A Killing Too Far

by Andrew Wareham

“Might he do better for a little of female company to take the edge off his excess energy, Jacky? He is still a young man, after all.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that, Mr Sam, I don’t indeed. It wouldn’t do to get him over-excited, sir. Besides that, it would take a brave and capable sort of girl to take Happy Henry on. I cannot imagine many who might wish to take the risk…”

  Sam was inclined to agree with Jacky – there were not many of the ladies of the night who would take the chance of Happy Henry turning nasty or even over-enthusiastic.

  “Offer a couple of guineas to any young woman who wishes to earn good money, Jacky. There might be one who thought that it was an easier way of earning money than going out on a Saturday night. I will find the coins if the need arises.”

  Jacky decided to give the possibility long thought – it might be a good idea for the poor boy.

  “Tonight for Porlock?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll take the wagon out after dark, sir. We know the road into town well enough and there’s a bit of a moon.”

  Sam rode home, wondering if he should ask Josie’s advice on the management of Happy Henry. She was a clever girl and had set up the accounts for the distilleries in clear form in a proper, bound ledger, something he had never quite managed to get round to. She was waiting for him when he arrived.

  “Sam love, I have been thinking…”

  “What? Out with it, it’s probably a better idea than anything I’ve come up with lately – wandering around at a loose end, or so it seems, at the moment. We are making money but I have not got round to putting it to use, and I should!”

  She smiled, trying to work out how to agree with him while not criticising.

  “That for later, Sam. What I thought was that we only produce one grade of spirits – all of it best. What about something for the people who can’t afford the best, the ones who might be able to pay three farthings but can’t afford a whole penny? Womenfolk who can abstract the odd farthing from the housekeeping but can’t make enough for a bottle of the real gin. As well as that, we could make gin with a different taste. Each of the distilleries uses barley and adds juniper to the clear spirit to give a flavour. What if we used rye for some of the mashes and added, say, a spoonful of molasses to each bottle to give a colour and a bit of sweetness - we could call it English port. Rye costs less than barley and that would pay for the molasses. For the cheap stuff, a mash of parsnips and turnips, or swedes even, and no money wasted on juniper, would let us sell at a lower price. Cheaper than Irish potatoes even.”

  “So we end up with three different products – two at full price and one cheaper… We might sell the low-price stuff in the corner shops, so the womenfolk could get hold of it. You don’t see women in the boozers, after all. I’ve been thinking of setting on a night shift, so it could be done. Add to that, there’s a chance we will be selling to the Army soon; we could push the cheap stuff onto them, at full price – they won’t complain or know the difference, probably.”

  Josie thought that to be a sensible suggestion – soldiers were fair game, after all.

  Jacky reported next day, saying that all had gone well and simply. Happy Henry had wrung the driver’s neck, it would seem, and the sight had encouraged Porlock to talk.

  “Wouldn’t stop, sir. Told us ‘is life story, pretty well. Got money with ‘im, sir, tucked away in a little strongbox built in under the seat of the wagon. Showed us how it worked to open it and gave it all to us. Not counted it, but it’s in little cloth bags, all tied up with drawstrings, very tidy-like. Emptied out the rooms and put their clothes and stuff into the back of the wagon and chucked the driver on top and came on out of town and got Porlock to carry the driver across to the pigs. Weeping, so he was, crying his heart out, for saying that the driver had used to been his good friend – don’t know what he meant by that, but it didn’t make no difference acos of Henry bashed his head in with his billy what he always carries, and threw him in as well. Then we came on away, sir.”

  Sam made his thanks for such an efficient job.

  “I can always rely on you and your brother, Jacky. Let me pay you now.”

  Jacky took the cash, said that he must go home.

  “Henry’s asleep now, sir. We got back in the middle of the night and he went straight off. He might wake up soon and won’t like being on his own, poor lad.”

  “Quite right, Jacky.”

  “Wagon’s outside the house, sir, with everything in it.”

  Sam trotted out with Jacky and hopped up onto the wagon, drove it round to the yard, calling the lad to unharness the single horse and put it away out of sight in a box. The house was within reason secluded but it still seemed a little unwise to announce the presence of the wagon owned by two disappeared strangers.

  Jacky had been thrifty, stripping the bodies of clothing and boots and tucking their travelling bags and contents into the wagon, nothing wasted. All had to be disposed of now. Sam made a start with the bags of coins, taking them into the office.

  “Josie, can you count these up for me? Split into two piles, half to go to Uncle Abe to repay some of the losses caused by the criminal, Porlock; the rest for Jacky.”

  “Is not that overgenerous to the man, Sam?”

  It had not occurred to Sam that it was anything other than giving Jacky his dues.

  “He earned it, Josie. Besides, he has his brother to look after. He must need money for that. I have suggested to him that he should employ a… housekeeper, shall we say, to assist in that task. It would seem that Happy Henry is sometimes fractious and might benefit from the presence of a female.”

  She could not imagine why that might be, could see no reason to argue.

  “Even so, there may be large sums in these bags. We should not be wasteful.”

  “We have yet to open them, Josie. They may be no more than coppers and the odd sixpence.”

  He left her to the task.

  “I must go into the village, to the alms houses.”

  “But we gave our dues to them just last month, Sam, in celebration of the wedding.”

  “I have some old clothes and boots and such that might be of use.”

  That seemed reasonable – the elderly and the indigent could benefit from the leavings of the more fortunate.

  The alms houses comprised four small cottages, one of which was occupied by the warden, himself aged but still spry and able to earn a shilling or two by assisting the others. He was grateful for the clothing, the boots especially valuable with winter not so many weeks distant.

  “Good of ye, Mr Heythorne, sir. The old folks will be thankful indeed. I shall make sure they know where these do ‘ave come from, sir.”

  “We must look after each other, in the old way, Peter.”

  The old man made no reply to that, thinking it wiser not to comment that Sam was very much a new man, a foreigner come to live among them.

  The sole question remaining was what to do with the wagon and horse. It might be unwise to sell either, for people wondering where they had come from. Sam was not prepared to send the horse to the knacker’s yard, it was too young and healthy, would lead to even more questions. It seemed that the distillery had gained an extra delivery cart.

  Three hours and all was disposed of. Mr Porlock was no more and had left no trace behind him.

  ‘Which serves him right for having come poaching on my domain,’ Sam reflected.

  “How much did it come to, Josie?”

  “The great bulk was in silver, shillings and sixpences mostly, Sam. A matter of some forty-two pounds and some shillings. There was another three pounds in copper. Besides that, a single and small bag that contained one guinea piece and thirteen halves in gold. About fifty-three pounds in total.”

  “Not a large sum to hazard one’s life for. Twenty-six pounds is excessive for Jacky, you are right. The merchants who were robbed have the right to recompense. Another five pounds will make Jacky more than content – he is grateful for any assistance in his tas
k of protecting his poor brother.”

  “That is the very large man, is it not? The simpleton?”

  “Happy Henry, that is right. Poor fellow is incapable of looking after himself. He can hardly talk, you know. Jacky does everything for him, conceiving it to be his duty to his brother.”

  “That is very good of him, Sam. He must be a fine man.”

  “Well, I must accept that he is, in that aspect of his character. He is perhaps less the Christian gentleman in some of his ways, but his kindness and love for his brother cannot be denied.”

  “The gates of the Kingdom of Heaven will be open to him.”

  That seemed debatable to Sam, but he would not argue the point, for not wishing to explain exactly how Jacky served him.

  “The better part of forty-eight pounds, Uncle Abe, recovered from the possessions of the villain Porlock.”

  “It will cover a part of the damage he did, Sam. His victims will be glad to receive any recompense. I presume that Porlock will not repeat his crimes, Sam?”

  “Neither those nor any other, Uncle Abe.”

  “Who or what was he, Sam? Did he work on his own, or was he the minion of some gang leader in another town?”

  “I don’t know, Uncle Abe. Apparently, he poured out his heart to Jacky in his last hour. I shall ask Jacky if he discovered Porlock’s origins.”

  “Threatened to set Happy Henry on him, did he?”

  Sam laughed as he shook his head.

  “Not quite. Happy Henry scragged his man first and would seem to have broken Porlock’s tender heart. It would seem that they were very close, that their relationship was more than that of master and man.”

  “Oh! Small wonder he was upset then.”

  “I shall visit Jacky, Uncle Abe. I need to make his payments.”

  “Told us everything, so he did, Mr Sam. He comes from close to, over in Stafford, he did, that is to say. From what he said, he was in the habit of shifting out just a few miles for a month or two, doing three or four jobs, as he put it, then going back home for a few weeks of comfortable living, until it was time to do some more jobs someplace else. He said what he had been through Stoke the better part of five years back, so it was our turn, as you might say.”

  “So, he was close enough to know who is who in this neck of the woods, Jacky?”

  “He said what his own man didn’t care about nobody else, Mr Sam. Time he goes back home to Stafford, he got to put twenty quid in his hands and then they all keeps quiet and he gets looked after if there’s any complaints.”

  “Bloody poaching! I don’t go taking money from his town, he should keep out of mine. I shall speak to the gentleman. Did he give you a name, Jacky?”

  “Not a word, Mr Sam. Said it was more than ‘is life was worth, so ‘e did. I don’t think he knew what was going on, not really. Not thinking straight, you might say.”

  “Ah well, Jacky, we do not all see things clearly in this life. Possibly he is more wide-awake in his new existence.”

  “Might be, Mr Sam. Don’t know that I’d bet on it.”

  “No. I won’t volunteer to find out, not just yet.”

  They laughed and Sam returned to Abe to report failure.

  “Is it worth going across to Stafford and spending a few guineas to find out who the upright man is there, Uncle Abe?”

  “Might be a good idea to find out, Sam, but why should we go to all the bother? We have people to do things like that for us. Why not pay a call on Mr Rowlands and ask him if he knows anything about Stafford? He might not, but he could probably put us onto someone else who does. He would be glad to do us a favour, I do not doubt. We tidied up the business with his son – are you going to do more for the boy, by the way? Could be a reason for going across to see him.”

  Chapter Four

  A Killing Too Far

  “I am come to beg a favour, Mr Rowlands.”

  Rowlands gave a sickly smile, knowing that he would be hard-pressed to refuse and hoping that he would be able to perform the service demanded of him. He had become aware that the wise man did not say no to Mr Heythorne and that few were willing to seek a compromise, a halfway house.

  “We have experienced some difficulties in keeping the peace in Stoke, just recently, Mr Rowlands. The cause seems to be foreigners, outsiders from Stafford, who believe that they may do as they will in our fair town.”

  ‘Fair’? Mr Rowlands could think of many adjectives that might reasonably be applied to the increasingly grimy, soot smeared home of the Potteries, but most were quite the opposite in their implication.

  “I wonder, Mr Rowlands, whether you have an idea of who might be a leading figure in Stafford, one we might be able to talk to about bringing the incursions to a swift end?”

  Mr Rowlands did not know, but he did have contacts on the Bench, meeting other magistrates from the county when they came together for Quarter Sessions.

  “I believe I know just who to ask, Mr Heythorne. Leave it with me, sir, for a week or two.”

  “I knew I had come to the right man, Mr Rowlands. Now, sir, the matter of coal has been much in my mind lately. The demand for the valuable rock has been rising every year and a wise man might well seek to purchase land which could profitably be mined. I cannot ride the countryside seeking outcroppings and almost unused little quarries on farmers’ fields – I have not the time. I wonder therefore whether your good son might not do so for me? We must discuss remuneration, of course… I had considered whether we might not offer a small wage and a part of the purchase price of every such seam, as I believe they are called, that he located for me?”

  Rowlands closed almost instantly. It was a simple method of ensuring that his second son, who showed very little sign of wishing to work for his living, would have to stir out of bed in the morning – rather than at midday as was his preference.

  “You are to say, Mr Heythorne, that young Richard will earn no more, and no less, than he works for? I am much in favour of that, sir! He will be able to sleep at home for the most part, I do not doubt, which will enable me to advise him on the proper use of his earnings.”

  “There will be many miles of the local moorland and the lower hills to traverse, Mr Rowlands, before he needs move from home. Mostly, he will visit the small farmers and talk to them. In the winter months his task will be easy – he will have to look for smoking chimneys and determine for colour and smell whether they are burning coal. Woodsmoke tends to be blue and sweeter; peat, brown and rank; coal is commonly black and has its distinctive smell of tars, as we all know.”

  Mr Rowlands did know, but it had not occurred to him that it was a certain indicator of a local source of coal. It was very simple, now that he considered the matter.

  “I have been told that the cleverest discoveries are often the most obvious, Mr Heythorne. If the coal is there and easy of access, the farmer will be using it… That requires very little thought, but it is thought that had never crossed my mind, sir! In summer, less visible, as you say, sir, but there may be the soot and smuts to be seen, and possibly dust blowing down the wind and dirtying trees and hedgerows where such exist. Richard must use his eyes rather than ride along in a dream – that will be good for the boy. It may help turn him into a man – something needs to!”

  Sam made no response. Mr Rowlands’ difficulties in persuading his younger son to grow up were his problem, exclusively.

  “Do you wish Mr Richard Rowlands to pay a call on me, tomorrow perhaps, Mr Rowlands?”

  “Have you time now, sir?”

  “I can certainly find an hour or two, Mr Rowlands.”

  “Then I shall roust him out of his bed, which is where I shall probably discover him at this time of day, and bring him to you, sir. Would a cup of tea be welcome, the while?”

  Sam sat down with his teapot and waited patiently, an ear cocked to the bellows of anger in the upstairs background. It seemed that Richard was not easily moved from his blankets of a morning.

  Twenty minutes passed and Mr
Rowlands reappeared, his bleary-eyed son following, blinking in the unaccustomed light of mid-morning.

  “Mr Heythorne has a proposition for you, Richard. A means of making your way in the world, which you are well aware is a necessity. An increasingly urgent exigency, I would add, sir!”

  “Tea, Mr Rowlands?”

  The young man took a cup gladly, wondering whether he might not suggest a nip of brandy to enliven the insipid brew. It would assist him to wake up as well. A little consideration suggested that Mr Heythorne might not approve, and he was not a man to be crossed.

  “Good morning, Mr Heythorne. Coal, was it not, sir?”

  “It was indeed, Mr Rowlands. I have it in mind to purchase some acres of land containing coal measures. Outcroppings that might be quarried would be my first thought. Located on hillsides and not far distant from a free-flowing river would be my ideal, but that might not be possible. It demands, after all, a particularly fortuitous combination of geography.”

  Mr Richard Rowlands was sure that Mr Heythorne was right, while wondering just what the hell he meant.

  “I have it in mind, Mr Rowlands, to offer you a small wage and a commission, a payment based on the price of the land you secure – a shilling in the pound, perhaps? One twentieth part which might grow into a significant sum. I would, naturally, pay the cost of your travelling, of rooms in inns, where necessary, and of your ordinary subsistence and the purchase of a strong riding horse. In the nature of things, sir, the greater your success, the higher your remuneration.”

  “And the wage, sir?”

  “Minimal, Mr Rowlands. Fifty-two pounds a year, paid at the quarter. If it comes about that you are very successful, that you find more coal than I can easily deal with, then you will take charge of the quarries and of the trackways or barges that bring your product to the kilns, at a far higher direct income. In the beginning though, your prosperity will be determined almost solely by your success. In effect, the greater the number of miles you ride, and farmers you talk to, the better off you will be.”