Daisy Trotter had dodged round the kitchen garden and it was only by a fluke of luck he was not collared. He tripped and fell over a tree root, just as Hawker’s men closed in. Flat on the ground and clad in dark clothing, he stayed where he was until they were past. Yet he knew whatever else was going to happen, they had been rumbled and it was likely he was on his own, soon confirmed by the sounds of fighting to his rear.
Gingerly he raised himself up and moved on: there was no point in his trying to join in a fight unless he was set to kill, and that was not yet called for. He could see the lights of the house now, which acted as a beacon. Daniel Spafford was in there and probably Harry too, but that did not solve a problem. What was he going to do on his own, when it was clear Hawker’s men were here in strength?
Noises to his left made him stop dead and crouch, to pick out a party of four souls moving forward, one seeming to stagger, while being held up by another, this to the sound of garbled moaning. They too were heading for the house and the well-illuminated windows through one of which Daisy could now see figures. Those he had avoided seemed bent on making for the same destination, so as quietly as he could, he came on in their wake. There was a significant pool of light close to the window and into that the quartet moved.
Peering through the mullioned glass, Edward Brazier saw the back of a pair of broad shoulders in a black coat. It was the pepper-and-salt hair, the whiskers showing on both sides, plus the way the body was swaying which had him guess it was the Reverend Moyle. Henry Tulkington was standing over Moyle shaking his head, while sat beside him his Aunt Sarah appeared seriously distressed, with tears glistening on her cheeks.
The movement of the shoulders showed half the outline of a young man with corn-coloured hair, quite well dressed, an impression of something close to respectability which was immediately spoilt as he lifted a bottle to his lips and drank deeply from the neck.
One thing only was on Brazier’s mind: the route they had taken had to be very close to that which Betsey would have used had she got away. They had not encountered her, which meant she was still within the house and, if he was going to rescue her, which now seemed to be necessary, he would have to get inside as well.
‘I have to doubt ringin’ the bell is a sound notion, your honour,’ Joe stated when his captain shared the point.
The noise from behind, faint at first, but growing and carrying the sound of numerous voices, had them looking back over Daisy Potter’s recumbent and invisible body. He, with three of the faces in profile, was trying to identify them and at a loss to do so, one obviously a blackamoor and the other two big men, one holding upright the fourth. The shorter of the two moved sideways out of the arc of window light, to hold up his lantern and peer into the gloom. What that did was illuminate his face, as well as his distinctive naval hat.
The ‘Christ’ from Daisy was inadvertent, for he recognised the face, but he too had heard the approaching noise, which told him he was best out of it, for if they were heading this way and not fussed about the din it could only mean Dan’s gang and his mates had come off worse.
Brazier was at a bit of a loss as to what to do. Whoever was coming towards the house was not likely to be friendly, but he needed to find Betsey. Against that he had his bargemen with him and just as much, his duty was to keep them safe.
‘Capt’n, happen you best look through this here window.’
Joe’s tone was not happy and the man he served soon realised why when he did as advised. The black coat and shoulders had moved to reveal, sat in a wing chair, though looking unlike herself, Betsey. Her aunt was now sat with her head in her hands, plainly still in distress.
‘Not good at our backs,’ said Dutchy.
Brazier swung round to be presented with a line of men with lanterns, none of them of the soft type. Still holding Hawker, Dutchy swung him to face them and hauled out his pistol, to cock it awkwardly, prior to pressing the point of the barrel against Hawker’s head, but not before a crescendo of shouts had come from recognition. These were loud enough to penetrate the glass, which brought the face of Henry Tulkington to press against it, but not for long. A casement, it was flung open and his head poked out.
‘I have come to take away your sister, Tulkington.’
The statement, which should have alarmed him, was taken with disturbing equanimity.
‘Really Brazier?’
‘It is her express wish to live elsewhere.’
‘I imagine the West Indies might suit.’
Annoyed by what was clearly a joke, Brazier pulled out his pistol which, cocked and pointed, had Tulkington retreat. This showed the Reverend Moyle now slumped over the desk and the corn-haired youth, staggering about, bottle in hand, plainly sloshed. The threat of the pistol as a gesture was likely to prove futile. He might have a groggy John Hawker in his charge, but to his rear were two dozen of the men he led and he had no idea what weapons they carried. Even if it did not run to firearms, he, Dutchy and Joe could only account for three with pistol shot; after that it would be fists and clubs, with the odds terrible.
Tulkington too could see what was behind him and he could calculate the probabilities. A voice cried out from one of Hawker’s men, asking if it was time to take them; unwise, given it could cost both Hawker and Tulkington, at point-blank range in one case, their lives. The request was denied.
‘An impasse, Captain Brazier.’
‘I have told you why I have come.’
‘You have. But there’s someone I need to introduce to you. Harry, come forward and meet a naval hero, who would serve for you as an example.’ It took time for the named person to obey; it turned out to be the youth, who stumbled forward. ‘Captain Brazier, meet Harry Spafford.’
‘Cease playing games, Tulkington.’
‘But I can play games, since you have to contrive a way to get out of Cottington Court in one piece.’
‘I could use you as a hostage.’
‘You could, but it would be the Tyburn tree and I daresay not just for you, but also your companions. I suggest you depart as best you can; Hawker will serve to get you out without becoming endangered, but I would ask that he comes to no more harm. You can call by tomorrow, perhaps, and ask for my sister. Or perhaps send her a note.’
‘I will not be put off.’
‘I never doubted it, Brazier, but there is one thing you need to know. When you call, or if you write, you must address my sister not as Mrs Langridge.’
‘What?’
‘You missed an occasion, Captain.’
Tulkington turned to wave an arm, which encompassed the room: the comatose divine, the drunken youth, Sarah Lovell looking at him in clear anguish, her cheeks wet and what looked like a soaked handkerchief clutched in her hand. But most of all there was Betsey, still sat in the chair, who seemed, even if she was looking right at the window in which he stood, not to recognise him.
‘A pity, as you can see, Captain; a wedding is such a happy affair.’ He gestured towards Betsey. ‘Were she not in the shock of such good fortune, I might introduce you to Mrs Harry Spafford.’
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID DONACHIE was born in Edinburgh in 1944. He has always had an abiding interest in the naval history of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as well as the Roman Republic, and under the pen-name Jack Ludlow has published a number of historical adventure novels. David lives in Deal with his partner, the novelist Sarah Grazebrook.
ALSO BY DAVID DONACHIE
THE CONTRABAND SHORE SERIES
The Contraband Shore
THE JOHN PEARCE SERIES
By the Mast Divided • A Shot Rolling Ship
An Awkward Commission • A Flag of Truce
The Admirals’ Game • An Ill Wind
Blown Off Course • Enemies at Every Turn
A Sea of Troubles • A Divided Command
The Devil to Pay • The Perils of Command
A Treacherous Coast • On a Particular Service
THE CONTRABAND SHORE SERIES
The Contraband Shore
THE NELSON AND EMMA SERIES
On a Making Tide • Tested by Fate • Breaking the Line
THE PRIVATEERSMAN SERIES
The Devil’s Own Luck • The Dying Trade • A Hanging Matter
An Element of Chance • The Scent of Betrayal • A Game of Bones
Written as Jack Ludlow
THE LAST ROMAN SERIES
Vengeance • Honour • Triumph
THE REPUBLIC SERIES
The Pillars of Rome • The Sword of Revenge • The Gods of War
THE CONQUEST SERIES
Mercenaries • Warriors • Conquest
THE ROADS to WAR SERIES
The Burning Sky • A Broken Land • A Bitter Field
THE CRUSADES SERIES
Son of Blood • Soldier of Crusade • Prince of Legend
Hawkwood
COPYRIGHT
Allison & Busby Limited
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London W1T 6DW
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First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2017.
This ebook edition published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2017.
Copyright © 2017 by DAVID DONACHIE
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–2101–6
The Contraband Shore Page 31
