people to whom he had spoken about it were Hawker and Dan Spafford, the latter promised freedom for him and his men for driving Brazier away, so silence was assured. But it still begged the question regarding the result and there was only one person he could even discuss it with.

  John Hawker was made angry by his employer’s preoccupation with Quebec House. To him it was done business, if you excluded the fact Brazier and his men had survived. He certainly was not about to admit he was responsible for the fire and, since Spafford was the one to whom he’d given the instructions to set the place alight, which ran counter to those given to him, he was safe.

  As Henry Tulkington reprised the sequence of events, from the first time the Spafford gang had been humbugged and captured, Hawker was reflecting on his own actions, not in a critical way, but in frustration at the lack of a desired outcome. He had no doubt of his responsibility for the death of Upton, not that he felt an ounce of remorse. Dan Spafford, leading the torch-carrying mob, could be counted on to do what was required and, if blame was sought, he was the one who’d carry it.

  ‘Do you think Spafford was trying to get even with us, John?’

  It took a second for Hawker to drag himself away from his reflections and respond. ‘In what way?’

  ‘He was a devious old sod, was he not? Look at the way he tried to seduce me into an alliance, with his talk of imminent death.’

  ‘Which you did not feel obliged to tell me about, I recall.’

  ‘I’ve explained my reasons,’ Tulkington snapped. ‘And I do wish you would stop referring to it. What we are dealing with now is more serious.’

  ‘I’ll say, your honour. Won’t take much imaginin’ to lay those bodies at my door, least of all Harry Spafford.’

  ‘You can say you set him free and get your men to swear it to be true. I am working on a tale which will support such a contention and it will be a brave magistrate who goes against it.’

  The image of Cottin − a false one, given he’d never seen the man − rose up, only to be shaken away, as was any notion of discussing him with Hawker.

  ‘What we’re concerned with now, John, is any connection being made between any of the four dead and Cottington Court, which drags in my name. How many people in town know Upton was an employee of mine?’

  ‘No way of tellin’, is there? Could be dozens, could be none. Name meant nowt to me, an’ I know ten times more’n most.’

  ‘It registered with one person I know. There may be more than you think.’

  Henry had an image then, of Cottin turning up to question him. Was it inevitable? Would it lead anywhere? If it could, should he seek to pre-empt such a visit or did such a course have its own dangers? All required to be thought on. Henry would have struggled to recall the mood in which he’d set out this very day and, as was ever the case, the alteration lay solidly at the door of Edward Brazier, the one person whose actions he felt unable to control. The likes of Cavell and Tooke were looking less than utterly reliable, but they and their kind had yet to feel the force of his displeasure and he had good grounds to believe, once applied, he could count on them to accept his version of events. This articulated, Hawker’s opinion was a dampener.

  ‘Exceptin’ Brazier might have another surprise to send our way.’

  ‘Can we find him?’

  ‘Can’t see how, when we’ve no idea where to look, but I don’t reckon he’d hang about round Worth, seeing he’s got what he wanted and there’s nowt more to gain. Asides, with this weather an’ what we’re waiting for, I ain’t got time. We need to get a boat out to signal our ship, which could well be in the offing any day now. If it is, I can’t have my men stuck out at Spafford’s place when they’re needed at the bay.’

  ‘We can hardly now say Spafford is away on a smuggling trip.’

  ‘A rumour I’ve already set goin’, sad to say, as was last decided. An’ those who manned his luggers, who’re supposed to be with him, are Deal men and you must know what that means.’

  ‘Some will be wondering where they are,’
was reluctantly acknowledged. ‘While you, John, I suspect, still want to take them out and drown them.’

  ‘Might have to think of another way, right enough. If we can keep ’em quiet till our cargo’s landed, they can be dealt with after.’

  ‘Surely a couple of men are all we need to keep them quiet?’

  ‘But it’ll leave me short at St Margaret’s. Each one has a task and place to look out for trouble.’

  ‘Then you must contrive to make sure the Excise are somewhere else.’

  ‘Can’t say I know of any other plans afoot.’

  ‘Then make one up.’ Seeing doubt, Tulkington pressed his case. ‘One time for the Excise to be misdirected should not affect the way they see you. Let’s get on with what is important, then we can fully concentrate on finding and eliminating Brazier.’

  ‘You see it as the way?’

  ‘I do now, John, there’s no choice. He knows too much so he will need to disappear.’

  For all his concerns, and they were numerous, John Hawker was pleased: they were now pursuing the same goal. Taking his men away from Spafford’s place represented a risk, but for Brazier at his mercy he would take it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sarah Lovell did not receive much in the way of post, only the occasional letter from the few people in Canterbury who still saw her as a worthy person with whom to correspond. Most of her old acquaintances, those who’d previously seen her as a doyenne of local society as well as an arbiter of acceptable behaviour, had cut her dead, even before leaving for Cottington Court. She and her husband had been obliged to depart their fine house and comfortable life due to his failures in speculation, a subject never discussed. Apart from the odd middle of the night tearful recollection, it stayed buried at the very back of her mind.