The Contraband Shore

by David Donachie

  ‘I think I will go and find your sister, sir, for she, not you, is the reason I came to your house today. Nor, might I add, will I let you indulge in provocation, which leads me to suspect you see me as a simpleton.’

  ‘I do not think you will marry my sister, sir, for she will listen to me.’

  ‘Let us put it to the test.’

  Brazier spun round and left without another word, though he did take the liberty – after all, it was not his house – of slamming the door. He left behind him a deeply troubled man for, if any suitor seeking the hand of Elisabeth was unlikely to be welcomed, a serving naval officer was anathema and one who could live off his own means doubly so.

  He had left no doubt of his intentions and even less about how he expected they would be received, with which Henry Tulkington could only concur. His sister had been like a skittish colt at the prospect of this visit. Tulkington’s aunt had made plain that he had a sound reputation – indeed his character, according to those who served with and under him and had spoken of him, was unimpeachable.

  Added to which he had been assiduous in pursuit of those seeking to break the Navigation Acts, the statutes that forbade anyone from trading into the British colonies with a cargo or vessel that did not originate from a home port. At the conclusion of the war in America that extended to the nascent United States, who, as colonies, had depended for their prosperity on the trade with the sugar islands. This left them no recourse but to seek to break the embargo, and the fact that he had seriously interdicted what was by any other word smuggling might have been a recommendation to others, but not to Henry Tulkington.

  This would have been no concern with them out of the way, but Elisabeth had hinted at selling her plantations and remaining at Cottington, uncomfortable with the use of slave labour to make them profitable. She had even expressed strong views on emancipation, which to her brother was evidence that she was beyond frivolous: she was irresponsible.

  If she did sell – he had no means of stopping her outside persuasion – and then did marry Brazier, where would they reside? This naval sod had said quite plainly he had no home of his own, while Elisabeth had admitted to being homesick when in Jamaica, missing the friends with whom she had grown up, the very same people she had invited to that stupid fete.

  What if they desired to live here in this house? If he refused, what would be his grounds? Even if they resided close by it was too dangerous, so it had to be stopped. There was another emotion coursing through his mind: he had been threatened, and that never stood well with Henry Tulkington. He was a man of parts and very prominent locally, not someone to trifle with, a fact he had made plain to others. He found it no trouble to imagine himself bloodily chastising Brazier for his effrontery, until the sod begged for mercy.

  If anyone had told him it was the reaction of a weak fellow when faced with a strong one, and common to humanity, he would have laughed out loud. The more time he spent in the reverie of retribution, the greater became his need for vengeance until he felt consumed by it.

  ‘Damn you, sir, no one in this part of the world speaks to me in such a tone and neither will you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The liveried servant in his short, powdered wig, the fellow who had been by the front entrance to take his hat, was now waiting outside the room, not close enough to listen at the door but, despite a demeanour no doubt honed over years, unable to avoid a wince as he reacted to the reverberating sound of it closing. The fellow was swift to readopt the required servile air, which meant he should always have his eyes cast upwards and never make contact with those of his betters he was addressing.

  ‘Mrs Langridge is waiting for you, sir, in the drawing room.’

  He moved to lead the way and Brazier, still seething, followed him, seeking to calm his mood, for it would not do to carry it to Betsey. The servant knocked, opened the door and sonorously announced him, which given he must be the only person visiting seemed excessive. Brazier’s heart was racing again, but asked, he could not have said what caused it – anger or anticipation. She was standing by another fireplace, this unlit, and looking at him with an air both amused and quizzical. More importantly, being in her own home allowed her to receive him alone, as long as the door remained open.

  ‘Am I to judge, by the way the whole house shook, the meeting with my brother did not go well?’

  He could not but respond in a like manner. ‘I allowed my temper too much rein.’

  ‘It is something Henry is inclined to provoke in people.’

  ‘Yet you agreed to my being interrogated.’

  The brow furrowed and any good humour evaporated. ‘That’s a very forceful word.’

  ‘I fear your brother used words that make it pale by comparison.’ There was temptation to add what had been imputed regarding his character, but he suppressed it, for it would serve no purpose. ‘But let us put that aside. I came, as I have just informed him, to call upon you.’

  ‘And have I not already said how welcome that is to me, Captain Brazier?’

  ‘I’m curious as to how you would react if I asked you to call me Edward?’

  The lack of an immediate reply, added to a bonny hint of a blush, told him she got the drift, which served to mightily encourage him. Yet, for any woman of intelligence he had posited a hurdle to be crossed with care. It also had to be admitted, by the man proposing the idea, that it smacked of excessive impatience for, in the game of courting, incremental steps were the norm, so it was necessary to soften the effect.

  ‘Let me say, a life spent at sea does not prepare a man for lethargy. I am aware my request borders on the breaching of accepted norms. But that is, to those who reside on land, another quality sailors often lack.’

  Her body movements and facial expression, somewhat confused, told Brazier he had made her acutely uncomfortable. Before he could continue she spoke, and it carried a whiff of her being nervous.

  ‘You have not seen the grounds, Captain Brazier, and you must, for they are my arbour: the place, particularly the woodland and lake, where I played as a child and I recall with fondness. I try to go for a walk through the woods every day and it would be pleasing if you would accompany me.’

  He should have just agreed, but his nature forbade it. ‘Just you and I?’

  The roughish smile accompanying the sally rouged her cheeks once more, which, as always, he found enchanting. Betsey did not.

  ‘I am bound to say I admire a certain degree of boldness—’

  ‘And I have gone too far.’

  ‘I must ask my Aunt Sarah to accompany us,’ allowed her to avoid an answer. His expression must have been telling in the disappointment line, for she was quick to qualify her point in the face of his obvious displeasure. ‘I will also request that she does so at a discreet distance, which will allow us to converse without being overheard.’

  ‘Then I am yours to command.’

  That lightened her mood and produced a nautical quip. ‘So I have the quarterdeck, Captain?’

  It was too good an opportunity to miss. ‘Madam, you have the entire vessel from keel to mainmast cap.’

  This being outrageous, it was enough to once more fluster her. Betsey moved to pass him, saying, on her way to and out of the door, ‘I must change into more suitable clothing. A servant will fetch you some refreshments.’

  Left alone and in contemplation, Edward Brazier was obliged to examine recent events and, as ever, he was aware of a certain amount of speculation. One clear fact could not be disputed: Henry Tulkington was dead set against his sister remarrying, so it might not be personal to him and, very likely, Aunt Sarah took her cue from the dominant character at Cottington Court.

  A wandering mind, served with a pot of coffee, could conjure up any number of possibilities for his attitude, even some quite salacious conclusions, though he was swift to suppress such thoughts. What had Tulkington been like when Betsey married Stephen Langridge? That sharp remark regarding her and the childhood friend who had become
her husband was revealing. Or was it?

  A knock, then the sepulchral face of the servant. ‘Mrs Langridge and Mrs Lovell are waiting in the garden, sir. I took the liberty of fetching your hat.’

  There was a sore temptation to ask this stick of misery for the truth of what he had been wondering upon; servants knew everything about their betters: their moods, accidents, disputes and secrets. They shared that with common seamen, who seemed to know what went on in the great cabin, as well as what was afoot in the destination line, long before their captain deigned to inform them.

  Sadly, it could not be, so, taking his scraper, he went to join them, going through the ritual of polite greetings before they set off, accompanied by the spaniels, exiting the formal garden by a side gate, which would take them towards the wooded part of what Betsey assured him was a walled estate. He did not speak until they were out through the gate, and there was no physical contact; he and she remained a minimum of a foot apart, which frustrated Brazier, who harboured a strong desire to take her arm.

  ‘I am tempted to look round and check on your aunt’s mood,’ he said with a touch of mockery, as they moved into a tree-lined path, the foliage taking away much of the light, the dogs racing playfully to and fro up ahead.

  ‘Would that be necessary?’

  ‘You do know why I have come here? It wasn’t just your brother making guesses, I hope?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I am now left to wonder at which question you’re answering.’ When she glanced at him, it was to see a diverting smile, not the complaint she had suspected. ‘That said, they will both suffice when it comes to a response.’

  She emitted a small laugh. ‘You’re little changed from Jamaica.’

  ‘Why would I be? I’m the same fellow. Did you wish to find me altered?’

  ‘You must know I saw you as very different to most of those …’

  It was not an interruption; she had hesitated and failed to finish the sentence.

  ‘Who sought to engage your attention. How so?’

  ‘Very much more subtle, especially in that look you ever had in your eye.’

  ‘I was the soul of discretion,’ he protested. ‘Both verbally and otherwise.’

  ‘You may have thought yourself that, sir, but I can say it was not so, for I was on the receiving end of what I can only term your refined audacity.’

  ‘Your aunt would never have allowed such a thing to occur. Any discomfort and she would have intervened.’

  ‘I did not say I found it unsettling, did I?’

  ‘But you are saying my own impression of my behaviour towards you was at complete odds as to how it was perceived?’

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Then I am bound to wonder which one of us carries responsibility. I might assume that you read the things I imparted in a light never intended.’ Brazier was quick to correct himself; telling her she was being foolish would not serve. ‘No, strike that. Let us just accept that my view of my discretion is not as I thought.’

  ‘I felt it refreshing to find someone who was neither a stranger to rigid formality, a manner evident even in your fellow sailors, or so bold as to cross several lines at once, like the late Admiral Hassel.’

  ‘I did note he was a touch free.’

  ‘He was ever eager to play to old roué, which was nothing more than a disguise for taking unwarranted liberties and that was the case when my poor, dear husband was still alive.’

  ‘You never spoke of your husband when we met and that’s the first time he has been mentioned now.’

  ‘To do so in the Caribbean was only to reprise grief. I cannot begin to count the number of times we came this way, on this very path, as children, and that brings forth memories too.’

  ‘I would like to know of him.’

  ‘What’s to say? He was sweet to me as a child, like a brother, and we grew to love each other as man and wife. But Stephen was never robust and you know, as well as I, the air of the Caribbean can be mortal to Europeans.’

  ‘Do you miss Jamaica?’

  ‘Only the good times, and there were many.’

  ‘Your brother intimated you’re considering selling the plantations.’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘No, but I assumed a dislike of slavery.’

  ‘How astute you are. I was never at peace with the means by which they were managed. Stephen was a gentle soul, who treated people well, but the overseers he inherited along with the cane fields were a brutal lot. A stronger man might have curbed their excesses, but …’

  The pause was telling, for she had bordered on criticism of him. ‘In my capacity as owner, I managed to dismiss the two worst offenders, which was a matter my husband had discussed as being desirable. I felt it necessary to do so as a legacy.’

  Brazier’s mind was not on cruel overseers. He had been taken back to the time his ship had encountered a Dutch slaver in the mid Atlantic, a vessel so malodorous the smell could be picked up for miles if you were downwind. The trade was legal, but he was obliged to send someone aboard to inspect any vessel heading towards the Caribbean islands, slaves being a commodity as likely to be smuggled as any other. Such a vessel, heading on a course that could take it to a colonial possession of King George, was required to have a home port in Britain.

  It was not a duty he wished to inflict upon his inferior officers; in any case their reluctance was palpable. All the crew had heard of conditions on such craft and were in no great rush to witness them. So, he had chosen to go himself, taking his barge crew, they being amongst the toughest and least sentimental crew members, which left him with a vision that, recurring now, and in this company, was unwelcome.

  Men and women chained on racks, so tightly packed as to make breathing difficult while the decks ran with piss and watery shit. They were fed, but there was no charity or quality in it, for they were required to be a saleable commodity once they reached their destination. It was well known that in extreme bad weather, the slavers would dump them all overboard to save themselves.

  His abhorrence of the trade, as well as the exploitation of innocents, which he had never taken to in any case, stemmed from that day, so he was tempted to laud Betsey’s possible course of action, yet he stopped himself. Having already overstepped the mark more than once this day, by too-flagrant hints regarding the future, any opinion advanced in that area would sound as though he reckoned her consent to his approaches to be a foregone conclusion. It was as well she changed the subject.

  ‘Henry was not happy about Stephen and I marrying either, which I could never comprehend.’

  Brazier nearly blurted out: ‘So I should not feel singular.’ He bit back those words too.

  ‘He is overly possessive.’ A pause. ‘Can I ask why you never wrote?’

  ‘I feared to put too much of my sentiments on paper, which might have driven you away, given I find them hard to convey with a quill. One untoward sentence can do untold harm, so I reckoned talking would serve better and, as of now, I have little idea if that notion holds water.’

  ‘Would it help if I was to say nothing that was said by my brother today renders me disenchanted?’

  A harrumph from their rear indicated that Aunt Sarah had surreptitiously closed the gap. It was Betsey who increased her pace suddenly to reinstate it, just as they came onto more open ground by a small tree-lined lake. Still, being cautious, she spoke softly.

  ‘My Aunt Sarah only follows his instructions and you must not blame her, for she is dependent on him for everything – a roof over her head and even the food she eats. I doubt she would have come out to the Caribbean if he had not demanded it, for she is a particularly bad sailor. I saw her misery on the way back to England and it must have been the same on the outward passage. Added to that she has been very kind to me in the past.’

  ‘If there’s an aunt, there must have been an uncle.’

  ‘Gone. Disappeared. Went out one day and never returned, with no word since. Aunt Sarah has no idea
if she’s a widow or still a wife.’

  ‘Then I feel I must promise to be nice to her.’

  That got a full laugh. ‘Lord, she will test you on that.’

  ‘Elisabeth! Decorum,’ came from the very source, as if to underline Betsey’s assertion.

  The subject closest to Brazier’s heart had to be put to one side, for he was shown the church, which lay in the estate grounds: a small rectangular chapel with a square steeple and patch of ground filled with gravestones of various age. The living was in the gift of the estate and Betsey also described the incumbent, a Reverend Moyle. Though she tried to make her impression of the divine and his addiction to the bottle sound humorous, Brazier sensed an underlying dislike of his inability to behave in a manner befitting his office.

  ‘Your brother could dismiss him, surely?’

  ‘He could but declines to do so, which is, to me, a mystery. And here we have the lake.’

  He was taken round to be shown where she and her childhood friends had fished and swum as children. Did she still do so now was one of those questions that could wait, though again it rendered him uncomfortable to contemplate they might do so together.

  Besides, he felt the need to listen acutely to what was being imparted, for she was back on the subject of her late husband, he gaining the impression that she and Stephen Langridge had grown into marriage. If there were constant references to his kind nature and quiet good humour, as she pointed out where they had climbed trees and plaited flowers, or set terriers to dig out rabbits, ferrets and stoats, there was no hint of any deep passion.

  Other childhood friends were referred to, names that meant nothing to him, girls and boys now married and one or two with children of their own, which brought a wistful tone to her voice, for her union had clearly been childless. Again he had to bite back the question and for the same reason. To ask her if she wished for children was impossible.