The coach had been swaying throughout; as the door was opened the wind gusted in, tipping it so much there was a moment when it might tip over, which visibly alarmed Henry Tulkington and caused Dan Spafford to laugh. Once more buffeted on his way to his own coach, he indicated to Hawker to join him within, and there instructions were issued that surprised his man. He and his gang were required to be at Cottington, by late afternoon, breaking the stricture of never going near the place. He was told to fetch along Harry Spafford, as well as the reason why. Alliance, or as his employer termed it, absorption, did not sit well.
‘Everyone I command is chosen by me, Mr Tulkington. I don’t fancy Spafford’s lads to be a match.’
‘I shouldn’t worry, John. Some will not come near you, which is to your credit. If there are good people it will soon be obvious.’
‘And those who’re not?’
‘I doubt such people are the type to be missed and I always work on the assumption that time is on my side. I recommend you adopt the same approach. Oh, and spruce young Spafford up, fit to be a Cottington guest.’
‘I ain’t goin’ alone Daisy, I don’t trust that sod not to slice my gizzard.’
‘You don’t reckon his offer real, then?’ Spafford shrugged. ‘Then why go at all?’
‘The offer’s to be found out, but I must get my Harry free. If Tulkington means ill, happen we’ll both perish, but I can’t not try.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Keep hush about what I told you. The way Tulkington’s talking I can go through the front door, but you need to get a couple of lads to hoick someone over the wall so they can unbar a gate. This time of year, you will see through a winder what’s happenin’ and if it looks bad, then you do what you can to get me and Harry free.’
Daisy Trotter wanted to say what was proposed looked like a good chance to meet his maker. ‘Course, Dan; whatever you want.’
The invitation from Henry to join him in his study was unwelcome, yet Betsey reckoned not to comply would only raise more suspicion, while she had to admit she might be seeing threats where none existed. Was he about to quiz her, and if so, how to react? She decided it had to be faced as well as dealt with and, given the hall clock said it was past five, to get away she would use as an excuse the need to get changed for dinner, which would curtail her presence to not much more than an hour. After that, she would find a way to slip out the house to go and meet Edward.
He had already set out, not wishing to be late for such an important rendezvous and, given the nature of what he might face, this time it included Joe Lascelles, previously left behind, but now, with the whole party having made their way to Vincent Flaherty’s paddock, mounted on a small pony and leading a saddled Canasta.
Brazier had bespoken the same rooms at the Three Kings as he had occupied previously, which he would either use himself or offer to Betsey if she declined Quebec House. This he hoped she would accept, for the notion of her staying anywhere else raised the difficulty of ensuring she remained safe. If Garlick was delighted, he was also curious enough to render his client brusque, only mollified when it was made plain Brazier would be dining with a guest and that he wanted to rent for the purpose the private room in which he had met William Pitt.
Unbeknown to his party they were half a mile behind John Hawker, who had loaded his men into two covered vans, along with a terrified Harry Spafford, he sure he was in for a terminal ducking in the briny, a notion which no one seemed inclined to disabuse him of. From the other side of Cottington his father was leading his men towards the walls of the Tulkington estate, before separating to obey Tulkington’s instruction to come to the house on his own.
‘Elisabeth, do come and join us.’
Henry was, as usual, sat close to the fire and that occasioned no surprise. What was unusual was the presence of the Reverend Joshua Moyle sat opposite him, a large bowl-like glass in his hand, his rubicund countenance made more so by the heat. If Moyle was no stranger to the house – he was invited occasionally to dine, with, it had to be said, the customary drunken consequences – this was not a room into which any guest would normally be invited. And it had to be remarked that Henry too was drinking out of a tall narrow crystal glass, seemingly from the bottle of champagne in the bucket on his desk.
‘I have just been regaling our personal priest on the things you questioned me on yesterday.’
‘And far-fetched I found them, my dear Elisabeth,’ was the response.
Betsey felt the need to smile, even if she was not happy to be anything dear to this man. ‘A conclusion I have arrived at on my own, and one for which I am sure my brother has told you I have already apologised.’
‘You most certainly have. Will you join me in a glass of champagne?’
‘Perhaps just before dinner, Henry.’
‘Oh come along, Elisabeth, otherwise I might think you still harbour doubts. I know as a tipple you are fond of it.’
‘One glass, then.’
‘Splendid.’ He rose and produced a second glass from behind the bucket, to carefully tip it sideways and slowly pour, from where she was standing the light from the fire illuminating the rising bubbles. ‘Do sit down.’
‘Are you drinking champagne, Dr Moyle?’
‘Not my preference, Elisabeth,’ he replied, holding up his glass, as Betsey lowered herself into a wing chair. ‘Henry was good enough to have a glass of brandy fetched in. More my thing, brandy, and this is a very fine example indeed.’
He wasn’t quite drunk but neither was he completely sober, if such a condition ever existed in his life. Yet she welcomed his presence, for it would be unlikely the subject of her queries, with him present, would be gone into in any depth. Taking the glass from Henry, she was obliged to raise it as he did, in a toast.
‘To honest endeavour.’
Moyle cried, ‘Hear him,’ while Betsey just smiled, prior to taking a sip.
The servant Grady knocked, to enter and inform Henry that the visitor he was expecting had arrived, which had him rise, apologise and slip out, leaving Betsey with Moyle, who smiled at her with slack, wet lips.
‘Your brother tells me you are contemplating another marriage.’
She was surprised, and to cover it a second sip from the glass was taken.
‘Did he grant you an opinion on the notion?’
‘He did. Thinks it a good idea, which I had to point out might also apply to himself.’
‘A good idea?’
‘You seem surprised, Elisabeth.’
‘I cannot lie—’
‘Which my calling must caution you against,’ Moyle interrupted, his eyes cast skywards as though he was checking with the Almighty.
‘—if I were not to say that hitherto, he has had reservations.’
‘A noble thing to do, show brotherly concern.’
To cover the fact that it was the opposite of the truth, Betsey drained her glass.
‘I’m sure Henry would want you to have a refill.’
‘No, one glass is enough for now.’
Moyle waved his bowl. ‘Then I hope you will oblige me by calling for more brandy.’
She would love to have refused, for if good manners demanded she comply, this cleric before her was not one to deserve such consideration. That said, she rose and went to the side of the fireplace to ring for a servant.
‘Very kind,’ Moyle acknowledged.
Having called for someone to attend, Betsey was obliged to await the arrival and to ask that Moyle be given that which he no doubt sought: a full bottle. It also required her to be there when it arrived.
‘I wonder how long Henry will be.’
Grey, thick eyebrows rose in a gesture of ignorance, but the Reverend Doctor was smiling at her in a way that, had his wife been present, would probably have earned him a reprimand, it being openly salacious. His words would certainly have done so.
‘Such a pretty flower you are, Elisabeth, I envy the fellow you have chosen to favour with yo
ur affections. Would that I was the one to pluck your petals.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Had a human been afforded a bird’s eye view of Cottington Court, they would have observed several groups of men, the first and largest within the grounds and fanning out to surround the house. A second was approaching the northern wall, aiming to be close to one of the barred gates that led to the ploughed estate fields. The third, the smallest in number, though mounted instead of on foot, was making its way along the southern wall, heading for that broken old postern door.
Inside the house Henry Tulkington was welcoming Daniel Spafford, if such a word applied, for there was nothing other than condescension in the owner’s manner.
‘Take a good look, if it interests you; I reckon it to be your first and last visit.’
‘Do I get what I’ve come for, Tulkington?’
‘I think from now on, I have to insist on “Mr Tulkington”, or perhaps “sir”, if you prefer.’
‘You can wish for it, but you’ll never hear me say it.’
‘Even if I had a noose round Harry’s neck and the rope thrown over a beam? I think you might oblige me then.’ Tulkington looked over Spafford’s shoulder, which caused his visitor to turn. There was John Hawker with a weapon in his hand, too long for a knife, too short for a sword, but it would be sharp whatever it was. He also had a couple of his men with him.
‘The cellar, John, which you will reach by the door under the stairs. Tie him up, for there’s quality wines down there and if he is going to meet Satan, it would not serve that he should do so drunk.’
Spafford did not protest as he was forced towards the door; there was no point and he half-suspected he would find his son in the same place. Once Hawker returned, he was sent to the stables to fetch Harry, who was brought in, clean in both dress and body, as well as stone-cold sober and very frightened.
Hawker was taken aside for a quiet word. ‘I think I can handle him from now on, John; I would suggest you see what trick his father reckons he can spring on us.’
‘Bound to be one.’
Brazier had reached the gate and all had dismounted, the reins looped together so that one man could hold all the mounts until the joint reins could be tied off. Getting Dutchy into the bushes required an extra shove to shift the jammed wood, but once he was through the others found it easy. The wind had dropped to a gentle breeze while, on a cloudy night, there was not much daylight and that, in any case, was fading. There was just enough left for their leader to see by his watch that the time was not far off when he could expect Betsey to appear.
The best defence Hawker had was noise; the Spafford gang might be smugglers and used to moving quietly, but this was not their customary activity. He had a ladder against the wall enclosing the formal gardens, which, when climbed, allowed him to see, albeit very dimly, a lot of the surroundings. Out in the grounds his men had shaded lanterns and, if they were uncovered, their open faces were to be pointed to where he stood.
‘North gates I reckon,’ he called down softly to Marker. ‘But not till the light’s gone.’
‘Well, Harry, we meet at last, though your character, or lack of it, does precede you.’
‘I’ve told your man Hawker everything I know, sir.’
The voice was weedy and needy, while the weak blue eyes seemed made for pleading. Henry Tulkington chuckled. ‘And made up a good deal more, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘I’m willing to help bring my pa down if it’s needed.’
‘Anything to save your own skin. What a poor specimen you are. Still, that’s what I need for my purposes. Come with me.’
The light was fading fast, which had Brazier wondering if it would be safe to strike a flint outside the walls and fire the tallow wads in his lanterns. He had hoped they would not be required until the journey back to Deal but, with the sky blanketed, the light, at this time of year, was less than he had hoped for.
‘How we sitting, Capt’n?’
‘If all is well, Dutchy, we are minutes away from making contact.’
‘Can seem an age, a minute,’ hissed Peddler.
‘Quiet, lads. I think I hear footsteps.’
At the very front of the hedge, Brazier was in a position, by the careful moving of a branch, to get a sight of the approach and his heart lifted to see a ghostly moving figure. Betsey would be in a cloak and hard to see, but anticipation died when there seemed to be no attempt to move closer. The temptation, to step out and seek to identify, had to be suppressed. He heard the sound of disturbed leaves and twigs as the figure moved, yet soon it was not increasing in level, but decreasing.
‘Cocky: outside and get the lanterns lit, but make sure no light spills into the grounds.’
‘Aye, aye, Capt’n.’
Nerves on edge, Brazier knew Betsey was soon going to be overdue and he could easily imagine several causes, a confrontation with her brother the most concerning. He had no choice but to wait; he could not affect whatever was delaying her and he had to trust Betsey to use her own wits to contrive her escape.
Sarah Lovell had been summoned from her room to Henry’s study and on entry she found Moyle there, well on the way to being inebriated. There was a young man she did not know, a close-to-handsome youth, with corn-coloured hair and very blue eyes. Stood by the doorway she could not see her niece, who was sat in a wing chair facing the window. Yet she did wonder at the expression on Henry’s face, which could only be described as smug.
‘Harry, I think it’s time you had a brandy.’
‘What’s going on, nephew?’
‘I have to see what’s happening,’ Brazier hissed. ‘I can’t stand the waiting. Fetch me one of the lanterns, shaded.’
‘Capt’n,’ whispered Dutchy, who was close to his ear. ‘You ain’t told us if there’s risk out there.’
It was quickly responded to and with words that caused immediate regret. ‘Do you fear for it?’
‘You know I don’t from past service,’ was the response, the bitterness not moderated by the low tone of voice. His coxswain had the right to check him, having stood by his shoulder in more than one sea fight.
‘Forgive me, Dutchy, I am very much on edge.’
‘What I’m sayin’ is this: if you’re going to look for your lady, it would not be a good idea to do it alone. The light’s nearly gone now, so take two and leave two, Joe being one to go along, ’cause if he don’t smile, no bugger will see him.’
The jest, even true, was welcome. ‘Which doesn’t apply to you.’
‘With respect, your honour—’
‘I know, me neither.’
John Hawker saw the flash of light from the northern wall, quickly replied to, which allowed him deep satisfaction. There was not too much brains, he reckoned, in the Spafford mob, to come from there. A brighter spark would have chosen a less obvious direction or none at all. It was not Daisy who had clambered over the wall; that had been the task of a younger, fitter man, who had the wit to stand on Dolphin’s shoulders. But in getting across he had let his boots scrape the brickwork and there was a Hawker man close enough to pick up on the sound.
‘Got to keep ’em away from the house, Marker, so gather up the lads to head for the kitchen garden.’ Hawker chortled. ‘If we get them trapped in there we can make soup of the sods.’
Brazier was just about to emerge from the bushes when he heard a muffled call, followed by the sound of running feet and, if his ears were not deceiving him, more than one pair. But that noise was fading too so, emboldened, he moved onto open ground, followed by Joe and Dutchy, every step carefully taken. If there had been practically no light before, once he came under the tree canopy there was none at all, which made moving impossible unless he opened his lantern, but only for a second at a time.
‘Damnation!’
This was the cry of John Hawker, still atop his ladder, who saw the southern flashes and now assumed the Spafford gang had split up, this when he had sent his men in the direction of the north wall. A
sudden cry, followed by loud sounds of fighting, told him part of them had been confronted and were being dealt with. But his lads were engaged so, if there was another threat coming, he had to deal with it himself.
Being no coward he was soon moving towards the south wall, his weapon in one hand and his lantern in the other. Having covered half of what he reckoned the necessary distance, he shouted out at full power, hoping some of his gang would have the wit to respond, while also thinking it might get whoever was holding that flashing lantern to back away.
Coming at a rush it could not be done in silence, which alerted Brazier and his two companions. Another flash of light showed they were still surrounded by trees, indeed they had been feeling their way for a while. But the illumination allowed him to get behind a trunk and hide, an order going out all should do the same. Dutchy obeyed; Joe Lascelles did not. He just stood still and listened at the approaching thuds of heavy boots. The lantern Hawker was using came waving towards him and Joe lifted the club he was carrying in readiness.
The shock as his face and body appeared in Hawker’s pool of cast candlelight had even such a hard bargain scream, so telling was the shock, made worse when Joe smiled, for his teeth gleamed. Just about to clout his man, Dutchy stepped out from behind a tree and did it for him, with a punch that would have felled an ox, the lantern dropped. Dutchy picked it up to examine the face.
‘If it ain’t John Hawker. Now that was a very satisfying blow.’
‘Reckon he thought you were a chimera, Joe,’ said Brazier, coming to look. ‘Frightened him half to death with that beam of yours.’
Hawker was not completely out: he was groaning and making feeble efforts to move. Dutchy grabbed him by his coat collar and dragged him to his feet. ‘Reckon we can walk forward with now’t to fear.’
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