‘I need to accommodate myself, an occasional guest in comfort, and at least one servant, while it has to have the means to lay and maintain a good table.’
‘Would close to the Naval Yard serve?’
‘It would indeed, given I must entertain Admiral Braddock and what officers he has on station.’
‘Not many these days, as I remarked. There’s a property, Quebec House, near the gentile southern part of Middle Street, not free from all noise, but quieter than the North End. It was home to a marine officer until recently, is spacious and comfortable and, as of this moment, not occupied.’
‘Quebec House sounds very grand.’
‘It is, enough to impress.’
‘Do I want to impress?’
The smile was enchanting as well as impish. ‘That would depend on what you seek at Cottington Court.’
‘I sense someone has been talking too much.’
‘Captain Brazier, everyone in this town talks too much.’
‘Everyone? How well do you know Garlick of the Three Kings?’
Her expression was made mischievous by her look of false innocence. ‘A fellow purveyor of hospitality is someone I meet from time to time and one it pays to be friendly with, as it is with all the tavern keepers.’
The air of confidence now rankled: he knew he was being teased and also suspected it was a habit she had with the men she met. With her being comely and unwed, they would tolerate it. The thought of him being sharp in his response was held in check for it would not serve his needs.
‘I would need to add,’ she continued, ‘that we do not live in a place where a great amount of interest occurs, which means that every event assumes proportions it far from warrants.’
‘Does it extend to common knowledge?’ She shook her head slowly. ‘And would it be possible to maintain that?’
‘I will not gossip, if it brings concern.’
Brazier was silent for a moment, contemplating the notion of a grand dwelling instead of one more in the utility line. He did not require such a house for himself, but one thought did surface: it might impress and temper the animosity of Henry Tulkington, while the effect on Betsey – a house which, if she chose could become her own – could not be other than positive.
‘I need to look it over and talk with the owner.’
That caused her to emit a chuckle. ‘Captain, you are talking to the very person.’
‘Why do I feel I have been made to look a dupe?’
‘Have you?’
‘I would reckon so.’
‘Men react like that when they are bested by one of my sex.’ Seeing him frown, she added, ‘Allow me my games, in which I mean to do no harm, other than redress the balance between men and women.’
‘By playing on the former.’
‘Who prey on the latter by habit and expect praise for it.’
‘Not a tag I am willing to wear.’ The expression he adopted was one he hoped hinted at humour, but the words were unforgiving – they had to be if he was going to pay her back in kind for her disdain. ‘I admit I found myself surprised when Flaherty told me you ran this place without a man to aid you, a husband perhaps. Now I am less so. It takes more than physical charms to snare one.’
‘The first thing it requires is the desire to do so.’
Her look had switched from amused playfulness to outright resentment and it was a telling change; the skin was now tight on her cheeks, while the narrowed eyes held something akin to scorn. Brazier was being told that Saoirse Riorden was not a plaything of any man.
‘I think we have perhaps got off on the wrong foot, which I have already had experience of this very day.’
‘Vincent will tell you I’m not one to be trifled with.’
‘I doubt I need his validation.’ A hand was held up palm forward. ‘Pax?’
‘Pax, indeed. If you want to look at Quebec House, I will take you there now, or on the morrow.’
‘Soonest done.’
‘I will fetch my cloak but it will be of short duration, for I am not gifted with much time till I must open my doors to custom.’
‘I would not wish to inconvenience you.’
‘Do I not owe you some consideration, Captain, for the way I have teased you?’ She held up a hand to kill off his reply, which in politeness would have been negative. ‘It is a habit of mine, and I admit a far from attractive one, as Flaherty is ever reminding me.’
‘Manifested for protection, perhaps?’
‘A sharp observation, though not from him, for he is a sweet man in a world not over-gifted with such. If you wait at the door, I will join you once I’m sure all is prepared.’
It was beginning to get dark outside now and as he stood under freshly lit torches, he found himself being examined by the pair of squat, wide-shouldered toughs who minded the Playhouse doorway. Their long clubs, attached to their wrists by leather straps, swung menacingly from their hands. Typical of their breed, they eyed him as they did everyone, those passing by included, as persons on the very edge of committing unwarranted violence; in their occupation, the notion of peaceful contemplation was alien.
With deliberate irony, rating them miserable sods, he raised his hat and moved away; he would be able to spot Saoirse as soon as she exited the building. So ferocious was the way he was grabbed, his hat flew off and he was dragged backwards into some kind of dark recess devoid of overhead light, the first blow of a fist taking him on the side of the head, immediately followed by one to wind him and bend him double. Having been in many fights in his career, he knew he had to retaliate and he also had to keep his feet, which could only be achieved by the wild flailing of his own fists in order to seek to gain some room, his fear that if he went down he would never get up again.
His knuckles connected with bone, which hurt his hand as much as it did whoever the punch landed on, that followed by more blows traded, this while he was trying to make sense of the spittle-flecked words he was hearing. The foul cursing he could comprehend, but what in the name of creation was the meaning of ‘Daisy sends you love’, or ‘Learn where to park your arse, polite, mate’? And finally, ‘Best you leave Deal behind, or Daisy reckons this will rate mild’?
In a fight the brain becomes remarkably clear, while what was being inflicted upon him hurt less than it would subsequently. Edward Brazier had noted such facts from his early years in the navy and it mattered little if the contest was with or without weapons. As blows rained down on his head and body, he managed to fend away enough to raise his eyeline and see his assailants silhouetted against the buildings opposite, those already lit by lanterns in the first-storey windows to provide light to the street.
Staying upright he decided would not serve after all, for he had to get out into the twilight. It took all his strength to push one man back enough to create the space to dive under him and, once on the ground, to roll away, though he was taken by a telling boot in the process, which thudded into his back. He kept rolling until he felt the earth of the road under his hand, then yelled for help.
Saoirse Riorden had come out, cloak round her shoulders, to wonder where her prospective tenant had got to, the look she got from her doorman a smile rather than a glare. Her question as to the whereabouts of a naval officer was answered by a finger pointing up the road and she moved in that direction, just in time to see a figure tumble out onto the street.
She knew it was him by the white facing on his waistcoat, though it took a second to realise he was in extremis, as two black-clad fellows came out behind him and started to wildly kick at his body. Brazier was on his back now, using his feet as he had previously used his hands, to deflect as many of those boots as he could, shouting loudly for assistance, which was not forthcoming from those passing locals who moved away from danger, not towards it.
He was aware of a female scream, then the sound of those boots, which had been seeking to do him serious damage, pounding off on the hard ground and diminishing. It was not just those he heard, for if he co
uld not identify them, the two Playhouse doormen were rushing past his inert body, while the woman who employed them knelt beside him, asking what he reckoned was a senseless question.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph are you hurt?’ Her next words were aimed at others, her returning retainers. ‘Help him up and take him indoors, where we can see what harm has been done.’
The stab of real pain across his back, as he was lifted, came out as a moan. He could taste blood in his mouth and, when a run of the tongue followed, it told of a split lip. Brazier tried to say he could walk, and to brush off support, only to begin to fall as soon as he was obeyed.
‘Will you for the love of God be quiet now,’ Saoirse insisted.
Her face became visible as, despite the pain in his back, he lifted his head, the whole quartet now illuminated by the flaring overhead torches. So was her horrified expression, quickly modified, one which told him he had a badly battered face.
‘Upstairs with him, Tally. Proctor, find someone to go and get the doctor, then fetch hot water and cloths. If he’s sober they’re to get him here, in fact drunk as well, and with no excuses.’
The stairs were a trial, too narrow for him to be supported, so a hand on the wall and a lengthy pause was required more than once to steady himself. At the top he was eased into a room, before being helped to lay back on a long settle and that was when the pain really began to kick in, all over his upper body, this while his head began to throb.
His eyes were closed when the damp cloth was applied to one of his injuries, which brought forth a curse as the pain of contact stabbed into him. Then came the really hard part, as she and the fellow who had fetched the hot water tried to get his coat off, even more painful when it came to his long white waistcoat.
The slow thud of feet on the stairs brought the doctor, this heard by Brazier rather than seen, for he had his eyes closed, one through his own volition, the other because it was so swollen he could not see out of it. The smell of drink, on the breath of the man who bent over him, was strong and it was upsetting to hear him ask for that very commodity; was he planning to drink even more!
The assumption was not entirely correct; there was another purpose and one that brought torment as his various afflictions were dabbed with the spirit, to then be washed with water, he assumed to clear away blood or the grime he had gathered in his attempt to roll to safety. The worst point of pain was when he was raised so his back could be examined and, once inspected, it was announced he might have a cracked rib.
‘We’ll need the shirt off as well. Saoirse. Send someone to the apothecary for bandages, enough to encase his torso. And happen we should allow your fellow here some of this brandy to ease his distress.’
The bottle was put to his lips, to sting the split lip before any of the liquid made it on to his tongue, still less his throat. When it got there it made him gasp, even as he realised it was far from being a rough spirit.
‘Would I be permitted, Saoirse?’
‘Jesus, how could I stop you, without I drag the bottle out of your hand?’
‘Not often I get to drink such quality.’ That he had done so was established by a satisfied gasp, followed by, ‘’Tis a pity to waste it on a wound, is it not?’
Brazier opened his one good eye to find the face of Saoirse Riorden looking into his with a concerned expression.
‘We will have to lift you when the bandages come, will that be withstood?’ The nod was slow. ‘You rest here tonight. There’s no way to get you back to the Three Kings without you passing out.’
‘Which,’ he hissed, trying to make a joke, and regretting it for the pain, ‘will give your gossips something real to talk about.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Danial Spafford had sent his lugger crews out in pairs throughout the day, some to scour the alehouses of Deal, others to various dwellings, each with instructions to look out for the whereabouts of certain people. The way Tulkington landed and moved his goods, and who oversaw the unloading, was no mystery to men who had been in the same trade for years. His rival had been picking up information all that time, which eventually amounted to a picture. The where and how he had, but not the when.
It was a matter of deep envy that Tulkington’s operations were so well organised. The ships he used were larger and his cargoes more varied: not just tea and brandy, but fine wines in the cask. He brought in quantities of tobacco, ladies’ leather gloves, bolts of silk and lace, added to which he had a secure place to land his cargo outside the midsummer months. It was also one Hawker’s men could defend as well as get clear from if they were required to escape.
Most smugglers landed their contraband and carried it to where it could be quickly stored. For the owner of an individual lugger and small quantities, that had to be Deal Beach itself, or very close by. There, with speed and in darkness, a number of brandy barrels or tea-laden waistcoats could be quickly hidden in the cellars and attics of the houses, before any lawful agency could intervene unless pre-warned.
For Spafford, with a couple of luggers’ cargo, it was the Sandwich Flats a mite more than a mile north of Sandown Castle, his stuff borne by hand over the scrub and sandhills by willing locals for a copper reward, to be hidden behind false walls in various barns or, at the right time of year, under hayricks, with the men he led around to guard them until it could be sold.
Tulkington had the use of St Margaret’s Bay, a place hard to approach unseen by land and near impossible in numbers along the shoreline. The base of the high chalk cliffs at either extremity were boulder-strewn at low tide, under at least a half a fathom of water when high and often more. With a strand in the centre free from obstructions, the bay had only one steep path as landward approach, while the area was riddled with long-employed tunnels, which, being in chalk, required no supports.
Tulkington’s father had hewn out a series of chambers, with wooden beams to keep in place the roof and, into these, the products disappeared to be stored for later distribution. This meant he had no need for constant cross-Channel journeys at inclement times of the year − indeed if the spring and autumn importations went well, he could often avoid the middle months.
The window for the landing of large-scale contraband was constrained by both weather and the hours of daylight. Midwinter provided few opportunities, while in midsummer the few hours of darkness favoured a swift approach by smaller boats and an even faster unloading, this being achieved by a line of as many as one hundred souls in a passing chain. Thus it became an activity from which much of the town took benefit, which in turn guaranteed silence.
The same applied to Spafford and the folk who lived around Worth and Ham, but Hawker oversaw those who carried out the unloading at St Margaret’s, each pair of hands known to and depending on him for the means to eat and drink, better than that allowed by the meagre pay they drew as farm labourers or apprentices.
What required no explanation were the possible conditions prevailing under which such activities could be carried out. The state of the moon was important: full or near full meant the need for heavy cloud cover; nothing but a sliver was best. Then there was the sea state, which mattered just as much for a Deal chancer as it did for Tulkington or Spafford.
A really heavy swell had to be avoided. Not only was unloading dangerous and, from a full-sized cargo vessel, time-consuming: it was too easy for a vessel to be driven so far onshore it would struggle to quickly refloat, quite apart from the damage inflicted upon the hull. It also needed to be reasonably calm, though not utterly so, and the tides had to be favourable.
For all these caveats, there was no guarantee, even if conditions were fair, when Tulkington’s cargoes would be expected and that was what his smaller rival was seeking to discover. It was cheering to find certain parties − Hawker’s close gang members − were missing from their usual haunts, which had Spafford ask, once everyone was back from their tasks, where his son was.
‘Last time I saw him he was outside the Albion,’ was one reply.
&
nbsp; ‘Not for long,’ was a sniggered response from ‘Dolphin’ Morgan.
This was a soubriquet given to him because he was held to be as thick as the wooden posts that sat in a line along the high point of the beach: bollards, to which boats could be secured. It was as well he took it in good humour, for he was massive of shoulder and fist, while being short of temper.
‘Any hope of getting him back an’ sober?’
The look that got was that pigs might fly, while if he wanted to chastise Dolphin there was no point. If Harry was not present there was no time to fetch him, and besides, if he had gone into the Albion it could only be for one purpose, one which would render him a liability. Not even Daisy could tell Dan Spafford his son was that.
Suppressing his irritation, Spafford told his men of the intention to rob Tulkington.
‘An’ tonight looks to be a good ’un for the deed.’
This was followed by a slow look around the dozen men whom he held to be loyal, for not one of them could but wonder where this would lead; a fellow like Hawker was not one to take matters lying down and behind him stood Tulkington, who was way more powerful in terms of resources. Candlelight made grimmer what were serious faces and Spafford knew they would need bucking up.
‘Time I let you in on the truth, lads. The cupboard’s near bare. It’s this we do, or it’ll be goin’ back to portage, hovelling or you all grubbing for enough sea coal to fill a sack you can sell.’
Not normally a man of many words, Daniel Spafford observed the shock the truth caused, taking some comfort from the fact he had kept his situation so well hidden. Now he laid it out plain and he was not shy on the alternatives. These men had come to him to get away from the lives they had led before, which was relentless toil on the beach or in the water and never knowing for sure where the next bit of coin was coming from.
The Contraband Shore Page 13
