Schoolboy stuff, he told himself cynically, and yet he’d sensed that Charlotte would not have objected. He thought of his earlier resolution to have nothing to do with the troublesome Miss Grayson and decided once more that he must be sensible and keep away from her. Besides, he told himself, if Aurelia Casterton were to be believed, Charlotte Grayson was practically engaged to young Matthew King. He shook himself mentally and went to find Sir Benjamin.
The old gentleman was in the library, looking through some papers, his thin white hair made into a halo by the sun streaming through the window.
‘Hugo,’ he said, his eyes alight with pleasure and affection. The cards have arrived from the printers in King’s Lynn, so this evening perhaps we could draw up a list of people we wish to attend the burial service.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Hugo said. ‘And tomorrow, if you agree, I plan to travel to Cromer to see if I can trace Ted Rudkin.’
Sir Benjamin looked a little startled. ‘But Harry Bunfield….’ he said.
‘Yes, I have spoken to him, sir, and he will come with me. At present he is pursuing enquiries round here and he hopes to be able to interview relevant people at the funeral.’
‘I see.’ Sir Benjamin looked alarmed at this, but then sighed and said bravely, ‘Well, I have no objection to what you propose. I expect you find the Bow Street Runner’s investigation a little slow?’
‘A little, sir,’ Hugo said and grinned.
‘Well, take care, my boy.’
‘I will and I am pleased to take Bunfield with me. I think he would be a good man if there is trouble.’
Sir Benjamin looked even more alarmed but said merely, ‘Well done, my boy. Come and see me in the morning, before you set off.’
And he returned to his papers.
Hugo was up betimes in the morning and visited his great-uncle in his bedchamber to wish him farewell. His man, Latimer, had packed the minimum of clothes, toiletries and neckcloths, suitable for a young gentleman who wished to spend two or three days from home, and Martin brought round the curricle promptly at nine. Hugo Westbury’s curricle was modern, lightweight and speedy and they reached Cromer well in time for lunch. Bunfield, who knew the place, suggested a decent but modest inn called The Royal Oak. ‘It bein’ a place where we could find out where to seek for Mr Rudkin, sir,’ he explained.
He took the horses into the yard and got chatting immediately with two of the ostlers who strongly recommended the landlady’s steak and ale pie and also her tap room as a comfortable and friendly place in which to eat it. Neither of them had heard of Ted Rudkin, but suggested The Jolly Sailor as being a promising place to ask after a seafaring gent.
Hugo did no better. The landlord’s wife ushered him to a private parlour and spread a snow-white cloth on the table, before telling him of a slow-cooked lamb shank, the topside of beef and a large ham done with creamed onions. She poured out a large glass of red wine for him, while he was still making up his mind, and then disappeared swiftly to the kitchen to oversee the cooking. Neither she nor her husband had ever heard of Ted Rudkin, but they had both heard of the sinking of the Golden Maiden.
‘My pa were one o’ them as were drowned,’ the landlord said. ‘And most of the town come out to try and rescue ’em, but t’were useless. Most poor souls had tried to get to the shore, but there was no survivors as I knowed to.’
‘What about Ted Rudkin?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I were but a little lad of six years when my ma told me as the angels had come for my pa. You could ask at The Jolly Sailor, sir. A lot of old tars gathers there.’
There were indeed, a lot of old tars gathered in the The Jolly Sailor; in fact, fact, business was much brisker than at The Royal Oak. Hugo had the forethought to remove his smart jacket and elaborately tied cravat and he had rolled back his shirt cuffs. This in no way constituted a disguise. He was obviously a toff and recognized as such, but still, the customers of the ale house appreciated his effort to leave class distinction at the door. He left a young lad to stand by the horses’ heads and guard the curricle and sauntered into the inn with Bunfield. It was not to be supposed that a tall, handsome member of the ton and his stocky companion would be able to sidle unobserved into such a close-knit group and Hugo knew that, in spite of the adjustments he’d made to his dress, he was still conspicuous. He made no attempt to mingle with the crowd round the bar and having secured two tankards of best home-brewed ale, he looked round the room ready to catch the first friendly eye. He hadn’t far to seek. A very old fisherman sitting alone in a corner drained his glass very pointedly and made room for Hugo and Bunfield on the pine settle.
‘Aye, young man, my name is Enoch Benton and I’ll join you in a pint if you be offerin’, sir.’
Hugo smiled and immediately procured him a drink before sitting down beside him. The buzz of talk in the tap room, which had lessened and almost died, started up again as Enoch Benton began to quaff his ale. His astute old eyes were fixed on Hugo’s face.
‘You two b’ain’t from round here, sir. Be you lookin’ for someone, sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Hugo said simply. ‘I am hoping to find Ted Rudkin, a sailor from these parts who survived the wreck of the Golden Maiden.’
‘Ted Rudkin, you say? Why he’m getting on now and he don’t live here no more. Ten year back, he went to live Brancaster way, wi’ his sister, Nancy.’
‘Brancaster, you say?’ Hugo sighed, slightly exasperated.
There seemed nothing for it but to travel the thirty-odd miles back along the road to Brancaster. There they had better luck and found good lodgings at the The Queen’s Head. It was already getting dark by the time Hugo had got a stable-hand to see to the horses and they had been shown to their rooms.
Later, Bunfield said diffidently, ‘What do you say to me trying to find Ted Rudkin, sir? Then you could think a bit afore you goes to see him,’ he pointed out.
‘I think that is an excellent idea,’ Hugo said warmly. ‘And you may be able to find out more about him by not speaking to him directly. For now, let us have some supper and you can try to find him tomorrow.’
*
The next day, Bunfield asked no directions of anyone, but sauntered round the village and drifted towards the beach, where fishermen mended their nets and crab baskets were brought in on fishing smacks to be unloaded on the quay.
To all intents and purposes, he was just another drifter, perhaps looking for work, perhaps just idling his time away. No one knew who he was and although they were guarded, the men were not unfriendly. He took out a pipe and offered his tobacco pouch to an old salt in a thin, worn jersey, who was threading up his fishing line. His gesture of friendship was received very civilly and they puffed for a few moments in silence. A young fisher lad ran by, his trousers rolled up and his feet bare. He called a cheerful greeting to the old man, who merely waved his pipe at him. This was the opening Bunfield wanted.
‘I expect you knows most folk round here,’ he said.
‘That’s right. I’ve lived here, man and boy, for sixty year.’
‘A long time. Would you perhaps know a fellow name of Ted Rudkin?’
‘Aye, that I do. Lives wi’ his sister, Nancy. Up the old beach road and on to Field Cottages. He tapped his pipe on the heel of his shoe and looked up with a smile. ‘And who wants to know, then?’
‘My master’s interested in the sinking of the Golden Maiden. Seems as one of his distant family died in the storm, is all.’
‘Well, I knows as Ted were lucky, but so many perished. I knows no more’n that.’
‘So, where might I come across Ted Rudkin?’
He grinned. ‘Well, I knows he goes in The Black Lion. A famous place for some of the old salts, is that.’
Bunfield slipped him some coins. ‘You have been more than helpful,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
He reported back to Hugo and that evening they set off for The Black Lion. It was easy enough to find. The shutters were open and light spilled from the w
indows on to the village street. It was a much rougher and more low-lived place than The Jolly Sailor, being a flash tavern where the local criminal life were wont to meet and mingle with more respectable customers, so this time the adjustment that Hugo made to his dress was more radical. He borrowed clothes from Bunfield and combed the expensive Brutus styling from his hair, leaving it tousled and au naturel. He took care to rub his hands in the dirt in the yard so that his nails no longer looked so pristine and well cared for.
The landlord was an enormous man, as fat as a bacon pig, with great jowls and a bloated, mottled nose. He carried a huge belly.
‘Welcome, gents. What would be your pleasure?’ he asked them. His small eyes, set in pouchy lids, darted shrewdly between the two of them.
‘Two tankards of your best home brewed, landlord, and whatever you would like yourself.’
The landlord relaxed visibly. ‘Why, thank’ee, sir, that’s uncommon civil of you.’
There was silence for a time and in spite of the number of rough seafaring types in the tavern, the bar was not so busy. Bunfield swigged his ale appreciatively and said, ‘Does Ted Rudkin come in ’ere of an evenin’, landlord?’
The publican paused and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to gain extra thinking time. Then he said, ‘He might do, sir. Who wants to know?’
‘Oh, friends,’ Harry Bunfield assured him. ‘If we could meet him, he might hear something to his advantage.’
Intrigued, the landlord leaned nearer. ‘He ain’t in this evenin’, but I could give you the nod if he was to appear, like.’
Hugo smiled and slipped him some coins. ‘Much obliged,’ he said softly and the two men drifted across the room to stand by the window, where they could observe both the tavern regulars and the street outside.
They hadn’t long to wait. Asmall, thin man rushed into the tavern and ordered a drink with obvious impatience.
‘Hold yer ’orses, Ted,’ the landlord said. ‘It won’t come any quicker by frettin’.’
He laid the foaming tankard on the bar and turned his head towards Hugo and Bunfield, giving them a meaningful stare and imperceptibly jerking his head towards Rudkin.
The two of them watched as Ted Rudkin carried his tankard to a comparatively quiet corner near the door to the kitchen. Then by mutual consent, they drifted casually towards him.
‘Good evening, sir. Are you by any chance Ted Rudkin?’ Hugo’s voice was soothingly soft and he gave the man a pleasant smile. Even so, the small skinny Rudkin started as if he’d been shot.
His head jerked up suddenly and he said aggressively, ‘Who wants to know?’
‘My name is Hugo Westbury and I’m making enquiries of a kinsman of mine, who it is thought may have perished in the wreck of the Golden Maiden.’
Rudkin’s small piggy eyes almost became crossed with his repressed anger; he pursed his thin lips and turned his shoulder away from the two men. ‘It’s in the past,’ he muttered. ‘All over and forgotten.’
‘But there could be a decent reward for information as to the whereabouts of my kinsman.’
‘Dead, I expect, after all these years.’ The words were wrung out of him as though he could hardly talk.
‘Yes, more than likely,’ Hugo said softly. ‘But still, a decent reward is worth having.’
Rudkin’s eyes now swivelled towards him. ‘A kinsman, you say? He must be cold meat by now.’ He thought for a moment, pinching his bony chin between a grimy thumb and forefinger. ‘How much you say were the purse?’
‘You would have to name your price,’ Hugo said, smiling. ‘But for definite news of him, two guineas would be on the table.’
Ted Rudkin still pondered, rubbing his filthy stubble with an almost obsessive stroking. His whole body expressed his indecision as he rocked on first one foot, then the other. ‘Two, you say? Suppose I axed five?’ His small cunning eyes looked upwards and sideways at the tall young man opposite to him.
Hugo knew intuitively that Rudkin didn’t wish to talk about the shipwreck and had named the impossibly high price just so they would walk away.
‘Well, suppose you did name five. It would still be worth my while, but it would have to be on the basis of reliable information.’
Whatever the reason for Rudkin’s reluctance, this was an offer he couldn’t refuse. He pulled out a couple of rickety chairs. ‘Let’s sit then, gents,’ he said, and Bunfield went to get him more ale.
‘My grandfather was Charles Westbury and his body was never recovered,’ Hugo said. ‘But his poor wife was definitely drowned.’
Rudkin was thoughtful. ‘Aye, I mind the lady and gent you be meanin’. They was on the way to Holland to sell diamonds.’
‘How do you know that?’ Hugo said, intrigued.
Rudkin tapped the side of his nose. ‘There was Dutch diamond merchants aboard and I ’eard the gent talkin’ to ’em. Sailors allus ’ears a lot on account of not bein’ noticed by the nobs.’
Hugo was silent, hoping Ted Rudkin would reveal more.
The man’s eyes seemed almost to have disappeared as he relived the wreck once more in his imagination. He spoke slowly and haltingly, as though he had not been used to recalling his terrible experience for many years. As Bunfield placed another foaming tankard in front of him, Rudkin said, ‘The Golden Maiden were a brigantine, see, one o’ the smallest o’ the two-masted ships and she were Captain Woodford’s pride and joy. She weren’t too big, see, and was easy managed under sail. She ’ad a good turn o’ speed, sir, and the voyage to Holland should a’ been plain sailin’. John Woodford were from Yarmouth and ’e weren’t expectin’ no trouble, but that night over a ’undred fishin’ smacks an’ coasters was wrecked between Cromer and Southwold and nary a man saved….’
He closed his eyes very tightly as he took another swig of his ale and Hugo waited a moment and then said quietly, ‘And what of the Golden Maiden?’
‘When the storm began to blow, Captain Woodford took every precaution. ’E reduced sail to barest minimum and hove to wi’ ’is anchor … but bein’ unladen, yer see, sir, she were ’igh in the water. ’E thought as we could get back to dry land safely, steerin’ along the channels between the sand banks. But all of a sudden, the wind blew so ’ard that the Golden Maiden strained on ’er anchor, ’er cable parted an’ she drifted rapidly at the mercy o’ wind an’ current….’
If Hugo was impatient with these details, he gave no sign, but waited while Ted had another gulp of his ale and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
‘She were blown out o’ the safe channels and into the shallows where the sands stretch out far from the shore. Then, there bein’ no point in everyone stayin’ on board, as the heavy seas smashed into ’is ship, the long boat was hoisted and ’e saw most of the passengers safely on board. He were still confident they could get to dry land even though the sands was covered in places by the tide which had started to sweep in….’
Ted gave a convulsive gulp at his drink and was silent.
‘And then?’
‘Captain Woodford told the coxswain to unload the passengers on to a big flat rock so as they could wade ashore and the long boat could go back for the others. He were concerned about some o’ they Dutch passengers, see. They was in a panic and he ’ad to restrain ’em from jumpin’ overboard….’
Hugo was patience itself. ‘So, how did the situation resolve itself?’
‘Well … the wind suddenly changed direction and blew with such force as no cable nor anchor could hold a ship agen’ it. The Golden Maiden was blown on to the dreaded sand banks, to be ’eld fast an’ hammered by the towerin’ waves. I knows that those as were watchin’ could see poor survivors as ’ad taken to the riggin’, but then another great wave would come poundin’ in and when they looked agen, the riggin’ was empty….’
Hugo restrained himself and asked politely, ‘And Mr Westbury and his wife?’
‘Captain Woodford thought it best for everybody to wade ashore while the tide was ebbing. I
t seemed straightforward and they all set off, but the women grew tired and although the men tried to help them, the sea crept up and they was drowned, sir.’
‘And the survivors?’
Ted Rudkin paused, seemingly at a loss, then he said slowly, ‘Only myself and, yes, Mr Westbury and one other person made it to the shore and we was exhausted, sir. The Golden Maiden were battered to pieces.’
Hugo was thoughtful, then he said, ‘And who was the other person?’
Rudkin blinked rapidly and then looked away. Finally, he said slowly. ‘I know naught of him, sir. He’d been a schoolmaster, as I recall, quiet and steady an’ disappeared as soon as ’e reached Cromer.’
‘You recall Mr Westbury’s name. Do you recall the name of the quiet gentleman?’ Bunfield asked him.
Ted Rudkin looked shifty and then said, without looking at either of them, ‘No, sir.’
‘You have been more than helpful, Mr Rudkin, and here, this is for your trouble.’ Hugo laid the promised guineas on the table and with a last furtive look round, Rudkin pocketed them. With a muttered farewell, he slid out of the inn and disappeared rapidly.
Left alone, the two men looked at each other and grinned.
‘That Ted Rudkin ain’t no nodcock, sir,’ Bunfield offered. ‘It was a slow start, but he took the money fast enough.’
‘That is true,’ Hugo said. ‘But if nothing else, he has served to confirm that the dead body is indeed that of my grandfather, though I cannot begin to guess how he came to be at Westbury Hall, or how he met his end. Come, Harry, if you have finished your drink, let us return to The Royal Oak. Find the landlady and tell her you and I will sup on a nice piece of topside, followed by the ham and white onion sauce. We shall be returning to Westbury Hall in the morning.’
Hugo reflected that he had at least learnt something of his grandfather’s fate and he knew the name of the third survivor, even if he had not discovered all the circumstances of Charles Westbury’s death. The next morning they travelled home and found the village of Felbrook buzzing with the planned betrothal of Ann West and Robert Thorpe. In fact, the preparations were advancing apace. Both Charlotte and Kitty had decided on new gowns and even Jane Grayson was persuaded to follow suit, although she laughingly protested that as she would be sitting with the old dowds, no one would notice how she looked.
A Particular Circumstance Page 10
