Blood Will Out

by David Donachie

  He and the disgruntled Excisemen finally got to the heights above the bay when the sun was coming up, to find it deserted. There was no ship, no smugglers and no sign of any contraband. But there was one positive: they found the way into the tunnel complex where they discovered, stored in large chambers, enough untaxed goods to make their activities a major coup.

  Cottin returned to the Three Kings behind a seriously disgruntled coachman, who’d been up all night, ordered hither and thither, without any clue as to the why. He was even more dissatisfied to be paid off with his exact fee, his passenger too eager to get inside, have a bite to eat then to get his head down for a couple hours.

  He had, after all, an important engagement, which he looked forward to now even more than he had hitherto.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The five-strong armed party, numbering six horses, which turned up at the gates of Cottington Court, were not going to brook any arguments about the right to enter. Faced with several muskets, added to a determined and pistol-waving Edward Brazier, Tanner did the only sensible thing. He unlocked the gates, scuttling back into his gatehouse, dragging his snarling dog, where he locked the door, thinking he was not employed to lay down his life.

  Henry Tulkington, leaning back in the chair used for shaving, was unaware of what was coming until the sound of several sets of hooves had him jerk upright. He did this so quickly Grady had to withdraw the razor at speed. Elisabeth, distracted from her packing by the same noise and able to see out of her window once there, recognised the tell-tale navy scraper as well as the horse leading the party and her heart lifted. Already downstairs and in the dining room, only Sarah Lovell reacted with a look of concern; Dirley had no idea what he was hearing was unusual, so the thudding hooves got no more than a look of curiosity.

  It was Peddler who opened the ornamental gates closing off the inner drive, glad to be back on the ground as the others rode through. It was an indication of the well-run nature of the estate that several stable boys came rushing out to take the horses, only to quickly retreat back when they saw muskets being waved in their direction.

  ‘Tulkington’s coachmen,’ Brazier called.

  This sent Cocky and Joe Lascelles to see to the pair who resided above the coach house while Dutchy and Brazier dismounted in front of the portico, the one-time coxswain taking the reins of both mounts as well as Brazier’s pistol, which was handed over with a wry grin.

  ‘I don’t reckon there’s a weapon like this in the house. Pray I’m not wrong.’

  With Grady occupied, albeit frozen with a razor in the air, the task of seeing to the front door fell to a footman who, without thinking, did what his superior might have avoided: he opened it wide as if the visitors were expected, which suited Brazier, who strode straight through to find Elisabeth halfway down the stairs and behind her Henry, still with soap on his face. At the word ‘Betsey’, she flew into his arms, while he, dragging a towel off his neck, screeched a command to get out of his house.

  ‘I will go happily, Tulkington,’ Brazier cried, whipping of his hat, ‘but Betsey will be coming with me.’

  ‘The devil she will. My man Hawker will be here soon and this time I will not hold him back.’

  ‘Your man Hawker is, by now, either dead by his own hand or has been taken up by the Excise.’ Brazier was vaguely aware of Sarah Lovell standing in a doorway to her side, as well as the outline of a larger person, but his gaze was on Tulkington. ‘And know this: your operations are destroyed, your tunnels open to scrutiny, very likely by now swarming with Revenue men. If you’ve been lax in covering your tracks, they’ll be at your door before the day is out.’

  ‘Somebody throw this scoundrel out.’

  Odd how this sounded more as though it came from a spoilt child than an adult, very different to the deep voice which demanded, as Brazier whipped out his sword, ‘What the devil is going on here?’

  Putting a little distance between himself and Betsey, he heard her say, ‘My Uncle Dirley.’

  If she wondered why he didn’t respond, did not speak, Brazier could only have told her he was too dumbfounded. The man standing beside Sarah Lovell was the spitting image of his late father, perhaps a little older, maybe slightly more portly, but the likeness was striking.

  ‘Uncle Dirley, this is Edward Brazier.’

  He too seemed dumbstruck, his eyes wide open and filled with an image of himself as a younger man. It was with a less confident voice he muttered, ‘Brazier?’

  ‘The man I hope to marry.’

  Direly seemed to recover somewhat. ‘You’re still married to Spafford.’

  ‘Spafford?’ Brazier barked; whatever else he was struggling with, this was fact. ‘He’s dead days past, along with his father.’

  All eyes were suddenly on Henry, stood rock-still on the staircase, there being no notion of his coming closer when faced with a drawn sword in the hands of a man he was sure would run him through.

  ‘Is this true, Henry?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ was just as weak.

  Brazier scoffed. ‘You were stood right by him when he was shot.’

  Henry recovered a bit to sneer, ‘How would you know, when you fled? A pity the man who shot at your back missed.’

  ‘While I was denied any of this,’ Elisabeth cried. ‘You really are the most despicable pig.’

  ‘And you, sister, are not far short of a whore.’

  Sarah Lovell had her hands to her cheeks as Edward Brazier moved forward, sword up and angry, to send Henry speeding away. ‘What in the name of all that’s holy is going on here?’

  ‘Lies, Aunt Sarah,’ Elisabeth replied, her voice soft but no less accusatory. ‘Which should not shock you for being yourself immersed in them.’

  ‘How could I know about the fate of Harry Spafford?’

  ‘No more than you could know about the fate of your own husband,’ Brazier said.

  ‘Enough!’ Dirley barked, suddenly aware not only of a footman being present by the still open front door, but Grady appearing on the staircase, while the whole conversation must be reverberating around the house. ‘Elisabeth, come into the dining room.’ Seeing defiance, he added, ‘And bring your Brazier fellow with you.’

  There was no keeping Aunt Sarah out; she was first through the door as Elisabeth whispered, ‘Is it true?’

  There was no need to ask what, as he took and reassuringly squeezed her hand, calling out to his ex-coxswain, stood in the portico, as Elisabeth added, ‘Have a care with my uncle, he’s in league with Henry.’

  ‘Door stays open, Dutchy, and keep the pistol where it can be seen.’

  ‘Aye-aye, Capt’n.’

  Inside the dining room, Brazier, given he was allowed time without distraction, was struck even more by the resemblance of this uncle to his father. The same thick grey hair, the sallow, olive-skinned nature of his countenance, the darker bags below the liquid-brown eyes, added to which he knew he was being studiously examined himself. The only thing missing was the parental smile.

  ‘What do you know of my husband, sir?’ Sarah Lovell demanded.

  ‘Only what we’ve both been allowed to read of in a friend’s journals.’

  ‘You sent those letters?’

  ‘Edward?’ Elisabeth asked.

  ‘Later, my dear.’

  ‘What you said to Henry, sir, about tunnels?’ Dirley asked.

  There was a great deal left out of Brazier’s explanation of the past few days, even more about the previous night while, in terms of reaction, what he did reveal had remarkably little effect on Dirley Tulkington. But the man talking had no idea of his profession, which demanded nothing show on his face regardless of how disturbing it appeared. Another unknown was the fact Dirley felt something of a sense of relief. Staying overnight at Cottington Court, running over how things had changed since Acton’s day, he’d concluded his nephew was not someone he could rely upon, while he was certainly not a person to whom he was inclined to bend the knee. As already concluded, he
could not represent his niece and stay connected to his nephew; he must choose one or the other with whatever consequences ensued, a question yet to be decided.

  Yet as Brazier talked, with occasional interjections from Elisabeth to explain some of Henry’s more egregious actions, he held back from interrupting until his curiosity could no longer be contained.

  ‘I’m bound to ask where you come from, Captain Brazier?’ The information was provided, though Brazier would have struggled to say why it was asked. ‘And your father’s given name?’

  ‘Farley.’

  The brown eyes closed and stayed that way while the timbre of the voice changed to one deep and soft. ‘And where was he born?’

  ‘I assumed in the same place, given I never enquired.’

  ‘Your grandparents?’

  ‘Dead before I was born, and I am damned curious as to why you’re asking.’

  The inquisitor was not a man to be put off. ‘A farmer?’

  ‘He was a naval surgeon.’

  ‘Elisabeth, I wonder if you would mind leaving Captain Brazier and I to talk alone?’ Instead of agreeing she looked at Brazier, who shrugged. ‘And you too, Mrs Lovell.’

  It was in an almost comatose state she departed, Elisabeth less willingly though assured by her uncle it was in her best interests. When she’d gone there were some pointed questions regarding John Hawker and what had occurred at St Margaret’s Bay, many answered with reservations. But it was established by a man experienced in cross-examination that Brazier had been the architect of the whole catastrophe.

  ‘I’m bound to ask, what are your intentions as regards my nephew?’

  ‘Not your niece?’

  ‘I reckon them fairly obvious.’

  ‘I shall leave any retribution to those put in office to extract it. I’ve carried out that which I needed to do for my own ends and those of Betsey and I’ll do nothing to endanger her well-being.’

  ‘So Henry has nothing to fear from you?’

  ‘Fear would only apply if he was man enough to face me with a sword or a pistol, which I think even you must know is never going to happen.’

  ‘If you reckon he will be had up by the law you’re mistaken, and the same applies to myself. We have been too careful to allow such a thing to occur.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My half-brother Acton and I. The details of our association I will leave Elisabeth to explain, since she knows all there is to tell. But if you will take a seat, I’ll relate to you something of our family background.’

  ‘You’re assuming this to be a matter which will interest me.’

  ‘You wish to marry Elisabeth, do you not?’ A firm nod. ‘So the stock from which she hails must be of some importance.’

  ‘Surely she can tell me herself?’

  ‘Only what she knows, Captain.’ In the face of a steady gaze Brazier took a chair and Dirley followed suit, the pair examining each other while harbouring their own thoughts. ‘I’ll first go back to my father, Corley Tulkington. No one prior to him is of much consequence.’

  What followed was the description, to Brazier’s mind, of an absolute rogue, who should have been hanged at Newgate several times over. There was enough about smuggling to establish how he’d gained supremacy, just as much of the violence which went with it.

  ‘I sense from your expression you do not approve.’

  ‘I can think of few who would.’

  ‘Then you’re naive, sir. Half the world we live in, or more, would see him as a hero. There are people who’ve expired from starvation on the very beach where Corley made his mark and who cared. Not anyone in authority. They expended their effort in stopping folk finding the means to exist instead of providing it.’

  ‘If you think I favour dearth, sir, I must tell you I do not.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. But back to Corley, who was not only a success in running contraband but generous to those in need and a lusty fellow to boot. I suppose it would be fair to say he was free with his seed. One of his most remarkable paramours was known as the Spanish Lady. She wore a mantilla and held court in a tavern called the Saracen’s Head. No one ever used her name and unkind souls would say she arrived with the Armada.’

  ‘I assume not in the presence of your father.’

  ‘Nor mine, Captain. The Spanish Lady was my mother and, when she was brought to her accouchement, she bore twins. Me, the first to emerge and named Dirley.’ The pause was several seconds long. ‘The other, whom it was soon noted as identical, was named Farley.’

  Ignoring the palpable shock in Brazier’s face, he continued.

  ‘Corley, seeking respectability, eventually married Acton’s mother, Elisabeth’s grandmother and a lady of some position in society. Her family didn’t approve, but as I say, Corley was lusty as well as, by that time, wealthy. I think both those traits appealed to her. There was no question of Farley and I being abandoned, even after our mother passed away. We were treated as equals, albeit Acton, our little half-brother, would be Corley’s heir. I was put to learning the law, while my twin took up training in medicine.’

  It was a dry throat which enquired, ‘Medicine?’

  ‘I noticed when you first clapped eyes on me,’ Dirley continued, ‘an expression remarkably close to recognition, while I saw in you a representation of myself and my twin brother as young men. Farley was less than enamoured with the way the family made its income and told our father so, which saw a certain frostiness creep into their relationship. It was made worse when he stated his intention to marry a woman who would not have been a suitable companion as far as my father was concerned.’

  ‘I think, as perhaps those letters I sent to Sarah Lovell show, such a thing could be highly precarious.’

  ‘I won’t confirm or deny what you imply in either case, but I will say we arose one morning to find Farley gone and with him what he took to be his inheritance, a substantial sum in money. Neither he nor it, despite extensive enquiries, were ever heard of again. What I conclude is this, Captain. Your real name is Tulkington and you are even more my nephew than Henry.’

  ‘Not a suggestion or a relationship I would ever want to acknowledge.’

  ‘But it does have one consequence. If my supposition is true, you and Elisabeth are first cousins only half removed, which in Canon Law could make the idea of your marrying her decidedly problematic.’

  ‘Tell the slug who’s too frightened to face me I shall send his carriage back once we have no further use for it.’

  Betsey’s trunk was lashed to the back and he and she had decided to ride into Deal, Peddler on the box and the rest of their party following, to find at the gate another carriage, that of Doctor Rudd, seeking entry, in order to treat Elisabeth. It took her to convince Tanner to open the gate.

  ‘It puzzles me Doctor Rudd,’ she said from within the carriage, ‘I am perfectly well, never better, but I suggest you proceed. I suspect there’s another in Cottington Court who may require your ministrations.’

  Henry had not shown his face and was assumed to be hiding in his room. Dirley would have to fetch him out at some time, no doubt, to discuss what to do in light of what they knew, which could only be what they’d been told; going near St Margaret’s Bay was too dangerous.

  Asking about the connection, as Betsey finished her packing, Brazier had been given the whole background as related to her by her brother: the way everything was cut off from exposure, added to the protection afforded by Dirley’s legal position. She naturally asked what he and Dirley had talked about, but Brazier demurred, there being more than one thing he’d have to tell her when the time was right: the demise of poor Lionel Upton and how it had occurred being one, obviously kept from her, as had that of Harry Spafford.

  Time would be a healer in this. Edward Brazier’s aim was to get her settled away from Cottington Court where they could, once everything was out in the open, discuss their impending difficulties and how to proceed. The first thing was to seek a clarification, given the de
gree of consanguinity, allowing them to marry, which could only be provided by the church. This took no account of how she would react on learning the details of their blood relationship.

  He was worrying on this when they arrived at the Three Kings, sending Garlick into raptures of impending salacious gossip when Betsey’s identity became known. Having settled her in her flower-filled room and with a promise to return in time for dinner, he was leaving to go to the Navy Yard, where his ex-barge crew were once more berthing, when he ran smack into John Cottin, in the company of William Pitt.

  ‘Brazier,’ Pitt remarked, in a demeanour hearty for him. Cottin for some reason looked embarrassed and sought to hurry Pitt past, which the King’s First Minister was not having. ‘Mr Cottin has been full of praise for the aid you gave him in proscribing the running of contraband. A most successful operation and a credit to our High Sheriff.’

  ‘My aid?’

  ‘Why yes, Brazier,’ Cottin cried, seeking by his look to beg for no disclosure of the truth. ‘Couldn’t have enjoyed quite such a success without you. Most invaluable input, sir.’

  ‘Odd,’ Pitt added, ‘when I asked you for the same assistance weeks past, you most unquestionably declined to have anything to do with ending smuggling.’

  ‘Ending smuggling, sir. I wish you joy of it. The only way to clap a stopper on contraband is to reduce the duties you levy.’

  ‘I think, perhaps,’ Cottin blustered, ‘we have struck a serious blow. The combination of the captain and I made the matter somewhat less daunting.’

  There was such a temptation to drop Cottin in the steep tub, to tell the truth of how it had come about and who had done what, but he was debarred from doing so, on the very good grounds one disclosure would of necessity lead to another.

  As was ever the way with the shamefaced, Cottin could not stop himself from gabbling on. ‘Rest easy, Captain Brazier, your contribution has been laid out to your advantage.’

  ‘It certainly has. Perhaps I can press upon His Majesty you’re deserving of a command after all.’