“I will need the services of six reliable men, sir, to make up the apparent ambushing party. They can be testified to go into a panic and run away, to be seen no more, when the armed guards appear from inside the cart.”
Mr Smith agreed that they should not appear in any court.
“Will you be there, Mr Oliver?”
“No, sir. I believe I should not be present. I would not wish to be called as a witness too frequently. Mr Humphrey is more than capable of dealing with this poor little fellow.”
“I think that might be as well, you are already a little more exposed than one might like. Mr Humphrey will assist you in the matter of finding two guards and drivers. He will also procure the cart and horses, ensuring that the nags carry the government brand and the cart the broad arrow in case your Christopher should be aware of such things. There is, I think, small need to use one of the Faversham vehicles or to have any gunpowder present at the scene.”
Mr Humphrey came for Christopher on a Thursday morning, letting him assume that the gunpowder had left Faversham on the Monday at first light and had made a swift journey north, four horses and a light load. They travelled post to Warrington and then took Mr Humphrey’s own travelling carriage south to meet the road to Chester. They stopped in a small woodland area close to the tiny village of Kelsall and were joined by the six masked men of the ambush party.
Each of the riders carried a military carbine and horse pistols. They looked very fierce.
Mr Humphrey reached beneath the carriage seat and produced a pair of pistols and a mask for Christopher.
“They are loaded, sir. Hammer flat on the pan until you need to cock them.”
Christopher had never handled a firearm of any sort before and he found his heart to be beating much faster than normal. He reminded himself that he was a Hero of the Revolution, smiled confidently and turned to his men.
“All well, gentlemen?”
A very agricultural voice answered that it was, adding several ‘aharrs’, for authenticity and knowing Christopher to be of urban extraction and therefore to expect yokelism.
An additional four men, never seen by Christopher, were stationed two and two, east and west along the road, to stop any unwanted traffic interrupting proceedings. They had warrant papers testifying them to be from Bow Street and would tell the inquisitive they were in pursuit of highwaymen.
The riders dismounted, leaving two to hold the horses. The rest eased Christopher to their front and took position at the side of the road. Mr Humphrey tied his carriage pair to a convenient tree and stood immediately behind Christopher.
One of the horse holders tiptoed to the edge of the woodland and waved to the cart, stopped down the road just out of sight of the ambush point.
There was a rattle and jingle of harness and trace chains, the broad, iron-shod wheels rumbled and the cart appeared.
Christopher peered anxiously, worried that it might not be the right one, was reassured by the symbol of the broad arrow on the canvas tilt. He waited quivering with excitement till the cart was no more than twenty feet away then jumped out, waving his pistols.
“Stand, in the name of the people in arms!”
The wagon driver hauled on his brake and his mate produced a short-barrelled scatter gun while simultaneously four musket barrels showed over their shoulders and a single shot was fired.
The ambush party screamed and ran away, continued their falsetto howls of fear as they mounted their horses and galloped off.
Christopher was left at a loss for what to do next. His plans had not allowed for so many guards or active resistance of for the defection of his allies.
“Christopher, over here!”
He turned to Mr Humphrey’s urgent call and was shot twice in the chest, both wounds carefully to his front. Mr Humphrey took up the pistols he had given him and primed them before discharging them into the ground; they would serve as evidence in court that the government party had been fired at.
They took the body up in the cart and set off down the road to Chester and the sheriff’s officer there.
Mr Humphrey had chosen Chester because he had never been there and was wholly unknown to any of the officials he would have to deal with.
“We are from the Ordnance Board, sir. There are a number of slate quarries opening throughout North Wales and arrangements have been made for them to purchase their gunpowder from the Government in the normal way of things. Generally, sir, the powder will be transported by a coastal brig, under contract, but in winter or unusual storm we will have to use the roads. This is by way of being a trial to discover the best route. We loaded barrels of sand to make the weight and I can only presume that we were watched out of Faversham and a horseman went ahead of us, thinking us to carry powder.”
They carried the correct papers and were all fluent in their story, possibly a little too well-spoken for their roles, but the sheriff’s officer had a strong Welsh accent and did not query their King’s English. He made enquiry of local farmers and the villagers and discovered that the cart had been seen on the road and that shots had been heard, was satisfied that he had been told the truth.
Christopher’s belongings were searched and the papers on which he had made his notes were discovered, to Mark Star’s horror, he knowing nothing of them and having fortuitously been distant from the scene at a long drawn-out Assizes.
Mark gave his statement, confessed to having been duped, his emotions perhaps betraying him. The investigators were understanding, had every sympathy with him, assured him he would not be called to give evidence and that he would not be mentioned at all in court. He was no more than another victim of a wicked man. He very rapidly came to believe them, to understand that he had had a very lucky escape; it was surprising that he had not been murdered out of hand to cover up Christopher’s evil doings. He vowed to learn his lesson, to make no close contact with any outside of his own sphere in future, it was clear that the dangerous classes could not be trusted.
The inquest sat and the jury found the body before them to be that of a felon, destroyed in the course of crime and no loss to the world. Christopher was buried, disposed of in an unmarked grave inside the walls of the prison, and the court proceedings were sent to London, to the Home Office and to the Lord Chancellor.
Mr Smith had previously informed Lord Sidmouth that his people were on the track of a violent Red in the North-West, and he was congratulated on his handling of the affair, with no details requested. In view of the current state of public opinion, Sidmouth felt there should be no substantial degree of publicity of their success – the evil already knew what had happened, the great mass did not need to come to a misunderstanding.
The Lord Chancellor spoke to his judges, showed them the evidence and persuaded those who had been waverers that the country was indeed imperilled and that they must be strong in their suppression of the wicked.
Lord Liverpool listened to all that he was told and concluded, very reasonably, that his policies of coercion of the unruly must be continued, quite possibly strengthened. It was obvious that civil war threatened if the Reds were trying to lay their hands on gunpowder by the ton.
“Highly satisfactory, Mr Humphrey.”
“Thank you, Mr Smith. The question of Mr Oliver remains, sir.”
“He must give his evidence at the blanketeers’ trial, Mr Humphrey, that cannot be avoided because he was so unwise as to have been prominent amongst them, and to have been seen to have spoken to the General Commanding. But, he will then have been blown upon, very publicly indeed. He will be of no further use to the Department, or to government in England at all.”
Mr Smith steepled his fingers, leant back in his armchair and thought for a few seconds.
“I would be obliged to you, Mr Humphrey, was you to act as escort to Mr Oliver until the trial is over. Just to keep him sober and out of mischief, you know. You might then wish to offer him four distinct choices. He must disappear, and I am sure he will recognise that fact, h
e cannot continue in England, nor should he offer his services to take up the disaffected in Ireland. You should offer him a generous sum of money, I am minded to mention the sum of one thousand pounds, and inform him that you will buy him a good cabin on a ship to the Cape preferably; he will remain in our jurisdiction there and we may be assured of his continuing silence. He may go to Canada or to New York, if he so wishes, never to return of course. He may instead join the next convoy to Botany Bay, as a salaried official, called Mr Jones, perhaps, in the service of the Governor and expecting quite quickly to take up land and become a rich farmer there.”
“Still with his thousand, Mr Smith?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What is the fourth option, sir?”
“He may stay in England and take up land here. A plot six feet long by two wide should suffice.”
Oliver the Spy vanished from the public eye after giving his somewhat dubious evidence at the trial of the Derbyshire insurgents. He was never seen again and when questions were raised in Parliament about his possible role as an agent-provocateur there was none who could suggest a whereabouts for him.
David Mostyn took the Mediterranean route to India, as suggested by Major Wolverstone. He saved three months of tedious sailing and saw parts of the world that very few bankers ever had knowledge of. Most importantly, he found himself on his own for weeks at a time, a man in foreign parts rather than a cosseted younger son in his father’s or brother’s or paid chaperon’s care.
The agents at Alexandria expected his arrival and put him into a caravan to go south to the Red Sea. The Company factor at Suez knew of him and had a cabin on a pilgrim ship returning, the cabins almost empty but still smelly and the whole ship showing the wear of carrying two thousands of the faithful crammed on top of each other to reach Jeddah and their souls’ salvation.
“Full holds, sir,” David commented to the captain, naturally eating at his table.
“Cotton, Mr Mostyn. Raw and not of the best quality, but there are spinners and weavers in Bombay, working for the Company, of course, who will use it. An old trade, I believe, pre-dating our ships. There has long been a busy commerce on these shores. We will carry some foodstuffs as well, millet and dates particularly, but our ships are only to be found here during the pilgrim season. The trade is mostly carried in far smaller bottoms, and only a few of them European vessels.”
The captain would say no more and David forbore to press him, though there was obviously more to be said. He knew of the existence of a slave trade and guessed that it would not be discussed in public places.
He arrived in Bombay, wondering as he landed on the beach just why no harbour had been built. Passengers landed from open boats after an interesting passage through the surf.
“Cost, Mr Mostyn. I do not believe such an enterprise could return a commercial profit, so it must wait upon government finding the requirement to create a naval base, and that is not yet needed.”
Major Wolverstone was mildly amused. The young man must learn that India and London were two different places and equipped dissimilarly for the comfort of their rulers.
“Arrangements have been made for your first accommodation, Mr Mostyn. Roberts has bought a bungalow which can be made over to you if it suits and a building which might become your bank has been identified close to the main Company barracks. You will, in the nature of things, wish to be close under the eye of a substantial military force and Company officers are more sympathetic to the needs of the commercial community than the King’s will ever be. I have arranged for you to be accompanied by personal bodyguards, as well.”
Wolverstone explained that there was already an organised and long established network of bankers and money-lenders who would not necessarily take kindly to an English interloper, particularly if he should ever consider doing business with the Indian merchant communities.
“You would never wish to be involved with the money-lending trade – tiny sums to peasant farmers, repayment not uncommonly enforced on the bodies of their children. The slave trade up to the Gulf and the Red Sea demands a large flow of the young and invisible, and there are few people less noticed than the Indian peasant!”
“Would there be a profit in making loans to Indian merchants?”
“Probably not – you would find it impossible to enforce repayment. The man you had made the loan to would disappear and the courts would be unable to make an order against him and the Company would give you no help at all.”
“English only, it would seem.”
“That would be best, I expect, sir. There are several country merchants who find difficulty in obtaining finance in London, for never having been there themselves and having to act through agents recruited at second hand and far distant from them. Some of them borrow from the Indian bankers and would be very glad to discontinue the practice. I presume you would have no great objection to providing finance for the opium trade?”
David could not understand the question. Why should he have any objections at all?
“It is lawful in India, I presume, Major Wolverstone.”
“It is, sir, though less so in China.”
“I believe we may leave questions of the enforcement of Chinese law to the Chinese themselves, sir.”
“Quite!”
Wolverstone saw no need to mention that the opium traders commonly took some part in the business of slaving. He introduced David to his good-father, Mr Benson, who knew all of the country merchants.
“Mr Tompkins would very much like to meet you, Mr Mostyn. He has the opportunity to load a cargo of hemp, mostly for the rope-making trade and commanding a good price in England, but has already committed his trading capital to the run to Canton. Hemp is very profitable, as you may know, sir.”
David did not know anything about hemp but was willing to be persuaded. Within a week he had made a loan of two thousands by means of counter-signed Trade Bills and was looking at a return of twenty per centum and had a number of appointments made with hopeful customers. There were advantages to being first in the field.
Three months after he had opened his doors an Indiaman arrived from London and delivered some ten thousands in gold sovereigns, heavily guarded through the streets. It was not possible to perform all of the bank’s business in paper, preferable though this was, and it did no harm for the mercantile community to know that Mostyn’s had access to bullion.
One week later Mr Tompkins sent a brief note recommending that Mr Mostyn should find time to speak with Mr John, a small trader of his acquaintance who had a very profitable proposition to make.
By this time David had discovered that Indian hemp was also known as cannabis sativa, a substance that was in significant demand in England and subject to no law at all, most of it being sourced from North Africa but extra supplies always welcome. The rope-making trade certainly used hemp but as well every apothecary in England sold the leaf, even if generally tending to make little fuss about it – though lawful the trade was also slightly scandalous.
An acquaintance of Mr Tompkins by extension might also be from the grubbier side of the trading world.
Mr John was a young man, in his twenties David thought, though much marked by harsh circumstance. His right arm and shoulder had clearly been injured and he used the left when at all possible, his whole upper body slightly twisted. His nose had been broken as well and he had lost part of an ear. He had obviously suffered a grievous accident or perhaps had been severely wounded in battle. By dress he was a seafaring man, naval originally, David assumed, as his speech was of the educated order of people.
“I am master of a small dhow, Mr Mostyn, with which I have been trading these coasts independently for the past two years. I have the opportunity to purchase a larger and faster craft, a brigantine originally under American ownership, captain and most of his crew dead of the cholera. She is tied up in a creek a few miles south of the town, sir.”
David made a note of the exact location of the mooring. It was an
out of the way place, suitable perhaps for shadier merchants. He would send a man to check that the brigantine actually existed and to ask questions of her ownership.
“I have the funds, Mr Mostyn, to buy her myself, but I could not then afford a cargo or crew.”
“Opium, Mr John?”
“No, Mr Mostyn. My trade commonly takes me north to the Gulf and occasionally the Red Sea. I am sometimes able to pick up a few pearls and more commonly load with shagreen and coffee, rarely a few carpets and the turquoise and silver jewellery of those parts.”
He made no mention of the cargo he took upwards, leading David to the obvious conclusion that it was unlawful, which meant effectively that it had to be slaves. Did he wish to be involved?
“What figures are we discussing, Mr John?”
“Two thousands in gold coin or silver Maria Theresas, Mr Mostyn. Thirty parts in the hundred on a loan of six months duration. I will not expect to run during the Monsoon months, not in a small ship. I would hope to expand my enterprise quite rapidly, initially chartering another bottom, eventually purchasing.”
At interest rates of sixty per cent, the business expanding over the next few years, then he definitely wished to be part of the enterprise, though he did not especially wish to be told any details, and certainly nothing in writing.
“It is an American ship, but you are an Englishman, by your speech, Mr John.”
“By birth, sir, and that alone. Members of my family disowned me in very vigorous fashion just a few years ago and I have no immediate plans to return to England, much though I might desire to meet up with a certain brother!”
# # #
Book Six in the Series
Available in all ebook formats
An excerpt from the start of the book:
Privilege Preserved (A Poor Man at the Gate Series Book 5) Page 24
